It had been a long, tiring day. Unfortunately

It had been a long, tiring day. Unfortunately I lied awake in bed, unable to decide if my insomnia was due to my erection or devastating chicken-nugget farts that choked the air.

With some thought I applied both to produce the most auto-erotic asphyxiation I've ever experienced, I'm talking real toe-curling blue-in-the-face pleasure--then my dad walked in.

But in an unspoken agreement we let the matter lie. That is without actually stating it, we agreed to a policy of "Don't ask, Don't tell". Hiding my chicken-choking from my Mom

was not nearly as hard as my dad hiding it from her. I think that's why she slept on the couch sometimes. She said the chickens don't lay eggs when they are stressed, and

analogously some men won't poop when stressed too. The trucker rubbed his tummy, "Damn darlin' I haven't copped a squat since Sandusky, I must be stressed, but about what?"

He knew why he was stressed, he just wasn't about to explain to "the guys" that this weekend he had a cup stacking championship. "Like 50% of em are adults" he would tell people

. His bowling league found out when they found plastic tumblers in his car. "Drinking Problem?" "Cup Stacking!" He finally blurted out. He left that day and went pro. Endorsements

from beer companies fueled his massive ego. The first few years, he got strike after strike, becoming a reigning champion. But then the backroom rutting with waitresses took

precedence, which is understandable. He eventually went pro in backroom waitress rutting and is now retired, living comfortably on the east side of Des Moines. What a country!