Food poisoning...at the hands of the Mexican tamale vendor

bursts forth from cocoon,
new wings drink in fresh spring air
the raptor is back

Confluence.

The raptor sat in the darkened room, pondering; no, plotting his next move. How had the world turned it's back on him in his hour of need after all he had done? Had the adversity of his ever full flagon of failure not brought about a togetherness that had united a once greatly and deeply divided populace? How dare they attempt to eradicate that which will not be eradicated!

He grunted hard as he squatted over his raptor litter box, his acidic waste, from all of the 30 day old Taco Bell and Kim Chi burning like acid as it melted through the freshly shredded activated credit cards. Oh they thought they had beaten him, but he would be back.

It had started out such a mundane affair: He had asked that whelp JJ if perhaps he could "Pay you to lick on your honey's pussy a little bit niggie", and had been laughed at. By golly he wasn't going to take constantly being declined the sloppy seconds he so desperately needed to regain his full power so blithely!

He had gotten into his new car, a Ford Explorer with no door handles running on poorly photocopied temporary tags, purchased from the fine automakers on 44th and Troost, just like all the other cars he had bought, and decided the town, like a coveted piece of candy in an infant's hand, was his for the taking (negating the fact that those damn infants usually defeated him in unarmed combat on a regular basis)! He hardly noticed that he has physically pumped his fist and muttered an evil laugh as he drove away, a faint unpleasant odor, stopped up toilet and wafting sounds of Wham!'s "Jitterbug" the only sign he had even been there, and went to the finest restaurant in Kansas City, nay in the world: The tamale vendor outside U-Wrench-It.

Purchasing a few tamales with his hard earned monies form all that booty ass overtime he worked assaulting the infirm, Smeagol sat in his car to think about how he would reclaim the world that had so wrongly been stolen from him in the Middle Tyme, when he was promised a partnership in ruling the world if only he would cast out the dragon-folk of Middle Uberion with his flaming +4 Cloak of Enfeebling Failure, which had like a +50 instant mana burn and took strength, constitution and Dexterity down even lower than that of a halfling. Believing the Fabled King Arthur was nowhere near as crafty as he, Smeagol had cast his cloak about, whomping up on those bitch motherfuckers with extreme rage niggie. The devastation would cause the very Earth to cry over the deep chasm the cloak had created, pulling the dragons and valiant Orc-trolls into what we now know as the Marianas Trench.

But treachery had been afoot. The fiend Arthur had tricked Smeagol, had stolen his preciousssss.... his Rent-a-center Preferred awards card, and Smeagol had been cast out of Upper Ilyarnikka into the dungeons of his own lair, never to see the light of day again. A seal of valid credit cards, approved credit applications and the Runestone holding the spell 'Bob' had sealed him to his fate.

But the economy had failed, and the cards and apps had disappeared, weakening the barrier, and finally the foolish Tylester of Kansa had spoken the name Bob, freeing Smeagol from his dungeon to wreak havoc upon an unsuspecting world, and thats what he would have done right after his nap, but then it happened: what he had assumed was another innertube of poopy had in reality turned out to be food poisoning from the tamales, and since failure had permeated his very being, there were no longer defenses to keep the poison from attacking his frail body like an unstoppable rebel force. Would this be the end of the Raptor's siren song?

No....

Old people should be exterminated

Super Bowl is on
Smeagol's out of hospital
world back in balance

So as none of you know Smeagol was recently in the hospital for food poisoning. I will post more on that later. Tonight I have a more pressing topic.

I don't normally have any problems with old people. They smell funny, want to talk way too much and constantly want to tell long boring stories with no discernable start, end or plot; in this way they are not unlike women. Women, though, make up for all of this by having breasts and vaginas. Old people, not as much.

"Why are you tanking on old people Stevester?" You may be asking, or not, I don't care I am going to tell you wither way: Tonight, I was on my way home from football practice. It was freezing cold, I was dead tired, my car smelled funny because of all the intermingled sweat from myself and numerous dudes, and I wanted to hurry home to watch the Super Bowl.

I pull up to the intersection of Kansas and Ridge in Liberty, and watch, dumbfounded, as this old fucker pulls his crown Vic out and sideswipes me. As if that's not bad enough, this no talent asshat fuckin drives off! As annoying as the prospect is, I follow him a little ways, and a police car that had been sitting at the top of the hill pulls out between us. For the first time in my life, I am glad to see the police, as I really don't want to kick some old guys ass, or have some old guy kick mine. I follow, a smug little smile on my face, and watch as a block later the officer turns right.

I now have a choiceL follow the old guy farther into the depths of Liberty, and risk running into Flanders, or follow the officer and see what the fuck is his problem. I, like a retard, choose the latter. I turn and follow the officer, flashing my lights and honking my horn, and he speeds up and leaves me, thus ending any hope I had of for one sticking it to the man.

This leads, and gives further credence to, my idea that all old people, once retired, should be humanely exterminated, by making them dig a grave and then humanely feeding them through a rusty woodchipper into said grave. I know some of you out there are gonna wine about my idea, but seriously, that motherfucker never even looked around at me after he hit me, and that's not the first time some old shitfucker has hit or almost hit me and then just drove off.

Old people feel like just because they are too old to be of use, that it gives them wanton license to:

1. Steal
2. Make everyone feel guilty
3. talk too much
4. clog up roads, supermarket lanes, restrooms with their inane chatter and funny smells
5. talk to you in the gym while completely naked (seriously?! no one wants to see your saggy ass old balls)
6. Hit people in their fuckin 1994 Dodge Shadow then drive off
7. Wear weird clothes
8. Be old

I think I have made my case here. That is all.

Smeagol.

The time has now come
For Smeagol to take his place
As king of Raptors

...blah blah blah "something about posting more" blah blah...

Your raptor, whom you all know, love and look down to, is at it again.

"Has he been arrested?" Will may ask...

"Who are you again?" Derka must be musing...

"I'm so tired... bitch niggie" Tylester may be moaning, spread eagle on his bed with a 3 liter of urine next to him...

But you are all wrong (and I'm hurt that SOMEONE forgot to give their old pal Stevester a login to their site, I promise I wont send you Jeremy pics anymore!)

Smeagol had apparently moved back in full time with Mystical, thus ensuring I shall never run out of stories again.

Apparently, his short-lived love affair with the young lady who once took 5 cocks in one night (no none of them mine, that woulda been more like 5 1/2) was unreposed, and she told him he could no longer stay with her during the work week and lap up other gentlemen's love milk or whatever he was doing.

So far he has gotten in trouble numerous times for stopping the toilet up, been caught in everyone's bed wearing his gentle thong and... even less (my favorite story is when JJ's girlfriend called him into the room and was standing there laughing at Smeagol's saggy little balls whole they rested unceremoniously on JJ's pillow, great times)... and Toboggan has had the thankless job of picking up and dropping off said raptor every day so he can work booty ass overtime and not pay any bills or rent.

JJ got a job at the corner liquor store, which stereotypically is owned by Koreans. Those who know Smeagol will know where this story is going, but dont ruin it yet... Koreans make kim chi, and Smeagol is aware of this. The first time JJ allowed Smeagol to come up to the liquor store to get "a little" kim chi, Smeagol ended up eating the whole pot, and helping himself to many sundry items that were deemed unfit to sell as they had come into contact with a raptor. More stories on that to come.

Also of note is when I was telling the Tylester about the time when Toboggan Boy would cry on the couch about how he desperately needed pussy, and who should come to his rescue but Smeagol, gently patting his back and telling him "don't worry, you'll get some" and the new twist on that story that has occured recently. Also there's the fact the Mystery is still in the apartment deemed not fit for a raptor, and Smeagol almost coming to fisticuffs with JJ's girlfriend before Mystical came to his aid.

I will post more during the weekend, lots to talk about, but just wanted to pop in and inform you all that that raptor is alice, well and in rare form.

Golgorath McNipplemilk

Golgorath McNipplemilk

hard times D & D

tiny weiner, apathy

da revolution

So I know I have been less than forthcoming on posts, and the only thing I can say right now is I will try to update as I can, but in these poor economic times I must at least pretend to have some semblance of productivity. I so miss the Clinton days, even though I began working on the tail end of them, knowing that even though I made 4.75 an hour I would be alright because someone was taking a shot in the mouth for America. Now I make all of 5.13 an hour and I am wondering from whom I can take a shot in the mouth to make it in ths world... great times.

Anyway, lots has happened, and I will try to post as I can, but today's post is about guns. Yes, guns, helping conservatives seem relevant since 1860.

As you all know, I teach the k-rat. I also teach jujitsu (and if you would like a day getting all hot and sweaty rolling around on the floor with the Stevester, email me and I will send you sign up sheets, Will and Tylester). My main student for jujitsu, for even though the class is free to k-rat denizens, no one but this young lad has lasted longer than 2 classes, is a pretty staunch conservative. He's a great guy, him and his mother both take karate and are like family to me, but sometimes their standpoints on things makes me want to abort my own asshole with a rusty pitchfork.

When the talk turns to politics, which happens WAY too much in k-rat, it usually ends up being my instructor, who is I think pretty centric, which means liberal, against them, and it gets awkward pretty quick. I know none of this appears to have anything to do with guns and you only logged onto my site to read about Smeagol, but it does, so wait a second, let me lay down the lyrical foreplay before I get into the main hot, sweaty throbbing thrust of my post.

Anyway, I have a lot of ideals that are somewhat conservative, so usually I will mosey over after one of these awkward confrontations (did I mention this happens after class while everyone is lined up waiting to leave so they have to listen to it?) and try to smooth things over as they usually look pretty riled up. Some of the stuff they say though, like the reason we are in a recession is because of Clinton, that George W. was the best president we have had in recent memory, that Democrats are hell bent on taking their guns away from them, that being gay automatically makes you a Democrat (I SO want to counter with the fact that 95% of the allegations of child molestation, inappropriate sexual comments to male underlings and hurried weiner on weiner frottage has been PROVEN to have been perpetrated by Republicans, but I am a diplomat of sorts, so...), among other thing, and the worst part is these people actually believe this is the truth.

OK, now back to guns. A week ago I was invited by said student to go skeet shooting. I immediately wondered why some dude would want to see how far I could shoot jisms from my chowdermaker, but learned that skeet shooting is actually shooting at moving clay targets with a gun, and not what rappers say it is (curse you Soulja Boy!). I accept the invitation, as I have never really felt black due to my lack of firing a gun. I traded a gun for a sega game, but that doesnt count. The only way I know I am black is my poor credit scores and strange almost unstoppable urge to mount all large white women (I can't stop thinking about it).

Anyhoo, I get directions to their house, which is in Klanland, or Northern Missouri (I have no idea if the klan is out there, but let's assume there is nothing else out there just for the sake of comedy HMMMMM?), and we head out in their car, the whole time them talking about how when I shoot a gun I should feel great about the freedom to do so because Democrats (and I got the feeling they believed I) wanted to take their basic freedoms away. I leave all the obvious mistakes and idiotic believe alone, as we are in the middle of the woods, I am outnumbered 2 to 1 and they have guns, and pray neither of these guys has seen Deliverance.

We get there and get out of the truck, and what do you know, I am the only black guy. I am also the only black guy not wearing suspenders, camoflauge (if thats not how you spell it, eat my shitmaker) or a combination of the two. I am also the only one who does not have a beard. Strangely I was pleasantly surprised when other than a sideward glance every few seconds like "Hey Cletus, izzat nigger still here?" I got little to no attention.

So anyway, the first gun they give me is a pump action shotgun, very nice, and show me how to load it, I assume since I am black my negro instinct will take over and I will wow these rednecks with my accuracy, the first clay pigeon flies, I aim, fire, annnnnd....miss.

Oh well, second one annnnnd.... miss.

in fact, first 10 in a row are all misses. I am saddened and horny. The dad walks over and informs me the problem is that I am "aiming". I look at him like he just got done pounding my wife and told me he was checking her cervix instead of what I saw, and he explains that aiming screws it all up. I look at his NRA hat and figure he might know what he's talking about. He tells me to aim at a milk jug about 50 feet away. I aim, and miss. WTF? I can't hit a huge milk carton 50 feet away? I feel saddened and not as horny anymore, so I look sad and slump my shoulders. Long story short though (too late) I learn that aiming is for suckers, as once I quit bothering to aim the gun or take the safety off when I was reloading I realized my day got better by tenfold!

Ah... great times. I will update on the Thanksgiving from Hades later, and also on how Smeagol can make your life better!

I got Crabs!

I got crabs

organ donor time

hot beef injection is here

talking about ham

So I just wanted to share with you all that I got crabs. 2 little fiddler crabs from the local Wal-Marts. They are adorable, but I should have done some more research on them... I put them in my tank and watched them scurry around, and then one of my fish, an African cichlid that I bought because it was a pretty fish, promptly moseyed over and ate one of their claws off. The worst part of this whole ordeal is the crab then turned toward me and just stood there, and I dunno if you have ever looked at a crab but they always look sad, but this one looked like I had just....well, just put him in a tank to die. I almost started crying, I felt horrible. I have a 10 gallon tank in the basement that I am gonna clean up and probably put them in, crap I'm a jerk.

Anyway, as we all know (and I am sure care) Sunday was my birthday. Yes, it's true, yer old pal Stevester turned a delectable 29, and I feel every friggin bit of 70, except I can still get it up and I don't shit myself...yet.

Anyway, the day started with my mom and JJ calling me at 7:00AM and yelling "Happy Birthday" into the phone, then laughing and hanging up. I of course did a great Danny Glover impression by saying "I'm gettin' too old for this shit"... the awkward part was when they guy with the greasy jeri curl with the sax played that little hook from Lethal Weapon and then walked out the garage (for Prit, that's "gair-awjj").

Anyway, after receiving phone calls from my whole family, I get up and that's when it hits me. Smeagol. The raptor. The Life-Stealer. The Thong-Wearer... known by many names, answering to none.

I get a call, and it's him. Foolish foolish me, I assumed he was calling to tell me happy birthday, which would have been a nice change, but as we all know Smeagol never does anything unless it will benefit him.

"Hey Niggie, how you doin well enough of the small talk I got a computer from Rent-A-Center and I need some help with it" he moaned sassily, I can only assume scratching another barnacle out of his thong.

Before I go any further, I must explain something to those of you who read this blog who are not IT techs:

For the most part, we enjoy our jobs. Some, like me, got into the field simply to make money and become useful members of society, while others found a way to make money doing something they love. We also love our family and friends, and every once in awhile do not mind helping with a technical issue if they need assistance with it.

But make no mistake, it is still work for us. My uncle is a mechanic, and I used to call him all the time asking idiotic questions about my car and what was wrong with it, never realizing he didn't want to come home from working on cars all day to work on more cars. It is the same with your IT friends. We don't mind helping you, and sometimes even if we do the genuine love and friendship and good will will outweigh our annoyance with working on your computer, but there are a few ground rules:

1. Don't make the call for computer help the ONLY fucking time you contact us.

2. Don't EXPECT us to jump at the chance to remove all of your split beaver shemale porn.

3. No matter how well you try to hide the nasty shit you put on your machine, during the normal course of things we will find it unless you delete it.

4. I dunno about my colleagues, but we do NOT enjoy "being alone with all that techy stuff", and will more often than not get annoyed when you go in the other room and enjoy your day like I am a fucking plumber. Bitch you ain't fuckin paying me, the least you can do is entertain me.

5. Don't assume that because we CAN that we WANT to.

6. You are not the only asshole who calls me for technical help. I WILL answer people who are not pushy a LOT sooner than you. If you don't follow any of the above rules, I will NEVER answer you and put you off until I get annoyed with your calls or the next holiday when you inevitably corner me and ask why I ignore your calls all the time.

Sorry, BTW I am not talking about anyone who reads this site, mostly I am talking about a couple people in my family, it's REALLY annoying when they call 1 time every other year and it's only so I can remove all the gay porn their kid downloaded onto their computer, "completely without my knowledge", which is why it is in the quicklist on WIndows Media player. RIIIIi-i-ight...

Anyway, this post is about Smeagol, so back to the story. He calls and after I spend an excellent 15 minutes walking him through getting his computer configured and set up, he remarks that he needs a mouse. There is a long pause as I wait for him to ask where to get one, or what kind he needs...

....and am wrong. "...so... if you can bring me one, that would be great niggie." I blink a few times as the realization sinks in. What?! This fuckin' raptor wants me to bring him a mouse. A mouse. a 3 dollar fucking mouse. He wants me to get in my FUCKING car, on my FUCKING birthday, and drive for a half hour to bring him a mouse. You know what, fuck it. I do it. Because I am a spineless piece of shit who will bend over backwards to help my family out, I fucking do it. Well also because I wanted to know what was up with that raptor so I would have something fresh to post. It's also a lovely drive from Smithville to Liberty via the back roads, so I pack the kids up, grab a mouse and head out. I leave at 2:08PM on Sunday, with the full intent on being back at 3:00PM to watch the Chiefs play the Raiders.

I get to Smeagol's coven, tell the boys that we are not going to be there for very long, walk in, ignore his "Thank you so much" as I know the thank yous will not replace the 5 bux I spent in gas money driving over there, plug the mouse in and prepare to leave. Then Smeagol notices my oldest son holding a Harry Potter book. This is significant, because had he not taken that fucking book inside I would have happily enjoyed the rest of my day Smeagol-free. And yes I am blaming the ruination of my and my dad's day on my 9 year old son.

Smeagol pounced on him, talking about wizard school, Hagrid and all manner of fantasy nerd bullshit (I say this knowing I installed and am currently playing Dungeons & Dragons Unlimited on my computer - it's free!), even comparing books and plot twists. THis does 2 things: It gets me thinking maybe Smeagol is not so much of a douche, and keeps me close by long enough for him to lay his question on me:

"Hey niggie, you aren't going by Mom's house are you? I need tog et down there because I have orientation tomorrow..."

No. Not in a million years, no. My kid tells him I just filled my car up though, so I can't use that as an excuse. Think, Stevester, think!

Nothing. I tell him to call Mom and Dad, and if he can't get ahold of them, to call me after the game and I will run him down there. As I am leaving he leaves no indication that he plans to call anyone by saying "I'll see you after the game niggie!"

Fuck.

The only joy in this whole thing is going to be when my dad sees that raptor at his house and gives up HIS will to live. I get home, call my dad, ask if he will go pick Smeagol up, listen as he and JJ and my mom laugh in the background for a couple minutes then hang up on me, and realize I now can't wait to take that wily raptor down there to share in their lives and take their resources and stop up their toilet.

After the game, Smeagol of course calls, tells me he couldnt get ahold of them (I called right before he called me and he never called them), and I prepare to go pick him up. I get to his house, and I call his cell phone; I'm sorry, "Francisco"s phone, and get Mystery. I tell her to send him out as I don't want to get out of the car, then wait 10 minutes to see him hobbling out the door with a couple huge bags, and smile internally even as I get out of the car annoyed to open the trunk and help him with his bags.

The ride down to JJ's house was for the most part uneventful, except Smeagol remarking over and over how great my 1994 Dodge ran. Seriously?! I mean for all the jokes and shit I know it is a piece of crap car, I hate it when people patronize me. Notice that Smeagol still hasn't said anything close to Happy Birthday or "Hey let me give you gas money for making a 95 mile round trip"... nothing like that.

We get to JJ's, I happily take Smeagol's bags in, and grin internally as the look of joy at seeing me quickly turns to deep, face-creasing frowns for my dad, my cousin and JJ at seeing Smeagol hobble in... and head straight for the kitchen.

JJ mouths "What the fuck" as my dad just sits there, shaking his head, and I instantly feel bad for what I have done. What have these poor souls done to deserve a raptor in their lives? As we are shooting the breeze, Smeagol pokes his head around the corner and asks Dad if he can have one of his beers. The awesome thing about this is my dad's name is "Toboggan Boy" if Smeagol doesn't need anything, but it's "Daddy" or "Dad" if he needs something. My dad asks how many beers are left, as he doesn't want that raptor drinking his last one, and Smeagol walks off, supposedly to count the beers. We talk for a minute, my dad promising to drop Smeagol off at my house one of these days, and Smeagol comes back in slurping noisily at a Miller High Life, the Champagne of Beers. Dad asks how many were left, and Smeagol holds the can up while proudly proclaiming "I took the last one!" and we all laugh and enjoy the good will and cheer as he drinks it right in front of everyone, then lets us all know he has to be at orientation on 110th and Troost (I didn't even know Troost went that far) the next day. There is no way I am going to call in to work or show up an hour early to drive that asshat all the way to fucking Joplin or wherever 110th and Troost is, and I turn and leave. Great times. I enjoy the annoyance, the genuine, unfettered annoyance everyone displayed when I took him by. They will all be REALLY surprised come Thanksgiving time.

Smeagolaise

Smeagolaise

gentle brook bubbles

clear cold water bubbling down

shit I pissed my pants

Porn time

Smeagol is a thief. This is well known. From his "house cleaning" excursions when not only is the house spotless, but less cluttered with your personal belongings, to his "I thought it was mine, niggie" when it is fairly obvious no person with a double digit IQ or higher would believe that, especially since your name, address, DNA/Urine/Stool samples are permanently affixed to whatever the item is, I mean come on!

I have a penchant for collecting classic video game systems. I HAD everything from the original NES (can't find a decent Atari 2600) all the way up to the XBOX 360, including handheld gaming systems. I even for a while had them all hooked up, until my lovely wife came home that day I was in nerd heaven, and after that I was a true nerd, completely sexless masturbating on the sofa whilst crying softly. Sorry, didn't mean to go into that much detail...

Anyway, JJ is my brother. I love my family. SO when JJ asked me if he could borrow my Sega Genesis and my Sega Dreamcast, there was never a second thought. He had never stolen from me before, so there was no reason to think he would now...

I gave him my Sega and 22 video games with it, lots of them quite rare, each one with my name and most with a picture of a cock being plunged into either a vagina or puckered asshole crudely inscribed on them as I am wont to do, and my Sega Dreamcast with 15-20 games that I had burned over the years, since I long ago lost the original copies... note that these games were fucking BURNED onto cd-rs, had my name on them, and were very obviously not the original games as they had no artwork on them, well save for the aforementioned pubic regions.

Anyway, JJ asked a few days ago to borrow a few PS1 games, which I gave to him, including Final Fantasy 7, Metal Gear Solid, and Xenogears, a game I paid more than 125 dollars for. Like I said I don't mind helping.

JJ called last night and asked if he could borrow some Dreamcast games. I was like "sure", went to my inventory closet in the basement, past the shelves and shelves of porn, and realized the Dreamcast was gone, as were the games. I then remembered I had loaned it to him. I called and informed him of this, a little put out, and he mentioned with some trepidation that Smeagol had been by recently, and had cleaned house. He also noted that of the original 33 Sega Genesis games, there was now only the actual game deck, 1 controller out of the 2 I loaned him and 2 games. Smeagol had actually stolen a controller and the FUCKING power cord. And how do you steal 31 game cartridges without being caught? Apparently it had not all happened at once, but every time Smeagol came over to clean he would steal 5 or 6 different items, tuck them under his shirt or down his sweat pants (really) and then ask for a ride home from the very people he had stolen from.

-Update- this post was written a couple days ago, I am just finishing it. JJ went to Smeagol's hovel, and apparently saw all the games and assorted memorabilia sitting on his table next to let's assume his genuine thong collection. Upon seeing my name on them, he asked Smeagol where he had gotten them, to which he first replied "I bought them all at the pawn shop, niggie!"

When confronted with the notion that pawn shops aren't in the business of selling 20 year old video game systems, and the coincidence that the games and stuff had my fucking name on them, Smeagol changed his story right there to "Oh, well I had these for years".

I am now torn between taking all of my things back from JJ, and thus depriving him of the opportunity to ever play these great games again, and actually going to Smeagol's hovel and taking my shit back, though I know that will only lead to Smeagol somehow raptoring to my house and never leaving. At what point would you just say goodbye to your belongings, no matter how precious?

I know I harp on this a lot, and a lot of you are getting tired of hearing about it, but dammit!

Anyway...

Well it's that time of year again, Thanksgiving. This year I invited everyone, and already some battle lines have been drawn. Here is what we have so far:

I invited Smeagol (because my fucking mom told him and so he invited himself) and Mystery. No one knows they are coming, but all 30 people who came last year (my lovely wife included) have threatened to kill him if he shows up simply because he owes them money, has propositioned and/ or dry humped them into oblivion.

JJ wants to have Thanksgiving at Mystical's house, which is in the ghetto. My wife informed me that since the dangers of being shot are at roughly 1 to 1 there, if I go it will be alone. Her family also refuses, and my mom's kitchen/ dining room is smaller than my bathroom.

My wife's sister, who lives out past Lexington (like an hour and a half drive) informed us she would be completely insulted if we did not pack up and go to her house for Thanksgiving, which is awesome as if we all go there then my family will hate me as most of them planned on eating at my house.

JJ and my mom said if my aunt (my mom's fucking sister) goes to my house after showing her ass last year and being a douche all year this year, they are not coming. This will lead to more bad blood as my aunt is one mean lady.

My sister said if Smeagol is going to be at my house she is going to murder him, and she also doesn't want to see my aunt.

My cousin said if my wife's "fat white bitch ass" shows up she is going to "cut some gravy out dat bitch". The infraction? Last year said fat white bitch butt-bumped my cousin out of the way on the way to the turkey.

I hate children and most if not all of them are bringing their kids and more than 5 of said children's parents have already asked about leaving their kids with me for the night, which will not make me happy.

I hate the holigays.

Smeagol, the Sausage Thief

Smeagol, the Sausage Thief

Love is like a rose

delicate, beautiful, yet

the thorns fuckin hurt

First things first: I got kicked in the goddamn taint. "What the fuck is a taint" you may ask yourself? A taint, or taintius holestinkius in Latin, is the small sensitive area of skin between your asshole and your ballsack or lovehole if you're a lady... and while you may wonder why I am not glad I didn't get kicked in the balls, sit back and listen and I will regale you with the tale, and form your own opinions...

So we are sparring at the K-Rat last week, and things are going well... I couldn't find my sparring gear, so I wasn't wearing a cup (I usually don't anyway, they're too constrictive. I'm not saying I have huge junk, I'm prolly wearing the damn thing wrong, but I always have one ball or my wiener hanging out cause there isn't room... OK this is too much info... Sorry) and wasn't planning on sparring anyway, but I get there and everyone already is, so I borrow some gear and saddle up.

Things go well initially, until I am sparring this fucking little girl about 10 years old and she punches me right in the fucking dick. This is not a particularly painful experience, but when it smashes your balls into your leg and that fart you had been desperately holding in because you had fried chicken with gives you horrible rotten-egg-and-brussel-sprout smelling farts escapes with all the velocity of a Taepodong missile (LOL) and almost kills the other patrons of the building, something bad has happened. I pretend it doesn't hurt by balling up in the fetal position and crying loudly, and after the pain subsides we go back to sparring. I told you all of that to tell you this.

At this point I REFUSED to get kicked/punched/licked in the fuckin' cock again, and was quite willing to take a shot in the ass if that meant no more (not that way, sickos). We line up to spar, and I throw a back spinning hook kick right into this guy's sternum, resulting in a very satisfying "WHUMP" sound and him hitting the floor. Yeeaaaaaahhhh. He gets up, and as soon as the ref says "fight", he bull rushes me. Let me take you in slow motion what transpires at this point:

As he is hopping toward me, he is throwing all manner of hard front, side, round and gay kicks, following them up with punches meant to stun. I coolly assume since he is a much lower belt rank that somehow he will not see me move, even though I am a fat black guy and it is a brightly lit area, and move to the side, turning so I can trow a backwards roundhouse and snap his ribs. As he gyrates around like a wind up toy that is hooked up to a car battery, he throws a perfectly times front kick, which I am not incredibly worried about as I had received more than one toe IN MY ASSHOLE before (no, seriously, all the way in there). As I lift my leg up, my pelvis kinda arched back, and his whole foot barely missed my shitbox and pounded said taint. This is met by me again balling up on the floor and crying for my mommy.

It sucked.

Aiight, anyway, you don't care about my taint (or if you do, you're so sweet), face it: the title intrigued you, you feel cheated that thus far you have heard no mention of (and let's be honest here) the only reason you even bother logging into my blog: Smeagol. Hold your horses, here it is.

Apparently Smeagol got relieved of his position at the nursing home. This is the same nursing home that had fired said raptor for infractions such as bringing in a doberman and letting it run free, and allowing it to bite people; assaulting residents (verbally, but let's assume for comedy he was going in and punching old people in the face as they slept), sleeping on the job,and many others. Our favorite raptor was saddened, and had apparently moved in with the ladyboy and her friend who sucked my cousin off, in the hopes of possibly maxing out on said ladyboy again and also attaining sloppy seconds on said young lady (it sucks, she is REALLY pretty, she could do so much better for herself... whatever though), as he had his mail sent to her house.

JJ informed me Smeagol is still an avid player of Pokemon (or as he calls it, and I shit you not, "Pookee Mans"), and is constantly writing codes and various crap down on any paper he can find, and in this case he got a letter from said nursing home, and after glancing nonchalantly at the contents, commenced to writing said codes all over the back of it.

During one of his many, many naps, apparently Kareema (the girl who sucked my cousin off, not the ladyboy) saw the notice, and called and informed JJ, who informed me. It was a termination letter, and under "Reason(s) for termination", right there in black and white, was the cryptic sentence: "Caught stealing sausages from the kitchen".

HmmmMMmm.....

Seriously, What. The. Fuck. Apparently said raptor was caught, on surveillance camera (and how much would you pay to see that), raptoring into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, and stealing delicious sausages, much as his ancestors stole live young and suckable eggs from the nests of more successful creatures. JJ said one of the sad side effects is now Smeagol is coming by MUCH more often, and things are disappearing at an alarming rate... I loaned him 22 sega genesis games, there are only 13 left. JJ went to Smeagol's house and saw them, and remarked that those belonged to me, to which Smeagol replied he had "bought" them. When confronted with the fact that my full fucking name had been written on said games as I knew something like that would happen, Smeagol repeated the edict that he had bought them at a pawn shop, nevermind pawn shops would NOT still have Sega Genesis, what kind of coincidence that there's another Stevester out there who just happens to have the same 7 games and pawns them at a pawn shop down the street from our intrepid raptor?

None, that's what.

Anyway, I know we all got a little sad that no one could find a job for Smeagol, but now joy of joys the search is still on.