Here’s the problem with laptops.

Here’s the sitch.  Family’s away for a short while.  Spouse, parents, live-in life partner, master, whoever.  You’re alone.  You’re thinking, maybe I’ll have just a quick jerk.  (Ladies, maybe just a quick flick.)  Your fastest release…Internet PORN!

You strip down to your skivvies and, even though you know there’s no one around, you sneak your way over to the laundry hamper and grab an old sock for cleaning up.  You scurry to the bathroom and lotion up.  When you realize your wonderful circumstances, you instantly “perk” up.  You prance and spin and dance your way over to your laptop.  When you approach your laptop, you see that it is still in the computer bag.  “No problem,” you whisper dismissively, “I got this.”

And, in your complacent attempt to gingerly open the bag’s zipper without leaving a shred of evidence revealing the act of masturbation, you drop your clean-up sock.  As you go for it, you forget about the lotion on your hand and spill it all over the computer bag.  Now the zipper is slathered in Jergen’s and you panic.   You try and wipe it up by salvaging as much lube as you can.  Your hands occupied, you start wiping excess lube with your hardened penis.

You freak when the zipper proves to be too abrasive on your tender flesh. You yelp in pain. Instinctively, and as not to disturb anyone (as you would under normal rub-your-chub circumstances), you cover your mouth.  In doing so, you transfer lotion from your hand to your mouth, you look down to see your penis is bleeding.  You also see that in your frantic struggle you shed pubic hair all over your work files and fallen sock.

You tell yourself, “F*ck it, I started this and I’m gonna finish.”  You reach for the computer and manage to open it and turn it on with your non-lotiony hand.  The computer is password protected and you type out what you think it is.  You kick yourself as you remember inventing a password that not even the world’s top hacker could crack.  A breeze for you any other day but, in the chaos, you panic.  The letters alternate lower case and capitals.  A percentage sign?  You press the keys with your cleaner hand, using your tongue to press the shift key.

You finally log on and run the Internet with no luck.  The router for the internet isn’t working. You run into the other room and unplug the router, wait 30 seconds and plug it back in. Fully erect, you sprint back to the computer.  Realizing your alone time is diminishing, you grab your penis and single-handedly type the name of your favorite X-rated website (the only form of multitasking a man is capable of).  You scroll over a video clip and watching a random preview of two Russians prod and poke each other, you bust a load of your future’s best, brightest and whitest directly into your belly button.  No time for the clean up sock.

You relax and laugh at the mess you’ve created: The lotion covered computer bag.  The blood.  The semen.  The porn site.  You fall asleep. You wake up to your wife screaming at you for scarring her children for life.  “No child should see her step-father this way!” she screams.

Laptops are the worst.