Mrs. Three has won a sales incentive contest at the radio station she sells advertising for in Portland. An all-expense paid trip to Cancun set to depart in two weeks is just the kinda thing I could get into now that the weather here has decided to bypass fall and move directly to winter. This trip, preceeded by a week of elk hunting, makes a guy's life appear pretty much trouble free, right? Not in the Three household.

Apparently, the thing to do nowadays prior to embarking on a tropical vacation in the winter, is to go to the tanning salon. Yes, as Mrs. Three assured me, everyone goes at least a few times to get a good base, and to not have to worry about packing the SPF "lead blanket". I reluctantly acquiesce to this plan, and off we go, all the while telling myself that it's only women and extremely "curious" men that engage in such a practice as this.

On the way, Mrs. Three gives me the low down on tanning protocol. She tells me I should go in the bed naked, and I immediately assure her that the angry inch, which has never seen sunlight -- save for the countable times he's emerged in drunken splendor to greet old friends, the governor's motorcade, and, at a distinctive low-point, her mother -- will be staying neatly nestled in his 100 percent cotton jockey hut.

We arrive at the salon (a word that makes me shiver just to type), and my nose is immediately met with a smell I can only equate with a crematorium. Broiled human flesh and not-so natural coconut butter are evidently the smells on the menu this evening. I again try to assure myself this is not real, and only a psychological aftershock of saturday night's "how many pumpkin pie spiced liquer shots will it be 'til Three goes into a coma" escapades. I snap to, only to find Mrs. Three shoving a towel and what looks like sunglasses sized to fit an infant marsupial in my face, and down the hall we go.

In the room, I dutifully remove my clothes, minus the boxer briefs, and press the fifteen minute button on the coffin style electric bronzer. After jamming the pseudo sunglasses, which allow about the same light to enter as a welder's mask, into my eye sockets and reminding myself that noone has to know about this, I climb in. "Pull the lid down as far as it'll go" I remember the salon lady saying, and since she resembled the old orange neighbor from Something About Mary, I figure she was well versed on the subject and do my best to obey her.

Outside of the feeling of pressing myself into the first human belgian waffle upon closing the lid, this elongated microwave is quite comfortable. Warm air, and some tunes on the stereo are doing their best to convert this hard lined anti-tanner. In the first five minutes, I find myself thinking that this just could be my guilty pleasure.
Eight minutes elapse, and I'm such a veteran at this that I decide to do the unthinkable and lose the jockeys. "Hell, what could seven minutes of fake sunlight do, anyway?" I remember joking to myself. I lift the lid, and kick the last remaining bit of protection to the floor. Yes, it seems, I am commando in a modern day plexiglass dutch oven. Comfort resumes and I drift to sleep......

Now, what happened over the course of my six minute slumber will forever remain a mystery to my Halloween party weakened brain. I awake from my slumber because I have to sneeze. Not a big deal, one might say, unless you have a plasic shield four inches from your face. The merits of the non-violent sneeze cross my mind seconds after I "crash test dummy" my face into the lid of this solar wonder, causing my eyes to water like any good shot to the snout will do. And I'm sweating. Really sweating. We're not talking hard workout on a warm day sweating either. No, this amount of sweat in my nether-regions can only be likened to the amount of moisture Mrs. Three must've felt when she endured my "saran wrap over the toilet bowl" hijinx. Apparently, the makers of this bed put the first eight minutes as a defrost cycle, and allow free range nuclear testing on the unsuspecting user for the final seven. I give in to these unpleasantries, and cursing myself for not being able to withstand what women and "curious" men can, I turn the bed off a minute early.

It is only upon my departure from this electric hell that I can truly assess what has transpired here. I am dripping sweat from spots I didn't know could form drops, my skin is on fire, and my discarded last line of defense, my jockeys, are missing. I attempt to dry off with the one-square-of-toilet-paper sized complimentary towel, and ponder the fate of my unsuspecting undies. After thorough inspection of the 64 square foot room I'm in, I decide the only logical conclusion is they must've slid under the door through the large gap, which I can hope is only used for ventilation purposes. Since underwear comes first in the dressing regimen, and I am minus the necessary articles to complete step one, I am forced to bend and check under the door using nothing but this oversized cotton post-it note to conceal myself.

After slipping into an ever deepening depression at the sight of how much this tiny wee wee shield actually does cover, and trying to block out the images of the tanning room peeping toms caught on tape, I look under the door to see nothing other than......, a foot. Startled at first, I again check the coverage of my terry cloth dignity saver, and look once more. Yes, it is a foot. Not just any foot, but that of the evildoer herself, my blushing bride. I immediately open the door just wide enough to yank her into my sauna-esque dungeon.

Upon entering, Mrs. Three bursts into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Not the kind of laughter spurred by the sight of the now sizzling angry inch, or even the fact that something of postage stamp size is now concealing it, but genuine, almost vengeful laughter. With further inquisition as to what is so goddamned funny about my ever growing plight, she produces a small, but effective mirror from her purse, and holds it at just the correct angle. Evidently she omitted one tiny instruction from her pre-tan pep talk. As I was not encouraged to change positions throughout my tanning "experience", my skin now resembles the majority portion of the american flag.

As she walked down the hallway still emitting that evil giggle, she produced my MIA jockeys from her purse, and offered me only one word..............."gotcha".

Happy Halloween (fellow) Addicts

--3

^ I love this guy!

I think I'm going to steal his wife too. She is deliciously EVIL!

Last edited: Tuesday, October 31, 2006 at 7:47:50 AM

LMAO....

A picture! We want a picture!

You're cool Mr Three! You don't hesitate to join Mrs Three in her hobby/indulgence/whims. This is what makes couples last. :)

Along with Rabban you're quite progressive in gender-bending experiment! ;)

Talentuous.

LOL! Too funny!

Last edited: Tuesday, October 31, 2006 at 12:12:52 PM

Oh man, good stuff

Hope he can get those grill burns off... Hehe

Next chore- shopping, no doubt!

(watch the Portland news for any odd stories of marital discord gone bad, everyone...)

Wow - what a funny adventure - I nearly fell out of my chair with laughter

Notes to self:

A) Always have extra underwear

B) Never go to a tanning salon

C) Never not do A and B.

@ Three: You should have ur own website of these little stories!

:P

We want full body pictures.

Heh, reminds me of Mad #185 Sept. 1976, A MAD Look At The Beach .The first pane shows two kids staking a plywood cutout of a hand into the sand over a lady sunbathing butt up. The next pane shows her trying to explain the untanned outline of a hand across her back to her husband.

Why are you pre-tanning if she's taking 44 with her to Cancun? Oops, did I write that out loud?

Why? Did Mrs. Three find out about Mrs. 4? Or the other way around??
(thinks to self)"hmm I wonder what 44 would say at a time like that?"(thinks even harder)"fo fo!"

I can only say this was quite amusing....

NOT LMHO LOLOLOL THIS WAS HILARIOUS I ALMOST QUIT BEFORE THE MIDDLE IM HAPPLY I DID'NT

1. Never go 2 tanning salons
2. Always carry extra underwearzz
3.never do 1 and 2
4.always do 3
5.don't marry(not really that just sux)
6.always do 4. And 5.
7.always do 6.

Your guide to life

Lol the greatest story I've ever heard! Someone send this to every newspaper in the U.S! :)

-AO

Told ya not to hug Napalm...

I can't wait for the payback story, because Three is not the kinda person to let this lay ;)

Darn, and I had an excelent picture of threee typing this with Napalm on him back laughing. Wife is good, though. Have fun in cancoon, baboon. :P

How dare you even consider not sharing this story us. Thanks for the entertainment. Please, make an effort to do something embarassing on your Cancun holiday_luckybast so you can tell us about it when you get back.

Hilarious!

A very good laugh again from you 3!

PS.
When will you show us the pix?

Congratulations to Mrs. Three on her sales success. For which sale is she most proud?

Your story left me wondering if you had happened to lay down an inch to the right or left, would 'lil three' still be pale?

Nice post -- very funny.

@ fours

Your question is, as you know, rhetorical. You know she'll be getting residual commissions from this sale for years to come, mostly in the form of story recap at dinner parties.

@ Naps

Please don't delve too deep into the planning of your elaborate "wife heist". If I can't get these stripes to fade before facing the fellas at elk camp, I'll drop her off myself.

@ All

LOL, TY. But I'm sorry about the pics. In no way was I giving this little incident any chances at immortilization.

I did the tanning bed thingy once and it turned out to be quite a painful experience, especially for red headed irish fella like myself.

It was during my days at Ohio State and we spent the afternoon at a freinds wealthy parents place. They had a pool and a tanning bed to go with it. Everyone was hiiting the bed for about 10 mins before going for a dip and my curiousity for things ive never done prompted me to do the same. Well, after my stint I noticed no change in pigment...not even a little pink which is typical for me after 5 mins w my shirt off on any given day (even in winter). After a few beers I snuck off for another 10 minutes only to emerge to my freinds disbelief in what they saw...think lobster.

Now this became painful shortly after but bearable for the time being. It wasnt til later that night (after the first round of drinking began to wear off) that I truly began to feel the burn. I could think of nothing else to do but to sit on our porch shirtless so that the breeze could alleviate some of the pain. Big mistake as it seemed their was a swarm a mosquitos I failed to noticed feasting on me. The welts were unreal!!!! At this point the pain brought me to the edge of insanity...i took 3 ice cold showers that night, which brought brief relief. The pain would return after toweling off each time. Utlimately I resorted to calling the late night pizza joint down the street that would among other things deliver 6-packs of beer. It took all 6 tall boys before I numbed myself enough to finally go to sleep.

I remain convinced that alcohol is still the best pain killer and always recommend the 6-pack remedy to anyone suffering from a bad burn.

Lol!

Well told Three! Maybe I should make my visits to the forums a bit more frequent. Glad I didn't miss this one.

Haha... This is a good one. :P

Hey Mrs. Three is your hubby home
Did he go away and leave you all alone
Fo's got a bad desire
Three's on fire

Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
Fo can take you higher
Three's on fire

Sometimes its like someone took an iron baby
Steamy and hot and burned six-inch stripes
Through the middle of Three's soul

One day Three woke up with the booth soaking wet
And a freight train running through the
Middle of his head
Now only Fo can cool your desire
Three's on fire

Last edited: Friday, November 03, 2006 at 3:29:29 AM

Is that a poem Fo fo?
If it is..... Its a good one ;)

Last edited: Friday, November 03, 2006 at 3:53:13 AM

^ Its a song you've probably heard before. Here's a snippet to get fo's words in context.

Oh yeah I know that one, Thanks BC.
Good one on the alteration of the lyrics though Fo fo XD

I'm walkin' out the door for elk camp and you start regurgitating Springsteen? What, just can't wait another day? Christ.
I do, however, hold this that as testament to Mrs. Three's intelligence that you have to resort to Springsteen, as my first interlude with Mrs. Fours went a little more like:

Hickory Dickory Dock
Would ya like to see my............?

Very funny stuff fours.

See ya all in a week.

--3

LMAO

Three, lay off the 44 missus jokes, thats my speciality. Get your own.

Too funny man - keep it up

SQr

^ Everyone's lining up to make fun of FoFo. %)

Fo Fo is a lipsync'r!!!

Got mah reservation XD

^ LOL I didnt know that :'(

Last edited: Friday, November 03, 2006 at 6:47:51 AM

Very funny 3.

Good stuff all.

Ps I'm going to VARADERO for 2 weeks but no pre-tanning for this Quebecer!

Pss ty for the heads up 3!

I hope you're better with a real gun than a cartoon cannon. ;)