Meet the Nieratkos - Cupful of Cum
I am not afraid to walk around with a cupful of my cum in a paper bag. I see nothing wrong with that. I’d say that the paper bag is unnecessary but the fact that I even bothered with it shows I am considerate of other people’s feelings.
Last we spoke, I mentioned to you that I began the desanctification of my loins. And how horrific it was. Well, two months later everything is in tip top shape. I’d even wager to say that my hard-ons are even more raging than before—but only my hairdresser knows for sure. Monday was my eight-week anniversary of the slaughtering of my unborn nut-babies and it was time to test to see if the procedure worked. My wife assisted in wringing out the specimen into a sterile, doctor-mandated shot glass for inspection. Seriously, a shot glass. I don’t know what kind of loads those people usually see but a shot glass isn’t cutting it. I have big manly loads. NAY! Elephant-size loads! A gallon jug could not handle what I dispense. I could paint the gulf's black oil spill white if I wanted to!
Ah, to dream.
But seriously, unless you’re Mr. Burns a shot glass isn’t helping anything. My wife aimed while I shot and the whole sordid mess just splashed back at both of us. A few drops stayed in the cup. We looked at each other in uncertainty and hoped that was enough.
Fuck it; I have to get retested in two weeks again. So I go to the lab…you know the place that deals with cupsful of cum all day, every day, and I hand my lunch bag to the girl behind the desk. She slips on some rubber gloves, reaches in the bag and says, “Oh…” with disdain. Like she’d never seen a cupful of cum before. Like she didn’t work at a place that deals exclusively with cum. Like she was expecting anything but a cupful of cum to be in that bag.
“You should have put this in a plastic bag, sir,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s how we prefer it.”
“No one told me to put it in a plastic bag.”
“It’s just our policy.”
“What difference would that have made?”
“It’s best that the specimen be in a see-through bag.”
“But I didn’t cum in the bag, I came in the plastic cup with the lid. The bag I carry the cup in makes no difference.”
“There’s no need to be graphic, sir. We just would rather have it in a plastic bag so we’re not surprised when we remove the contents from the bag.”
“You test semen. And only semen. I gave you semen in a bag. What would have been surprising would be if there was a sandwich in the bag.”
“When you bring your follow-up specimen, please bring it in a plastic bag.”
“What if I bring it in a black plastic bag so you can’t see what it is?”
“A clear bag, sir.”
“Next time I am not going to put it in a bag. I am going to hold the cup in my hand, outstretched so everyone can see. The paper bag was me trying to be discreet because I know you share this building with my wife’s gynecologist and I wasn’t trying to shake a cupful of cum in the face of some prego milf in the elevator.”
“You don’t need to be argumentative, sir.”
“And you don’t need to enforce a policy as absurd as which bag I deliver my semen in.”
“It’s what I was instructed to do, sir.”
“The Germans said the same thing. It’s not a valid excuse.”
With that I signed some paper that said the semen was mine and no one handed me the bag full of cum at the airport or anything and off I went.
As I drove off I took comfort in knowing that there was a slight chance that I had gotten through to the woman and she decided to call bullshit on her job and quit. But not before taking the cap off my shot glass and drinking its contents.
On the way I home I watched a man in a black Silverado cut another man off in a green Volvo, causing the Volvo to swerve and crash into a guardrail. The truck took off. Since I was already worked up over the paper bag incident I decided to let off some steam with another high-speed car chase. Two miles later I eventually caught him, got his license plate, and forced him to return to the scene of the accident.
Now today I found out I have to spend a day in court, testifying as a witness. I should have just gone straight home.
Previously – Vasectomies Are Hilarious