HAPPY FUCKIN FRIDAY FUCKERS !!!!

[mustynutz]

Fuck Thanksgiving.

Fuck it in its thankful ass.

For the past month, my family has been planning the biggest Thanksgiving dinner in the history of dinners. This one was to put the original Thanksgiving dinner with the pilgrims and indians to shame. Back when the pilgrims and indians finished their meal, then watched football, I bet they never planned for their dinner to be as big as ours.

This dinner was to take place at my grandmother's. 150 plus people were on the list to be invited. Everyone even had their own assigned name plate on the table, so they'd know where to sit. Two nights ago I drove over to my grandmother's to go ahead and set up the table, name plates and all.

Much to my dismay-- I didn't have a name plate for me. When I asked my grandmother why, she responded with--

"You're too good to come and see me all year round, so I assume you're too good to see me on Thanksgiving."

So, that's it. I'm not invited to my family's Thanksgiving dinner. I wasn't going to fight it or show up anyway. Why should I? I wouldn't have anywhere to sit even if I did show up. Fine, I'll make use out of my time and volunteer at a church. My goal-- to feed all the hobos that come into the door.

Easy enough.

This morning as I pulled into the church parking lot, I had never seen so many bicycles in my life. I couldn't find a parking space because apparently homeless people think that a bike is equal to a car.

As I walked into the church gym, tables with white table-cloths were everywhere. A man greeted me as I stood there.

"I'm sorry buddy. We don't start serving until 11."

Apparently shaggy hair and sideburns constitutes being homeless.

I don't understand the reasoning with this. The ladies love my hair. My bangs flow over my eyes and if I walk into a club on a Friday night, I get all the attention. Yet, when I walk into a homeless function, I'm considered one of "them".

"I don't think you understand. I'm not homeless. I'm here to help out."

"Oh, okay. Well, you can cut the turkey and serve it. Here, throw on this purple shirt."

Purple shirt? No thanks, I'm wearing my own clothes, dipshit.

"I'm not wearing this. I'm just helping out."

"It's required. You have to wear the shirt and a nametag."

I held the purple shirt up in front of me. It had the church's logo and a turkey on the front. I'm not wearing this. I'm not wearing a nametag either. What do homeless people care if I wear a nametag? They don't want to know my name. They just want their food.

I thought to myself-- I can be anybody I want here. Nobody knows me. I chuckled to myself as I wrote "Doctor Morris" on my nametag and stuck it to my shirt. I walked behind the counter and grabbed a knife, and started practicing cutting the turkey as a hefty lady walked up to me.

"Hi! How are you... Doctor Morris?"

I ignored her.

"Excuse me? Doctor?"

I looked up to her.

"My name's--", then I looked down at my name tag. Oh yea, that's right. "Doctor Morris, how are you?"

''Oh great! We've never had a doctor come and help us out! It's usually housewives and church members. You look awfully young to be a doctor."

"Why thank you. You look young yourself. You're, what, 20?"

She blushed and covered her obviously 60 year old face. "No silly, I'm 35."

Ew. Could have fooled me.

From the beginning, things went smoothly. When people looked at my nametag, then up to me, I was given the respect that Doctor Morris deserved. The homeless people never complained. They took their turkey and moved on.

"Excuse me, doctor?"

I turned around. "Yes?"

"Hi. My name is Sharol. This my little boy. We're volunteering here as well. I just wanted to know if you could look at this rash on his bum and maybe tell me what would be the appropriate cream to put on it."

"Um... I... sure."

I'm a fucking idiot.

So there I was, in the bathroom with an 11 year old boy with his pants down to his ankles. Needless to say, this isn't actually how I envisioned spending my Thanksgiving.

"Ma'am, it looks like your son has a rash."

"We know that--"

"Well if you knew that, then why am I here?"

"We don't know what to do about it."

"Put some cream on it."

With that, I walked off with my bad self.

As the day progressed, more homeless people crowded into the huge gym. One man in particular actually brought his plate back to me. His facial hair was extremely long, a black tobogan rested on his head.

"Uh, yessuh. My turkey, it's dry."

"Oh I'm sorry, it'll be okay."

"No it won't. I want to see the manager."

"Excuse me? You got that turkey for free. Do you want your money back?"

"I want to make sure that we get the best qualty turkey that we can."

"Let me reiterate. How much did you pay for that turkey?"

"You listen to me, you doctor. Just because you make alot of money doesn't make you better than me, you dog fucker."

Great, I see the correlation that all doctors fuck dogs. Seeng as how I'm not really a doctor, that means the joke's on him. Ha!

"What did you just call me?"

"I want some better turkey!"

"Are you this picky when you're digging through the trash cans?"

"Wha? Did you just--"

"NO, let me finish. Do you knock on the door of the house that threw out their food and complain that their trash isn't to your liking? Do you ask them to throw out better trash next time?"

"Why you--"

"Here, let me dump it in the trash over here. Maybe then it'll taste a little better."

Needless to say, several people weren't happy with Doctor Morris' actions. I decided to leave before somebody choked on a bone and needed a real doctor. Only then, I'd be in really deep shit. Right before I left, two homeless guys got into a fight. If only I had my camcorder on me, I could have recorded it and sold it on e-bay.

On my way home, I stopped at the only open restaurant and bought a turkey sandwich and fries. When I walked into my home, I had several messages asking me why I wasn't at the family's Thanksgiving lunch (It's always our tradition to eat early).

That concludes my awful Thanksgiving Day.

Fuck Thanksgiving.

Fuck it in its thankful ass.

 

[mustynutz]

I see you.

You're asleep. In my bed. You might not belong to me forever, but at this moment in time, I'm the only one that knows what you're doing. Of everyone in the entire world, I'm the only one that can protect you at this time.

Nobody else. Just me.

Another day, another dollar spent in the mall on you. You always tell me not to buy you things, but I can't help it. When I've got an extra few bucks in my wallet, I'd rather it go to making you smile.

Another day, another dollar spent on the gas to get to your place. You live a good distance away, but I don't care. Sometimes, I have to go without a meal just to put 5 dollars in the gas tank to see you. You always offer me money, but I politely tell you that I'm fine.

I'll make it home.

Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have to walk a few miles to the nearest gas station with the pennies from my car's console jingling in my pocket just to get home. But that's okay, you're worth it.

Another day, another dollar.

Another dollar spent on our dinner. I usually don't take you to expensive places, namely because my budget doesn't allow me to. Working overtime every night for a whole week just to see you smile when the $250 dollar meal arrives makes it worth it. You didn't eat all of your chicken.

That chicken you're not eating was half of my paycheck. Waiter? Can I have a to-go box? I hope you enjoyed that. It'll be several more weeks of overtime before we can eat here again. Tomorrow, it's Ramen Noodles and crackers for me.

Another day, another dollar.

Another day of you yelling at me. Apparently I over-reacted when you didn't get in contact with me for three days. You told me that your schedule has been hectic, but would it have hurt you to pick up a phone to let me know how you were?

Another dollar spent to put more gas in the gas tank. I haven't seen you for four days now. The only time I hear your voice is when I'm the one calling you. You don't talk, so I end the conversations. I see you coming out of college and getting into your car.

Your friend is with you. I'm glad she's female or I'd be questioning it. I follow you guys as you pull out of the parking lot. I follow you all the way to the movie theater parking lot. I watch from a distance as you two get out of your car and go inside.

Why don't you ever ask me to go to the movies with you? You don't have any free-time, huh? Right.

Another dollar spent to call you from a payphone outside the movie theater. You pick up and are whispering, probably because you're in the movies. You tell me that you're at home doing homework and that you have to go.

No problem.

Another day, another dollar.

You haven't showed up in seven days. I decided right now to pick up the phone and ask you where you've been. You tell me that this relationship is too stressful on you and that you'd like time to yourself. So, we're still together, right?

No, we're not.

Thanks for telling me. I'm glad I had to call you to find out. I didn't want to burden you to have to pick up the phone to call me to tell me we're over.

Another day, another dollar in the gas tank to get to your college again. I'm sitting out front in the parking lot in my car. I see you walk out with a friend and get into your car. Wait, who is that? That's not the girl that usually rides with you.

She's not a girl. That's a guy.

You don't have time for me, eh? I'm glad you can squeeze in making out with a guy in your car while I stare at you from a distance. Stressful schedule, huh?

Another day, another dollar spent on a rose. Actually, it was three dollars. But "another day, another 3 dollars" doesn't sound as catchy. I place that rose on your windshield and leave. I don't know why I did it. I guess I want you back.

I guess.

You're nothing. You mean nothing to me. I never was really into you. I can easily get over you. So why am I calling your phone? You're not answering anyway, so it's like I never called you.

It's been three weeks since I've seen you. Four since you've seen me.

Another day, another dollar spent to go for a drive. Where am I going? Wiait, why am I driving toward your house? I need to turn here so that I don't head your direction.

Two lefts don't make a right. But three do.

Your car isn't there. None of the lights are on.

I can't get over you by myself. I need help.

Another day, another dollar spent on alcohol to help me get over you. Another few dollars on beer, another few dollar on Jack Daniels. He'll help me through this.

I lost my job today. I guess you can blame Jack. He makes me come into work with him. My boss doesn't like Jack. He told me to straighten up. Jack cussed him out and punched him in the face.

With Jack in my system, I drive by the college just in time to see you come out with that same guy. I don't stop, I just drive by. I get home and look into my wallet.

I'm down to my last dollar.

I don't think I'll be seeing you anymore.

 

[mustynutz]

Usually when I'm with a group of friends, I'm never the one who decides when we go somewhere. I basically have that "go with the flow" attitude. As long as I'm occupied with girls or alcohol, take me wherever you want. I'm not hard to please when you want to go somewhere with me.

Girls and alochol. One is good, but if I have both, I'm game. Hell, you can take me to a fucked up gay strip club and have a guy rape me in the butt. As long as I've got a hot girl to look at and alcohol in my system, I'm good.

Okay, maybe that was taking it a little too far. I don't NEED alcohol in my system.

Oh, and I'm not gay, just in case you were thinking that. I only had anal sex with a dude one time. And that was only because I was low on money and needed to pay for my next meal.

Nah, I'm just kidding-- I didn't need money.

Over the summer, I had the opportunity to date a college freshman who was into the punk-rock scene. She basically liked any song that was two minutes long, involved guitar, and had sissy boys screaming emotional lyrics. I didn't necessarily care for the music, but I always was open to adjusting to her lifestyle and friends.

I will say this-- punk rock chicks are some of the sexiest girls I will ever meet.

One weekend in particular, she practically begged me into going to a punk concert with her. After much convincing on her part, I finally gave in.

Oh, she gave me head to. That convinced me.

As we pull into the parking lot of the small pub, I notice the long line of people. I had never seen more trucker hats my entire life. You'd think it was a John Deere convention. After standing in line with my 19 year old girlfriend, I started to notice a pattern in the ages of the people in line. Most were between the ages of 13 and 16. What the hell is this? I don't want to crowd into a small, dark, sweaty room with tons of 15 year old girls.

Not until I'm in my 40's, anyways.

As we made our way inside, I insisted we stand in the back until I get a feel for this place. It was about the size of my living room and there were about 200 teens packed in there. After having several conversations with a few guys I met there, I've come to the conclusion that all punk-rock guys have a voice no deeper than Renee Zelwegger's.

The lights dimmed and the first band hit the small stage. They were called Alexisonfire. As soon as they started playing, a huge circle in the middle of the cramped, small room opened up and a few guys started bouncing off each other. Okay, a mosh pit. Fair enough.

I never could get a feel for the music-- believe me, I tried. I'm just not into bands that scream lyrics I can't understand. The crowd eventually pushed me to the middle of the room, separating me from my girlfriend for the rest of the concert. I had teenage boys and girls rubbing their sweaty bodies against me.

It was like a really fucked up underage bisexual version of the Christina Aguilera ''Dirty" video.

I was unwillingly making my way toward the mosh-pit. Next thing I knew, I was standing outside the pit as 6 foot tall lanky guys pushed each other around. All of a sudden, a long blonde hair guy wearing a pink shirt jumped in and started throwing his legs up in the air.

What the hell is this? This guy's at least 25, why is he moshing with 16 year old boys?

I eventually took my mind off the freak and concentrated on trying to enjoy the music. About 10 minutes later, a size 9 Converse sneaker kicked me right in the side of my cheek. After shaking the daze off, I turned my head to see the pink-shirted freak doing his dance, throwing his legs and hands around without concern for the safety of others.

As he danced over to me, I tried to scream out to him.

"Hey buddy, you think you can chill out with the karate kid stuff?"

He looked at me, his eyes widened and he gave me his response. A head butt to my chest. Then he went back to his wild monkey dance. He eventually kicked several others in the face, knocking guys down, and even hitting a few girls. Nobody else was left in the mosh-pit, he was the only one dancing around, hitting everyone surrounding the circle with his feet.

My girlfriend eventually found her way back to me. While she was talking to me, that same Converse came into full contact with her boobies, sending her back a few inches. I know this little shitbag didn't just touch my girl's boobies!

I walked to the middle of the circle and pushed him in the chest. He looked me square in the eye and knew he had been challenged to a mosh-off. We circled each other, feeling out our competition.

It was a scene right out of the Michael Jackson Beat It video. Except with a homo and a guy in a pink shirt. Wait-- I mean a homo in a pink shirt and a homo. Wait, that's not right either. It was a homo, then me.

I was anticipating his first move, he charged to me and threw his leg up in the air. I grabbed his leg, pulled it up into the air, and he crashed hard onto the concrete floor. At that moment, the other boys began to join the mosh-pit again.

I saved the mosh-pit and made it safe for all the boys and girls.

So, after this horrible experience, why do I still enjoy the company of this punk-rock girl? She's my only friend with morals. All of my other buddies like to drink until they're drunk. Then when they're drunk, they drink until they pass out.

Everybody needs someone they can invite over to talk to. That's where this punk chick comes in. I mean, it's kind of hard to pour out your feelings to a fat girl named Jennifer who's passed out and puking all over herself in the bathtub.

I think it's about time for an updated camwhore, don't you? I think this picture just screams "homo" or "jailbait."

 

[mustynutz]

Let's take a memory lane stroll back to the turn of a decade. The 80's boom era was over and a new time was upon us. The phrase 'get with the 90's' was rampant. The year was 1990.

At age 43, Nolan Rylan pitches a record 6th no-hitter.

Hot pants and mini-skirts made a comeback.

Boris Yeltsin is elected the President of the Russian Federation.

Pete Rose is sentenced to 5 months for income tax evasion.

Famous celebrities that died that year; Sarah Vanghan, Greta Garbo, and Sammy Davis Jr.

Buster Douglas knocked out undefeated Mike Tyson in the 10th round in a Tokyo fight.

Wide headbands, pre-ripped jeans, and ninja turtles stuff were the hot new fads.

1990.

I started my first year of school that year at the young age of 6. As I waited at the bus stop, any stranger could have coaxed me into coming to his car with a piece of candy and raped and murdered me. Hell, he could have shown me a rock.

I liked rocks.

What? I was gullible.

I looked out the back window of the bus, staring with wide sad eyes at my mom, who seemed more than happy to get rid of me. Probably because, for 7 whole hours, she didn't have to hide her drinking. I had never been without my parents. Ever.

From the moment I was born and my mom screamed ''put it back in!", we were inseparable. I was venturing into a new life. Kindergarten.

That morning, I woke up extra early just to get dressed. I put my own clothes on, assuming I did a pretty decent job-- to later find out I had put my pants on backwards when I had my potty break. It was quite difficult for a 6 year old to handle the fact that his zipper disappeared.

Speaking of using the bathroom at 6 years old, I thought I had peeing down to a T. Apparently I was wrong. I thought everybody let their pants and underoos drop straight down to the floor to use the urinal, used two hands, stood on their tippy toes, and aimed with their hips with intense concentration.

The teacher, Mrs. McMichael, told us to find our names on the floor. I wandered around aimlessly, looking at the white pieces of tape strips on the carpet when I saw my name.

JUSTIN.

I prepared to sit down when, what do you know, some girl quickly plops her ass down on spot. What does she think she's doing?!

That's MY name on that tape bitch-- move yo' ass.

"Hey girl. That's my name."

"Not uhhh."

"Uhh huhhh."

"Not uhhh.''

"Uh huhhhh."

This heated argument went on for several minutes when Mrs. McMichael interviened. She explained to the blonde haired girl that the tape said JUSTIN, not KAREN.

Heh, stupid illiterate bitch.

Karen's piece of tape just so happened to be beside me, so regardless, I had to learn to get along with her. By the end of the day, there was something funny about that girl. I felt funny whenever she talked to me.

For lack of better words, she made my hoohoo tingle.

"Justin. Wanna be my boyfriend?"

"Ok Karen. What do I have to do?"

"You hold my hand and all that grownup stuff."

"Grownup stuff?! Like chewing gum?"

"Duhhh!"

My first girlfriend. First day of school and I was already big pimpin'. Well, small pimpin'. Actually, no. I was medium pimpin'.

Later that day at recess, I had to deal with the class bully--Allen. He was African American. He was also short and not very bright. He spent so much time in the timeout chair, whenever he came into class each morning, he would just go ahead and go straight to the timeout chair. Might as well-- it's the inevitable.

While I was innocently enjoying my time on the swingset, I felt a push from behind.

"My swing!"

"I was here furrrst!"

Another push.

"I'ma beat you up white boy!"

I had never had violence threatened upon me, so I did what most self-respecting six year olds would do.

I ran away crying.

Allen chased me.

I ran. Faster.

He was coming close.

In the middle of the schoolyard, I saw a big pole. I considered myself quite fast back then, so I figured I'd make a complete turn-around around the pole to gain more distance between us.

I grabbed the pole with my left hand and swung around, not bothering to look back.

"GONGGGG"

What? What just happened? I looked back to see Allen sprawled out on the ground.

First day of kindergarten and I'm already taking out folks.

I looked over to the swings and noticed something. Karen was holding hands with another guy.

Slut.

I ran up to her to investigate what was going on. I wasn't going to take shit.

"Who's that Karen??"

"That's my other boyfriend, Graham. You're still my boyfriend too."

"Oh."

"Since you're both my boyfriends, you should be boyfriends of each other too."

Graham looked at me, I glared at him.

"Okay", he said.

First day of kindergarten and I've got a girlfriend AND a boyfriend.

Lay off, I was 6. It was 1990. I didn't know. Gay people didn't exist back then.

"JUSTIN MICHAEL!!! COME OVER HERE IMMEDIATELY!!"

Mrs. McMichael was storming toward me, then grabbed my hand and brought me into the principal's office. She had some words with the principal, a tall, lanky bald man-- then walked out. It was just me and the principal, staring eye to eye now.

"So Justin, what's this I hear about you hitting people?"

"I ain't hit nobody."

"That's not what your classmate Allen says. He says you punched him right in the face."

Damn Allen. That liar.

I started crying again. I didn't know what to do.

"Can I go to the bathroom?", I glared at him with puppy eyes.

"I don't know, can you?"

Ahhh, the smart ass. You remember when your teachers gave you that line, in an attempt to get you to say "May I.."? Keep in mind, I didn't know my grammar very well.

"Yes, I can." I then got up to walk out of his office.

"Slow down there, bud. You can use mine. It's right there."

I walked into his bathroom and did my thing. I pulled my pants down along with my underoos, used two hands, stood on my tippy toes, and peed all over the floor and toilet.

What? It was really high.

Later in class, Mrs. McMichael pulled me to the side and apologized for yelling at me the way she did. Then I noticed her staring at my no no place for a few seconds.

"Justin, your zipper's unzipped."

"Oopsie. I'll get it."

I reached down and tried to pull it up, to no avail. "Can you get it for me, teacher?"

"Sure." After a bit of pulling, the 26 year old blonde schoolteacher's struggle with my crotch came to successful end.

How many kindergarteners can say that?

When I got home, my mom was excited to hear about my first day of kindergarten.

"So Justin, did you meet any girls?", my dad asked me, of course jokingly.

"Yes sir. I got a girlfriend."

"Aww, isn't that sweet."

"And a boyfriend."

"A what?"

"I got a girl and boyfriend."

"Ummm.. we'll talk about that in a minute. So, how was your teacher?"

"She was good. She helped me with my no no." I only knew one word for my privates back then.

"She what?!! Did she touch you down there Justin??"

"Oh it's ok. I let her."

After a few phonecalls later, my dad and mom gave me several talks. The next day, I had to break up with my boyfriend, informing him that I'm not supposed to have boyfriends, only girlfriends.

I never saw Mrs. McMichael again.

 

[mustynutz]

I know you've all seen the stupid, corny commericals for McDonald's 'I'm Lovin' It' campaign. One commercial in particular spotlights a mother waiting by the car, trying to get her kids to the car and away from the playground. She tries waving, yelling and everything. Nothing works.

Until-- She sees an empty McDonald's bag in the floorboard. She takes it out and proportions it to look like it has food in it. When she holds it up, the kids come running to the car. They don't show the part where the kids are pissed and screaming because their mom deceived them, so they kick on the back of her seat, and when she turns around to scold them, she runs off the road and into a tree.

I'm lovin' it. How about you?

I help my buddy out in the spare time by running his casino restaurant for him. One of his waitresses, Allison, happens to have a huge crush on me. She keeps asking me to go out on a date with her but I have to find an excuse every time. I can't really tell her the real reason I'm not attracted to her--

She's not a natural blonde.

Oh, ya-- She's fat too. Really really fat.

I'm sure there are many, many benefits to dating a hefty sized girl. For example, if you're freezing one night, all you have to do is dig yourself into one of her crevices for warmth. I'm sure sex is a dandy too. While having sex with a big girl, you don't even have to be inside her. Just pick a flab and get to work.

Another good reason to date a big girl is the obvious-- the food. When you go out on dates with her, she won't want to go to those expensive Italian restaurants. Why pay 50 bucks for a small bowl of soup when 5 bucks gets her a super sized chicken sandwich and fries?

Big girls who know they're big will also never ask you those dreaded questions. "Does this make my butt look big?", "Do I look fat in this?"

The answer is quite simple. And they know it-- "Yes, you look fat in that. You look fat in that too. You look fat in everything you have. You know what? Let's go to McDonald's."

Unfortunately for me, one of my good friends Adam happens to like big girls. Today, I drove up to my workplace to grab my paycheck-- and I happened to have Adam with me because we were going to play basketball right afterward. I went inside and grabbed my paycheck and headed out. When I got back to my car, Adam and I decided to get some of the trash out of the backseat. I reached down and grabbed a McDonald's bag that had been there for at least a few weeks. When I pulled it out of the car, I heard a voice.

"Ooooooh, whatcha got there? McDonald's? Did you buy me somethin'?"

No, I didn't buy you anything fatty. I have approximately 400 bucks in my wallet. I don't have enough to take you to dinner.

"I'm just cleaning out my car."

Then Adam happened to see her. "Hey! Who's the girl? Can she come with us?!"

Allison smiled from ear to ear, "Where are you guys going?"

It doesn't matter where we're going. You won't be able to fit in my car.

"To play basketball, wanna come sexy?", Adam smirked.

"I'd love to come! My shift's over in 5 minutes."

Great. Your shift's over. Don't you have to go do something? Like, I don't know-- eat?

"Sure, you can come if you want.", I forcefully smiled, trying to sound like I really meant it. I hope she knows we're not making any pitstops for any buffets.

Okay. I now have to go play basketball with the company of a 400 pound girl who won't get off my nuts. Wait, let me reiterate. If she were literally on my nuts, they would be no more. She'd probably eat them if I put sugar on 'em.

Anyway, I'm in the company of Big Allison--whom can be the biggest bitch in the world at times. Things can't be THAT bad. I mean, it's only going to play basketball. 3 hours at most. I can handle that. It's not bad at all.

BAD would be something like-- if I were a siamese twin and my brother were gay. And we only had one butt. THAT would be bad.

This isn't so bad.

"Hey Justin--", Allison leaned her head up front while she sat in the backseat.

"What Allison?"

''After you guys play basketball and Adam goes home, do you wanna go with me for a ride in my new car?"

When she states that she wants me to go for a ride in her new car, that more than likely means that the car won't be leaving the parking lot.

''Ummmm..."-- I looked over at Adam for a quick excuse. He was trying to get with Allison, so he blurted out--

"Uh.. Justin has gymnastics practice." .... What?

"Justin, you do gymnastics?"

I gave Adam a dirty look. "Uh... well, yea. Who doesn't?"

"What event?"

"Uh...flipping."

"Flipping? That's not--"

"Hey we're here!!"

The afternoon didn't go so bad. Adam and I played a little one on one while Allison stayed on the sidelines and cheered.

And by cheered, I mean she yelled whatever she could with a mouth full of food.

"TRAVELING!"

"Justin! I didn't travel! I stayed in the same spot with the ball!!"

"True, but you jumped up and down with the ball still in your hand."

"Up and down my ass!"

Adam stuck his foot in his mouth.
Allison stuck food in her mouth.

After I dropped Adam off, I had to drive Jennifer back to pick up her car then I'd be home free.

"Sooooo, Justin. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Nothing."

Crap. She found the loophole and now she's diving in. Of course, for her to dive in, it'd have to be a really big loophole.

"You want me to come over and watch movies with you? I just bought some new DVDs."

"Uhhh..."

"Great! I'll be at your house around 8!"

With that said, she jumped out of my car and ran to hers-- well, slowly struggled her way to her feet and waddled off.

Help me.

 

[mustynutz]

Much like a dog who uses the bathroom on the brand new carpet, gets smacked with a freshly rolled up Sunday newspaper, but uses the bathroom again in the same spot everyday knowing the outcome of his demeanor--

We all take chances, knowing what the outcome will be.

Someone you gave your heart to betrayed you. They spat in your face, knowing that you would sit there and take it. Knowing that their actions can be the proverbial straw that break the camel's back, they act without thinking and end up sending your world spinning.

Crashing. To the ground.

Hard.

Your heart-- hurt.

Your stomach-- knotted up.

Your memories-- fresh, embedded like an ink stain into your brain. No matter how hard you try to escape them, they just won't vanish.

Tattooed on your mind for months--even years-- the good memories, but mostly the bad.

Whenever you recollect about the good times, you always remember the bad. One bad memory erases a thousand good ones-- Much like a rotten potato that effects the rest of the bunch.

Eventually, the pain subsides. The wind against your face is enough to keep you happy.

"I'll stay alone forever" or "fuck it" is a common thought when it comes to falling for or even befriending the opposite sex. Just like one bad memory makes the rest go bad, one bad person make the rest seem evil.

Evil indeed.

Sincerely and utterly evil.

And nothing can convince you otherwise.

But things change. People change.

Your mind-- changes.

You fall for another. The it starts all over. Again. You hope and pray that the outcome won't be the same as the last relationship. You pray she doesn't hurt your heart. It just can't take it anymore. You've put the pieces back together but you used Elmer's glue-- so even the tiniest bump can send it crashing down again.

"I'll never hurt you like those other girls did."

Damnit. Every girl has said that. Why am I believing you? Why?

The deceit starts all over again.

Blind love.

Blind deceit.

Blind intentions-- but very sincere indeed.

"I've been through this a thousand times with a thousand girls. I'm telling you now. Don't ever lie to me, cheat on me, or hurt me. Huge emphasis on the cheating."

"I won't hurt you like those other girls did."

"I trust you". I'd force those words out even though my heart is trying to convince me otherwise that all is evil in the female realm.

Long distance. Only met once.

You assume you've only met once.

June 15, 2002.

Myrtle Beach, SC.

"Justin, get your ass up."

"Wha? What time is it?"

"It's 6AM fool, get up. We're leaving for the beach right now."

The 8 of us decided to leave early for the beach to get a head start, as to not get caught in the traffic. After all, it was Senior Week and we had just graduated highschool. 4 guys and 4 girls. A whole week of partying, drugs, drinking, and sex was expected for the most of us.

The fresh memories of seeing Alicia, my ex, with the guy she cheated with me on were still etched into my memory. I couldn't get rid of them. They were tattooed on the outer layer of my brain.

At the grocery store, in restaurants, even at my workplace. She actually had the audacity to bring that girl-stealing bastard into my workplace and gawk at me, knowing I couldn't touch him or come near him because of the restraining order against me.

He'd glance at me as he kissed what was once mine. He'd grip onto the back of her shirt and runs her hands up it, feeling onto her tanned skin.

I bought her that shirt. He's touching the back that I gave the most wonderful massages to late at night.

He's holding the hand that I put the ring on, the hand that I held every single time we were together. She played with his fingers-- just like she used to mine.

He's holding her hands. Those were supposed to be my hands.

Whenever I was driving down the road with Alicia in the passenger seat, I used to squeeze her hand three times.

Three times. I. Love. You.

One. Two. Three.

She'd respond by gripping tighter or leaning on me.

When I drive down the road, I grip onto the stickshift now. I hold onto it tight, still holding onto the past. I sometimes slip into a dream world and even squeeze it, expressing my love for the car as opposed to the girl that's supposed to be riding in it.

My stomach knots up when I think about the night that I caught her with the other guy. It sucks in, as if a small person were on the inside of me, pulling it inward.

Those times are over. In the past. I have to look toward the future because things have now changed.

People changed.

I--

stayed the same.

 

[mustynutz]

The 8 of us rented a small two bedroom hotel. I expected to drink my memories away and fuck every girl in sight to be honest with you. I was always the ''goody goody guy'' who never had the 'player' mentality, but girls were evil. I could be evil, right?

People change. I can change.

The first four nights, I tried my best to go out-- but a severe stomach virus kept me holed up in the hotel room. I was at the beach, along with several thousand young females in bikinis and I stayed in the hotel room-- on the bed-- watching Conan O'brien as I tried my best to eat.

On the fifth night, I felt somewhat better and decided to go out into the partying world I had been missing. Spirits of the group were very high, seeing how the life of the party, Sideburns, was coming along. But Sideburns wasn't as humorous since the incident. Sideburns was quiet most of the time.

We arrived at a two story house, the loud rock music shaking the front yard as people lay passed out on the sidewalk leading up to the doorway. We walked in. We broke into smaller groups. I ended up on my own. I sat on the couch and tried to knock one back.

Across from me sat a beautiful young blonde girl. She was definitely shy.

I watched as several guys tried to flirt with her unsuccessfully--

"Hey babe, wanna go upstairs and fuck?"

She'd smile as she politely turned them down.

"Stupid cunt" is what the turned down guy would utter.

She looked at me. My stomach sucked in.

Oh no.

"Hi, my name's Justin."

"I'm Valerie. Why aren't you partying?"

"I'm really not in the mood to get rowdy. Long story short, I just got out of a very long relationship and I'm still trying to get over that."

"Aw, you poor thing."

She got up and walked over to me, sitting down on the cushion beside me. I've noticed that girls always give guys attention when they mention a recent breakup.

We talked. The crowd at the party dwindled as the hours grew later and later. We talked some more.

I knew everything about Valerie. She had been cheated on by every she dated. I had been cheated on by every girl I dated.

We had the same views and morals.

We walked on the beach until morning. She said goodbye around 9 AM with a small kiss on the cheek.

"Listen Justin, you're a really sweet guy and I'd like to talk to you again. I don't give out my phone number, but here's my screenname."

She pulled out an old receipt and wrote her name on it. I returned the favor by giving her mine.

She walked down the beach. I never saw her again.

Ever.

By the time I returned home and returned to the working world, I couldn't help but think about the shy blonde girl that I met at Myrtle Beach. I searched endlessly through my pockets and my suitcase. No use, her screenname was gone.

I logged onto AIM in hopes she'd remember me and the little 'DING' would be her.

A month passed. She had forgotten.

'DING'

"Hey there." is what the instant message read from a SurfingChic.

"Hi. Is this--"

"Guess."

"Valerie? The girl I met at the beach?"

"You win! Hey!"

We talked. For hours. Those hours turned into days, days into weeks. Weeks into months. She finally called me. We talked.

For hours, days, weeks. Yet, she'd never give me her phone number.

Ever.

She wouldn't even tell me where she lived or her last name.

One night, she finally told me her ''last name" and where she lived. Summerville. A 3 hour drive from where I live. She wouldn't give me a street name, but I was happy enough to finally crack into her shy world.

I believed her when she told me she had trust issues with guys, which lead to her closing up when I asked her personal things. I don't blame her.

I'd tell her how beautiful she was, how much I wanted to be with her.

She'd cry.

"What's your phone number? Please tell me."

"I can't."

"Why?"

Quietness.

One day, I got a call during the daytime from her-- which was unusual since she only called at night.

"Hey Justin! Guess what?"

"What? What?", she sounded more excited than usual.

"This lady, who's my mom's sister, lives where you live. Anyway, she came and visited and was talking on her phone. She said that it sucked and she would rather throw it away. I asked her if I could have it, jokingly. She agreed as long as I'd pay the bill each month. The good news is that it's your area code, so it's free for you to call me."

Finally, my first way to contact Valerie besides e-mail.

The situation sounded odd-- unbelievable. But I believed her.

I believed.

My heart was being sewed back together. With each day that passed, we'd talk. About nothing.

One night, she started crying and told me how much she loved me and wanted to be with me.

I responded by telling her that I'd drive down to Summerville. I explained that we didn't even have to meet at her house.

Did I mention that she never told her parents about me?

Odd, I know. She was 20 years old. The way she put it, her dad was very overprotective and if she told them, I wouldn't be talking on the phone with her. She'd sneak out to her car every night just to talk with me for several hours.

I could never reach her between the hours of 7 AM and about 5 PM. I'd leave a message.

She finally agreed to meet with me. If I drove down to Summerville and got a hotel room, then called her, she'd come up to the hotel room.

Unbelievably, a year had passed and I hadn't seen her one time.

Not. Once.

I was so blind. I was an idiot. She lived three hours away and I hadn't seen her once. I believed her when she said she had severe trust issues and an overbearing father. I told her several times to break it to her parents, I even asked her to switch colleges and transfer to one where I lived. That never happened.

"How many nights, sir?"

"Three."

"Okay, that'll be 159 dollars."

I lifted my duffel back over my shoulder as I walked up the stairs of the Summerville Holiday Inn. I smiled to myself, heart racing as I opened the door.

I was the closest to Valerie than I had ever been in a year. In a few short minutes, maybe even hours, we'd be closer. Closer than we ever had been. We'd hug, we'd embrace. We'd kiss.

I looked at the clock as I flipped on the TV. 9 AM. I'll give her a call.

 

[mustynutz]

<ring>

<ring>

<ring>

Please leave a message.

I explained to her several times that I'd be arriving and calling her between 8AM and 10AM. Why is her phone off?

I tried calling again. Several times each hour. 10 times. 20 times. Countless times.

Hours later-- around 8 PM that night, I was furious.

I had never been mad at her-- ever. And I wanted to strangle her at this point. If she cared about me so much, why would she make me take three days off of work just to drive to where she lived to keep talking to a fucking answering machine?

"Hello?"

"Valerie??!"

"Yea--"

"Why the hell was your phone off?? I've been trying to fucking call you for the past 11 hours! Do you know how pissed I am? Do you???"

Not only did I have to call her for 11 hours straight, but my hotel room's phone service was about 50 cents per call. It was cheaper to go down to the gas station and use the payphone. I wasted so much gas and so much money to get up, drive down, and stand there at the payphone-- waiting-- hoping for her to pick up on the other end.

I'd sit on the curb for 10 minutes and drop another quarter in, just to let the familiar message voice talk to me.

"Why didn't you pick up? Why was your phone off?"

Silence.

"I HOPE YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY!"

Silence.

She finally mustered up a poorly put together excuse. Apparently her father isn't allowing her to leave the house because she wouldn't take her little brother where he wanted to go earlier that day.

I know, she's 20. Very odd. Very fishy.

She never explained why she neglected to answer the phone.

I broke up with her that day, drove back home and cried.

Cried-- for the first time since the night of the incident, tears rolled down my cheek.

A couple weeks later, I picked up the phone and called her out of the blue.

"I miss you" is what I remember saying.

"I'm coming down to see you this weekend. Give me your exact address. No excuses."

She did.

To get directions, I used an online map to try to find her address. I couldn't even find her road.

Once again, my heart was coming unsewed.

I picked up the phone and started yelling. I don't remember what I said, but I do remember her crying.

"That road doesn't exist does it? You lied to me, didn't you?"

"Yes'', is what she would quietly say under her breath.

"I want an explanation right now for everything. I know something's up. If you don't tell me the truth right now, I'll never talk to you again. Ever."

"Please-- Justin, no!" She cried harder than ever.

She finally broke down.

So did my world. My future had been erased.

Apparently she isn't the girl that I met that June night at the beach. When she IMed me, I jumped to the conclusion that she was Valerie and she just rolled with it.

Turns out, she was just a girl I went to highschool with. When I was a senior, she was a freshman. She had an affixation with me. An affixation so bad that she pretended to be someone-- someone that did indeed exist-- but really didn't.

I dated a girl for a whole year and a half who didn't even know I was dating her.

I'll never trust another person in my entire life as much as I did her. I'll never give a girl the benefit of getting into my heart.

But things change, people change.

Minds change.

Hearts heel.

If not now, someday.

Someday.

 

[mustynutz]

Jessica lived all her life in the same neighborhood. She knew everybody on her block. Each house was handed down from one generation from the next, nobody new ever moved in. It was a tight-knit community. Unfortunately, the neighborhood wasn't exactly middle-class. Or upper lower class for that matter. Only one person in the neighborhood owned a phone, and that was Old Mr. Hannigan.

Old Hannigan was a dirty, perverted old man. He would occassionally walk down to the local park, sit on the bench and watch the kids play. He didn't have a preference, boy or girl, fat or skinny. He just liked kids. Kids, kids, kids.

Now, I like kids. You like kids probably. Trick Daddy even loves the kids. Then again, so does Michael Jackson. It's okay to like kids-- just not okay to have sex with them. Old Mr. Hannigan didn't see it like this. He thought incest was okay. His twisted mind is what made his wife leave him. When she confronted him about touching her son, his response was--

"At least it's something the whole family can do!"

Old Mr. Hannigan was the epitome of what everyone in the neighborhood hated. Not only was he a known pedophile and dirty man. He was also a racist. In fact, the way he tried to get the kids into his car wasn't with candy, oh no. He told jokes. Bad jokes.

"Hey little girl, c'mere. How many niggers does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

"My mommy says I shouldn't talk to--"

"One to screw it in, one to drive the pink Cadillac!"

"MOMMY!!!!!!"

Lately, Old Dirty Hannigan had his eyes set on little Jessica. He had noticed her over the years, but she was far too young to even make a move on. Now, at the ripe age of 10-- it was time. Everyday, Hannigan would always sit on his front porch with his Budweiser in hand, watching Jessica ride her bike up and down the sidewalk. Jessica's mother always told her never to ride in front of Old Hannigan's house, but she wasn't one to follow the rules.

Ever since Jessica's mom cut off all contact with her husband, Jessica became quite the rebel. She figured that since her mom wouldn't let her see or even talk to her own father, she'd be as bad as she could until her wish was granted. Apparently when Jessica's mom got married, she didn't ask herself the question--

"Is this the man I want my children spending every other weekend with?"

"Mommy? Can I call daddy?"

"No! You'll never see that man as long as you're under my roof!"

Jessica didn't have a phone. Nobody in the neighborhood had a phone except for Old Mr. Hannigan. She knew it was way too far to the nearest payphone, so she decided to venture over to Hannigan's house.

Knock Knock.

"Who'zat?"

"My name is Jessica, sir. Can I use your phone?"

Mr. Hannigan walked to his front door, and lo and behold, little Jessica was standing on his front porch.

"Um.. no. Nobody uses my phone."

"But pleeeease sir? It's important. I wanna call my daddy! I'll do anything!"

Mr. Hannigan smiled from cheek to cheek. "Anyyyything, little gir?"

"Anything!"

"Okay, follow me. And shut that door."

Jessica did as Hannigan asked and followed him into the back room. As she walked in, Mr. Hannigan shut and locked the door of the bedroom and looked down at little Jessica. He then proceeded to unzip his pants and then pulled out his penis.

Jessica looked up at Mr. Hannigan with wide eyes.

"Go ahead little girl. It's okay."

Jessica grabbed Old Mr. Hannigan's penis and brought it to her face.

"Hello? Dad?"

 

[mustynutz]

if you want more...just reply

 

[mustynutz]

....

 

[Rob S4]

^^^ What the fuck is wrong with you musty ahhahahah your an asshole for that one homie hahahha. Have a good friday.

 

[OG young SAV]

MORE MORE MORE...INPUT INPUT INPUT......Good looking Musty for coming through with the TK's. Always appreciated!

 

[mustynutz]

A WIFE WALKS IN ON HER HUSBAND GETTING IT ON WITH A DOG:

Walking in on your husband in bed with another woman is one thing. . . walking in on him in bed with another SPECIES is in a whole different league. That's what happened to 27-year-old Nicole Leffler of Syracuse, New York, while she and her husband, 27-year-old Michael Leffler, were dog-sitting three of Michael's MOM'S dogs.

--Last Thursday night, Nicole walked into their bedroom to find her husband, quote, "engaging in a sex act" with Gin-Gin, his mom's short-haired terrier-beagle mix. She called the cops, who arrested Michael on the misdemeanor charge of sexual misconduct.

--Oh. . . and while the cops were over. . . they found the Leffler's house in a state of SQUALOR. . . and their 6- and 8-year-old kids covered in bug bites. . . so they charged Michael AND Nicole with misdemeanor child endangerment. (Syracuse Post Standard)

A NEW YORK HOTEL OFFERS A $10,000 MARTINI:

Here's one that's straight from the BOWELS OF HUMAN EXCESS: The Algonquin Hotel in New York is offering a $10,000 MARTINI at its bar. The martini TASTES regular. . . it has standard regular vodka and vermouth; the price is jacked up because instead of ice, the drink contains an expensive DIAMOND. The hotel hasn't sold a "Martini on the Rock" yet. . . but hopes that men will buy them for marriage proposals or other diamond-worthy occasions. (New York Daily News)

SOME IDIOT PAID $804 FOR A PIECE OF CEREAL THAT LOOKED LIKE E.T.:

What's with IDIOTS paying huge dollars for FOOD THAT LOOKS LIKE STUFF lately??? First, the grilled cheese sandwich with a Virgin Mary on its side goes for $28,000 on eBay. . . and now this.

--Some moron just paid $804 for a piece of Nutri-Grain cereal in an eBay auction. . . because it looks like E.T.

--27-year-old Chris Doyle of Sydney, Australia. . . the evil genius who FOUND the piece of cereal and put it up for auction. . . says that he got the idea from the Virgin Mary sandwich. . . Quote, "I was just trying to find someone who feels the same way about E.T. as [others] did about the Virgin Mary." (???)

--After the sale, he also sold the rights to his "story" to the tabloid TV show "A Current Affair". . . for another $3,000. (???) (Australian Daily Telegraph)

A BASEBALL PLAYER'S WIFE SAYS THAT IF HE CHEATS ON HER, SHE'LL HAVE SEX WITH ALL OF HIS TEAMMATES!!!

KRIS BENSON, a pitcher for the New York Mets, just got the PERFECT incentive to NEVER cheat on his wife, Anna.

--Anna, a former MODEL and STRIPPER, who was recently named "Baseball's Hottest Wife" by "FHM" magazine, announced yesterday that she told Kris that if he cheats on her, quote, "I'm going to screw everybody on your entire team, coaches, trainers, players."

--When asked, "what about BAT BOYS and GROUNDSKEEPERS?", Anna continued, quote, "Everybody would get a turn. If my husband cheated on me and embarrassed me like that, I will embarrass him more than he could ever imagine. . . I'll also circle into other teams. Whatever team he's playing, I will screw all them too." (New York Post)

AN ALABAMA LAWMAKER WANTS TO BAN ALL BOOKS FEATURING GAY CHARACTERS:

The anti-gay sentiment in this country is really crossing the line into FLAT-OUT PREJUDICE and DISCRIMINATION. The latest example: Republican Gerald Allen, a member of Alabama's House of Representatives, has filed a bill that would BAN books featuring GAY CHARACTERS from every public library and university library in the state.

--Allen says the bill would ban materials that, quote, "recognize or promote homosexuality as an acceptable lifestyle". . . and that he filed it to protect children from the, quote, "homosexual agenda."

--His plan for any book with gay characters or any book that suggests homosexuality is natural? Quote, "I guess we dig a big hole and dump them in and bury them."

--Just how many books would this effect? Jaunita Owes, the director of the Montgomery City-County Library in Montgomery, Alabama, says, quote, "HALF the books in the library could end up being banned. It's all based on how one interprets the material."

 

[public3nemy#1]

i dont know whether ur writing these or gettin em somewhere, but if you are writing em u must have no life

 

[mustynutz]

yeah i dont have much of a life, i just type all day and fuck your little sister in between, then jerk off to pictures of your mother getting fisted by Ron Jeremy and anally ravaged by Lexington Steele, god i love phtoshop.

 

[mustynutz]

I’m sure that I’ve established the fact that I don’t like to hang with co-workers after business hours. I mean, these are people that I normally wouldn’t hang with outside of being at work with them. Eight hours a day is more than I can already tolerate.

Every quarter my branch has a dinner to celebrate the “success” of the previous quarter. Because everybody else in the branch lives on the opposite side of town, they always choose some out-of-the-way-ass spot to have the dinner. Until today, I’ve avoided going to the dinner because of that. My manager saw fit to have the dinner at this baller Italian restaurant about ½ mile from my home. I like the restaurant, plus it was within walking distance – I had to go this time.

I quickly remembered something that I had forgotten in the few years since I last participated in an after-work function: corporate white folks don’t talk about SHIT!!!!
If you’re ever out with them, these are the topics of discussion that you’ll run into (quite possibly in this order):

1. Work related bullshit
2. General office gossip
3. Their families (in general)
4. Their kids (specifically)
5. Recent vacations
6. Upcoming vacations
7. Recent large-dollar purchases
8. Hometown sports teams
9. Their college days
10. How hard their current job is
11. More work related bullshit
12. What they’re doing tomorrow at work

By that time I’m usually pretty tuned out. Actually, I tune out in the middle of #1. I was just there to eat last night. They caught an occasional nod of approval or disapproval, but that was about it. I wasn’t fucking with them. Corporate folks are some of the most boring motherfuckers on the face of the planet. All that superficial talk gave me a headache. I pray that I never have to go to one of these again.

But thw food was good.

 

[mustynutz]

It’s official now. My manager doesn’t want me around – and for the life of me, I can’t understand why. I mean, my performance is up to standard – the numbers don’t lie. My customer service scores are excellent despite the handful of people that I’ve had to clown. What could be the reason for the hatred?

That’s right – I’m a dick.

I’m not a yes man.

I actually know more about banking and investments than my manager.

I constantly challenge him on sensitive issues.

I do things that actually make sense, contrary to many of ________ Bank’s policies.

That’s why he wants me out. I’m not one of those cookie-cutter motherfuckers that they expected me to be. I keeps it real.

September marked the end of the 3rd quarter. During the first week of October, my manager informs the rest of us that we’ll be receiving our 3rd quarter reviews that week. We’re now in the third week of November, and I’m still the only one who hasn’t gotten his review. I didn’t say shit about it… I just let it ride.

So today he tells m that he’s finally ready to do my review. He seems to have “forgotten about it” and “apologizes”. Whatever, bitch. So we’re doing the review, and he going on and on about how the branch in general stunk it up during the 3rd quarter, primarily because we spent much of it in transition from the old building. On top of that, the folks upstairs will be watching us closely during the 4th quarter because we have some catching up to do, despite still treading water during tumultuous times. So he gives me this 20 minute speech about needing to use every moment available to make sure we hit our numbers. Then he tells me that I’ll be spending the next few days in another branch, which will set me back a few days.

Strike one.

So he’s basically telling me that he’s gonna set me back a few days even though we’re supposed to chomp the bit. Bitch…

We move past that, and he brings up the “fajitas for 8” situation from a month ago. Mind you, he’s spoken to everybody in the branch except me about the incident except the person who came out of pocket for it. Bitch. He asked me what happened. I explained: as a group we decided that 4 fajitas would not be enough, so we agreed AS A GROUP to handle up on 8. He verified that my story was in line with everybody else’s. But he also felt like the charge was unjustified, so he tells me that he’s only going to authorize the reimbursement of about 75% of it. My ass! Furthermore, I have to go to the other people involved and ask them to make up the difference. That’s fucked up, right?

Rewind one week….

After waiting for about 3 weeks for my expense reimbursement, I placed a call to the payroll department. They informed me that although my manager had pre-approved the expense, it was in limbo because he hadn’t sent in the receipt. In my infinite wisdom, I had gotten a duplicate copy of the receipt on the day of the purchase and kept it with me the whole time. I just figured that I would take the initiative to send in my copy, since my manager had apparently forgotten.

Back to the present…

I wasn’t sweating the fact that my manager tried to shit on me. I was annoyed by the fact that he was acting like a pussy, but I still knew that I had that ace up my sleeve. When I got home today, the check for the full amount was in my mailbox.

Bitch…. You can’t see me.

Strike two.

I’m waiting for strike three. If that motherfucker tries any more funny shit, I’m pulling his card. The time for games is over.

I have officially declared war on ________ Bank.

Bitches.

 

[mustynutz]

When I was in highschool, I had a strong sense of being. I was not afraid of anyone or anything and always stood up for myself whenever challenged. For that reason alone, I had only been in few fights my whole life. I'm able to either talk my way out of fights or talk so much shit that the opposing party backs down. Unfortunately, I wasn't like this my whole life. In middle school, I avoided confrontation at all costs. When the school bullies made fun of me, I let them have their fun. In middle school, I hadn't bulked up just yet, so I was an easy target.

Steven, the bully that gave me the most trouble. He was 6 foot something, 300+ pounds. He was quite a hefty guy. At the time, I thought it was cool to have slicked back hair and a comb in my back pocket-- ala 'Outsiders' style. Steven dubbed me the nickname Paco because apparently Mexicans slick their hair back more than street thugs. This nickname spread throughout middle school fast and before you know it, everyone was teasing me with the Paco name. Even the hispanics were making fun of me for looking like a Mexican. I knew that was a low point.

In gym class, Big Steven dropped weights on my feet while I was trying to lift. In History class, he sat behind me and threw pieces of pencil at me. I was literally scared to go to school because of this guy, he made my life a living hell. One day in particular, I was sitting in History class not feeling so well. I had the flu and was sneezing like crazy. Steven takes the opportunity to come over to my desk and kneel down beside me..

"Aw, what's the matter Paco? Little bitch feeling sick?"

''ACHOO!''

Steven had my snot and saliva covering his face, which received a roar of laughter from the class. Everyone found this funny but me. I knew I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. He wiped his face, gave me a look that says ''You're dead'' and went back to his desk. After class ended, I tried to get out of the classroom before he did, but it was no use. As soon as I got out of the door, I was pushed from behind. Not just any push, this push snapped my neck back and gave me whiplash. I laid on the ground, surrounded by students egging Steven on to kick my ass. Kick my ass he did. I was kicked about 20 to 30 times as I just lay there. I didn't fight back.

A couple weeks later, I saw him at school again for the first time. He actually tried to be my friend.. or so I thought. In gym class he asked me to play him in a one on one game of basketball. I humbly obliged. When he had the ball and I was guarding him, he took the ball and threw it as hard as possible at my face. He broke my nose. Since that day, he had given me many more memories I'd rather forget.

The summer before I started highschool, I was still the pansy guy that was afraid of confrontation. On a late summer night I was walking to the convenience store while listening to my portable cd player when a car pulled up near me and rolled down the window. A gun was pulled on me and I remember someone telling me to give them the cd player.

From that day forward, nothing scared me.

My freshman year of highschool was going great, then in the middle of the school year I happened to run across Steven again. I stood out in front of the school waiting for my ride as he muttered something about the ass kicking he had given me a few years earlier. His mom was picking him up in the front of the school and as he got into his mom's brand new Mercedes, I don't know what came over me, but I yelled to him...

"Hey, Steven! I'm gonna pay you back for all the hell you gave me, you fucking pussy!"

He said nothing to me because his mom was present, got in the car and left. For some odd reason, I hadn't seen him the rest of the year. Apparently he was arrested and sent to a juvenile center. I was literally ready to stand up to him the next day. I was still a skinny kid, but I wasn't scared anymore. Since highschool, I've bulked up considerably.

When would I run into Steven again?

Today.

When in my life would I snap for the first time ever?

Today.

I was inside the grocery store when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turn around and see Steven standing there. He asked me if I was ever going to pay him back like I promised I would. He muttered something about me still being a pussy, but I wasn't going to fight. I'm a grown person now. He's still a highschool bully. I explained to him that those days were over and that I had grown mature. I wasn't going to fight him under any circumstance.

"Okay, too bad you fucking pussy."

What the FUCK did he just say to me?! AW HELL NAW! It's on like Donkey Kong, beeyatch.

You thought I kicked his ass in the store, didn't you? You're wrong. I kept my composure and walked out to my car. I put the grocery bags into my car when he suddenly pulls up in the Mercedes his mom used to own...

"What's up, PACO?"

Paco? Paco? PACO?!?! I've got your Paco right here!

Saturday, March 13, 2004 at approximately 4 o'clock PM, I lost it. I charged to his car, kicked the shit out of his door, denting the hell out of it. He then tried to step out of the car, but I punched him in the face over and over, I'm guessing about 10 times. He put his hands in the air to block me as the blood started running down his nose. He stepped on the gas and flew across the parking lot, hitting the hell of a buggy return rack. He won all the battles, but I won the war.

I need some ice.



..Whatchu lookin' at?

 

[mustynutz]

A man once tried to take over the world.

The Universe will be mine. I shall ignore those close to me who tell me not to. Everyone will obey my command. They will do what I want when I want it done. Everyone will become my slave and I'll be the master of the Universe. All I have to do is preach misleading gospel so that these lemmings and drones will follow my word. When I have them under my command, they'll spread my word. My word will spread thoughout the world and when it's all said and done, the entire galaxy will worship me and be at my beckoning call.

He failed.

The world will be mine. Everybody will obey my command. They will do what I want when I want it done. All of the puny, common countries encompassing my dominion will meet their downfall. I will rise to the top of a dictatorship and become a fearless leader. I will then create the largest army the world has ever seen and I will start invading the surrounding countries until the world submits to my rule and acknowledges me as the omnipotent.

He failed.

This country will be mine. I will invest money into my own television show. This show will be placed on the Monday night 8 PM timeslot on NBC. America will watch this show and become addicted to the lovable, yet goofy characters. Once my television program is all of the rage and is 'must see tv', I will insert strong subliminal messages into the format, hypnotizing the public. Everyone in America will be my servant.

He failed.

This state will be mine. I will protest for everything the small communities fight for. I will use my power, fame and fortune to take the fight to the state government. Once the panel listens to my ideas, I will rise to the top. Every community in the state will support me and my decisions. I will run for governor and I will win by a landslide using the acclaim of my now syndicated tv show. I will be a celebrity, a leader, and I will run the state the way I want to. Everyone in this state will become my chattel.

He failed.

This community will be mine. Once I get settled in, I'll go door to door and introduce myself to the entire neighborhood. I'll have weekend barbecues in my backyard. The neighborhood will grow to love me. I'll mow the lawns and babysit the kids of the entire community. I'll be the leader everyone relies on. Once everyone trusts me, I'll take over the community! No need for an explanation, I'm a leader.

He failed. Miserably.

This marriage will be mine. I'm the dominant male figure and I'm married to a woman. It's only right that she do what I say. I pay the bills, I own the house, and I bring home the bacon. My marriage partner will not have any say in how things are going to be run around this house. I'm the man, I'm the leader, and this marriage is run by me.

He failed. And lost all his possessions in the process.

A man once tried to take over the world. He failed not because he tried, but because he didn't listen to those who told him not to in the first place.