Christmas tme Killer

[mustynutz]

So I've been absent for a few weeks. Here I am.

When you're at a cross-point in your life, you start to question any and everything. Why would God take innocent people from Earth in such a harsh manner? Why are 18 year olds old enough to die for this country but not old enough to drink a beer?

I had finally saved up enough money to buy a ring for a certain special someone in my life. She has no clue what I'm planning on doing. I had been saving my money for months just to see the expression on her face that will only last a few seconds.

Word of advice to those who still carry all their money in cash: Don't.

Earlier this week, I had someone really close to me pass away. The man had always been a father figure in my life, always helped me when I needed it. When I was 15 and knew nothing about cars, he'd take me to his garage and we'd spend hours each night dropping a V8 into an old 1980 Camaro. Much to my shock, he gave me the car when the project was completed. Whenever I had money problems or car problems, he was always there to fix it.

I wish someone could have been there when he fell into his uncovered pool. He was getting old and apparently couldn't make it out of the freezing water.

I had lost friends and family members to death before, but it never hit me as hard as this. I thought I had it hard when I lost my girlfriend to a drunk driver. The night after I took her virginity nonetheless. I still blame myself for her death, she was killed on a road leading to my house. There was no doubt she was driving to see me.

Getting back on track-- the death of this man hit me hard. I couldn't just go into work the next day. I needed to get away from this area. I drove. Far.

When you lose someone close, you start to realize that this is indeed a short life and you can go at any minute. So, what do you do? You seize the day. But, why wasn't I seizing the day? Why did I jump in my car and start driving down the highway at 2 in the morning?

As I was driving, I came to the conclusion that I was going to buy the girl I care for more than anything in the world the most expensive ring I can afford with my money. As soon as I got back to my hometown, I was going to surprise her.

By daybreak, I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me as the sun glared off the hood of my old car and I had already been through three states. As the sun rose, I was still the only car on the highway. I happened to be driving by a hitchhiker-- usually I wouldn't think a thing about it and continue on my way. But, this guy was different.

He had a little boy with him.

The man carried a black Hefty back over his back, his greasy black hair had hints of grey. He hadn't shaved in a while. He was wearing a black stocking cap on his head, an old torn blue jean jacket and jeans in the same condition.

The boy was in a red t-shirt that read "Bugle Boy" across the front. It looked as if he changed oil on cars for a living because he had black spots all over his arms, shirt and face. He wasn't wearing a jacket or a hat. His arms were folded across his chest as he turned to look at me as I drove past.

I put on my brakes and backed up. Not once in my mind did I think about picking them up, I just acted without thinking. I do that alot.

"Yes sir?", the father looked at me. He wasn't looking for a ride, I could tell.

"Are you guys ok? It's awfully cold out."

"We're fine, just looking for a place to eat."

"Need a lift?"

"No, no. I can't ask that of you, but thank you anyway."

With that, he started to walk again, his son looking back-- obviously the half of the duo that wanted to get into the warm car.

"Wait!", I pulled back up beside them. "Can I please take you to your destination?"

The father looked down at his son, who was mumbling something back to him.

"Okay, there's a gas station a few miles up, can you take us there?"

"No problem."

"I don't have the money to pay you for gas. That's why--"

I interrupted him. "Then how are you planning on eating?"

"We'll find a way", he said as he placed his son in my backseat and hopped into the passenger seat. "We always find a way, right son?"

The little boy nodded as he chewed on his knuckles.

After I asked their names, which were Dave (the father) and Mitch (the son), I started to make conversation.

I didn't know how to approach it, but I was curious as to how a father and son ended up on the streets. After some beating around the bush, I just asked him. He told me that he made the mistake of marrying a woman he didn't even want to be with. After they had Mitch, the wife started to go out and party to rekindle the days of her youth. Dave never told me what he did for a living, but he told me that he had to work overtime to keep up payments on their two cars and their home. He might not have been rich, but he did have cars and a home. Long story short, they kept fighting and eventually got a divorce. Unfortunately, the wife somehow got the house and a huge sum of money. Dave lost his job due to the stress of the divorce and tried to give his ex-wife custody of Mitch. She wanted nothing to do with the boy, she was too busy with her wild lifestyle.

"And here we are", he said.

I didn't know what to say.

After I pulled into the gas station, I offered to buy them their meal. I pulled my wallet out of the center console of my car, took out a ten, and placed the wallet back. I walked inside the station and grabbed two cold sandwiches from the freezer section, two sodas, and two bags of chips for the guys. As I was walking back to my car, I didn't see the two sitting in it.

I looked around and saw nothing. I threw the bag of groceries into the passenger seat and walked around the back of the gas station-- nothing. I walked back to my car

With one last glance around, I cranked up the car and headed back home. I reached into the center console a few miles later out of curiosity. My wallet was still there. So was my money. They took off and didn't even take the opportunity to grab hundreds of dollars of cash?

I looked down in my seat and saw the sandwiches and sodas that they were supposed to be enjoying right now, then turned my car around and headed back to the gas station. It took some driving, but I eventually found them walking down the entrance ramp to the highway.

I pulled up beside them and held the back out the window. The father wouldn't come up and grab it.

"No thank you."

"Look, I'm going to drop this bag right here. If you don't eat it, the birds will. That would be just a waste, now wouldn't it?"

I dropped the bag and slowly pulled off. Dave eventually walked up to the bag and picked it up. I could make out a smile as he looked up at me through my rearview mirror.

My wallet had a little less money in it as I drove home, but the ring can wait a little while longer.

 

[mustynutz]

HOW THE GRINCH WHO STOLE VIRGINITY

By Sam I Am



As Cindylywho slept in her bed,
She felt something stroking the top of her head.

With an awful fright, she jumped into the air.
What did she find? Saint Nick standing there!

"Hello," said the Grinch, disguised as Kris Kringle.
"I woke you to show you the present I bring you."

"Oh joy!" Cindylouwho yelled, filled with delight.
How she very much loved Christmas Eve night.

"What is the present?" Cindylou asked.
"Does it need batteries or sunlight or gas?"

"No," said the Grinch. "It needs none of those things."
And Cindylou wondered if the present were diamond rings.

"It's green," said the Grinch. "And hairy too.
"If you play with it long, it will shoot out some goo.

"It's very long and it's as hard as a rock.
"The present, my dear, is Santa's own cock!"

The Grinch let loose his plus-sized penis.
Of the dicks in the world, surely it was the greenest.

There it was, pulsating in the open breeze.
If it weren't erect, it would have gone down to his knees.

Cindylouwho's eyes opened wide.
She looked at the dick and wanted to ride.

It was so shiny, yet dirty, and so very big.
The only other she'd seen was her brother's—a twig.

"Oh, Christmas miracle!" Cindylou gasped.
"How I would love this thing up my ass.

"It's so big, Santa! How can it be?
"Oh, please, please, Santa. Stick it in me!"

The Grinch's little smirk became a big smile.
He'd been waiting for this moment for quite a while.

This little virgin, this little slut,
Was about to get a face full of busted-Grinch-nut.

Bending over, Cindylou took off her panties.
She was going to have a story for her uncles and anties.

What a great thing for Santa to do;
To fuck her like a beast inside a zoo.

The Grinch looked down at Cindylou's hole,
It was tiny and pink and ready for pole.

With a thrust and some pain, he made his way in.
Cindy felt wrapped in the pleasure of sin.

As the giant dick plunged deep into her twat,
Cindylou said, "It feels good and yet it does not.

"My pussy is so small and so very tight.
"Your dick's big and green; I'm tiny and white."

Then the Grinch shouted, "Shut up, you bitch!
"You've waited long for me to scratch this vaginal itch.

"Now here I come, down inside of you.
"Oh, you little whore, beg for my goo!"

"I beg! I beg!" cried Cindylouwho.
"Please, Santa Claus, fill me with goo!"

And in and out, went the big cock,
And Cindylou started to moan, whimper, and bawk.

Inside of the girl, the penis drilled deep.
And to think, moments ago she had been asleep.

How she loved this feeling of humping Saint Nick.
How she loved the feeling of being invaded by dick.

"Cum on my face," Cindylou said.
"Spray your goo all over my head!"

"You'd like that, slut?" asked the green Grinch.
"Fine then, whore! It's a real cinch."

And after a moment, the dick was ripped out,
And just as soon, it started to spout.

Out came a glorious shower of chowder,
Cindylou squealed and the Grinch howled louder.

Over the girl's virginal cheeks
Came a bath of semen, built up for weeks.

The white-hot manna gushed down her face.
Cindylou felt like the luckiest of the whole Who race.

"Thank you, Santa," Cindylou said,
As the semen dripped off her head.

"Twas no problem," said the Grinch.
"Now bend over again! I'm not done with you, bitch!"

And into her ass plunged the great cock.
It drilled so deep that she went into shock.

Then the Grinch came again, all over her snout.
"Yes," yelled the Grinch. "This is what Christmas is about."

 

[mustynutz]

On the first day of Christmas my first husband said to me
"The doctor says I have inoperable cancer and I have no insurance"
On the second day of Christmas my mother said to me
"Your life is a sad, pathetic mess...oh, and by the way, what time is dinner?"
On the third day of Christmas my employer said to me
"your position has been eliminated due to a reorganization of the company - your being let go"
On the fourth day of Christmas my doctor said to me
" You are going through the change of life 10 years early, are depressed and in the middle of a mid-life crisis"
On the fifth day of Christmas my husband said to me
"I need space, things aren't the way they used to be so I'm moving out"
On the sixth day of Christmas my landlord said to me
"I've sold the building and the new owner wants you out in 30 days"
On the seventh day of Christmas my daughter said to me
I'm in love with a born again,unemployed,bisexual dwarf..and pregnant with twins. Can I move in with you???
On the eighth day of Christmas my mechanic said to me
I can't find the problem, it wouldn't do it for me...that'll be $12,00.00
On the ninth, tenth and eleventh day of Christmas, I had a nervous breakdown and methodically and happily killed everyone who had to open their big fucking mouth for Christmas.
On the twelvth day of Christmas a cop said to me
Your under arrest. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

 

[mustynutz]

Christmas and I have never really agreed with each other. My horrible luck, awful coordination, and shaking hands have always conflicted with decorating the tree, and putting up the Christmas village. However, putting up the lights takes the cake, being a sure-fire death sentence. Hence, I have always made my much more harmonized mom put those little bastards up.

This year I was condemned to put up those multi-colored demons on the outside of my house. I have those gigantic circus lights that look as if they could light up the whole world. But they don't. They just barely illuminate an inch around them. Slackers. I maneuvered the ladder out of my garage and after knocking the backside into a couple trees, managed to get it in my front yard. I set it up against my house, and proceeded to climb up it. I got to the fourth platform when my knees started shaking uncontrollably. I looked up to the hook that the first light was to go on, miles above my head and started sweating. This was not going to work.

I looked around my yard, trying to find some sort of tool to aid my process. A stick. Perfect. A hook. Perfect. A hook screwed into a stick. Ingenious. This primitive instrument would be my success in putting these flukes of society on the miniscule hooks drilled into the side of my house. Taking the line of lights, I slid them onto the hook at the end of the stick and positioned the strand on its destined hook on my house. I stepped back and admired my work. This wouldn't be so bad. I could do this.

After a few more heavenly victories, I dropped the stick to look up at my masterpiece again. I expected to see an affable melody of colors, but was rudely greeted with a black vacancy. These spawns of Satan, which I had poured my sweat into to position them in their rightful place had betrayed me. A light had burned out. Not just any light, but the light at the very peak of my house. The light that was virtually impossible to put up. I was NOT going to take it down. My hard work would not be wasted. So I decided I was going to climb up the window sill.

I have a big dome window in the front of my house, just under the godforsaken light. This window was previously broken by my retarded contractor, and had never been replaced, due to the fact that it's expensive as hell. So, if too much weight is put on it, the window will fall through, and blood will be spilled.

That in mind, I climbed on the narrow window sill to change the burnt-out light. It was defying me, barely brushing my fingertips. I leaned slightly toward the window, careful not to touch it, and stretched my arm nearly out of its socket. One of the bulbs was painfully close to my eyeball, scorching my retina, and making my eye water. My knees were sore from the plaster digging into them, my shoulder was in excruciating pain, and my eyeball was melting. I finally grasped the light and changed it, but was then faced with the problem of getting down. Well, the plants looked pretty soft. I closed my eyes and rolled off, landing just to the right of the pillow of flowers, on the cold packed dirt. I lay in agony for a few moments, then returned to my hookstick.

I was almost done. Just one more light to replace. I screwed the green menace into its socket and tightened it. My whole house went dark. Not just the lights, not just the outside, my whole house. I sighed, and unplugged the last strand I had put up, trying to figure the problem, when the bulbs started exploding. Red and blue shards of glass flew into my hands, painful, yet strangely beautiful at the same time. I stared at the pieces of color imbedded in my palms, and watched them become quickly concealed with blood. I think I understand the meaning of Christmas.

 

[mustynutz]

Shut up. Just shut your fucking pie holes, all of you.

I mean, I think it is great, just absolutely super that you've become such a master of cynicism and sarcasm that you can apply it to any situation.

It is completely awesome that you spend all your waking hours just LOOKING for something new to bitch about. Good for you. You have purpose. And you fill a truly valuable niche in society.

Super.

But now you've gone and set your sights on Christmas of all things.

CHRISTMAS!!!!

Wah. The music sucks.
Wah. It is too commercialized.
Wah. My mommy didn't get me the green Power Ranger when I was six, and I will NEVER forgive the world.

I just want to let you know that . . . and this is coming from the bottom of my heart . . . you suck. A lot.

I mean seriously, what the fuck? What the hell is wrong with you? What kind of fucked up childhood did you have to have that you don't enjoy Christmas? (However, if you did not engage in Christmas activities for religious purposes, you are exempt from this. Heathens.)

I'm not making this a religious thing, I'm talking about a big fucking spruce tree in you fucking living room, dropping pine needles everywhere. I'm talking about pressing your face up to store windows, or reading Christmas catalogues for hours on end, just fantasizing about what Santa Claus was going to bring you.

I'm talking about being made to get dressed up to go over to grandma's house on Christmas eve, or maybe to Midnight Mass for one of your two annual visits to the place.

Driving home on Christmas Eve listening to the radio, when the reporters come on to give you the latest news of where Santa has shown up on radar, and knowing that, "the sooner you go to bed, the sooner Santa will come."

Passing all the Christmas lights, as the windows fog up in the family truckster from all the "ewwww"ing and "ahhhhhh"ing.

Hey, remember watching Rudolph the Red-nosed reindeer, or "It's a Wonderful life?" with your siblings? I'm sorry if the animation in Rudolph isn't up to Pixar standards.

You deserve so much better. You self-absorbed asshole.

What about Christmas vacation? I know you can't call it that anymore, but did you always hate that too? Didn't it suck to have to go play with all your friends instead of going to school? Was there snow? Did you build forts?

I did. And I had a blast.

So why am I so pissed? What's my issue here?

Well, the way I see it, you've got a couple options when this time of year rolls around. The first option is that you can continue to be yourself. You can be a pathetic pissant that is unhappy with nearly every aspect of your lame-ass life, and you can whine like a bitch to let everyone know, in excruciating detail, which SPECIFIC elements of your lame-ass life are annoying you at any given moment. It's really a great option. I mean, it's working for you so far. Look how happy you are.

The other option is that you can put down that negative shit, just for a little while, and try to get on board. (Uh – oh, look out. Next he's gonna start singing "Kumbyah.")

Look, I'm sorry if you never made the transition from thinking Christmas was all about what you would get, to what you could give. Really I am. But what do you say you try and act like a big boy or girl and try to do something NICE for someone? You might just like it.

Why don't you find some organization that gives gifts to underprivileged children and get them that Green Power Ranger you never had? Why don't you go help out at a homeless shelter on Christmas Eve, it ain't like you've got dick else to do.

Buck the fuck up pissant.

Christmas is supposed to be about peace on Earth and goodwill towards men (and women). That is something that you SHOULD be able to get on board with.

Is it that fucking hard? Is it asking that much for you to just shut the fuck up and keep your pussy-ass whining to yourself for just one month?

Uhg. You make me fucking sick.






Merry fucking Christmas, asshole.

 

[mustynutz]

I hate it when you wake from a drunken slumber and someone is asking you about the happenings of the last 12 hours. "What the fuck did you do to the cat last night"? Jesus my soon to be ex wife was standing beside the bed obviously agitated. I tried to put my brain into recall mode but a foggy haze kept interrupting, I could use another couple of hours sleep. Total recall wasn't going to happen ill have to try a reboot into safe mode.

"Saxon would you please answer me, what did you do to the cat last night"? There was that question again, I think it's a trick question, but a clever one. I rolled onto my back not opening my eyes and said, "I have no idea what you're asking". "The cat was caught up in the Christmas tree, it was tied to it with an entire ball of yarn". Now this piqued my interest "I couldn't undo the yarn I had to cut it free with a pair of scissors". I opened my eyes and looked into the face of the woman I had grown to loath over the last 2 or 3 years.

"Tied up you say" I said matter of factly, "yes the fur around its rear end has been burnt from a Christmas tree light" she came back with. "How very interesting" I thought. Wracking my brain I tried in vain to bring back the night's events but none of my memory showed pictures of a cat tied to a Christmas tree. "Well I didn't do it," I said swinging out from under the covers into a sitting position "it must have got carried away with a ball of yarn and got itself entangled". "Well you better get your ass out of bed and get it down to the vet" she said storming out of the room.

The wicked witch from the north had taken the girls over to her parents place for dinner last night and stayed, I of course had some friends over for chrissy drinky poo's. "Its very likely we played with the cat last night" I thought as I scratched my ass and headed for the shower. "is Tiddles going to be ok" my youngest daughter said as I came out of the shower. "See this is why I never know what to call the cat" I thought. I have three daughters and they each call the cat by a different name. "yeh he will be fine sweetheart" I said. "Tiddles is a girl dad" number three daughter said crossing her arms.

The lounge had a pungent smell of burning hair as I entered, Shit I hate that smell and with a hangover it made me want to dry reach. The wicked witch had put the cat into the pet travel box so I couldn't actually see it as I took it from her. "Ill stay and clean this mess, how much did you drink last night" she said as I headed out the door, "two beers dear, the guys were animals and drunk everything in sight". She didn't say it but I heard her mind say "you lying bastard".

My two youngest princess's came for the drive and relayed their story of last nights fun at grans house, if there is anything that cheers me up its being with my daughters they are no end of amusement and pride. We sat in the vet's waiting room; I was turning my eyelids inside out grossing the girls out when the good doctor walked out to us. Why are vets always skinny dour guys who show no semblance of a sense of humour?

"Mr Saxon your cat is showing extreme signs of stress and has third degree burns to its anus". I let my face fall into sad display mode. "Shit do you have to put it down?" I whispered. "Oh no" he said, "I have given it some sedatives and applied cream to the burns" "how did this happen" he said looking at me as if I was a animal abuser. "we think it was playing with a ball of yarn and got caught up on the Christmas tree and burnt itself on the lights" I said "but Christmas tree lights don't radiate heat" he countered, "oh" I said "my wifes father is a electrician he wont let us spend money on electrical stuff, he makes all kinds of things". Shaking his head he finished our conversation with "I see well take this cream and apply it twice a day, it should be fine by the end of the week.

"yeh right! rub cream on a cats anus? You got to be joking" I thought as I walked out of the surgery. Later that afternoon I snuck into the laundry and rang Dave who was with us last night.

Ring Ring: Hello Dave here

Me: Dave its Saxon what the fuck did we do to the cat last night.

Dave: Ohhhhh shit that was funny man, we played Peter Pan and tied the cat to the Christmas Tree.

Me: It burnt its ass on one of the lights I had to take it down to the vet.

Dave: No Shit!

Me: Did you know cats can cry.

Dave: No

Me: I watched it take a dump in the sandbox about a hour ago tears were running out of its eyes.

 

[mustynutz]

If Sant al-Claus has his way, Christmas Eve this year will be a holy night, but it will be anything but silent. The radial Yulist cleric, known for his red paramilitary uniform and snowy white beard, is thought to be planning a major terrorist strike within the United States sometime this holiday season. al-Claus is known to cross international borders with remarkable ease in pursuit of his goals, and this year it is considered more likely than ever that those on his naughty list will be waking up to a dirty bomb or holiday card laced with anthrax spores. al-Claus operates from a secretive base near the North Pole; special forces operations against this base have been thwarted by the uncooperative government of Canada, the mysterious and syrupy pariah nation of the boreal wilderness. al-Claus' hatred of the west is well known; while his motives remain unclear, the fat fanatic with the reindeer fetish is thought to be driven by a hatred of Israel and America, and the desire for peace on earth and goodwill toward men.

"Good" Sheikh Wence al-Slaus, a prominent supporter of al-Claus, holds that the cleric is a divinely inspired leader who is the best hope of the Yulist movement to rid the North Pole of American influence, and ultimately destroy the west. A statement read on Arabic language television network al Jazeera says "The great western Grinch is attacking Sant al-Claus by allowing global warming to melt his ice mosques at the North Pole. He will punish the infidel. He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good or the fury of Allah will smite you with unstoppable power and you will be cast from the light of heaven into eternal darkness forever. And you'll get a lump of coal in your stocking for sure."

Reports have been surfacing that members of terrorist sleeper cells have been attempting to sign up for positions in some of the nation's most prominent Santa Claus schools, presumably in order to gain positions of trust and respect in shopping malls across the country. John Sobieski of "The Original Santa Claus School" in New Albion, Michigan, said, "We had one guy come in, wanted to sign up for reindeer flight school right off the bat. He weren't interested in learnin' the laugh or 'splainin' how he gets down and up all those chimneys. Just kept askin' the maximum airspeed of a sleigh, and how much fuel a fully loaded reindeer holds." Asked to estimate the kinetic energy contained in a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, Sobieski gave a value "somewheres between hittin' a deer with your truck and, like, a fireworks factory exploding".

The Department of Homeland Security has issued no warnings of a specific threat, but urged Americans to be extremely cautious around unidentified packages, especially around the critical dates of 24-25 December. Since the passage of the Patriot Act, the law provides that if up on the rooftop there arises a clatter, you should immediately spring from your bed to see what is the matter. If confronted by a right jolly old elf, it is advisable to shoot first and ask questions later, especially if the suspect appears to have a belly that shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly-- a characteristic trait of suicide bombers wearing belts of plastic explosive.

Photos:
(Left) A picture of radical Yulist cleric Sant al-Claus is hoisted aloft by an exasperated shopper during extended mall hours in the Christmas-ite stronghold of North Pole.

(Upper right) The Island of Misfit Toys, the final destination for elves, or "helpers", who violate the strict laws imposed by fundamentalist Christmas-ites, is said to be the site of nonstop violations of the Geneva Conventions. A guard declined to be interviewed for this report, but was heard to mutter "Hate untangling those goddamn lights every year. But I'll be damned if that bastard Smith across the street is gonna have a better display than me."

(Lower right) This photograph of unknown origin, passed to CIA operatives by Pakistani intelligence, suggests that there has been a new development in Osama bin Laden's plans to smuggle nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons onto American soil. Iraqi cleric Muqtada al-Sadr was reported to have sat on bin Laden's lap and asked for an X-Box, the Star Wars DVD box set, and the total destruction of America for Christmas

 

[mustynutz]

am a girl. Let's just get that out of the way first.
My girlfriend and I had been split up a couple months, and despite that naive act, girls have their needs too.
I don't know a single girl who doesn't think about sex ALMOST as much as men.
We just typically don't display it in the same ways (i.e. grabbing at crotch, pulling it, even displaying it on a public bus. Is that supposed to make us want it?)
I had to make a trip home for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, who knows one of those holidays that haven't been the same since I was a kid.
Well wait, it must've been Christmas, because my little seven year-old sister got a present I will never forget.
It was a squiggle wiggle writer.
One of those colorful pens (you can buy them in green, red, pink, purple or blue) that vibrate when you put a pen in the bottom and it makes your writing all SQUIGGLY!
I think my grandparent's must've given it to her.
After all the presents were open, I was showing her how to use it.
I put the ink in and turned it on.
MY GOD I thought.
The feeling of all that battery power just rumbling in my hand turned me on.
I quickly dismissed those awful thoughts I was feeling while holding a children's toy in my hand given to my little sister and touched by my 90 year-old grandparents.
But somehow, I just couldn't. I was just too damn horny.

Little Sister: "Hey, can I have my pen back?"

Me: "No, I don't think it works right"

LS: "Yes it does, let me try!"

Me: "I'm going to have to take this piece of crap back to the store and return it"

LS: <Crying> "Christmas is ruined now!"

Me: "Oh shut up and go play with all your other presents!"

I ran upstairs into my bedroom, surrounded by all my old high school photos, cartoon bed sheets, stuffed animals and beanie babies and did the unthinkable. I unbuttoned my jeans, threw the zipper down stood against the door AND GOT OFF WITH A CHILD'S TOY!!!!!!!!

It only took about 20 seconds for that battery-powered number to get me off. And afterward I slid down the door and laid there and thought about what I'd just done.

It was so amazing I kept the damn thing and still use it to this day.

 

[mustynutz]

Here is a story all about how my life got flip turned upside down. I'd like to take a minute so just sit right there and I'll tell you how I became a......uh.....well, I wasn't exactly in any position to be labeled a prince and where I got to spend the night sure wasn't Bel-Aire. It was probably more like hell but worse. Yes folks, I am sure it was bound to happen. I got to stay in the lovely bed and breakfast commonly known as the city jail of Plainview, Tx.

Sunday evening, on 12-28-03, I was driving back to Amarillo, Tx from Odessa, Tx. A lot of my extended family live there and I was visiting them for the holidays. My parents were taking forever to leave and I had a beautiful girl named Courtney waiting on my presence in Amarillo. I got sick of waiting for my parents, so I jumped in my car and started hauling ass home.

I never speed in between cities or small towns. It's too dangerous because the bored state troopers have nothing better to do than harass people. In Dallas you can get away with driving as fast as 80 mph on the highway but not when you are in some podunk area like Plainview. That place is definitely the land that time forgot, aka "Shithole, USA." Maybe I am just bitter. That's probably it.

I was driving 84 and was 1 hour away from home. I was being stupid and careless. My track record was so good. I had a few close calls but was never caught and I guess I let that get to my head, I was invincible........until I saw the red and blue flashing lights behind me. At first, I thought it was something patriotic but then I realized I was about 6-7 months off of Independence Day. Option 2, it must be a cop. He comes up to my car and says,

"Where's the fire?"

I couldn't think of a sufficient answer. My dog, Stoney, and my dad's dog, Penny, were in my car. They were barking at him, so he asked me to step out of the car. We got into the front seat of his car and he showed me the radar. Wow, I guess I was speeding. He gives me a ticket for it and then asks if I have ever been arrested. I tell him no because I have not. He asks if he can search my car and I tell him yes because they will find a way to do it and being cooperative is always better than being an asshole. The cops remember that and put that in their reports.

I take my dogs out of the car and stand on the side of the road as he searches. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he comes out of the car and in the golden hue of the setting sun, he raises the sack in the air like a Gladiator raises his fist after a successful battle. I was busted with an ounce of run of the mill schwag.

He allows me to put the dogs back in the car and then we go back to the cop-mobile and sit and wait for a tow truck. The officer was pretty cool for the demon that led me to the inner layers of Hell. We sat in the front of the car, listened to Korn, and I made cell calls to all my friends to let them know that I would not be going out to the bar.

The officer did not cuff me. He took me to the city jail and they put me in a holding cell for awhile. I was going crazy. I got so bored that I started belting out, "Smoke Two Joints," by Sublime. I had nothing better to do. The "bed," was nothing more than a wooden bench with a blanket and I didn't even have anything to contribute to the graffiti with. Finally, the guard pulled me out to take my prints and my mug shot. I asked him if he had any pot that I could smoke while waiting for my bond to be set. He, of course, turned me down. After taking my mug shot, I asked if I could get it in wallet size so I can give my mom a mother's day present. In a situation like this, the only thing worth doing is making fun of it.

The next day my bond was set. I spent all the money in my wallet to get out but it was the best $240 I ever spent. I go back to court next Wednesday to plead guilty and then bite the bullet. Yes folks, that's right. STREETPUNK will no longer be consuming illegal products left and right, unless by some miracle, they don't put me on probation. I will have to walk the straight and narrow for awhile but I am trying to be positive. I am going to start exercising, writing more, and generally be more productive. I am bowing out until this passes over and then I am going to join an advocacy group. Until then, I must suck the government's proverbial schlong but that's ok because I will not let the man see that I am hurt by this. I did not cry when I got arrested and I did not cry in prison. The first time that I cried was when I got in my car, alone, and drove home. Uncle Sam and his slimey brothers did not and will never get the pleasure.