Three-Peter

So here it is, the promised third installment of the penis trilogy.

As should have been clear by the punchline of my last post, you have to be careful what you say around the post office. The place is full of people quick to seize upon any and everything you say and suddenly use it against you. I pride myself on being fairly quick-witted and have slammed more than one of my coworkers over the years, but I too have fell victim to saying the wrong thing, in front of the wrong person, at the wrong time.

Upon return to work after a trip to New Orleans my coworkers were asking me about my trip. It was one of those warm fall days so a group of us was gathered outside around a picnic table. Being Gov't employees we tended to take long breaks anytime we could get away with it. Talk soon turned to food.

I told them about the places Jennifer and I had eaten, the desserts I'd consumed and of course the various meats I'd scarfed down. That's when somebody asked me about alligator.

"Yeah I ate some," I said. "But iut wasn't all that great."
"Did it taste fishy," somebody asked.
Of course the obiligatory, "No it tastes like chicken!" rang out in the crowd.

"Actually it tasted more like burnt rubber bands, "I explained. "The meat was tough and rubbery. Besides that, the longer I chewed on a bite the bigger it got in my mouth."

And that's when someone chimed in and said, "You should have spit it out. You were eating the wrong part."