Friday, September 28, 2007

Smeagol's Fight Club

A clown, a cobra

What would be the connection?

Simply put, awesome

In the first Corner!

This story actually takes place in a far more recent setting than most of the other tales, and is constantly in danger of being updated. It's sad when something like this happens the other way around, but hilarious when it happens the way it did. I speak, you find more. Jinqui!

The Nursing Home

Smeagol works at a nursing home, let's call it Duluth just for shits and giggles. Smeagol has worked at Duluth off and on for the last 10 years or so. I say "off and on" because Smeagol has been repeatedly fired from Duluth, only to go reapply a week later and get hired back on. He had been fired for no call no shows, like my dad he would occasionally come in and get his check and then just not show up for work on payday, he took his dog to work and let it run free and it bit a bunch of old people, he has been fired for sleeping on the job (this one was the reason for most of his firings, shocking huh), threatening patients and abusing them, or really, trying to. You see, reading this site you may have gotten the idea that Smeagol was a powerful being, ready to nap at the slightest hint of downtime. While he did like to nap all day, this was not to conserve his awesome power, but because the strenuous activity of sitting straight up or standing proved often to be too much for him to handle in his weakened condition.

There were a multitude of gay men at Duluth. Like I have said many times before, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay at all, but these guys were flaming hotter than Johnny Storm. There was Huey, who looked like Milli Vanilli (seriously) and I am told could scrap better than your average martial artist, Desmond, who was known to take shots in the mouth during his breaks in his car and also bragged about sticking a wild turkey bottleneck up his own ass, and Ted, who I am told played college football, he certainly looked like it, and wore stuff like a lavender skirt with his scrubs and wore his hair in a flip. He was routinely arrested for male prostitution. Dammit I am not gay but Ted and Huey were pretty cool, if you could ignore the constant references to buttfuckery.

Anyway, there are stories related to most of those guys, and that is not all of the gay guys there who enjoyed trying to gross me out when I had to pick the Smeags up, but that is not the subject of this story.

So JJ calls one night, excited, which is strange because he spends almost his entire day high.

"Guess what happened today, oooooh shit bitch," he started his usual greeting. "Smeagol got knocked the fuck out by one of the geriatric patients today! He said he tried to get the old guy to take a pill, and he wouldn't, so he forcefed it to him and told him he was gonna slap him stupid the next time, and he went to the nurse's station-" Smeagol is a nurse, or more accurately, a CNA -" and some old guy in a walker with an iv attached to him shuffled up and knocked his ass the fuggout!" We spent a good 3 or 4 minutes laughing at that, and then hung up. I saw Smeagol a few days later, as I was in the neighborhood and it was everyone's payday, and I asked Smeagol for the story. I am not sure why, but he was very happy to relate for some reason. Why would you be proud to tell people how you got knocked out by some old guy?

"Awww shit niggie-" Smeagol's default greeting, ask pinkpenguin and Haggard they will concur -" I was trying to pass out meds and I gave Jenkins (the old man) his pill, but he didn't want to take it. I told him he could either take it or I could shove it down his throat and then shove my foot up his ass, or he could take it peacefully, you know I don't play especially when I am working all this booty ass overtime niggie. "

"He didn't want to take his pill, so I shoved it down his throat and went to go rest at the nurses station. Well the next thing I know I hear his walker squeak and I turned around right in time to see his fist as it connected with my jaw! I woke up like 5 minutes later, I couldn't believe it!" WTF?! First of all how does an old man, pulling along an IV and squeaking around in a walker, "sneak up" on you? Second how do you get your bitch ass knocked the fuck out by an old ass dude in a walker! I will finish this post Monday, including the better known knock out from the even older guy.

to be continued...

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Right up the Butt!

More than a Woman
Stayin' Alive rocks my jock
I AM the night fever

Butt Lovin'

First of all, I am listening to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, hot damn I love that shiznitobam-slip-slap-Sally. Anyway, on to the story, bitches!

Mystery loves anal domination. She really liked it up the butt. Smeagol got no end of joy regaling me with tales of him getting shitdick, and it annoyed the hell out of me. So one day, during the school year, I was running a little late (as I was every day because I didn't give a damn) and left after my brother had exited to work some more "booty ass overtime", meaning he was going to probably be sleeping at work that night. I go get into my ride, a primo 1985 Grand Marquis, which in those few lucky days the windows still rolled up, trust me not long after I separated myself from school and the idea of going they stopped doing that shit.

I get about a mile down the road and realize I forgot my cleats. I turn around and head back, and walk in on something I will never be able to unsee: Mystery, bent over the couch, her nasty naked ass mercifully pointed in such a way that I did not see her browneye, and some black guy, inserting his hardened penile into said browneye. We all froze, the awkward moment completely catching me off guard. I grabbed my cleats from in front of Mystery and walked out, trying not to vomit. Did that guy not smell her stinkin funk?

Mystery comes running out as I am starting the car, and asks me to not tell my brother, they were just hanging out. This elicited a few different thoughts:

1. I hate Mystery, and she hates me.
2. I fucking hate Mystery, and anything I can do to ruin her life is funny as well as imperative.
3. Smeagol is my brother, and I do not particularly condone cheating anyway, since my dad was so adept at doing that, even (no joke) sleeping with my aunt on his and my mom's wedding night (long story) after my other aunt apparently stabbed my uncle with a wine glass for being white (God I have so much work to do to catch you guys up).

So instead of going to school, I drive straight to my brother's work and tell him. He seems angry about it, but goes back to work. Whatever. They get in a huge fight that night, and I giggle myself to sleep when he throws Mystery out into the night and she stands there like a moronic puppy dog until he realizes that he is Smeagol, and she is probably the best he can get.

Epilogue: A few months later he caught her at work (They both work at the same nursing home) taking it up the ass from a janitor in the bathroom she was supposed to be cleaning. Do you get that? She was getting her browneye pounded in the same bathroom some old guy machine gunned with diarrhea only a few minutes before!

Tomorrow: Smeagol gets knocked out, not once, but twice, by really old guys, one of which has an oxygen tank.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

The Dildoman Can

Who makes the sun shine?
vibrating dual head dildos
The dildo man can!

(Sang to the song "The candyman can")

My Dad stole a dildo

So after the multitude of ghetto gas stations refused to hire my dad on after his numerous firings, he got a job making boxes for different lines of products, including adult toys of various kinds. Jeff was ecstatic, he reminisced about the pocket pussy he got whilst in jail a few years back, and then told us that he still had it if one of us wanted to try it out, causing everyone to look at Smeagol, sitting on the sofa grunting while watching television, a bowl of ranch dressing with overripe tomatoes floating in it in front of him, mercifully hiding his saggy balls and asshole as he sat on the couch with one knee in the air and nothing but his bikini underwear on, massaging his feet.

On a side note, Smeagol loved rubbing his feet, and would always put them up in Mystery's lap for her to rub them, making these gay almost purring sounds with his nasty moans of pleasure, intermixed with the constant gas that was almost always (ans still is) emanating from his not quite tight asshole...

Anyway, even Smeagol turned Jeff's offer down, and we all went about the business of living, that constant struggle of trying to hide all of the "pawnables" from my dad yet still get him to waste some money on stuff like food and toilet paper for us... usually failing unless Long John stole some from his wallet or JJ sold him some crack (which was a few times just some ivory, but my dad would almost always sniff that out. It was funny seeing him try to smoke it once anyway though)...

Things went on like that for awhile, my dad had a paying job, almost 9 dollars an hour, until one day he inexplicably got fired. He, as usual, came home to smoke some crack, and since Janet had cleaned out the rock collection they shared, went and bought some more. When he came home with an 8-ball, Janet wondered aloud how he was able to afford such a trinket since he didn't get paid for another week?

"Oh yeah I got fired, but they gave me 2 weeks severance!" He exclaimed happily. Everyone started making demands for the money: Long John wanted a new pair of shoes, his were almost 3 months old (boo hoo), JJ wanted some fucking food, and to purchase some weed from one of his contacts that he did not have to share (and he was only 13 at this point), I seemed to be the only one who was worried that given he recent record (fired 6 times in 2 months) he might want to save the money at least until he got another job. After looking at me expectantly for the punchline, everyone went back to their demands.

That night we ate pizza, which was great, but dad told us that was the last food until he got a new job, which was not so great. I asked him how he got fired, assuming it was for the same reason he had been fired from all his other jobs: He would simply not show up on payday for work, though he would come in that morning for his paycheck...

"They got me on camera stealing product," my dad mumbled around his bong, the last vestiges of the mighty 8ball still emanating from his breath like the fog over a swamp in the cool morning hours of an autumn chill.

Since I knew he worked with dildos, I had to know, much like the hoodlum in Dirty Harry: I didn't really want to know, but if I did not ask the question would haunt me for life, much like my dad's crack habit actually does.

"What did you steal?"
He slowed the frantic smoking for just a second, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, before resuming his journey deeper into the valley of loserdom: "I don't want to talk about it, there's some things yerdaddy has done that he's not proud of, son."

WTF?! This man has admitted to sucking another man's hardened penis, well maybe not in so many words but he did not deny it and that's the same thing as fucking doing it in my book, he'd been summarily fired for stealing money from the register, eating snacks he stole on camera and then eating them while customers waited, stealing liquor, stealing gasoline on his payday so he could go cash his check and then not show up for work later, smoking crack on the job, and I am sure there are other things I did not personally see, and yet whatever it was he stole from the dildo factory is too raunchy for my virgin ears to handle... I say again, dear reader, WTF?!

Epilogue: later, after I had moved out, JJ found a dual headed 11 inch studded blue dildo with anal probe attachment (I kid you not, no exaggeration here) with the words "Mr. Blue" written on it in black sharpie under the front seat of my dad's car. I don't want to know I don't want to know I don't want to know....

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Not a post, just an update

And henceforth, R (my older brother) will be called Smeagol, for the following reasons:

1. He looks exactly like Smeagol does, except he has a perm, so picture Seagol mocha colored with a perm

2. He sleeps all the time during the day, much like Smeagol

3. He wears bikini underwear that are 2-3 sizes too large, and contantly has to hold them up

4. He wears 2 pairs of socks all the time, and has to walk funny in order to not stub his toes.

5. They both get beat up by hobbits all the time.

Manager's meeting, part II

I work in IT
not only for the glamour
It's all for the chicks

An Empire Divided

So we are sitting downstairs after the meeting with Greyskull, and watching Attila lap up her lard flavored love juices, and everyone is kind of down. The reason? We all knew who would be picked, and it was bumming everyone out who bothered to give an objective opinion on who they believed should be manager; in essence our time had been wasted, nothing more than a bullet on Attila's quarterly accomplishments, something like "Asked for helpdesk input on new management personnel" or something stupid like that. The overwhelming majority had chosen Goggle Eyes as our choice for new management, with Karateman being a close second and Greyskull only if the other two had refused.

Attila came down, still glowing from what she thought was a fantastic interview, and asked our opinions on her. The Coog attempted to be diplomatic, telling her that while Greyskull's interview was impressive, we thought Goggle Eyes would be better suited for our team and keeping the atmosphere awesome, which it was. Lollipop agreed, but in a much louder fashion, which we had all learned was his actual normal speaking voice, which made everything a lot better because we all thought he was a manic depressive.

Attila's glow immediately faded, replaced by the dreaded "manager's scowl", which made most of the helpdesk quiver in fear; The Brit surrendered for no reason and to no one in particular 3 times. I must admit, I stopped playing pool on my computer and turned in mild interest. Damon still ignored everyone and turned his Van Halen and Journey up even friggin louder.

"I don't think you guys know what is best for you or what to look for in a manager' I paraphrase here because I was not paying attention 'and I think although your feedback is appreciated I will make the decision based on who I thought was the best candidate." And with that, she turned and stomped off to her office to murder the small Laotian whipping boy she kept caged under her chair for these occasions, or just to work on a document I can't remember.

We all gathered together then, wondering aloud why we were even consulted when we all were in solidarity and our conclusions still challenged. The Brit and M both decided they would try to get to know Greyskull before passing judgement; the Coog was unsure on her abilities and kept trying to draw attention to some of her telltale answers to some of his questions; Lollipop insulted me and then went back to editing his pictures, Babs and Damon turned Journey up so they could sing along with Faithfully.

2 weeks later Greyskull showed up. We had all hoped the door would be too narrow to allow entry into the office, but I guess she either lost some weight or had brought butter because she made it into her office. She came out and walked up and down our aisle, trying to make small talk or simply annoying all of us and wanting to set up "icebreaker meetings" with everyone. It was at this time, gentle reader, that I came the closest to faltering and joining the horde who thought she was a good person inside, just a little misguided. The Brit was immediately disarmed, and M and the Coog would fall victim after her constant meetings and requests to follow up on every mundane issue broke down their defenses. It was a battle to test my survival skills, and it only got worse...

Next in this thread: The first meeting!

Monday, September 24, 2007

Why I hate Nature

Lake of the Ozarks
Hillbilly land of Mecca
shared bathhouses, sick!

I hate Nature

I have grown up in the city my whole life. I have never felt that need to get away, to go pretend I am homeless, to flirt with lime disease, dysentery, Ebola, crabs, whatever else you catch just walking around out there that my party regularly died from on Oregon Trail. Apparently I am alone in that feeling, and my wife informed me that I had promised my boys I would go camping with them the last weekend before fall came into full effect ya'll... I do not remember promising this at all, but figured since I had a couple of portable game systems and was in pretty decent shape (that shape being "egg") I would be alright, build a campfire and roast some marshmallows, watch as forest animals walked by in a nice neat single file and displayed themselves for inspection and punches in the face and/ or boots to the anus, the temperature nice and cool the whole time, how could things possibly go wrong?

So Thursday, while going up for a rebound, I fall wrong and something pops or cracks in my heel. Being a bona fide Manly Man, I completely ignore it, or try to as much as I can since I have to hobble. Friday morning comes, and 30 minutes before he says he is going to show up my wife's dad shows up to get me. I hobble in to get dressed, and we leave for our trip. The whole way down there, it is freezing cold, and he insists on having both the windows open and the air conditioner on at fill blast. Since by weight I was the smallest or next to smallest person in the car by at least 50 pounds, I deal with it. The whole time her dad is blabbing on about how hard we are going to work and all this and I am thinking he is just talking to the other passengers since I can't fucking walk right on level ground, much less the uneven butthole fillet that is the ground at the camp site. Apparently he is talking mostly to me.

We get to the camp, and it is a mess. There are scrub pine trees, tall grass, all kinds of little bushes everywhere around where our fire pit should be. My wife's dad, D from here on, gets out a cool machete and starts warming up or whatever and I start thinking about playing Madden or something. He then hands me a sickle. "Try to keep up, we need to clear this all out," and with that he starts hacking these little pine treelets down. O-o-okay. I am annoyed now because it had turned from freezing cold to scorching hot with no pause in between even for station identification. I go at the brush with a vengeance, clearing out all around the fire pit, cutting those stupid pine tree things down with one masterful stroke, all manly sweat and spittle flowing with my +4 warrior woodsman skills in full effect, my manboobs jiggling not unlike Jello as I cleared the area. Well I twisted my ankle. Numerous times. The yells turned to muffled whimpers, the +4 warrior woodsman skill turned to a +6 bard elf without healing skills, and I assumed I was done for the weekend. Wrong again.

After an excellent night of watching numerous insects feast on both my food and me, and a great night in the tent that was 2 feet too short to lay down in and had just enough rocks under it to keep me awake all night, I moseyed over to the car parked on the gravel road some 100 feet away, in pitch darkness, thus further assuring the many twists and turns to my ankle would be amplified. I awoke at the buttcrack of dawn, not from a good nights sleep but because something was pissing on me, and though it turned out to simply be dew it was still enough to annoy me and make me hate nature that much more.

After another breakfast a la insect, I am told we are going on a hike. D looks at me and says I do not have to go since I am infirm, which pisses me off so I say of course I am going. We set out down the damn creekbed which has dried up, and if COMPLETELY FUCKING FULL or smooth round rocks, all precariously balanced on one another, all the better for me to step on them. The "short hike" turns out to be a 2 mile fight for survival, the forest animals playing the Imperial Death March from Star Wars in the background. EVERY fucking rock I step on slips and makes my ankle pop just a little more in a different place.

More on this tomorrow, but I leave you with a question. We had a shared bath house for showers and shitting. I go in there to drop a few brown ducats, and notice shit on the walls and back of the toilet, though the seat was perfectly clean. How the hell do you get shit all over the walls and ceiling of a toilet stall? And why would you bother just wiping off the rim and leaving the rest of it to crust and solidify? I could SMELL the incest that had gone on in that place, and I wore swimming trunks and flip flops in the shower, and threw the trunks away on the way out. Gross!

Thursday, September 20, 2007

We didn't start the fire

Drafty Windowpane
A ghetto fridge on the porch
Yep, that's my bro's house

The crappiest car of them all

So my dad at one point while I was still living there got a job with my uncle, who is a successful mechanic. I personally assumed all would be well with him, because Janet had left him, strangely leaving all of her kids there, none of whom seemed in the least bit worried that their mom was gone "for good", as the note so eloquently put it. My dad wanted to stay home and cry the sadness away until she returned so he could eat her out again or whatever (I would not have been too surprised if he had tried to eat her while she was trying to take a shit... he was THAT obsessed...), but we informed him that he needed to go to work so we could at least eat.

I knew he was going to get fired when he started calling home every 20 minutes to see if Janet had returned. I wanted to tell him that she would probably be back when he got paid, or kidnapped, so don't worry about it. He would call, make small talk kind of like "Hey son how are things enough with all that is Janet there?" When we would tell him that, just like the last time he called 20 minutes ago, that no she is not there, there would be this long pause on the phone, and he would hang up on us. I could hear the sadness, and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to see him in such misery.

My grandma, like an idiot who sees his wife sucking the rock hard cock of another yet still believes her when she tells him it all happened by accident, to this day refuses to believe her Son is on any kind of drugs. I am sorry when he smells like crack and is constantly licking his fingers and checking his pockets (probably for more crack) something is up. He also, when he was high, could not stop moving, doing a strange kind of shoulder-shrug jig (ask me the next time you see me and I will gladly visualize this for you) as he stood in place...

Anyway, my grandma gave my dad an '84 Cavalier, a little stick shift that ran pretty well (for a Chevy) and didn't have too many miles on it. This all changed once my dad got it. He never changed anything in that car. One of the things he did not bother changing were the brakes, which after awhile would make this horrid squealing sound when you tried to stop the car, and my dad said nonchalantly was metal grating on metal.

MK - Janet's nephew, who was 23 and still living with us, to share in our bountiful rations of cinnamon rolls and eggs we ate every day for all three meals, was expected to drive out to pick my dad up. Why this was the arrangement instead of my dad driving his own damn car is beyond me.

So we get out to Lenexa and pick my dad up, and as we leave MK says something about how much louder the screeching and grating has gotten. My dad just mumbles something about "don't worry about it" and turns the radio up even louder. We get almost all the way home, to Independence avenue at Troost, and the brakes start working REALLY well. My dad seems surprised, then says that it must have been a nail or something in the caliper. All of a sudden smoke starts pouring out of the front of the car. All 6 of us (yes 6 people in a tiny ass Cavalier) pour out and stand there like 5 idiots and a crackhead as the car catches fire. On the way home my dad is blaming us for not telling him that the brakes are bad. When we get home a few hours later he smokes crack to make up for it instead of trying to look for a new car. Great success!

Side Note: that week, my grandma bought my dad an '85 thunderbird, digital dash, gunmetal gray, beautiful car. This was the car I bought from him 4 times. It's great that she will constantly purchase a crackhead vehicles to give to his dealers so he can consume more crack than a standing army can ammunition, but refuses to let me put her address down so I can get a job near her house to make money and better myself.

Another side note: When dad got paid, Janet came back, a beautiful new cold sore festering on her lip where earlier int he day dried spunk was gently nestled (she told me it was snot, but I know what jizz looks like I have shot it into many a face in my day)... this was the start of a pattern, where Janet would leave as soon as dad was broke, and show up at his job on payday, ready to take him back. Awesome!

Wednesday, September 19, 2007


Autumn Breeze
Cherish the cool breeze
smells of burnt wood and warm hearth
and my dad's crack pipe

You Liggit Steeve!

So my dad finally got evicted from the duplex we had lived in off and on for almost 10 years soon after I moved in with my older brother. I wondered where he would go because the rent for a 4 bedroom duplex was 350 and he was complaining about not being able to afford that on his super salary of 5.85 he was pulling down from the corner gas station where he worked.

I got a call from my little brother a few days later, and he sounded kind of down. He informed me my dad had found a place, and I was genuinely happy for him for that, until I heard the details. Apparently dad had found a room in a modified crack house just off of 10th and Central in KCK, the area that accounts for about 70% of the calls to the local police station for drugs and gangs. He was staying in a "room", which I mistakenly assumed meant a small apartment, which was in actuality a room with a toilet and shower in a closet and another closet with a sink and refrigerator in it, so a modified studio. I went and saw the place, stepping over crackheads who were asleep at the foot of the steps, and made sure I never let my skin touch any surfaces.

This place was a dump. There was that constant smell of urine, crack (I kid you not) and fucking failure. So I knew I was in the right place to see my dad. I could hear people fighting and screwing through the sheetrock walls. There was my dad's 1890's wrought iron bed, which forever smelled of clammy wet ass, so of course I ran my cheek against it in fond remembrance, a 1970's model floor television, no cable of course, a phone on the dresser, and a cot next to the refrigerator in the kitchen, where I guess my little brother slept. Awesome. My dad and Janet had left to "go see about a little something" which meant they were going to go get rocks from the dealer on the first floor, I dunno why they thought we were fooled, and my little brother gave that exasperated sigh which meant either my dad had pawned off something else of his or he had heard another "foolish foolish man" story, but I was wrong on both counts.

"You'll never believe what I woke up and heard and saw the other night," he started, the pain of remembering such an experience obviously troubling him.

Apparently he had woken up because a rat or roach had crawled on his pillow, or maybe he had heard the commotion coming from the main room (my dad and Janet called it a "parlor", it just looked like a dingy crack den to me), but at any rate he woke up and sat up to find my dad in a very invigorating session of cunnilingus with Janet.

He described sitting there, horrified, as there was this disgusting slurping sound intermingled with these strained farts coming from Janet as she mashed his head further and further down into the bowels of...ugh I don't want to finish. She was also saying in an almost angry way "You Ligget Steve, you liggeeeeeeeet!" my dad, apparently, was completely naked and my little brother got a fleeting glance at his own dad's naked asshole, which no one should ever see (but unfortunately is passed down like a trait, my son accidentally saw mine and no I will not explain how). JJ (my little bro from now on) kind of cleared his throat to see if they would at least stop since there was nowhere for him to go to escape having to hear them, and Janet apparently looked up at him and then went right back to what she was doing.

"I don't really see anything wrong with that, they were making love" you might be thinking, which would be fine if they had stopped or at least quieted down. But no, they continued "National Geographing it up" in JJ's most eloquent words. My dad apparently finished and then mounted her, and with each mayonnaise infused thrust would moan about "goopussy, goopussy" over and over again while JJ tried in vain to blot out the horrid sound of Janet's monkey hole getting pounded while she still machine gunned flatulence in little spurts throughout the entire encounter. I mean who would keep doing that while getting a faceful of farts the whole time?

They finished, and in typical fashion lit up a crack pipe and smoked their checks away before falling asleep, completely naked still, on top of the blankets, the smell of sex and crack (which is a sickeningly sweet smell) and shit and BO filling the entire area and permeating the walls and clothes with their cocktail of funk. Sadly this was not the only time that happened either, and the practice would rub off, as when JJ moved in with R he would "National Geopraphic it up" with R standing in plain view in his bikini underwear, slurping some tea and staring intently....I gotta tell you I shudder while writing this, because I know for a fact when I lived there he would listen at the bottom of the stairs while I beat some lucky girl's back out too. That's fuggin nasty on so many levels I will not even name them.

More tomorrow, though none Friday as I will be in the middle of nowhere pretending to be homeless, or as it is also known as, "camping" in the damn Ozarks. Here's to the makers of portable DVD players, the PSP and Nintendo DS!

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Now we can share everything!

Mom thinks I smoke crack
And now I am her fave son
too bad I don't though

The Happiest Mom in the World

While I was working at the Burger King on Troost, I was losing weight at an alarming rate. Alarming because at one point I weghed less than I had since like the 6th grade. This did open up other avenues, though. I was well suited for basketball, and so every night during the summer after work we would break into the playground behind the high school by my house and play ball. Yes in the dark. We usually got Turtle, the 40 year old black guy who works at every fast food restaurant and takes his job way too seriously, to buy some Hurracane and Thunderbird so we didn't really need all that much light, the few streetlights around worked just fine.

I would wak home from these sessions, usually getting home at around 1130 or midnight. One night, I am walking up the hill, and I see Jeff's piece o' shit Mustang II sitting in the driveway. I walk up to the door, and my mom is coming outside at the same time. I am pretty sweaty, and not wearing my glasses because they were cheap and kept falling down my nose. My mom goes "you too?! Hooray for Steven!" and hugged me before getting in the car with Jeff and leaving. Whatever retard, I thought as I walked in. When my mom was on crack, I called her the "Mystical Retard" because everything was spiritual to her but then she always connected that with smoking rocks...but I digress.

The next morning my older brother tells me my mom is still abuzz with the new developments with me. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask nicely, while eating a big huge bowl of fucking nothing because my older brother ate all my food AGAIN...

"Mom thinks because you were all sweaty and wide eyed that you smoke crack now, and she wants to smoke a rock with you some time." WTF?!

It was at that moment I knew what I must do. I must gain weight and get a better job and move as far as possible from these raving lunatics before they have me biting my own ear all the time, or trying to...

Monday, September 17, 2007

Cajun - style pork chops

Singing telegrams

Just like a good hard nut punch

but in a nice way

My Brother's Wife (part 3829485278349.3)

So one night, I was at the BK working my anus off. It was snowing like a bitch, yet inexplicably people were still coming through drive thru and complaining because it was cold and we should move faster so they did not have to let the snow into their cars. I was watching out the back as a few cars slid right past the drive thru, then after joining the line would complain because we had not salted to their satisfaction. NO ONE else was on North Oak, it looked like a fucking ghost town except for Burger King... WTF?! Anyway, it was me, my soon-to-be-wife, and Haggard working, and only us that night. My older brother shows up to take me home, but since I was closing by myself he sat out in the lobby and hit on anyone who made eye contact, probably including Haggard.

Anyway, it was almost 1:30 when I got completely done, so we got in the car and left. On the ride home, my brother told me that he had gone actually grocery shopping and gotten some pork chops and vegetables and stuff, so for at least one night I did not have to eat Burger King food. "Awesome!" I thought to myself, but my spirits quickly fell as he told me that he had left them cooking and he hoped Mystery had taken them out of the oven. I was glad I had taken some chicken tenders home.

We get to the house, and it looks funny through the front window, like someone is smoking a couple of joints at once. My brother runs in the front door, and smoke eaps out into the freezing night. I walk in too and as the room clears we see Mystery on the couch, calmly flipping channels on the television behind us on the far end of the room. I have no idea why she was doing this because I was between her and the TV and I could not see the television that well, so what the hell was she looking at?

My brother is cursing at the top of his lungs, but he sounds like an 8 year old girl so it was not all that loud or menacing, kind of like getting carjacked by a couple of kittens: sure, in theory it's possible, but for some reason you can't quite put your finger on something's not right.

R: "What the fuck is wrong with you you moron!"
Mystery: "I don't know all of a sudden smoke came out and I could not see the TV!"
Me: (standing there, completely dumbfounded, speechless)
The Kitten: (Being choked to death in a headlock by Mystery)
R: "Well did you think to take the pork chops out of the oven?!" (let it be known he is standing in the kitchen holding the still smoking black pork chops in his hand, the smoke still finally dissipating)
Mystery: (looking right at him and the pork chops she very obviously did not take out of the oven) "Yes I took them out, and then there was a bunch of smoke!"

I think at that moment my older brother died a little on the inside, the last vestiges of a normal human being finally being overcome by the sheer military might of Mystery's stifling idiocy, like the feeling a prison bitch must get the first time his carefully guarded anus has finally been violated for the first time: Disgust, more in himself than in anyone else, a little relief, that it has finally happened and maybe no one will expect much else from him from now on, and in my brother's case, maybe a little sadistic pleasure, that now he can annoy others much as his wife does, and not only by virtue of his hideous face or the fact that 8 times out of 10 he has either shit or piss or a delicious combination of the two on his shirt.

This was also the first time someone suggested I get all of this down for posterity, and I believe it was Haggard, informing me I should "Start up a sitcom or something", though who would insult himself enough to play either my older brother or Mystery I will never know.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Manager's Meeting, Part I

It's morning at last!
It's time to check stevehaikus
don't let greyskull see

It starts...

So my colleagues at the law firm can attest to this whole string of stories, but I wanted to get them down for posterity:

When I started working at the Law Firm, it was an awesome place to work. Everyone worked hard, there was a constant barrage of rubber bands being shot at all times, we all shared information, the customer got taken care of first and right away and so we had a lot of free time for projects, which we had just enough to pique our collective interests but not so much I could not test the Internet firewall while looking for games to play online.

Our manager, Bob, was the perfect manager. He was pretty laid back, took care of problems quickly and had everyone's respect so there was no ill will when he had to lay down the law, which he pretty much never had to because we were all so awesome.

Then that asshat Bob accepted a position as the manager for the engineering team. We were crushed. This allowed Attila, our portly and incredibly unstable upper level manager, free reign to annoy and bother us. This kind of betrayal would get a mofo shot out on the streets, but Bob was such an easygoing guy no one got mad at him.

Attila was a douche, but she was usually too busy to manage us like she wanted to, so we assumed things would stay that way. Boy were we fucking wrong.


So we start looking for a new manager. It was kind of weird because we had to interview someone who would eventually tell us what to do, which is really hard to be objective if you think about it.

The first few were completely inconsequential, and all I remember from those meetings is that lunch was awesome and it was hard to hold my farts in. Then we met a few managers who were actually pretty cool: Karateman, the absurdly tall and pony-tailed guy who kind of looked like he was hosting an infomercial more than an interview; Goggle-eyes, my old manager from Gateway, whom everyone freakin' loved, and Greyskull. When we went in and saw Greyskull, ripping the head off of a baby kitten to consume it's soul (hey I will remember this however I want) while emitting a lusty "hmeeeeaaaaagh" Dick Cheney-style, we knew. We still hoped for Goggle-eyes, because he seemed the most likely to not bow into Attila's pressure, but we knew.

As we all sat down, defeat in our eyes and sadness in our hearts, Attila all but gobbled Greyskull's hairpie with her eyes. The Coog would later remember that it was Attila's reaction to Greyskull's answers to our queries that convinced him that our opinions did not and would not matter.

Greyskull did not do too terribly with our questions, but admittedly they were softball questions anyway, not the ones we SHOULD have been asking:

Real Question: "How would you keep the chemistry that this team has built going in a positive direction?"
Shoulda asked: "If I put a saddle on you and held on real tight, would I last the whole 8 seconds?"

Real Question: "What would your management style be if (insert easily answerable question here) happened?"
Shoulda asked: "Which is more important? Real intelligence and technical ability or being nice to everyone no matter how much they hurt the rest of us with their incompetence and lazy eye?"

Real Question: "Describe a situation that you fixed that was difficult."
Shoulda asked: "After you and Attila Scissor, does Asshat (the CIO) come lap up the lard-flavored sexmilk off the floor?"

Ugh that last one at first got me hot but then I thought about it and almost threw up. I will finish the preface tomorrow, but let it be known I was the only person who did not like Greyskull from the beginning, though the Coog kept it real too.

I am thinking of finishing this tale in a Beowulf - Norse poetry style. What is everyone's thoughts on that? I have been reading a lot of Scandinavian and Norse poetry, about slaying goblins and raping the cattle and burning the women and eating the villages, and I likey. Any objections to that? No response means you acquiesce! (acquiesce means agree to our British friends. Crikey!)

Thursday, September 13, 2007

How dumb are you?!

Ah, Sir Mix-a-lot
Why's your posse on broadway?
Looking for big butts?

Holy Hell

Alright so it is winter, I had started working at the Burger King on Troost and going to school in a bid to better myself and not be home and also to eat because at that point I was down to 180 pounds from a healthy 250, and 180 does not look good on me (I have a picture, I look like a small-cocked gay porn star). It was payday, which means I was expected to get food and shit for everyone. My older brother was off working some "booty ass overtime, bitch niggie" as he was so fond of putting it, and I was stuck at home with Mister-E, as I like to call her. It was about 85 degrees in the house, because my older brother had a snake (that tried to eat him at least once a week) and because he is always cold, just like my mom he has to have at least 2 blankets, even in the summer.

So anyway it is the middle of November, it is fucking cold outside, and a light snow is falling. I decide to run down and get my paycheck and cash it, maybe find something to do. Mystery is excited too, as she assumes if I am going to do something I have to involve her. Time and experience will show that this is never going to be the case, but I digress. I decide to walk instead of taking my car, because taking the car means Mystery will try to go along and there is no way to pick up chicks with something like that stinking your ride up.

"Mystery,' I start, ' I am going to run down and get my check and then drop you off (with my brother). Wait inside and I will be back." This is very important to remember. We only had one set of keys at that point and my brother had them. I took off, in pretty decent shape, and jogged the mile to the BK and got my check and cashed it. I am running back up the street, intent on giving them some bill money and then disappearing for awhile, and I see her standing on the porch, in only her leggings and a tiny button down sweater, looking like an idiot hopping from bare foot to bare foot, almost tripping over our ghetto refridgerator (My brother sold our fridge and so in order to keep milk and shit we had to keep it all in a modified cardboard box on the porch. Fucking ghetto). I slow down and walk the rest of the way, knowing what is going to happen, and I ask her when I get there: "Hey, why are you standing outside?"

M: "Well, I just thought you were taking a long time and so I stood outside and I locked the door and I can't get back in!"

Me: (Looking at the front window, which is open enough to crawl back inside the house) "Why didn't you crawl in?"

M: "Because the cat got out!"

Me: WTF??

I mean, the front "window" was actually a couple of yellowed shattered pieces of plastic taped on to create a phalanx to keep wind out... a well placed fart would have taken the whole thing down! And here she is, looking at me like it's my fault, hopping around Mystery. This would not be the last time she would do somethng like this, and it gave me no end of joy to hear my older brother berate her because she always wanted to map out how long he was going to be gone, and if we were late getting back she would wait outside or try to set fire to the house and sit on the couch. More tomorrow.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

I've heard of wetting the bed, but...

Pound that monkey hole
Give back the quarters you stole
Iceman will return

Friggin' gross!

This was a couple of years back, but my son has terrible diahrrea and that reminded me. We had all eaten at Church's Chicken, the one on 39th street, you all know the one. Anyway, we all got food poisoning from eating there, as is usual with that kind of place where you see the lady tugging at her camel toe and then touching your food (that's where the juice comes from! And the cheese) and then letting it sit while she talks to someone on the phone before she gives it to you.

Anyway, everyone had this explosive, no-warning diahrrea, and it was hilarious because while I was throwing up, I did not have the hershey squirts. So I was walking around bragging while my wife sat on the can, too afraid to yell or move for fear she would explode all in her pants, my sons both taking up the training potties, hunched over creating this fog that could stop the imperial forces from invading, faces all white as fresh clean sheets. They got done, and my wife was leaning on our bureau, looking at me with utter disdain because I was bragging about how cool it was that I almost never get sick and how they're all just a bunch of babies. I was wearing only boxer shorts (tight ones, ladies.....oh!) and I was bouncing up and down on the edge of the bed. I felt a fart coming, and decided it would be funny to roll onto my back and fart in her face.

I started the roll, and halfway into it I felt the saliva triple in my mouth, meaning I was going to throw up. I concentrated on stopping that from flying out, completely forgetting that my innocent little fart had turned into full blown diahrrea. I will explain what happened next in slow motion: I gagged on the vomit, and at that point had rolled completely onto my back. My butt was in the air, I was almost to my shoulders at that point in the roll. The fart that came out sounded weak and strained, and then it happened. A tiny little shit fountain shot out of my ass and onto the bed. It went through the little slit you whiz through, made a perfect chunky brown arc, and splattered onto the bed.

I then started laughing.

The laughter caused me to start to throw up, so I tried to choke it back off, forcing more shit onto my mattress. My wife started laughing hysterically, then ran to the bathroom to escape shitting herself. To this day this is her favorite story, even better than the time I pissed the bed, woke up and tipped a jug of water into the bed on purpose and tried to convince her that was what happened. Drinking and sleeping don't mix, kids!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

The balls are taking the breeze

I love the autumn
clear, crisp, cool, the leaves drift down
and no more ass sweat!

Friggin Gross!

My older brother, as I've described before, is a pretty nasty looking specimen, which is sad because he used to be pretty active in the K-Rat himself, muscular and could get some decent looking ladies, though why he wanted the ugs all the time I will never know.

His wardrobe consists of Fubu jerseys that would be baggy on me, stonewashed highwater jeans, "Christmas sweaters" from the 1980s, you know the kind, hospital scrubs, and bikini underwear that are usually 2-3 sizes too big on him. I am not sure why he did that, surely they made a pair of bikini underwears that fit him?

He would sit on the couch, in nothing but these underoos, and let his ass juice eap into the cushions, his fragrant flatulence filling the entire downstairs (which is why even though there was no heat in the upstairs room (It was more of a large walk in closet than a room) I chose to live up there, in order to escape the funk) area with his weak ass slightly-louder-than-SBD farts, eating either slices of old ass overripe tomatoes in a bowl of ranch sauce or kim chi straight from the jar. (note: I see no problem with eating Kim Chi, but when your breath already smels of 10 unwashed asses, why tempt it?)

One of the great stories is from when he recently started living in my mom's house. He was sitting on the couch, allowing the soft breeze to cool his pretty much uncovered genitalia and blow his horrid ass scent around the room (not much of a bather, that one). I guess he decided it was time for one of his daily naps, and curled up like a cockroach under a blanket to catch a short 6 hour nap. He is small enough he does not make much of a lump under the blankets on the couch, nay, he is small enough he can fit between the cushions and the back of the couch, in the "change chasm", where all your change and McDonald's French fries go when they die, I guess. J's girl walked in, not knowing where he was, and sat on my older brother's face. He woke up and hopped up talking about having to work all that booty ass overtime, and then realized a girl was sitting on his face. At this point, C (J's girl) was trying to wipe the scent of his foul breath off of the back of her pants. It was then, my little brother recounted, that he said the funniest line I have heard him say. It was not the first time, and it would NOT be the last:

"Giiiiirrrll, I'd like to slip slop slather yo' tuna sassafras six ways to sunday" or something very similar to that, there is a lot of whistling when he tries to say the letter "S". The horrified look on her face turned even worse, I imagine, when he let the blanket fall away to reveal his ill fitting bikini underwear, the smell of unwashed balls penetrating her nostrils as I would assume she stood there transfixed by his manliness.

My little brother regaled me with tales of how my older brother is making life hell for them in their new home. Apparently my older brother has been clogging the toilets up at night (hey maybe that's why mu uncle was hanging his crap out the window) with his foul shit and then just leaving it until morning, actually walking PAST the plunger to go back to bed. He also has a nasty habit of being broke on payday, within hours of getting his check, and yet complaining that whatever food is being served is not "really what I like to nibble on" before taking a heaping plate and leaving scraps for everyone else.

The food has always been a problem with my older brother (R from now on). When I lived with him when I bought groceries they went in the fridge, when he bought groceries ( which is what he called the Skittles and Taco Bell) they went in his room, to be guarded by Mystery and the poor cat she carried around like a football, being forced to inhale her sweaty hairy armpit juice.

Ah, there is so much more I want to put down, it is hard not coming up with 2 or 3 stories a day...especially since I am always behind because the saga continues today (there was a family meeting yesterday about who was eating all the food and then just leaving the containers in the fridge, also on why no one pays any rent or bills, I heard there was a small brawl)

Monday, September 10, 2007

Space Criminals

Ham flavored yogurt
Tyler yearns for your debut
yogurt just turned cool

The Final Frontier

OK so this is not so much a story but a (I promise rare) political post. I have a petition of 3 people so far (including me, my dog and a homeless man that accepted a completely non-obligatory donation before signing), but many more to follow, to sign into law the following idea.

America's prison population is overflowing. Even with letting minor offences go, we are still way over capacity with criminals who will never see the light of day or be able to sleep on their stomachs again. When their sentence finally is up, if it is not life or execution, these poor chaps have the daunting and nigh impossible task of reintegrating with society.

On another note, we need astronauts to fly to Mars and beyond, but do not have enough money or people willing to attempt to endure the 6 month voyage each way. There are also theories that there are solid cores in the gas planets.

Hear me out now, hear me out: Convicts are every bit, and possibly more physically fit than astronauts. They are also resourceful, being able to make a shank out of a banana peel and their own feces. They also enjoy botany and figuring out complex equations. This is all well known. We should all sign a petition to get some candidate to put forth the idea that our first forays at making a biodome or some other kind of controlled living environment in space should be attempted by criminals. Look how well this theory has worked so far. Europe sent their criminals and the banished to the American colonies, and look at us now. Everyone sent their criminals to Australia, and any place that has Crocodile Dundee calling it his native land can't be all that bad, so in that same vein this should be completely safe and awesome, and if something on the ship malfunctions, well they were going to die anyway, so who cares?! Also if this is passed I will have to kill someone in order to go myself, because that would be awesome. I might start a petition, what do ya'll think?

That would allow us to 1) clear out some of these prisons where they have draconian life sentences, 2) test the reusability of some spacecraft, and get lots of good television ratings off of the obligatory reality shows. Licensed soap-on-a-rope, toy shanks, coveralls that are licensed, who would not go for that?

I pitched the idea to my older brother, who fell asleep pretty much while I was talking. At first I was crushed, until I realized he falls asleep doing everything (he likes to tell us how he falls asleep on the toilet while "taking a tinkle") from all of the booty ass overtime he is working. He now sleeps with his mouth open, so you can smell his shit breath from eating canned Kim Chi and month old taco bell all the time (really). When I lived with him he would get paid, buy 30- 40 dollars worth of Taco Bell, a jug's worth of Skittles, and then proclaim he was broke so we were on our own as far as food goes. Anyway, more on this and other things tomorrow.

Friday, September 7, 2007


Handlebar mustache
Handlebar Mustache!
The ladies adore you so
I wish I had one :(

Interesting Tidbit day!

  • When I was 5, my babysitter would make me have sex with her in order to watch wrestling. Strangely, now I have to wrestle my wife down in order to have sex with her. The irony of this turn of events is completely lost to me.
  • My older brother sits to pee. He said that standing up takes to much energy.
  • Mystery would frequently tell me to "start walking" whenever I called attention to her idiocy or smell, which was always bad because she wore the same pair of off-white (I think they were actually white at one point) leggings all the time and never bathed.
  • My dad always told me when I turned 16 he would buy me some crack, LSD, meth, acid, coke, and other drugs and let me try them all to see which one I liked best. I opted to get a job and loan him money instead.
  • I had to chase my dad down numerous times when he owed me money or when he stood me up and made me walk home in completel football gear, looking like a complete douche walking from Northeast high school to Brookside at 10 o'clock at night in football pads. Yes inexplicably I wore the helmet the whole time too. What was I going to do, carry it?
  • Janet made this disgusting teeth sucking popping noise, always accompanied by that snort of snot. Soon thereafter she would be seen on the couch making out wiht my dad, probably letting him taste the dealer's cock.
  • When we were younger my little brother was racing us to a friends house on his brand new bike and got hit by an old Cadillac doing 15 miles an hour. We pointed and laughed.
  • As far as brotherly love goes, my little brother once stabbed me in the stomach with a broken beer bottle he had found over a video game because he thought I had taken his turn. I hadn't.
  • Later that month he walked in while I was playing Tecmo Super Bowl and kicked the Nintendo, resetting the game. I picked him up by his legs and swung him into the wrought iron bunk bed frame then stomped on his face. Then we played a game together.
  • My uncle who used to be a hardcore gangster got thrown out of my mom's house where he was staying because she said he was shitting in little plastic bags and hanging them outside his window on the shade tree in the backyard. I have no witty comment for this.
  • We have not one but 2 family members on different sides of the family who are quite active practitioners of bestiality. No comment there either.
  • My older brother paints his nails and perms his hair all the time, yet insists he is not gay, that he does that "to get with the ladies, because they tell some juicy gossip while they-re doing that".
  • My older brother is always working some "Booty-ass overtime". This is a quote. He loves saying that.
  • He also enjoys calling people "Bitch murfugger (I think it is motherfucker but he slurs it so much you cannot tell what he's saying) and calls my brother and I "niggie".

More goodness Monday. Most of these have stories attached to them, let me know if you want to hear them.

Thursday, September 6, 2007


Hail the Nintendo!
Why must your games tempt me so?
Naughty fruit of love!


Alright I spend a lot of time making fun of my family, and I don't want anyone to think I think myself above them, because they are my family. I figured I would share a very recent screw up of my own on here.

I had just gotten a new job at the courthouse, which I had always assumed equalled doing absolutely no work and getting tons of overtime for jerking it in the bathrooms. Wrong on both counts, and I also learned that they frown on jerking it in the bathrooms here.

Anyway, I had the undaunting task of getting a brand new network printer serviced, because I had gone up there to take a look at it and while checking things out had taken a part off that would no longer go back in, rendering the printer completely useless. I hate talking to support people, and figured I would talk with Dell via their online chat service. I will from here post the conversation that led to this posting:


Me: "I actually just unboxed it Friday, they showed up on the 6th."

CSR: "You wouldn't happen to have an order number?"

Me: "No I could get one tomorrow but my manager is out and he has that stuff on his laptop."

CSR: One moment, please

Me: no problem

CSR: Here's what I'll do,

Me: h 'Tudes Assless Chaps bar in Duluth...

CSR *email excised* is my email

OK so here's what happened: we have an IM program here. I was joking around with another tech here, the Tylester. We were speculating where the printers say they were shipped to, because the CSR had told me they were showing as being shipped to some hospital in Mississippi, not to us. When the chat line is active, i.e. when a chat comes in, the focus switches back to that window. I had typed "Dudes with Tudes Assless Chaps Bar in Duluth" as a joke as to where the printer had been sent, and the focus switched, and since I type with my eyes on the keyboard (which should explain some of the typos) I never noticed the focus had changed.

I immediately logged off of the chat. I waited a few minutes and logged back on and got the same guy. He said his auditor had almost peed herself she was laughing so hard.

More tomorrow.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

How much would YOU take??

Ah, the old crack pipe
siren call to father's heart
He always responds

Rhetorical Question

So this one time (at band camp) I was on the phone with my little brother, this was when he was still stealing cars and robbing his next door neighbor almost monthly, so he was in good spirits. We were just shooting the shit, talking about how we think my older brother is gay and wondering why he only at that point had 8 teeth left (He is down to 3 now), and the conversation naturally between two completely heterosexual males turned to the age old question: How much would it take to receive a shot in the mouth from another man's rock hard cock?

Alright I am going to get zinged for this but I have kids so my price was a modest 10 million dollars, because that can buy a lot of toothpaste and therapy and still leave money to hire enough hookers to blot that memory out. My little brother said he would not do it for less than like a billion dollars, typical for your run-of-the-mill homophobe. We were talking about that and what we thought it would take my older brother, because this was not too long after the Tony Incident: I played varsity football. I was one of like 4 people on the team who owned a car. So I had to transport players when the bus "broke down" (We all knew the driver was a gangster, so by "broke down" we knew he was probably dealing crack, and if he was dealing crack or whatever he was probably selling to my dad. Tee Hee!) up to the field, which was at the other high school.

So there were 6 football players and my buddy Tony in the car, along with my older brother. We were making fun of each other, and him, because he kept falling asleep and laying out those shit-farts we had come to know and love. So this is going on, and my brother sits up and says to Tony "You know what, Tony, you would be kind of cute if it wasn't for your mouth."

Alright. Let me put that line by itself so you can feel the gravity of what he just said in a car full of homophobic (except me, mom brought her gay friends over so much it's a wonder I was only molested by a chick and not by some dude, but the positive thing is I was (and am not) a homophobe) football players, all outweighing him by at least 100 pounds (he only weighs 105 maybe, so this is not much of a stretch) and now completely silent waiting for a punchline or something. He said

"You know what, Tony, you would be kind of cute if it wasn't for your mouth."

Ans that, my friends, is the first time I died a little on the inside. No I did not say that, but just being related to him made me 10% gay. No again there's no problem with being gay, but it's not me. The silence was broken by Tony's howling laughter and for some reason pointing at me saying "ya'll niggas is gay!"

Anyway back to the phone story. My little brother calls my older brother on 3-way. What is also hilarious here is when my older brother picked up, there was no introduction or anything. This is the conversation in full:

J (my little brother): "Hey R (My older brother), how much would it take for you to take a shot in the mouth?"
- I would like to interject here that "taking a shot in the mouth" could be construed in many different ways, getting punched in the face, actually getting shot in the face (so it could be construed as "how much would it take to hang out with Dick Cheney?", or any other numerous ways for blunt force trauma to be applied to your mouthal region-
R: "Do I get to pick the guy?"
R: "Because I would pick Fremont (a really gay guy at his job) cause he's a clean fag-"

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. This man is gay as the sky is blue!

More tomorrow, I am thinking about talking about "Steve-o", what my dad's crack dealers called him, and my little brother did too when he started selling dope to my dad from across the fucking hall.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Expanding on last night's tale

Asshole Bifeda
Is it a disease? Well no
Sounds like one though right?

My Brother's Wife

So yesterday I was a little pressed for time, and I looked over last night's post and realized it created more questions than it answered. So without further ado, the explanation of butt lovin', dog biting and other debauchery.....

Will not be posted today, because I feel like talking about something else!

I will post that stuff tomorrow, but in the meantime, I realized I spent a lot of time talking about other people in my family and not enough about myself. The average reader would assume that with all of this crack, pole smoking, anal destruction and general debauchery that I was somehow immune. You are wrong. Listen as I regale you:

Well first off when I was born my mother gave me the middle name of her super gay friend D (no I will not tell you what my middle name is), in the honest-to-goodness hopes of turning me gay. Let me explain. My mom always wanted a flaming homo son. She was, for the most part, very disappointed that none of us (until later apparently) turned to the calling of the swollen cock. I say apparently because my older brother has made some statements, which I will post without bias so you can interpret them as you will, that have made him a fan favorite with her.

My mom also loves telling anyone who would listen that I was so goddamn ugly that it was a chore to breastfeed me, and that on top of all that I was incredibly mean to boot, biting people and getting some kind of joy out of it. I am not sure if she remembers this all that well or if she saw The Omen and got us mixed up...

During preschool, I was quite the young exhibitionist. This went on until the 3rd grade, whenever the teacher was out of the room I would jump up on my desk and regale the ladies with the man beef. I got into trouble every time. Awesome. I also killed our class pet twice by throwing it out the window onto the playground. During nature week I stepped on and killed the caterpillar the class was looking at. On a whim I took a crowbar and punched holes in my wall trying to make a connect-the-dots. I failed, but only because I got caught. I also set fire to all of my mom's clothes after dousing them in gasoline. The week after that...

It's funny, because I knew every time I would be beaten savagely by Mr. Stick, a 3 foot long broom handle wrapped in tape with a face drawn on it in marker that my mom used religiously, though it was usually my brothers and I that were howling "Oh gawd!" like Mr. Garrison. I knew I would be beaten, and yet I did not care.

More tomorrow, I might also talk about getting molested when I was 5 numerous times by our babysitter Trina, though that should have been a happy ending (in retrospect she was kinda hot) it was not because when I was old enough to want to pound that she informed me that I was too fat... but I digress.

Monday, September 3, 2007

My Brother's Wife, Present Saga

Ah, my family
crack, incest, jail, it's all there
the saga goes on...

My brother's wife, present day

Alright, I am going to jump around some, but do not worry I will explain everything in future posts.

OK, so after they split up yet again, this time because he caught her taking it up the ass from the janitor at WORK this time, and also because he got fired for letting his doberman run free and bite the residents, my brother began.... leeching off of my little brother's scraps.

My little brother, and this is a conundrum I will come back to many, MANY times, is a DEVIL with the ladies. I have personally heard him tell a girl he has no job and had not bathed that day or the night before and then she is calling him all night long. I never understood it. I would bathe, had a job and went to school, played on the varsity football team, had my own car and they would all but punch me in the taint to stand in line to give my little brother all the salad tossings he wanted (in a few instances, really)... unfathomable. This goes on to this day, inexplicably.

Well I guess one of the collateral pieces of this equation is there would be a miniature harem of sexy ladies and....not so sexy ladies hanging out at my older brother's house, where my little brother was living after I moved out. These ladies, whether from cruelty, pity or simply in order to get the free room and board they all enjoyed at my older brother's expense, eating his food and giving his things to either my little brother if they were lucky enough to get with him or with their boyfriends, who would come over and pound their holes on my older brother's bed while he was at work, would string my brother along, telling him they would like it if he ate them out or whatever when their boyfriends got done. This is all a different post, just giving some back story.

So my brother finally picked up one of the ladies, and she was actually pretty attractive, but was also known to take up to 5 cocks in a single night (no not at the same time). He immediately left his wife for this tang... but still meets his wife at the pay-by-the-hour motels once or twice a week.... does that make him a player?

More tomorrow