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The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear

The tale of what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas

road to las vegas

The road to Las Vegas is fraught with danger and excitement.

So, one morning last month, I was comfortably ensconced in the basement of Chateau Pap Smear, dutifully sorting porn. It’s my life’s ambition to classify and sort all the gay porn on the internet. Sometimes I find myself in a great quandary when a specific photo would fit into more than one category. I used to spend considerable time agonizing over the placement of each precious image, and I would become cranky from the stress. Finally, Sparkles Del Tassel suggested I store a separate copy of the picture in each of the categories into which it belongs. Viola, my life and blood pressure took a sudden turn for the better. (But I digress.)

I was cheerily sorting, and Mr. Pap Smear sauntered down the stairs into my “Glitter Grotto”, a place he tries mightily to avoid and announced that he had several days of vacation and we should go on a D.I. and Saver’s shopping extravaganza road trip. There are only three things in the entire universe that can draw me away from porn sorting — a buffet, a sale on sequins, and a road trip. I packed my bags quicker than you could say “bedazzle”. Unfortunately, in my haste, I inadvertently knocked Mr. Pap Smear down and trampled him (good thing I wasn’t wearing stilettos) while reaching for my suitcase. In a short 15 minutes, Queertanic was on the road heading for Las Vegas, land of buffets, sequins, five Saver’s stores, and two D.I.s.

When traveling in Queertanic, Mr. Pap Smear and I can best be described as resembling Richard and Hyacinth Bucket. We often narrowly escape great catastrophe as I direct his driving for an emergency stop at a buffet. We have concluded that when inside city limits, it’s much easier for me to do the driving, so he can shut his eyes, hold onto the panic handle and pray for deliverance. For a break, we stopped at the D.I. in St. George. Of course, we had to push our way through the throng of Sister Wives shopping for school clothes for their 75 children. Lucky for me, they eschew sequins and such leaving the sparkles for me. Then, on to Vegas.

It was beginning to get dark as we crested the summit overlooking the Las Vegas valley. There is something magical about the sight of all that neon, glowing in the desert — the jewel in the crown being the pillar of light emanating from the Luxor pyramid and shining into space. I was driving. We didn’t have hotel reservations, but I was drawn to the Beacon of Gondor, I mean the Luxor Pyramid Light Sabre like a moth to a flame.

We parked in the parking terrace and marched into the world’s largest atrium to check into the hotel. Of course, the room they assigned us was in the East Tower, literally four blocks away from where we parked Queertanic. As you may know, when I must walk far, I use one of those old people walkers with wheels and a seat on it. Annoyingly, while traversing the half mile into the hotel, every 10 steps I experienced an electric shock strong enough to short out my breasticle lights causing them to blink faster than a slot machine paying out a jackpot.

As we passed through the casino, a drunken yet stunningly handsome man in a sailor uniform stumbled up to me. Who knew the fleet was in port and it was fleet week. I was so taken aback by his beauty and mesmerized by the medals on his uniform that I didn’t realize what was happening. He sat down on my walker and swiped his playing card down my cleavage. He then pumped my arm up and down trying to make my eyes spin into a payoff while slurring, “Come on baby, daddy needs a windfall to pay for the hooker.”

Thinking quickly, I blinked my eyes rapidly several times, while trilling my tongue to sound like an alarm siren. I loudly shouted “winner, winner Pap Smear spinner”. He became excited, and he reached down toward my nether regions to grab for “the payout”. While I was tempted to let the handsome stud get “his rewards”, I let discretion become the better part of valor and quickly spun around turning the “other cheeks” as it were. In the process, my purse swung around violently, with the resulting centrifugal force sufficient to knock the man off the walker. As he lay at my feet unconscious, I checked if he had a pulse and was breathing, then I hightailed it for the buffet.

We were tired and hungry, and the buffet was closing in 15 minutes. Certainly not enough time to leisurely enjoy the food selection, (generally I like to stretch my buffet in Wendover to a full two hours) put when it’s an emergency, I can pack it away. Caution though, in such an event, watch out cause somebody could lose a finger!

This story leaves us with several important questions:

1. Would storing hundreds of thousands of sorted porn files on the cloud be termed cloud abuse?
2. Do marriage vows cover spousal tramplings?
3. Since queens are drawn to bright shiny things like moths to a flame, is that where the term “Flaming Queen” comes from?
4. Should I develop a new slot machine with blinking breasticles and call it Pap Smear’s Prize?
5. Should I have let the sailor grab my “payout”?
6. Would I need a prostitution license for that?

These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.

About the author

Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear is a Matron of Mayhem who was born and raised in Cache Valley, Utah. She hosts Third Friday Bingo and the Big Gay Fun Bus.

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