Many thanks to my blogging buddy, Tom Merriman, for inviting everyone to participate in his February blogging theme. Since Valentine’s Day is coming up fast, it seemed like a perfect fit for today’s post.

I was thinking of doing a bit of flash fiction, but Tom has already set the bar too high with his first post of the month. Plus I’m completely immersed in the final push to finish the draft of Book 11 this week, so I’ll fall back on my favourite thing instead: tasteless jokes.

(I wish I could say I made these up, but I didn’t. They’ve been around the internet a few times, but they still make me laugh!)

*

Mike was going to be married to Karen so his father sat him down for a little chat. He said, “Mike, let me tell you something. On our wedding night in our honeymoon suite, I took off my pants, handed them to your mother, and said, ‘Here, try these on.’ She did and said, ‘These are too big. I can’t wear them.’

I replied, ‘Exactly. I wear the pants in this family and I always will.’ Ever since that night, we have never had any problems.”

So on his honeymoon, Mike took off his pants and said to Karen, ‘Here, try these on.”

She tried them on and said, “These are too large. They don’t fit me.”

Mike said, “Exactly. I wear the pants in this family and I always will. I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

Then Karen took off her panties and handed them to Mike and said, “Here, you try on mine.”

Mike did and said, “I can’t get into your panties.”

Karen said, “Exactly. And if you don’t change your attitude, you never will.”

…and they say romance is dead…

*

A family is sitting around the supper table when the son asks his father, “Dad, how many kinds of breasts are there?

The father replies, “Well, son, there are three kinds of breasts. In her twenties, a woman’s breasts are like melons, round and firm. In her thirties to forties, they are like pears, still nice but hanging a bit. After fifty, they are like onions.”

“Onions?” asked the boy.

“Yes, the sight of them makes you cry.”

This infuriated the wife and daughter so the daughter asked, “Mum, how many kinds of willies are there?”

The mother smiles and answers, “Well, dear, a man goes through three phases. In a man’s twenties, his willy is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his thirties and forties, it is a like a birch, flexible but reliable. After his fifties, it is like a Christmas tree.”

“A Christmas tree?”

“Yes, dead from the root up and the balls are only for decoration.”

…and they say romance is dead…

*

…He grasped me firmly, but gently, just above my elbow and guided me into a room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone. He approached me soundlessly from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring voice close to my ear, “Just relax.”

Without warning, he reached down and I felt his strong, calloused hands start at my ankles, gently probing and moving upward along my calves, slowly but steadily.

My breath caught in my throat. I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn’t care. His touch was so experienced, so sure. When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder and partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. I felt his knowing fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm, full shoulders in his hands, I inhaled sharply.

Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my back, slid them down my tingling spine. Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge. A man not used to taking ‘No’ for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A man who would look into my soul and say…

“Okay, Ma’am, you can board your flight now.”

…and they say romance is dead…

*

Cletus is passing by Billy Bob’s hay barn one day when, through a gap in the door, he sees Billy Bob doing a slow and sensual striptease in front of an old John Deere tractor. Buttocks clenched, he performs a slow pirouette, and gently slides off first the right strap of his overalls, followed by the left.

He then hunches his shoulders forward and in a classic striptease move, lets his overalls fall down to his hips, revealing a torn and frayed plaid shirt. Then, grabbing both sides of his shirt, he rips it apart to reveal his stained T-shirt underneath. With a final flourish, he tears the T-shirt from his body and hurls his baseball cap onto a pile of hay.

Having seen enough, Cletus rushes in and says, “What in the world’re ya doing, Billy Bob?”

“Good grief, Cletus, ya scared the bejeebers out of me,” says an obviously embarrassed Billy Bob. “But me ‘n the wife been havin’ trouble lately in the bedroom d’partment, and the therapist suggested I do somethin’ sexy to a tractor.” (Read that last line one more time…)

…and they say romance is dead…

*

One lazy Sunday morning the wife and I were quiet and thoughtful, sitting at the breakfast table when I said to her, “When I die, I want you to sell all my stuff immediately.”

“Now why would you want me to do something like that?” she asked.

“I figure a woman as fine as yourself would eventually remarry and I don’t want some other asshole using my stuff.”

She looked at me intently and said, “What makes you think I’d marry another asshole?”

…and they say romance is dead…

* * *

Go ahead… tell me a romantic story! 😉