WORLD RECORD HOLDER FOR MASTURBATION AND OTHER NURSING HOME SEX STORIES

As promised, I'm presenting my top ten most popular posts as part of my one thousandth post celebration. This post was first published on November 11, 2011. Nine hundred thirty-two people viewed "WORLD RECORD HOLDER FOR MASTURBATION AND OTHER NURSING HOME SEX STORIES". If you're sensitive or offended by a discussion of masturbation, then you might want to skip this one. Keep in mind that Lola wrote this. She can be pretty nasty.

Here's #8 on my top ten hits list:

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Some nasty sexual activity occurs in nursing homes.

At the nursing home where I worked, I truly loved almost all the residents. But the few I didn't love? They were rather gross.

For example, there was the guy whose adult children would bring him porn. He'd watch it on his TV while masturbating. I did not like that man. He always spat on the floor. Finally I said to him, Mr. Masturbating Porn Watching Spitter, please do not spit on the floor. I have to kneel on the floor while I help you wash your nasty cum-covered ding-dong (gosh, I hope my use of ding-dong doesn't offend anyone). At least he stopped spitting when I was there.

We didn't close the doors in the nursing home because we had to keep an eye on everyone and make sure they hadn't fallen on the floor. Even at night the doors were closed only partway. We did not have cameras to help us watch for accidents, or to make our own porn films of the obvious masturbators.

There was this guy who obviously loved it that his door was open. His job before infirmity caught up with him must have been Flasher at a local elementary school. The kids have to learn sometime what a limp ding-dong on a moron looks like.

Mr. Moron should have been in the Guinness Book of World Records because he never, ever freaking stopped masturbating. Sitting on his bed. Next to the open door.

O.K. I'm exaggerating. He probably slept about two hours at night and he wasn't masturbating then. At least I don't think he was.

Every single person who walked down that hall got to see Mr. Moron yanking his wanky. And not just staff members. Every visitor who came to see a dying or sick loved one was treated to the sight of Mr. Moron dating five-fingered Sally.  Gentlemen, please tell me: If you masturbated 20 hours/day or so, then wouldn't your hand get tired?

Mr. Moron's hand was on the move all the time. Moron couldn't walk, couldn't get himself into his wheelchair alone so he could go to the bathroom, but he had the strongest right hand on Earth. God, he was amazing.

But let's finish up this post with something nicer. Before I worked in a nursing home, I volunteered in one. There was a man and a woman, probably in their 30s, and they had some physical disabilities. They might have been a bit mentally challenged too.

But they found each other and were so happy together. They sat in their wheelchairs in his room or her room, talking and holding hands and once, I saw them kissing. It was really pretty sweet. Living in a nursing home is not exactly fun, and I'm glad they could comfort one another.
I hope that, in their own way, they lived happily ever after.

Infinities of love,
Lola 

CINDERITA AND MOI

Gentle Readers,

I hope you will read this post by the charming Cinderita because it's a lovely post and if you will read all the way to the end, you will discover that she actually mentions ME! Yes, MOI!

She claims my comments on her posts make her laugh. And you all know, I hope, that my goal in life -- even when I'm depressed -- is to make you laugh. I always say I'm the most cheerful depressed person you'll ever meet.

Infinities of love,

Lola

LIVING WITH WHORES

Gentle Readers,

Again, blame Sandra at http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/2011/04/makings-of-facebook-profile-picture.html for my use of whore in my title.

I write to you at this moment because I have just had a most interesting idea.

If things ever get so bad that I'm totally broke and going to be thrown out of my house, I will convert to Catholicism and become a nun. I will live in the convent and be given some nun job to do, perhaps trying to help whores, and meals will be included -- kind of like those all-inclusive resorts. I like to sing so I can be in the nun choir and we will entertain, just like in Sister Act.

I tell ya, sometimes I have such fucking good ideas that I just don't know where they come from. God, I guess.

Infinities of love,

Lola

WOE IS US

This is dedicated to all of us who are seniors, to all of you who know seniors, and to all of you who will become seniors.


 

"WHERE is my SUNDAY paper?!"
The irate customer calling the newspaper office, loudly demanded

"Madam", said the newspaper employee, "today is Saturday. The Sunday paper is not delivered until tomorrow, on SUNDAY".
There was quite a long pause on the other end of the phone, followed by a ray of recognition as she was heard to mutter, ..



..."Well, shit, that explains why no one was at church either.


 

KIND OF A STRANGE MEETING

Gentle Readers,

Some day I shall retire, although I don't do anything.

Hence, I visited an investment person because I need to do something with the retirement funds I received from my husband who has ceased to exist - at least as far as I'm concerned.

I feel pretty safe that I can tell you about the meeting with the investment person because I have so few readers. It's not as if she's going to come across my message center because of its popularity.

Everything started off fine although when she shook my hand I thought Shake it, don't break it. She helped me figure out a problem I already had and made a couple of good suggestions.

But then she asked me how I "feel" about the market. I told her I don't worry about the market. It's been down before and it will be down again and it's best to remain calm. She said that was a good attitude and that the market is better this year, but then she felt compelled to launch into a diatribe against President Obama because although the market is better this year, that lousy rotten bastard (my words, not hers but the implication was there) did not attend the boy scout jamboree, the only U.S. President not to have done so. I bit my tongue to pieces resisting the urge to tell her that her information was incorrect and that presidents do not always attend the jamboree. More than one has missed out on this glorious experience.

She said, however, that Obama had sent Defense Secretary Robert Gates who as an adult holds some high position in scouting, something about the order of the arrow, and that Gates was really great. I chewed my tongue a little more because I thought how intelligent it was of the president to send someone to the jamboree who's really into scouting.

She was pissed, though, because her son is an eagle scout and he's really special.

I resisted the urge to ask if that meant he rode the short bus to school.

She then went on and on about just how special her son is - so intelligent, all A's.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, fighting the desire to tell her that my kids could beat up her kid intellectually and physically with both hands tied behind their backs and only using a quarter of their brains.

I have another meeting set up with her next month. We'll see what happens then, but I don't know if I can work with someone who wastes my time complaining that President Obama didn't go to the boy scout jamboree.

I have more important things to worry about, like retiring from nothing. When you don't do anything, then what do you not do when you retire?

A point to ponder.

Infinities of love,

Lola