The Freckled Schlong

This post was inspired by an email conversation I had with MLGF yesterday. Most of you know by now who and what those letters mean and refer to, so no need for explanations. In a recent post of his, he made a poem talking about his freckles, one -- in particular -- in a certain spot mentioned in the title of this post. During an email discussion regarding a comment I left on his blog, he --jokingly-- talked about opening a restaurant with a name that matches the title.

Well, up popped a story regarding said restaurant, freckles and special desserts. I emailed it to him, then decided that perhaps it was good enough to share. So here, for your enjoyment, is the story.
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 Dining at the Freckled Schlong


"Hmm, this seems like a good restaurant. Nice and clean exterior. No overgrowth of the shrubbery..."

I enter through the doors. Paintings of The Three Stooges hang on the wall. In the air, music plays as a Deep Purple vinyl spins somewhere in the background. I take a seat at the table as my waiter approaches, wearing a dusty, black softball uniform.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"Um, yes. Can I have a cheeseburger?"

"Sorry, ma'am. We don't serve that here."

"oh." I scan the menu, but the writing is all in Irish.

"Can I have a steak then?"

The waiter shakes his head. "We don't serve that here either."

I close the menu, getting impatient. "Well then. What DO you serve?"

"Spotted dick," the waiter said with a straight face.

"Excuse me?"

The waiter tapped his pen against the notepad. "We have spotted dick."

"Oh my God!" I lift from the seat. "I didn't know this was a bordello."

"We aren't a bordello. We are a restaurant."

"Then you're getting fresh with me? Look, mister... uh." I lean in close to read his name-tag. "Suldog. I don't care how freckled your penis is -- fascinating though that may seem. I don't believe this is the way to pick up a date."

The waiter laughs. "Ma'am, spotted dick is a type of dessert, like a pudding with currants."

"Oh." I flop back into the seat. "I understand now. Okay. I'd like to try some of your spotted dick."

The waiter blushes as red as a lobster. "Ma'am, I'm flattered, but I'm a married man. And it's only one freckle. I wouldn't say it's that spotted."

My forehead smacks into the table. I imagine one of the wall paintings faintly saying, "N-yuk, n-yuk, n-yuk."