About a month ago I started talking to this chick on the internet. It was one Sunday night, and she sent a picture of herself showing just her head. Now, it may have been because I had about three 40's of Brick House in my gut but, she looked pretty good. I remember thinking, "Yeah, I'd suck face with that." So recently we started chatting on the phone, and she had a pretty hot voice and a laugh that I wouldn't mind hearing upon removing my trousers. I told her that I'd be in Virginia (where she lives) this weekend since I had a damn wedding to go to on that Sunday. We decide to meet at Kings Dominion (some bigass theme park). I rolled into a $25 dollar motel Friday night because I wanted to stay somewhere that smelled like home and had nice AC to blast.
That night I stocked some Miller High Lifes in my fridge and began pounding them and then called up this bitch (we'll call her "Lulu"). She sounded hot. Now she's 19 and I am 29, but she told me she likes older bastards. However, some subtle hints were building up that she might not be all that. Friday night I began to actually use my fuckin head to start questioning her appearance. She had previously mentioned, "I'd love to have an ass that looks like Halle Berry's," which led me to thinking, "NIIICE! that means she is CLOSE to having that bangable Berry ass, and if she's half that good, I'd bang it anyway!" Then, that night she said that she jogged. Oh shit. I said, "Why?" "So I can look good," she replied. I asked, "How long do you usually jog?" "Usually about a half mile....sometimes a mile....or until my legs feel like rubber."
HOLY SHIT, I thought. A HALF fucking mile?? I net a half mile on a weeknight just walking to a from my fridge in my boxers getting brew-dogs! The only chicks who consider a half-mile a real workout are those whose legs ARE rubber, and fat rubber at that. At this point I started becoming suspicious. I said, "so ya play soccer huh?," hoping for some light to be shed on this fatass mental picture I was getting. I took a good-luck chug of my brew and imagined one of those high school soccer babes with the ponytails and Halle Berry asses. "I did," she said, "But not anymore, because I have a belly."
I held my hand over the phone and muttered, after a huge slug of beer, "You fuckin BITCH!"
Then I asked her, "Well, all girls say they have bellies." Then I covered up the phone again and muttered, "Come on slut, tell me it's not that bad. I didn't come all this way to see eight stomach folds and cottage cheese thighs!" She responds, "No, I have a belly. I'm going to tell you that right now."
At that I drank a Miller High Life in about 20 seconds.
She goes, "You're quiet....why are you quiet? You're worrying me..." I let out a gigantic burp and told her everything is fine. It's just like a dumb slut to WAIT until I've flown all the way to Virginia that I'll have to lift her gut in order to find her puss. She told me she'd meet me at the motel in the morning, and the next day Lulu arrived. This was the moment of truth, and friends, this bitch wasn't exactly fat, just plump and ugly.
I knew this little prick in high school who spanked his dick all the time and bragged about his porn collection. This worthless fuck had dark, straight hair, a pale ugly face, and a roly-poly body. "Lulu" was like his fucking twin sister, I swear. I faked a smile, shook her hand, and said, "Excuse me dear." I then slipped into the bathroom, opened my cabinet, and chugged a 22oz of Bud Ice. Then we were on our way to King's Dominion.
It was a nice day, one that I couldn't believe I was about to waste on this watermelon-shaped bitch. I've fucked fat before, but I wasn't into spending the day with some ugly, chubby love child of Jerry Lewis and that dark haired chick from "Facts of Life." It was quiet the whole time we drove there, except for the few bullshit comments like me busting out with, "Nice day out today huh? Look at the trees?," then grimmacing as I looked at her stomach. She looked in the little mirror in my rented Metro and goes, "Today's a very unattractive day for me," you know, just WAITING for me to say, "That's not true - you're pretty!" Guess what? I didn't say SHIT after she said that.
Now, as we were riding, I am pretty sure Lulu did the unthinkable- she ripped ass. I didn't hear it, but I smelled something RANK. Now I KNOW it wasn't me, because my morning farts usually smell like eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and coffee. This smelled like some German Shepard after eating 3 cans of Bush's baked beans and 2 dead rats. I rolled my window down and almost threw her the hell out of my sled.
We got to the fucking park and I showed tremendous sack by actually paying for her ticket to get in. However, I had an alternative motive for that, figuring that if I payed for her ticket to get in, then I could drag her ass out of that park as soon as I damn well felt like it. Needless to say, LuLu was cramping the Deepmeister's style. Now I'm a wiry bastard with a nice complexion, not the most handsome fellow you'll find at a Sacramentian flea market, but close. I mean, I have some motherfucking charisma and an aura that will always make most of the WAL-MART grocery baggin hotties do double takes of my Paul Hogan-esque physique. Of course, the whole time I couldn't bring myself to break out any jokes, even though I had some GREAT material in my head. For as we all know, the only women that men ever tell their best jokes to are the those whom we subconsciously want to bend over a tennis net and jackhammer in the ass. Truth be it told. And there was NO WAY I was going to try and make her laugh, because I'd regret wasting it on that fatfuck.
We barely said a damn word, and she looked bored, yet we walked around and went on a few rides. The whole day I played a game where I would look at EVERY girl who walked by and I would think, "Ok, would I rather fuck her or Lulu?" Trust me, 19 out of 20 chicks who passed by us I would have boned before I boned the one I was with. Steven Stills - go fuck yourself buddy.
You have no idea how painful it was to be walking around with this hog and seeing all the pieces of pussy I could have hit on if she was not there. I was shamelessly ogling the teenaged honeys who were coming out of the water rides, staring at their tight assfolds and looking for some wedgies. While waiting in line for a water ride with Lulu, I saw this one group of hotties wearing bathing suits with shorts. One of them had a rack so big that it not only gave me wood, but had me flip my amber colored Eagle Visions on so that I could stare at the water beads so eloquently nestled on thier breastsesesess. Lulu is 19, but her boobs hang like a fucking 80 year old's, and no wonderbra in HotCarolinaBabe's trailor could save her sorry fuckin state of affairs.
People were sort of looking at me like, "What the fuck is a grizzled, hot dude with a Paul Hoganesque physique doing with a walrus-ass like THAT?" I was looking at people and shrugging my shoulders like #23 after he went apeshit against Portland, and making self-gagging gestures the whole time when she didn't see me.
About the only time that we both laughed together was in the petting zoo when one little goat started mounting another goat in broad daylight. The female goat was a nice size, not fat in the ass like Lulu. You KNOW it's a day of humility when some male goat shows you up with a decent looking female goat and starts fucking it right in front of your face. It was almost as if he was saying, "Look at this nice piece of supple goat pussy I'm banging. It may be just a goat to you, but at least she doesn't have tits sagging down to her ankles." Yes, I was humbled but had to laugh and rack that goat.
Both Lulu and I knew that it wasn't going well. I had done a nice job by walking her around and tiring out her fat fucking feet. She looked exhausted, and if I'd seen any more hot bitches walking around that I couldn't hit on, I would have cried. Granted, I COULD have macked on some females, but with Lulu there technically being my "date," that would have been unprofessional, and believe it or not, the Deepmeister has SOME integrity. Pretty soon I said to her "Let's get the hell out of here." and she agreed.
Siccness bretheren, this broad wasn't worth a shit.
We drove all the way back with me cranking up my mix tape, of MC Hammer, PM Dawn, Rappin' Duke, and some other shit I enjoyed. I didn't even bother to offer her dinner or to come back to the motel room with me for a shag. I just said, "I'm giong to nap here and maybe drink a few beers. See you later." I didn't give a FUCK. She drove home and I didn't even hug the whale goodbye.
Determined to enjoy the day, I first gave thanks to the Lord for helping me get through that horrific day. Then I went to Roy Rogers and ate a bunch of burgers and fries, and then I came back to the motel and jerked off to BlackTail, drank about 14 Miller High Lifes in my underwear while watching Back To The Future and passed out.
Commrades, if you're not sure what an internet chick looks like, she a guaranteed fatass and a waste of time and money. Do NOT meet one unless you've seen a full-body picture. It's better to flame out with 100 chicks who are selling keychains or snow cones at a county fair than to cop out and meet some lardass internet chick and have the worst day of your life.
Well, this was ALMOST the worst day of my life. Props to Miller, Roy Rogers, BlackTail's spread-eagle ho of the month, and Michael J. Fox for coming through in the clutch and saving it for me.
Deep needs a 40oz of Laser now. Deep needs a Kings game. Deep needs the AC cranked up. Deep needs his recliner.
Deep is out like a fat kid in dodge ball.
WAR back to the simple life in Sac-Town
