Last Wednesday I was painting the 10-foot kitchen ceiling in my new house using a roller and an extension pole. It's my extension pole, and I've used it many times -- in my old house in the suburbs and now in my new old house in the city. It's a simple gadget. Nothing to it -- just twist and extend or intend ... wait, that's not the opposite of extend. Shorten. I've done both a hundred times.
I was painting just like I have been, needed a little more pole to reach a corner, twisted ...... and nothing. The pole didn't twist and slide like it always had before. I twisted and twisted and twisted. I read the directions printed just under the plastic handle that helps with the twisting. Of course I was doing it right. It's too simple to not do it right. Twist one way to unlock. Twist the other way to lock. What the fuck?
I twisted and twisted and twisted both ways. It didn't budge. I banged it against the counter and twisted some more. Nothing.
I finished painting and cleaned up. I knew the next time I used it I'd have to extend it for the 12-foot ceiling in the dining room or risk permanent neck injury, or worse, paint drips in my hair. Twist .... twist .... twist ..... nothing. I finally gave up and left it propped against the ladder. Surely it would pop right apart next time I painted. It just needed a rest.
Today I went back to paint. The first thing I did was grab that pole and twist. Nothing. Twist .... twist .... twist.
Fuck me, I thought. Now it's a job for a penis. I've done everything I can to make this simplest of tools work ..... I need a handypenis.
I set to work cutting in the kitchen ceiling for the second coat, knowing my friend Rocky was coming over at some point to see the house for the first time. Every so often as I climbed down off the ladder to move it, I'd twist the damn extender. It was stuck tight.
Rocky arrived, and I took him on a tour of the house. I said nothing about the extender. Eventually we ended up back in the dining room (where he voted for the red ... but too late). As we talked about paint colors and other jobs I need to do, I picked up the
I thought, Surely this time it will work and I won't have to ask Rocky to use his penis powers.
I gave it a mighty twist ...... nothing. I sighed.
"Rocky," I said. "I'm afraid I have need of your penis."
"Really?" he said. "What do you need my penis for?"
"I need you to use your penis to extend this pole. It's really easy, but for some reason ...," I twisted that fucker so hard it should have broken, "... I can't get this to turn and extend. I've done it many times before, but ....."
You know what's coming, don't you?
He laughed and grabbed the pole .... gave it a twist and .... nothing! He twisted and twisted and twisted and nothing!
I laughed. "Yes! Yes! It's not just me! Even you can't do it. Your penis is worthless against this pole!"
He asked me how it was supposed to work, and I explained it. He twisted some more ..... it remained locked. He got that look on his face that men get when their penises don't work. (Not like that, you with your dirty mind!)
I started to gloat. "Ha! Looks like a penis can't fix everything! Looks like my pole beats your penis ...."
Just as I said it, the damn pole came apart like it was buttered. My ego deflated with a whoosh and popped out of existence.
"Here you go," he said, holding it out to me. "All fixed."
I twisted it and extended it. And then shortened it. Twist. Twist. Twist. It worked.
"Thank you for using your penis to fix my extension pole," I said bitterly. It's not that I wasn't grateful, but what the fuck? It works by twisting! That's it! Twisting!
"No problem," he said, probably feeling gallant as a fucking knight of the Round Table. "Let me know if you need help with anything else. I'm quite handy."
"I will," I said, hanging my head in defeat. "Thanks again for the use of your penis." I showed him to the door.
Penis: 1. Vagina: 0.