A Generic Viagra Horror Story

Guys of the world, I have a Generic Viagra horror story that’ll stupefy and shock you. It’s about the mother-in-law from hell. And if there’s one thing that can bring men together, it’s stories about mothers-in-law. You can sit two men at a bar, from opposite sides of the globe, from every culture, every background, and break the ice with this topic. “Hans, Jean, Bobby, Julio, Dikembe, Ahmed… here’s a topic. Why I hate my mother in law.” In a second, they’re talking-one horror story after another. Nothing like mothers-in-law, except, maybe, the wonders of Generic Viagra, can bring men together in quite the same way. Well, I’m convinced that my honey of a mother-in-law can stand up to anyone’s. First of all, she looks like a rugby player. Check that-an over-the-hill, overweight rugby player, fresh from wallowing in the mud, and with a drinking problem (I guarantee you she’s got a whiskey bottle in her underwear drawer, not to mention a flask in that purse of hers, next to that godawful scarlet lipstick she smears all over her face). Oh, she’s also obsessed with Generic Viagra.

I have no idea how a behemoth like her managed to squirt out a cute little hottie like my wife-makes me wonder if she was secretly adopted. On my wedding day, back before I ever dreamed of Generic Viagra, my mother in law, Beulah, comes up to me (in the church-nothing is sacred to this woman) and whispers in my ear that I’d better treat her daughter right that night at the hotel. She said women in her family were very sexual, and that she herself was a diagnosed nymphomaniac, and that she mixed Generic Viagra into her husband’s dinners just to keep herself satisfied. After that information, I’m surprised I managed to get a boner for the next month. It didn’t help that I had to watch Beulah feeding her face at the reception table afterwards, like a prize pig with its snout buried in a trough full of animal feed. I saw those fat jowls of her chewing her food and imagined her chewing up my manhood to bloody shreds. I wondered how much Generic Viagra her hen-pecked old husband Earl had to swallow every day to keep that juggernaut satisfied in bed.

Luckily, as I said, I was young then, and didn’t need Generic Viagra to work any miracles for me. When we finally escaped the wedding reception (our wedding cake looked like a war zone when Beulah was done ravaging it), a limo zipped us off to our honeymoon suite. Well, I began ripping my wife’s dress off in the car, and I got a hard-on like a church steeple in less time than it takes to say “Out of my bed, Beulah!” I swear, when we’d made it to the hotel, I was giving my wife the red-hot sex she’d taste again when, years later, I’d order my Generic Viagra. And just as I was taking my wife to orgasm for the third time, I hear this ringing. “Is that you, honey?” I asked, shocked. I thought her little kitten must be feeling pretty darn fine to be purring like a fire alarm. Then I realized. “What the hell? It’s the damn telephone!” Like an idiot, I picked up the receiver. It was my mother-in-law. She might as well have been lying under the bed listening, if she could fit under the bed. “Are you pleasuring my daughter up right?” she inquired. “Women in our family won’t tolerate being undersexed. I hoped you understand that.” This was the ominous start of my Generic Viagra saga.