He was born in Manila, a far away land if you are walking, where palm trees grace beach shores smacking into irrelevance the land and its misery behind them.
Somewhere on this land where young gals pleasure old tourists at throw away prices. And tourists abuse their bodies with chemical indulgences that would make a chemist beam with pride.
On this land of Manila where rice is as staple as the soil on the ground.
This is where they gathered him, laced him into buckets of fluids, added color for a good crisp look, put markers on him for a premium feel and scented his ass.
Then they packaged him into one of those foil bags that his cousin told him end up in the back pocket of a poor horny bastard who is more likely to get hit by lightning than have a vaginal exploration session.
For good measure they labeled him “for her comfort” and shipped his ass out.
He was lucky he didn’t stay for long at the store. On his departure he overheard the Indian clerk lament to his new master something to the effect that “you go through these things like candy.”
Was in the hands of a gigolo or was there an new dietary fad he was unaware of? Whatever the case he knew his day was cumming soon.
He was nervous though, he knew very well that nothing he had witnessed before could prepare him for what he was about to go through.
How was he supposed to be ready for this ? How was he supposed to look sturdy while death glanced at him from nearby?
And how was he supposed to greet strangers whose only mission was to get past him and make it to the promised land?
To them he might as well have been Hitler at their Jewish family reunion.
He sometimes wondered why he wasn’t made into the gazillion of things that others had become. He often whispered to himself that he would even volunteered to be Rosie O’donnell’s tampon instead of this shit!
But they say tormented souls never meet their maker so Joni decided to quiet his and get project “TO HELL WITH THIS BASTARD” started.
Victory was to be his!
He timed it so well just when his master was about to drop the hammer and right
off schedule as the mistress sounded not quite there yet.
He had heard before that the male species was inept in timing when it came to matters of cumming.
But his worry was not who came first and who bitched second. His was to leave a mark, a permanent one.
So in the last breath before the storm, right in the thick burning heat of the moment, he poked a hole.
He ushered a path to the outside. He led the foot soldiers to the promised land, knowing if one of them made it all the way his job was done.
He left his mark!
Now he chuckles in the dust bin next to an old beaten-down razor that has a permanent look of disgust on its face.
“Shit gal, I think it has burst. Shit, fuck, shit, fuck…shit”
Yes indeed it has.
My name is Rubber, Rubber Joni. The pleasure has been all mine!