the continuing saga of teddy grundle

You may remember Theodore Terwilliger Grundle if you read his tale of dreams achieved in “romancing the milf” on we live in borrowed sunshine. For those of you who missed that episode, my dear friend Teddy gets down and dirty with that most Dustin-Hoffman-esque of adolescent dreams, the milf. Teddy isn't his real name. He's sort of a superhero, so he needs to keep his real identity secret.

Tonight, Teddy is regaling us with a tale from the past—a tale, actually, about the laptop his older paramour gave him. One of the nice things about being a gigolo is getting valuable gifts. Unfortunately, Teddy has since realized that nice dinners and great sex are not worth being emasculated with a shotgun, and so has cut it off with his very own Mrs Robinson. Notwithstanding Teddy's general studliness, his libido exceeds even volumes of willing and comparably aged young women, so he must perforce resort of more lonely means: spanking the monkey, flogging the bishop, a date with Manuela. Apparently, on one such occasion, some of the ejaculate roamed a bit farther than expected, and sullied the pristine plastic surface of the laptop. Better yet, such is the extent of Teddy's virility that this knocks out half the keyboard: totaly dead. He spunked his keyboard to death. Kinda like a stroke victim, that loses control of half his body. This is more of a jizz victim.

The whole sorry, sordid saga is not unreminiscent of an incident involving Michael “Tyrone” LaVigne. Managing against all logic and expectation to stagger back home after a night of particularly exemplary potation, he didn't quite make it to the bedroom, instead collapsing in a heap in the common bathroom on the third floor. In this compromising position, he evidently lost bladder control and pissed his pants. And this was no minor accident, this was a Niagara Falls micturation. This was a piss so huge that he actually shorted out his phone, in his pants pocket, with the sheer inundation of urine. Yes, that's right: he pissed his phone to death. Upon realizing the sheer enormity of the moment, he taped the fallen soldier to his door for the rest of his tenure at the Zetehaus under the epitaph “RIP Phony McRingRing.” A cautionary tale? Of course not. A clarion call to greater mischief.