[Actually, despite what another lister posted yesterday about THAT day being “Bad Joke Friday,” it’s TODAY that is our often highly touted BJF—which a few of us know and love, but almost all of us, apparently, haven’t missed. So let me do my part to try to revive it. The following conversation actually had its origin in a magazine… but then the magazine went out of business. Which, I suppose, also tells you something about Bad Joke Friday.]
ULTRA RELATIONSHIP NEWS
by Yours Troubly
(but with somewhat necessarily changed language,
due to polite society)
[“Belle” and the “Fitness Nazi” are sitting inside the nearest Starbucks to Chicago’s Lakefront Running & Biking Path, following their long run together, and enjoying their separate checks.]
MARIBEL: Is that, like, a running dress you’re wearing?
ROSA: It’s a seamless tank with matching skirt. Nice, huh?
MARIBEL: It looks like a dress.
ROSA: I like the look.
MARIBEL: I like it on you.
ROSA: Like, thanks!
MARIBEL: So, like, what do you wear underneath?
ROSA: Underneath-wear, of course!
MARIBEL: Jogbra? Panties?
ROSA: Cellophane!
MARIBEL: (almost choking on her mocha latte) WHAT???
ROSA: I’m playing with you.
MARIBEL: Oh.
[They sip their drinks]
ROSA: You’re not… um… hinting at going commando, are you, Belle?
MARIBEL: No. I was just wondering…
ROSA: I know a girl who never goes anywhere… wearing anything… you know, underneath.
MARIBEL: Really?
ROSA: And she’s a germaphobe, on top of it. Just imagine that!
MARIBEL: I’m trying not to.
ROSA: My other girlfriends and I have had to point out to her the risks…
MARIBEL: Of no panties?
ROSA: Exactamundo!
MARIBEL: What are the risks?
ROSA: Like, hello! Germs!!!
MARIBEL: Like, they can fly in there. I suppose.
ROSA: Like, how about when she sits down?
MARIBEL: It’s, like, she’s naked.
ROSA: Yep, and I don’t remember her being all that careful about what she sits on either.
MARIBEL: Like, vinyl? Like, what about plastic-covered furniture?
ROSA: It sticks to her butt!!!
MARIBEL: Heh. And doesn’t she, you know, splay outwards?
[They both gesture with their hands, fingers fanning out from where their wrists are connecting]
ROSA: You mean, like, secretarial spread?
MARIBEL: To quote you: “correctamundo.”
ROSA: It’s exactamundo.
MARIBEL: Oh.
ROSA: Too many mundos in this world.
MARIBEL: Exactly.
ROSA: So anyway, this chick sits down on her plastic-coated chair—any chair really—and her parts, like, you know, just spread out and smear themselves all over the chair seat.
MARIBEL: So, like germs.
ROSA: No, like suction!
MARIBEL: (this time she does gag on her drink) OH MY GOD!!!!
[She endures a fit of coughing]
ROSA: Are you OK?
MARIBEL: (calming down, finally) Yes. (cough) I didn’t see that coming.
ROSA: No, and neither did the rest of us having lunch with her.
MARIBEL: You were in a restaurant?
ROSA: Yes, baby. And when it was time to leave, we all stood up, and…
MARIBEL: No.
ROSA: YES!
MARIBEL: What happened?
ROSA: Her chair stuck to her asp!!!
MARIBEL: No!
ROSA: She wore the dam thing all the way out the door!!
MARIBEL: She couldn’t feel it hanging off her butt?
ROSA: She couldn’t get rid of it! IT WAS STUCK!!!
MARIBEL: Omigod!
ROSA: Finally, the busboy chased after her in the parking lot. It took him and the waitress BOTH to pry it loose.
MARIBEL: I’ll bet she was embarrassed.
ROSA: Em-bare-asst. Hello!
MARIBEL: Ha-ha!
ROSA: Of course she was wearing a skirt at the time.
MARIBEL: Of course! Otherwise her pants or shorts would’ve prevented the—what did you call it?—suction.
ROSA: Sure. And then the rest of us girls pointed out to her, you know, that all of HER germs are now left on that seat!
MARIBEL: Omigod!
ROSA: And she… you know… being the germaphobe…
MARIBEL: What was she thinking?
ROSA: We don’t know.
MARIBEL: Gosh.
ROSA: She was a runner, too. Just like us.
MARIBEL: So, like, did she run like that?
ROSA: With no underwear?
MARIBEL: Yes.
ROSA: Yeah, we think so.
MARIBEL: In skirts. Or, like, these new kind of running dresses.
ROSA: Yess-es.
MARIBEL: Did she run trails, or just, you know, roads?
ROSA: Both.
MARIBEL: Wasn’t she afraid of… you know, like… falling?
ROSA: And her skirt flying up over her head, or something?
MARIBEL: Yes, that.
ROSA: I think she didn’t think about it. In fact, I’d bet that… like… she would actually LIKE it!
MARIBEL: Like… wow.
ROSA: The chick had no shame, that’s for sure.
[They pause, and sip more coffee]
MARIBEL: So she’d be a good match for that—who were you telling me about last time?—that Scarecrow-somebody?
ROSA: Strawman.
MARIBEL: Yeah. Him.
ROSA: I don’t think he ever wore underwear either. Judging from his, um, evidence.
MARIBEL: Yes, his evidence.
ROSA: OK, protuberance.
MARIBEL: Yes. That.
ROSA: (pause, looking around) I think we need to get out of here.
MARIBEL: OK. Let’s.
ROSA: You’re wearing a rather nice skirt yourself.
MARIBEL: Thank you. It’s from Lululemon.
ROSA: Did you have to order it?
MARIBEL: No, there’s an outlet right over here on Oak Street.
ROSA: Looks super!
MARIBEL: Thanks.
ROSA: So?
MARIBEL: So… um… what?
ROSA: So… what’s underneath?
MARIBEL: Oh, please.
ROSA: No, please. Like, what’s there? I’d like to know.
MARIBEL: Panties, of course!
ROSA: Pink ones?
MARIBEL: I think they’re Depends.
ROSA: Hah!
MARIBEL: What do you think? And… like, why? What ARE you thinking???
ROSA: I’m thinking—since we’re both in skirts—that it might be fun to… you know… try going commando!
MARIBEL: You have to be kidding me.
ROSA: No! Hey! Why not? (looking around) No one’s looking.
MARIBEL: Well, I like my… um… protection, thank you very much.
ROSA: Oh, come on. Try it!
MARIBEL: Seriously?
ROSA: Seriously! Here. Let’s slip them off together. We can stash them in our running vests. Do you have any empty pockets?
MARIBEL: I can’t believe this.
ROSA: Believe it! Here. Go ahead. I’ll keep a look-out.
MARIBEL: Oh-My-God…
[Slowly and very nervously, while still sitting, Maribel reaches up under her running skirt and… yes… like, surreptitiously slips her panties down her legs, over her running shoes, and… like… wads up the garment tightly inside her closed fist, having actually no empty pockets in her running vest]
ROSA: Good girl! Now, how’s THAT feel?
MARIBEL: Like air-conditioning. Blowing full blast in the wrong room. (pause) Now YOU!
[Rosa quite deliberately stands up, turns around, and—looking around—suddenly lifts her skirt’s hem upwards, very high on her back, almost to her shoulder blades…]
MARIBEL: OH MY GOD, GIRL!!!
ROSA: You like the look?
MARIBEL: You… you’re… like… not wearing anything at all!
ROSA: Nope!
MARIBEL: You’re NAKED… underneath those clothes.
ROSA: Yeah. (twerking her butt teasingly) I told you it was cellophane, huh?
MARIBEL: Girl, you are crazy!!!
ROSA: (letting go of the hem, turning around, and allowing her skirt to fall back down) Well… they do call me “The Nazi.”
MARIBEL: Now it IS time to get out of here.
[They clear the table, gather up their running vests, water bottles, and, yes, panties… then scram.]
(“during mid-evil times, young men’s eyes used to imaginatively strip faire younge maidens down to their linen, which was as far down as we dared ever go”)
Yankee Folly of the Day:
Personally, I myself would never run “commando” because of all the thorns, briars, and mosquitos. I did do it once, however, during the Javelina Jalloween Jundred ultramarathon out in Arizona sometime during Halloween season of 2004. It was because I was entered in what they called the “Best Ass Contest.” And no, I didn’t win. I lost to a guy who actually had a whole POEM written out across his ass. Of course, no judge ever dared get close enough to check his spelling—or I might’ve won on a technicality. The “striptease” wasn’t even allowed to happen until about 60 miles into the 100 mile race. So close your eyes and open your nostrils and TRY, if you dare, to imagine THAT!!!
Yankee Folly of the Day:
Personally, I myself would never run “commando” because of all the thorns, briars, and mosquitos. I did do it once, however, during the Javelina Jalloween Jundred ultramarathon out in Arizona sometime during Halloween season of 2004. It was because I was entered in what they called the “Best Ass Contest.” And no, I didn’t win. I lost to a guy who actually had a whole POEM written out across his ass. Of course, no judge ever dared get close enough to check his spelling—or I might’ve won on a technicality. The “striptease” wasn’t even allowed to happen until about 60 miles into the 100 mile race. So close your eyes and open your nostrils and TRY, if you dare, to imagine THAT!!!
Rich Limacher © 2021 | All Rights Reserved
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