Boxers and Black Socks


             Ahhh, the past. . .

             It was just another typical Pittsburgh summer day, no sun, no breeze and ninety-nine percent humidity.  Sure others might run inside to the comfort of their air conditioned abode, but not yours truly.  Nope after a crappy day at work, I came home stripped down to boxers and black socks, and headed to my porch, beer in hand.

            This would be during the time I served on Pleasantville Borough council.  I called this my transparency in government look.  The boxers served as my security brief, and the black socks provided the dignity afforded to such a high political office. The beer definitely gave me the ability to clearly think of such matters as Mr. Johnson’s complaint that Mrs. McCurry’s bush was encroaching onto his yard, her pussy was ragged and in need of care, and the combination it was hurting the value of his property.

            Funny thing about Mrs. McCurry’s pussy, it was the subject of numerous complaints. I remember one council meeting were another neighbor complained about the fishy smell, and the stray cats that were hanging on the surrounding lawns. We once sent the fire department to hose the pussy down to help eliminate the odor, but that damn pussy just couldn’t be reached because the bush was just too thick. The police had received complaints that the pussy was being abuse, but there was no evidence of any outside forces having any contact with it.

            We tried animal control, but the guy, like so many others, wouldn’t touch her pussy with a ten-foot pole. At time it looked rabid with a white mucus dangling from its lips, and sometimes it was so hairy that you couldn’t even tell it was a pussy.  We often referred to it as Mrs. McCurry’s “fro.” Animal control did try to set a humane trap for the pussy, but that damn pussy ate the McGriddle, and wasn’t snared in the trap.

            Eventually the neighbors just accepted the fact the Mrs. McCurry’s pussy was, what it was. Granted she did try to self-medicate the beast, but to no avail. Various creams, perfumes, and diets, really had no effect on the poor stinking, leaky, and bushy pussy. Near the end Mrs. McCurry could be seen in a too short dress on the porch, her old gray pussy peeking out at the passing neighbors.

            As time passed, Mrs. McCurry and her pussy retreated in the house, never to be seen again. Stories were told of the stinky, dangerous pussy with the ever growing bush that would snatch small animals and bad children. In time the lights of the house always dark, and not a peep was heard from the old lady and her pussy. Every once in a while, on a warm summer’s night a gentle breeze would rustle the leaves of the Maples, and blow the familiar fishy smell down the street as a reminder of the Mrs. McCurry and her pussy.