Did you just say necrophiliac?
10-29-05, 7:12 AM

So easily influenced, I disregarded my after work plans of going home washing the dogs, a quick run followed by cleaning my house in preparation of Saturday�s big date where I promised the Desired Girl a lavish dinner. Instead, with the few words of beer and chicken wings, I was shortly found at the local pub listening to co-worker�s wife, her friend whom I never met and their self-important Realtor boss drone on and on about real estate and office politics. The co-worker�s wife was trying to impress her boss and this was the first time they went out in a social setting. Completely left out of the conversation and no attempt to include us, bored, I looked around the restaurant for something to entertain my mind while nursing a beer.

At one point the subject changed to death and burial where the self-important, spry, seventy-year old Realtor stated that she wanted to be cremated and have a party. �Not bad,� I thought but then my socially inept, former jock, co-worker interjected with the following in a red-neckesque accent, �Well, you better watch-out with what they do with your head.�

Puzzlement upon all our faces. What could they do your head? It is cremation. Do they severe it?

�The necrophiliacs will fill your mouth up with cum.�

Did he just say what I thought he said?

�Yea. Saw it on t.v.� He proudly continued. �This guy would off their heads and get blow jobs. Cum dripping right out!�

Yep, he did say it.

�Caught by DNA and on tape.�

The Realtor acted shocked, but not really, because within the closed conversation I overheard her call another Realtor a �...ball-less Fuck...�

This is not my idea of restaurant conversation or language used in public. Mind you, the volume spoke was not that of people who lean into eachother when speaking about dicey topic or telling something in confidence , rather they proudly project this information to the whole room. Maybe it is a Kentucky thing?

After this I had enough, I sat there wondering what the hell am I doing here? Who are these people? And, surely there are better group of people I could be hanging-out with where sex or someone�s perversions is not the topic nor announced to the room.

What started my foul mood for my company was when the server who brought my draught beer and before I could take a sip, I barely spotted something floating on the surface. Just as my brain was processing the �...what is in your beer thought...�, my co-worker�s wife abruptly interrupts, �Wait a second!� and proceeds to plunge a finger deep past the surface into my glass and is wiggling her finger around like a hooked worm.

�Is that a nasty finger in my beer?� I thought. Then asked, �What are you doing?�

�You have something in your beer.�

�Yea! It�s your finger!� with both my palms of hands pointing at the beer glass and foreign objects.

�Well, I was getting something out of it for you. I was trying to be nice,� as she removes her finger and wipes her hands on a napkin.

�Couldn�t you have just told me? Did you have to stick your fist in my glass?� Now acting is something was still in my beer, because I didn't want to offend my co-workers wife, because that would be impolite (sarcasm), I brought the beer back to the bartender and told him I had �floaters� and could I get a new one.

�They�re not going to hurt you.�

�Well, just the same. Could you get me new one.� Sure, if I don�t-know-where-the-fuck-her-finger-has-been wasn�t in it, I may have simply dabbed out the offending piece but now, a new beer was in order. Walking back and sitting down to my table, believing this was a decent establishment with some credible reputation, I looked over to see the bartender flick out the pieces. Afterwards he looked over at me to see if I noticed, which I did, then gave the beer to someone else.

This morning, up at six a.m., I am very much looking forward to my date tonight at home, in my surroundings with someone I enjoy being around.

Yesterday - Tomorrow