A few words about My Johnson…

My big fat Greek friend Milo Carpaticus Johnson (we all call him My Johnson) is an expert in relationships. He and his beautiful bride Hermaphrodites Johnson (Her Johnson) have enjoyed a successful marriage for the past dozen years. Occasionally when us guys get together and we’ve exhausted all there is to discuss about sports, trucks, beer, porn, 401K’s and Rosie O’Donnell 69-ing with Sandra Bernhardt, we like to talk about My Johnson and what a great relationship he and Her seem to have.

Theories abound as to why some relationships work and others don’t. Many guys seem to feel that a wife is bound by some sacred oath to honor and obey – while all they have to do is cherish the fact that they can get some lovin’ after bowling with the guys. Not My Johnson however. My Johnson understands that a relationship between a man and a woman is a partnership. The work to make it last should be shared and enjoyed. It’s just one of the things that make My Johnson stand out in a crowd. Here’s some of the things that My Johnson has taught me – and I feel, made me a better partner in my relationship.

First and foremost, there’s got to be trust. Not just stated trust, but deep down honest to goodness trust. Do not give your partner any reason to doubt you on your word, or on your honor. If you say you’re going to be home at night – be there. If you tell your wife or girlfriend that her butt looks good – mean it! Trust is the base all solid relationships must be built on. My Johnson has developed a sense of trust by offering only the truth. He has learned too, that when you cannot offer the truth – don’t lie, but feign ignorance.

A good example of My Johnson employing this tactic was about three years ago, I recall it was National Gerbil Pressing Day (June 9) and My called home to say he’d be working late. Now, that may not seem all that far-fetched until you realize that My Johnson worked as a breakfast cook making flapjacks at IHOP. Once all the buttermilk and syrup was stored, My usually was able to head home by lunchtime. So Her Johnson was a bit bent out of shape when the evening edition of “Wheel of Fortune” ended without so much as a follow up call from My. Managing a range of emotions from fear to anger, Hermaphrodites was nearly three-quarters of the way through her third quart of Carpel Tunnel Nut ice cream when My Johnson suddenly sprung through the front door.

One look at My Johnson and his wife’s concern made her shudder to the bone. My Johnson was dripping wet, and his shirt was torn. His shoes were muddy and he seemed to have misplaced his pants. He smelled awful, like a greasy pork sandwich, served in a dirty ashtray. He staggered into the den and attempted to confront his wife with a tale of his apparent misadventure. With a look of ribald curiosity, Her Johnson awaited his explanation. With a determined look of self-pity, My Johnson attempted to speak…but suddenly fell limp, and over, onto the floor of the den. My Johnson had passed out, and immediately let out a robust snore. Her Johnson had no choice but to let him sleep whatever it was off, right there on the floor. She had no chance of getting him into bed, or even on the couch, as My Johnson is quite large.

For three days and three nights, My lay on the floor quivering in his own slime and drool, until he finally awoke from his slumber. He staggered into the shower in an attempt to wash away the filth of his actions. Hanging his head in deep guilt and shame, he decided it was probably best to come clean with Her Johnson and tell her the truth, while begging her forgiveness. My Johnson slinked down the stairs into the kitchen, lamenting the pain he knew his words would cause his bride. As he approached his pending fate, he could smell the aroma of boiled okra coming from Her Johnson’s oven. When My entered the room, Her turned with a startled gape.

“How are you feeling” she queried….

“Tired” My replied….

“Okra?” Her offered….

“Sure, with some coffee if you have it…” My said…..

“So where were you the other night?” Her asked……

“I forgot…gee honey, your ass looks real good in those jeans!” My answered…

“Thanks sweetheart!” Her answered blushing.

With that My Johnson made Her forget all about the fact that he had been out very late, then came home looking like a colostomy milkshake, and lay passed out in his own smatter for three days. My Johnson finished his okra and coffee with nary another query from Hermaphrodites.

That was over three years ago, and still Her Johnson has never questioned My about what happened that night. It’s because My Johnson is an expert in relationships. He spent nine years building a level of trust with his wife, that even the most obvious of indiscretions is overlooked with an off-handed compliment, and a feign of forgetfulness.

Truth be told, Her Johnson’s butt does not at all look as good in jeans as my girl Chrissy’s does!
Smooch!