The Yankees want you to touch yourself

I really should update my Rolodex more often. Or at the very least I wish I had read this article  Old phone number for Yankee tickets now belongs to sex hot line before I called the Yankee customer service number that I had listed in my contacts.  I might have avoided lots of trouble.  And shame.  And a visit from the police.  And a priest. And more shame.

My descent into shame (well my most recent descent into shame anyway) started innocently enough.  I had a question about my Yankee ticket package. So I called the aforementioned number.

MI: Hi. This is the world famous blogger known as Manhattan Infidel.  I have a few questions about my package.

Sex Hotline: Oh yes.  You want to talk about your package?  You’ve come to the right place you naughty boy.

MI: Um.  Okay.  Now about my package –

Sex Hotline: I bet you have a huge package.

MI: Well, no actually it’s rather small.

Sex Hotline: You’re being modest you naughty boy.  I bet your package makes the ladies scream.

MI: Um.  Bleacher tickets?  I don’t think so.  Anyway.  My question is how much is Stella?

Sex Hotline: Oh you have very good taste.  Stella is very popular and costs 300 dollars.

MI: What?  What the – Stella only cost twelve dollars last year.  I just want to have two or three Stellas.

Sex Hotline: You want three Stellas?  That’ll cost you 900 dollars.

MI: I can’t afford that.  What about nuts?

Sex Hotline: You want your Stellas to have nuts?

MI: Sometimes during a hot summers’ day at the game I like to feel Stella between my legs as I eat my nuts.

Sex Hotline: You like to eat your own nuts?  You must be very bendy. Do you do yoga?

MI: What?  No.  What’s that got to do with anything?  I just like eating nuts.  They don’t have to be mine.  Sometimes I like to reach over and grab the nuts of the guy sitting next to me and eat his.  As long as I don’t spit anything out they usually don’t mind.

Sex Hotline: Sir I see you have very specific tastes.  I’m afraid that makes you high risk.  If you want Stella, with or without nuts, you’re going to have to take a blood test.

MI: A blood test? Alright forget about Stella.  What about pulled pork?

Sex Hotline: Does that give you pleasure?

MI: Well yeah, sure.  Doesn’t everybody enjoy pulling their meat?

[Someone knocks at Manhattan Infidel’s door.]

MI: Hold on just a sec, someone’s at the front door. Hello?  Who is it?

Father O’Malley: Manhattan Infidel, this is Father O’Malley.  Don’t do it son.  Remain pure!  Avoid self-pollution!

MI: What the hell are you talking about?

Father O’Malley: Manhattan Infidel, I have your mother here. She wants to talk to you.

MI: Mom?

MI’s Mother: Oh son.  Didn’t you bring enough shame to me from all the times I had to clean your bedsheets when you lived at home.  Must you still shame me in my old age by touching yourself?

MI: Mom!  Can we not talk about this?

MI’s Mother: You’re polluting yourself right now aren’t you?  Oh my heart.  My heart.  I must sit down.

Father O’Malley: I’ve got you  ma’am.  Manhattan Infidel do you want to go to hell?

Officer O’Dowd: What’s going on here?

Father O’Malley: Officer this good Christian lady has fainted because her son is pleasuring himself in his apartment!

Officer O’Dowd: Oh he is, is he?  We’ll see about that!

[He kicks down the door]

Officer O’Dowd: Stop pleasuring yourself in the name of the law!

MI: Don’t tase me bro!

[Manhattan Infidel gets tasered.  Again.  This seems to happen every week.]

And there you have it readers.  My descent into shame and pollution. I think I’m building up a tolerance to tasers.

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