Penis Pasta Feast

If Saturday proved anything, it's that I will go to the ends of the earth to make sure that my friends have the necessary accoutrements for what is essentially a penis-themed party. And by the 'ends of the earth,' I mean all the way to West Hollywood. Not to dis WeHo, which is like Gay Disneyland, but it's just in the middle of the city, miles away from any convenient freeway and always takes forever to get to no matter what time of day it is.

How much do I love dirty puns? THIS MUCH!!!!

Since I had waited to the last minute, as I am wont to do, I was scrambling to locate the primary ingredient for my potluck assignment: penis pasta. Having had no luck in the Valley, I was forced to search over the hill at the one place I knew would carry it: The Pleasure Chest on Santa Monica Blvd. I had been there once before and was very impressed by its selection and friendly, helpful staff. I called ahead, just to make sure the pasta was in stock. They said they had two left, and that if I could be there that night, they would hold them for me.

According to the clerk, this is the classiest kind of penis pasta.

I scurried to get ready and on the road to make the trek down to WeHo. Traffic was actually in my favor and I made it there in record time. But then I waited the same amount of time in the store just to get my damn pasta. This chick was taking forever to buy, well I probably shouldn't tell you what she was buying, but if you've suffered through a particularly disturbing scene from "Requiem for a Dream," then you can imagine how uncomfortable I was whilst waiting my turn. I'm pretty nonjudgmental when it comes to that sort of thing, but I had to stop myself from physically cringing. Stupid Darren Aronofsky.

That bastard. Shudder.

The clerk ended up not being able to find those last two boxes of Mama Peckeroni. Luckily, they did have Macaweenie and Cheese. "The only pasta with a hard-on." It was glorious. Even the directions were dirty. "Do not rinse pasta, as Macaweenie will become flaccid." Tee hee. I also bought a similarly shaped sucker for the bride-to-be and dirty Mad Libs. Because Mad Libs are the Business. As are pot lucks with delicious pot roast, cocktail weenies in a penis-shaped blanket, and my now World Famous Macaweenie and Cheese. And karaoke bars. And hanging with your girls, celebrating an impending marriage, and yelling "WOOOOOO!" a lot.