Mondays Minute Mayhem

[mustynutz]

About two years ago, around this time, it was a chilly Saturday morning in November. I don't recall why, but whatever the reason I was, I was up at 10 am that morning running all sorts of errands. My good friend Jack, who was visiting from Lansing, decided to tag along as I was planning to be out and about for at least a couple of hours.

I drove to various destinations, picking up this and that while our young, 18 year old minds discussed everything from girls to beer to girls to drugs to girls to girls to sports to girls. As we were in a heated debate over the particular hotness of two actresses whose names I can't recall, I found myself at a four way stop; that is, stop signs at every corner. I looked to my right and saw no cars, then looked left and saw a large van (A Caravanj, I believe) driven by a young bald guy with really large sideburns, approaching the stop sign.

I indicated left and was making the turn when I heard the scary sound of tires screeching. I jerked my head right and in a split second realized that the fucker had run the stop sign and was careening towards my Cavalier. I desperately tried to hit the gas in a vain attempt to avoid collision, but a millisecond later, his van smashed into my car, right between the front door and back door of the passenger side.

By the time I shook out of my semi daze, I heard another screech of tires and saw the van take off down the street. Jack sat there, somewhat shocked, and appeared to have broken his arm as he was holding his elbow in sheer agony. I looked outside and saw a man who likely witnessed the whole thing yank his dog along and run to the convenience store that was at the corner. About 15 minutes later, an ambulance came, gingerly pulled Jack out, and rushed us both to the hospital. I was feeling just fine albeit a little shook up, but it was likely for precautions sake.

As the medical staff tended to Jack, an officer came by his room an hour later to take my statement. As I was describing with anger how this bald fuck ran a stop sign, almost took out my friend, and then had the balls to drive off, I looked through the hospital room window in shock as a man was being wheeled past our ward.


A bald man with large sideburns.


"Holy fuck, that's him!" I yelled.

"What?" the officer said, dropping his clipboard at my sudden outburst.

"That's the guy!" I said, quickly getting up and following the stretcher which was wheeled into the room next to Jacks.

The officer followed close behind as I ran into the room. Sure enough, it was that same bald fuck who hit us. He looked pretty hurt, but could still speak and recognized me right away.

He held his hands up in terror.

"I'm sorry man, I'm sorry! I'll never make fun of Jesus again! I'm so sorry!"

"Jesus? Are you all right young man?" the officer asked.

"No, I'm not all right! Holy fucking hell, as soon as I hit that guy's car, I knew I was fucked because I don't have any insurance, so I panicked and took off! I hauled ass all the way down the street, and just as I was about to take a right turn onto the main road, I saw this huge fucking flash, and when I looked up, there was fucking Jesus, standing alone in the fucking cornfield on the other side of the road, just fucking staring at me! I freaked out! The next thing I know, I look left and this crazy Buick tries to beat the yellow light and smashes right into me!"

I couldn't believe it. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked him.

"It was Jesus man! Jesus!" he cried again.

"Jesus...Jesus...Jesus...Jesus...Jesus..." he kept muttering to himself, his eyes darting to and fro.

I had no idea what to say. The officer made me leave the room as he took the bald guy's testimony, or Jason Humphrey as I learned later.

I went back to Jack's room and told him what happened and he was just as sceptical as I was. I think the accident got the bald guy talking crazy.

In the end, Jason was charged with driving without insurance and fleeing the scene of a hit and run. Turns out he had a shit load of cash in a briefcase in his van that remained intact, even after both accidents. Unfortunately, in addition to the cash, the police also found a ton of cleverly concealed marijuana, also intact, which goes to show the indestructible power of weed. All in all, the future didn't look too bright for the guy. To add insult to injury, I sneaked into his hospital room a few hours later, stole his apple juice, and spit in his rice pudding while he was sleeping.



So why did this memory of two years suddenly retrigger?

I do some volunteer work for this small charity from time to time, and this Sunday, I had to deliver a bunch of old clothes to a run down church downtown. I parked in the back, took out the big bag of clothes, and knocked on the door. A few seconds later it opened, and I was greeted by a young man with a cane in one hand, a bible in the other.


A young, bald man.



"Welcome! I'm Pastor Humphrey. How may I help you?"



Jesus you crafty bastard.

 

[mustynutz]

http://mfile.akamai.com/12942/wmv/vod.ibsys.com/2004/1120/3935750.200k.asx

gotta love it

 

[mustynutz]

I have a friend named Michele. She and I have been close for some years now, drawn together by a mutual hatred of my older sister, whom I would kick in the face wearing golf spikes if my mum would let me get away with it without disowning me.

Michele and I have known each other for about 12 years now, and I have her to thank for the nickname of Cookie, which my entire family now calls me. It stems from my near-pornographic love of Oreos. But that is another story all together. Michele, on the other hand, has me to thank for dubbing her Shekky. We both agree that Shekky is the funniest name in the world. Therefore, her name is now Shekky McGee.

Now that you've got some rather rambling background on something that has little to do with anything, let the real story begin.

I love Wal-mart. Desperately. I love it to the ends of the earth, and I love it as I have loved no man before (which isn't really difficult since I've never loved a man before. Take that! HA!). I love Wal-mart because I can buy ridiculous things like miniature etch-a-sketch on the end of a pen, novelty socks, and zodiac panties without breaking a 20 dollar bill. I love Wal-Mart because there is generally a McDonald's inside where I can buy a Happy Meal. I love Wal-Mart because it is a 24-hour-a-day parade of useless humanity. Shekky also loves Wal-Mart, just not quite as passionately as I do.

Before she married her husband and moved away to London with him, she and I spent many late-night hours in Wal-Mart, getting up to no good. Sometimes with my younger brother in tow, if he'd had a bad day. Generally people acting the fool through the aisles at 3 and 4 in the morning isn't a big deal. Unless you're being followed by Arnie, the Toy Aisle Nazi.

Shekky and I were wandering aimlessly through the aisles one Christmas season, several hats piled on top of our heads, Shekky in a scarf, wearing toe-socks for gloves, and myself with a water-bra on the outside of my t-shirt, farting slippers, and a large pink bath sheet tied around my neck like a cape (I was Wonder Bra, the amazing Righter of Wrongs, damnit). We were both wearing swimming goggles.

My brother was 3 aisles over, pretending not to know us, but giggling like a madman every time one of us peeked down the row at him. I think it may have been my loud exclamation of "Oi! Shekky! If you were Barbie, would you fancy Ken or GI Joe?" that alerted Arnie to our presence. Couldn't have possibly been our outfits. Or the 6 and a half foot, platinum blonde teenager rolling around in the action figure aisle, laughing and trying not to wet himself

The particular Wal-Mart that we were at had a large selection of Christmasy goodness, that was situated right near the toy section. So when we got tired of riding big-wheels and throwing those giant rubber balls back and forth, we went into the forest of Christmas merchandise. Unbeknownst to us, we were followed by Arnie the Toy Aisle Nazi.

After a few minutes of the three of us sword-fighting with wrapping paper and decorating my tall and horribly skinny brother like a Christmas tree and making him walk like a catwalk model, we rounded the corner to find the most beautiful sight we had ever beheld. A wall of singing reindeer at least 10 feet high.

You know the type... you push their paws and they sing "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" as they dance back and forth and their noses light up. I looked at Shekky as a devious grin split my lips. I looked at my brother as he rubbed his palms together in demonic glee. We three exchanged the popular "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" look as took my supergirl pose and said in my most heroic voice, "Well, my trusty sidekicks, it seems as though we've got work to do!"

Without another word, we frantically began setting off every reindeer we could reach. And once those had been done, my brother lifted me up to finish off the top rows, near the ceiling. An ear-shattering rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer sung by no less that 150 plush toys exploded through the quiet store. Cackling with glee, we tried to run away in search of more mayhem to wreak when I crashed head-long into Arnie the Toy Aisle Nazi.

Arnie was an older fella, paunchy, smelled of old cheese and Ben-Gay, wearing a santa hat, with the grinchiest scowl I had ever seen.

"What are you people DOING?!" he shouted, red in the face.

"Spreading Christmas cheer!" I said, grinning widely. There are very few scrapes that my ridiculous grin can't get me out of.

Arnie looked down his nose at me (not hard as I'm a foot shorter than most people) and ground out through yellowed teeth, "I don't like your brand of cheer." He examined me closely. "You're not from around here, are you?"

So I have an accent. Sue me. I don't like people pointing it out, as it got me teased on the playground in school. Arnie had said the wrong thing. Bless him. My brother grabbed onto my shoulder as he saw my expression change. I took a step forward and was hauled back by the cape. He squinted his eyes down at me. I squinted right back up at him. The reindeer sang. It was a Mexican standoff.

Me: Spoil-sport
Arnie: Hooligan
Me: Wanker
Arnie: Foreigner
Me: Nazi
Arnie: Potato Eater
Me: I'm not Irish!
Arnie: Get out of my store before I have security remove you.

"We're going!" said Shekky, stripping off her super-hero finery and piling it in a heap on the floor.

Arnie and I were still staring each other down. I slowly removed my wonderful outfit, which I had fully intended to purchase, and dropped it bit by bit on the ground at his feet. Let HIM pick it up, the spoiler. I placed my water-bra on top of Arnie's head. He turns a dangerous shade of red. Shekky and my brother lead me away as I continue to give him the evil eye. As we go, I shout, "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch!"

 

[mustynutz]

I have a friend named Michele. She and I have been close for some years now, drawn together by a mutual hatred of my older sister, whom I would kick in the face wearing golf spikes if my mum would let me get away with it without disowning me.

Michele and I have known each other for about 12 years now, and I have her to thank for the nickname of Cookie, which my entire family now calls me. It stems from my near-pornographic love of Oreos. But that is another story all together. Michele, on the other hand, has me to thank for dubbing her Shekky. We both agree that Shekky is the funniest name in the world. Therefore, her name is now Shekky McGee.

Now that you've got some rather rambling background on something that has little to do with anything, let the real story begin.

I love Wal-mart. Desperately. I love it to the ends of the earth, and I love it as I have loved no man before (which isn't really difficult since I've never loved a man before. Take that! HA!). I love Wal-mart because I can buy ridiculous things like miniature etch-a-sketch on the end of a pen, novelty socks, and zodiac panties without breaking a 20 dollar bill. I love Wal-Mart because there is generally a McDonald's inside where I can buy a Happy Meal. I love Wal-Mart because it is a 24-hour-a-day parade of useless humanity. Shekky also loves Wal-Mart, just not quite as passionately as I do.

Before she married her husband and moved away to London with him, she and I spent many late-night hours in Wal-Mart, getting up to no good. Sometimes with my younger brother in tow, if he'd had a bad day. Generally people acting the fool through the aisles at 3 and 4 in the morning isn't a big deal. Unless you're being followed by Arnie, the Toy Aisle Nazi.

Shekky and I were wandering aimlessly through the aisles one Christmas season, several hats piled on top of our heads, Shekky in a scarf, wearing toe-socks for gloves, and myself with a water-bra on the outside of my t-shirt, farting slippers, and a large pink bath sheet tied around my neck like a cape (I was Wonder Bra, the amazing Righter of Wrongs, damnit). We were both wearing swimming goggles.

My brother was 3 aisles over, pretending not to know us, but giggling like a madman every time one of us peeked down the row at him. I think it may have been my loud exclamation of "Oi! Shekky! If you were Barbie, would you fancy Ken or GI Joe?" that alerted Arnie to our presence. Couldn't have possibly been our outfits. Or the 6 and a half foot, platinum blonde teenager rolling around in the action figure aisle, laughing and trying not to wet himself

The particular Wal-Mart that we were at had a large selection of Christmasy goodness, that was situated right near the toy section. So when we got tired of riding big-wheels and throwing those giant rubber balls back and forth, we went into the forest of Christmas merchandise. Unbeknownst to us, we were followed by Arnie the Toy Aisle Nazi.

After a few minutes of the three of us sword-fighting with wrapping paper and decorating my tall and horribly skinny brother like a Christmas tree and making him walk like a catwalk model, we rounded the corner to find the most beautiful sight we had ever beheld. A wall of singing reindeer at least 10 feet high.

You know the type... you push their paws and they sing "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" as they dance back and forth and their noses light up. I looked at Shekky as a devious grin split my lips. I looked at my brother as he rubbed his palms together in demonic glee. We three exchanged the popular "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" look as took my supergirl pose and said in my most heroic voice, "Well, my trusty sidekicks, it seems as though we've got work to do!"

Without another word, we frantically began setting off every reindeer we could reach. And once those had been done, my brother lifted me up to finish off the top rows, near the ceiling. An ear-shattering rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer sung by no less that 150 plush toys exploded through the quiet store. Cackling with glee, we tried to run away in search of more mayhem to wreak when I crashed head-long into Arnie the Toy Aisle Nazi.

Arnie was an older fella, paunchy, smelled of old cheese and Ben-Gay, wearing a santa hat, with the grinchiest scowl I had ever seen.

"What are you people DOING?!" he shouted, red in the face.

"Spreading Christmas cheer!" I said, grinning widely. There are very few scrapes that my ridiculous grin can't get me out of.

Arnie looked down his nose at me (not hard as I'm a foot shorter than most people) and ground out through yellowed teeth, "I don't like your brand of cheer." He examined me closely. "You're not from around here, are you?"

So I have an accent. Sue me. I don't like people pointing it out, as it got me teased on the playground in school. Arnie had said the wrong thing. Bless him. My brother grabbed onto my shoulder as he saw my expression change. I took a step forward and was hauled back by the cape. He squinted his eyes down at me. I squinted right back up at him. The reindeer sang. It was a Mexican standoff.

Me: Spoil-sport
Arnie: Hooligan
Me: Wanker
Arnie: Foreigner
Me: Nazi
Arnie: Potato Eater
Me: I'm not Irish!
Arnie: Get out of my store before I have security remove you.

"We're going!" said Shekky, stripping off her super-hero finery and piling it in a heap on the floor.

Arnie and I were still staring each other down. I slowly removed my wonderful outfit, which I had fully intended to purchase, and dropped it bit by bit on the ground at his feet. Let HIM pick it up, the spoiler. I placed my water-bra on top of Arnie's head. He turns a dangerous shade of red. Shekky and my brother lead me away as I continue to give him the evil eye. As we go, I shout, "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch!"

 

[mustynutz]

Fucking Mondays.

I sit here, slumped in front of my PC with a cup of cold coffee with a soggy Digestive biscuit in it, pondering how exactly I managed to escape from my house this morning. Minute after agonising minute of looking under the duvet, the table, the washing, the rug, wherever the little bastard could be hiding. No, i'm not talking about a cat or a rat, a dog or a hog, a rabbit or small chinchilla, but an armadillo. Allow me to explain.

My brother is a sci-fi fanatic. He ADORES Star Trek, he CREAMS himself over Voyager, he beats his wang silly in the living room whenever a re-run of Blake's 7 comes on. He loves disaster sci-fi most of all "OH THE END OF THE WORLD IS COMING! A HUGE METEOR IS HEADING FOR EARTH AND WE HAVE ONLY 24 HOURS TO STOP IT!"
"This sounds like a job for 8 oil rig workers, because they know large amounts about astrophysics and thermonuclear weaponry!"
*NNNGH! *Sperm all over remote.**
In the film Armageddon, he saw that they had a vehicle which was used to drill into the meteor's structure to plant the nuclear thingymajig. This vehicle was called an Armadillo.

My brother, not being the brightest of lads in the cosmos, put on his "Dear Santa" letter last year that he wanted an Armadillo. My parents, being the wise and knowledgable people they are, knew this would be far better than a kitten for several reasons:

1) Brother has big, powerful hands.
2) Brother has sharp objects to make up his Airfix NCC-1701-D's with.
3) Brother has a mean streak longer than Ron Jeremy's wang.

An armadillo, in case you didn't know, has a hard shell. Parents knowing this, they decide that all objects thrown at, or impacted off, will rebound from the shell and cause minimal damage. EXCELLENT! So, Xmas comes, and an armadillo was produced.

Brother is not happy with his new poo-machine.

Brother shouts and screams at it, willing it so much to grow a drill bit instead of a penis, but all it does is roll up into a ball and hide from the onslaught.

"Hey, it looks like a bowling ball!"

God knows why those words came from my mouth, but they did. I swear I heard the little shit's ears prick up in recognition to the fate of so many of it's closest, and hairyest friends.

Brother picks up the small ball of death and rolls it at the Xmas tree.

The fuse blows.

So does tha armadillo.

Hair on end, scurrying around the floor, the little ball of super-heated death charges for me in a vengeful attack, fueled by the knowledge that its close encounter with mains electricity is entirely the fault of one loud mouthed older brother.

 

[mustynutz]

Masturbation has always been one of my favourite past times. I'm quite good at it by all accounts; hiding my masturbatory aids however is an ongoing learning process.

As a young man it wasn't easy getting hold of pornography. I'd started to believe that I would be jerking off to the rather tame porno playing cards that I'd found in the alleyway behind my house for the rest of my life, one day however a friend finally came through for me...

A genuine sex-toy catalogue; A colour sex toy catalogue with blurry pictures of boobies, tuppences and the occasional insinuation that one of girls was squatting over what, if you squinted (and imagined) hard enough, looked like a vibrator.

They say masturbation makes you blind, if you stared at the mixture of tiny red blue and yellow dots that formed the blurry pictures long enough whilst furiously masturbating you could probably agree. Everything nowadays looks a bit like 50's pop art.

I can remember that period of my life quite clearly. It was almost like some kind of covert operation to get the magazine from underneath my set of drawers, up my jumper, out into the hallway and into the bathroom without getting seen or heard; One day I had the not-so ingenious idea that I would roll it up and curl it around the pipes supplying water to the sink behind the ceramic housing at the base of the unit. No one would ever find it there, and I would never have to sneak it to the bathroom again.

This worked for a while, I would take a dump, realise that both my magazine and instant self-gratification was only minutes away and take it from behind the pipes. To this day I still find my parents bathroom sink strangely alluring.

One day the inevitable happened. My mum the strict Christian housewife did a spring clean. Who would have thunk it?

There was a terrible redness to my mothers face as she waved my precious colour sex toy catalogue with blurry pictures of boobies and tuppences at my Brother, Dad and me.

I could see my mother shouting, the disappointment hidden behind fiery eyes, the red face and sweating brow... the incredibly blurred boobies; I wish she'd hold the fucking catalogue still!

We all denied flatly that we had anything to do with it. My brother looked strangely guilty however; maybe he too had found my sacred catalogue. The thought that my catalogue had been abused by both of us was too terrible to bear; I inwardly vowed that I would never leave my pornography in the toilet again.

Two weeks later having had my catalogue set on fire I reverted back to sneaking my battered old porno playing cards into the bathroom... Having vowed never to leave my pornography in the toilet again I made the classic mistake of breathing my sigh of relief, flushing the toilet, washing my hands and wandering away leaving all the playing cards on top of the toilet system. Oops.

The room seemed to spin as my mother shook the playing cards in each of our faces one by one "Why would any of you do this, you will all burn in hell, these breasts are all grotesquely malformed, you are all sick twisted men" I started to feel pretty bad for my father and brother, after all it was my pornography, so I did the honourable thing and waited till they weren't around before blaming them.

As time went on little changed. I lay in the bath thinking of the terrible loss I had encountered. No more pornography because of my stupid clumsy masturbating. Oh well I still have the memories, no one can take those away from me I thought as a grin spread across my face.

As I reached the vinegar stroke it dawned on me that losing a load into the bath water was pretty disgusting and so I grabbed for the nearest apparatus available to me. The jug with which my little sister would wash her hair was unfortunately the closest. I would clean it out afterwards, no one would ever know, god I'm smart!

My clumsiness had taken a turn for the ridiculous as two days later my Mum approached me, my Brother and my Dad with a jug of old spunk.

 

[mustynutz]

Things ain't going so bad, matter of fact things are decent. Got money, getting laid, everyone is
cool and I hate to admit this I'm actually looking forward lots of family for Thanksgiving. Sure I
bitched about it, but now that I think of it, it's going to be fun in a sick sort of way. On to my
depression.

House Arrest. Electronic Monitoring. Home Confinement. I get off the middle of December and just
when I thought I was doing OK, I read some of my posts and reflected back on the past year. Lost
a few friends to natural causes, mom died, a suicide in the family, almost went broke, sold my
mansion, my cars, and just thinking about SHIT in general. And that's just the shit I wrote about,
there's lots more that I keep bottled in.

Normally I'd get drunk, but because of my house arrest I get tested for alcahol & drugs every two
weeks and if they find anything in my piss I go directly to jail and do not collect $200.00. I do
however posses a written perscription for VicodinHP (High Potency). If you take 3 or more, you'll
be chasing parked cars. You think pot is a mild high, this shit has heroine in it and it's the
mellowest high you can imagine. Can't drink to drown my sorrows, so I pop 8 Vicodins.

I didn't have the balls to commit suicide (http://www.ubersite.com/m/50596 bottom paragraph) but
this time because I'm so fucking high I'm crying. Every been so high you cried? I start talking to
myself, that's when you know you're fucked up, when you start talking to AND answering yourself.

Me: Why am I crying so hard?
Other me: Because you want to die?
Me: Hey, what the fuck?
Other me: I know what you're thinking...
Me: No shit you know what I'm thinking, you're me.
Other me: I guess you're right.
Me: Make it stop. Please.
Other me: Want it to stop? Take all the pills in the cabinet. It'll stop shortly after you finish. I promise.
Me: Fuck you.
Other me: You know you want to do it.
Me: No I don't.
Other me: Can't lie to me Tone. I think I know you.
Me: Shit.
Other me: You caused a lot of pain and a lot of suffering. If anyone deserves to die by their own hand, it's you. You know for a fact once you're free you're going to do some stupid shit again and there's no way you're getting off easy on your second offence. Do it. Take all these (sound of pills spilling) and it's over. No more pain. No more sadness. No more feeling sorry. It'll make everything go away. I promise.
Me: (starts to cry like a baby)
Other me: Crying won't make it better. Pussy. Take the fucking pills and finish it!
Me: (crying so hard can't see image)
Other me: TAKE IT! JUST FUCKING DO IT ALREADY!
Me: Why are you skinny?
Other me: No more questions, just finish it.
Me: Wait, (stopping crying) if you're me why are you skinny?
Other me: (shows me razor) How about this?
Me: Fuck you, why are you skinny? You're not me. You're just some fucking wanna be.
Other me: A wanna be Tony? Who'd want to be you?!? You're a fucking joke!
Me: I'm a lot of things, but
Other me: Pussy (vanishes)

I wake up in my bed. My wife is rubbing my back and kisses my ear. The pillow was soaking wet and
my face was full of snot from crying so much. Scary part is all the pills were out of the medicine
cabinet and one bottle was opened and 1/2 of them spilled out.

That's kinda how I want to die. From "Multiple drug intoxication", in a cheap motel. In an attempt
to make myself feel better I'm going to type how my mom died. This is one of the things I keep
bottled up. Every time I let something go, I feel a lil bit better.

I get back from the lawyers office and I tell the family what's going to happen. 20+ years. No
sugar coating, no hope, straight. Mom, hun, we're fuct. My mom and me have a nice arguement for
no reason and she begs me to flip and I explain that if I do, we're all dead. She cries, I tell
her to stop and we fight some more about nonsence. She walks out of the house and shows me where
her jewlery is. "See this! Look, it's all here! Ok?" and she storms out of the house. I'm happy
she left. Usually she gets pissed and takes a walk, or goes to one of her friends and calls me to
come get her a few hours later. It's 11PM and no phone call. Ever get that "Something is terribly
wrong" feeling and there's nothing you can do?

Next morning I wake up around 10ish and I am on my way to King's Jewlery & Loan in L.A. I need to
get my hands on a few bucks because Feds have everything locked up. My wife calls,
Wife: Hun, we've got a problem.
Me: Oh shit.
Wife: Yeah... um... there's a policeman at the door.
Me: No! Oh shit! (thinking I've got to run to Mexico, or some shit)
Wife: Baby, they found your mom.
Me: ??????? They found her? Where?
Wife: At a motel.
Me: Ok, tell them to bring the old broad home.
Wife: No hun..... they....
Me: no, no, no no no no no no don't say it.
Wife: sweetie.... just come home.
Me: (hung up)

It took 90 fucking days for the coronor to make the death certificate and give us a cause of death.
Nintey fucking days. "Multiple drug intoxication". By the police report I knew it was suicide
(because there was hundreds of pills spilled in the room) but still I justified why so many pills
were being spilled.

For some strange reason I feel better writing this down. Don't expect me to reply to this post
because I'm going to pretend that I never wrote it. I find that exposing my inner most fears and
sorrows with complete fucktards like yourselves makes my conscience feel just an ounce or two
lighter. When you're carrying the weight of the world, every ounce or two helps.

Fuck you, I don't spell check.

 

[mustynutz]

know I have posted a bunch of crap that completely contradicts other crap I post. There is a reason that I am attempting to come clean now.

About six weeks ago my ex-girlfriend from NYC called me and gave my world a swift kick in the nuts. She's knocked up. She won't have an abortion and honestly I don't think I could go through it again. I haven't told anyone, not even my closest friends, not my family. I was finally back on track with my life despite the booze and drugs. I am back in college and doing very well but of course I fuck something up.

She isn't moving to Buffalo and I'm not going there so this is going to be an awkward situation. It could also turn out to not be mine but I think that I am the last guy she would want to be the father. She is six months along now; the moment of truth is coming fast. I'll go there when it is born and take the biggest test of my life. If it is mine I honestly have no fucking clue what will happen next. I would never want to abandon my responsibilities as a man but if neither one of us is moving then it is going to make things difficult to say the least. I am also planning on moving out west in June of '05 which makes things all the better.

The worst thing is that the child suffers the most; they aren't asked who they want as parents.

"Hey little Janey, who do you want as parents?"

"The irresponsible, drunken, drug abuser please."

I hope it isn't mine for the sake of the child. I think the girl hopes the same thing but like she explained it to me, it's mine. In a few months I'll be a daddy. I haven't even thought of how I am going to tell my family.

"How bout them Bills and I'm going to be a father soon."

This is why my life is great, no matter what I'm always fucking myself right in the ass. But this time I am bringing down two innocent people with me. I need to clean my shit up somehow or as the girl put it, "YOU'LL NEVER FUCKING SEE THE BABY UNLESS YOU CAN STAY FUCKING SOBER." But she is right, I baby-sit my nieces but this will be a whole new ballgame.

This is another and hopefully final wake up call. Something has to change because going through life the way I am is ok but now I'll have someone who depends on me.

Whoever wrote the script of my life is a fucking asshole but unfortunately that asshole is me.

 

[mustynutz]

I am on an official campaign! Last week was one of the most exhilirating times of my life from what I can remember! I was watching the tube when I saw a commercial for car batteries and immediately thought of adorable children, playing innocently in their imaginary worlds filled with laughter and assorted chocolates. I also thought of how rough the real world is, and the shock that comes from truly being on your own and realizing you have no one. No one cares. Jesus all the mistakes, it's ridiculous how many times I could have gotten out of mowing the grass or paying taxes if I would have just tried! If someone would have helped me, shown me firsthand the perils of life, maybe I would have a better life with like a pet tiger that just trots around town and gets free food.

I had to help the children, but I can't just barge into their school and rant about how they should overthrow the government. I needed a plan, one that could endager me and them, but hey, seriously...

I put up flyers all around the town announcing the arrival of a very special guest at my house for anyone ages 3-10 at local churches. I advertised it as a four day event with promises of door prizes and cake for the children. I might have said something about a live bobcat being there but hey, it's not like I have any of that shit anyways.

Over 40 couples brought their children for the retreat. I was so excited to see that so many children were ready to cling onto every word, soaking in my vast knowledge of Roman mythology for 20 minutes. The children looked sleepy so I let them take a nap to rest up for the big event. I got my supplies ready and sat in my chair, slowly gazing out the window and thinking about the good that is about to be done...

As they awoke, I decided to cut the bullshit and tell them the deal.

Me: Hey kids, dream about colors and shiny coins? I hope so because, well, I have a confession children. Whoa settle down! Cookies are coming in about 2 hours okay? Basically children I am going to show you the terrible world of drugs, and make you better as people because of it. I will attempt to consume whatever I bought, and hopefully my actions will truly show you that it is so not cool to do drugs.

Children: Drugs are ugly! What's that?

Substance #1 : Bacardi 151

Me: This is the godfather of my children. I've lit numerous heads aflame with this substance, and it never lets me down. I will consume this bottle and show, well most of you for the first time the effects of an abusive dominant male drunk off his ass.

Tammy: Daddy drinks beer every night.

Me: Well your father is trash little girl and I hope you get out of that quick. Proceed intoxication!

1 hour later...

Me: This guy! I was just standing there man and, and, you should have seen it. Totally tried pushing me and I was like "you wanna step to this my friend? You wanna step to the pain?" I know I know! Oh man let's get some pizza and play cards. Speaking of which who's calling Greg? Who's calling up the Dizzle? I love that guy!

Children:....

Me: Not like in a sexual way...you know...and it's time to show you drug #4!

Substance #2 : Marijuana

Me: Alright children I need all of you at least 25 feet back unless you like the smell, then it's 22.

Ricky: It smells like a skunk!

Me: Yeah, my man there knows the lingo! Okay time for blunt to face!

15 minutes later...

Me:...

Children:...

Me: Who has food?

Lucy: I got a twinkie!

Me: I'm confiscating it because you look like you're gonna call the cops. You're not a snitch, are you? Whoa! Whoa! You just don't move! Don't move your arms like that!

Children: You're acting funny!

Me: Oh jesus please children, let's just play some Halo and eat brownies? Please? Who's making the brownies I'm not allowed to touch ovens, i'm allergic to them. Is there a Bobby here?

Bobby: Uh, I'm Bobby...

Me: Always a Bob! You're making brownies dipshit, go buy some eggs. I'm tired as hell so let's call it a day shall we children?

That night 3 children escaped and ran to the authorities. Luckily children aren't all too bright and didn't notice I was disguising myself, so the cops are looking for a guy with three legs and manicured toenails. I awoke the children at 5:00 a.m. and proceeded to show them the horrors of drugs...by starting off the day with a little concoction I like to call a Nuclear Turkey...

Substance #3,4,5 : Cocaine, Crystal Meth, Mushrooms

We traveled across 26 states in three hours hitting various Waffle Houses and independent record stores. I chased an alien for two hours in vain, but I bought the children ice cream to smush into my face because that's what gets me off. I ran in 3 marathons and picked up a bronze medal. Oh I cleaned the bathroom as well. The children were definitely zonked after that one.

Substance #6,7 : LSD, Peyote

Yeah, ok, this day I really don't remember doing anything with the children. I think I dropped them off at my grandma's and told her they were dying of cancer so I'm sure they got smothered with attention. I was at one. One with the world and the trees, and I'll be damned if anything will take that away from me. I saw things beyond your comprehension, remember that.

Substance #8 : Cigarettes

I picked up the kids from grandma's and decided to just lay off the hard stuff and get to really know them. Well guess what, it ruined everything. I realized these children had no clue the impact I was trying to make. They kept talking about kickball and how Willy flipped his swing all the way over last week. What the fuck? I harm myself physically and they just mock me? Call me goofy ears? You little bastards don't even have teeth, how about that? Or fully developed minds for christ sake!

I released them back into the world, a bit disappointed yet optimistic for their future. They had more knowledge of drugs than they had before, yet they still suck for not having any sort of attention span or memory capabilities. All I know is that they better not expect me to have done that for free. Those hellions ruined my couches.

 

[mustynutz]

It was the mid nineties. Before the dot com bubble burst, before the rave scene got played out, before ecstasy was a household drug. The strange thing is that, despite the fact that I was a drug dealer and a valet (the car parking variety) at a strip club, I look back and consider myself still partially innocent at the time. I guess shit really did get gnarlier after that. Oh well, on with the show.

It was a sunny Southern spring evening in one of America's metropolises. I had gone to a club to watch DJ Keoki spin and sell X the night before (I cringe at the thought of appreciating the music of Keoki now, but it was ten years ago). So basically I was really strung out, yet still pretty high, trying not to fuck anything up too bad at work. Which was a place called the Diamond Club. My main responsibility was to park and protect the strippers' and high-rollers' cars. I made over twenty bucks an hour and got to bang a lot of strippers. It was a pretty cool job for a 20 year old rave-kid.

The way it worked was that Gino, the doorman, and I basically were the "welcoming committee" of the club. If you were friendly to the club you got ushered in by us and tended to. If you were just a customer we asked for money for parking and cover, and if you were hostile to the club then we were there to keep shit under control until the manager (a former college football star with a SK assault rifle in his desk – he actually had to pull that shit out a couple times when thug ass coke dealers started getting unruly and waving guns around) could get there to handle shit. Gino was a big-ass weight-lifter guy that sold coke on the side. I sold weed on the side, it worked out awesome.

So this stupid-ass stripper, Tas, that drove a fucking geo metro rolls up, beefy muscular type bitch that never made any money. I kind of felt bad for her in a way, but she was so fucking annoying that I hated her anyway. So at the exact same time as Tas pulled to a stop, Gino was kicking these three Mexicans out for touching one of the strippers, they were belligerently drunk. So I opened the door for Tas and as I was getting in the car one of the Mexicans broke the passenger window with some kind of little piece of metal he had attached to his keychain.

There were four of them, and they took off running in three directions, one went south, two went west, and one went north. Gino took off north, and I took off south. I'm thinking that it was the northern bound runner that was the culprit, but I don't really remember. So I chase the cat down the street, and he turns into a warehouse-storage place and where're running down the corridors of garage-door storage spaces until finally we come to a dead-end. He tries to climb the fence, but slips and falls right as I come up on him. He's on the ground, curled up, ready for me to start going apeshit on him. I would wind up in fights all the time back then. I grew up taking karate (being the white kid in the ghetto will motivate your ass to take some karate) and then in college was an over-emotional drunk. So I would fight. God, I was a dipshit.

So my adrenaline was pumping from the chase, and I was furious about the window (I would definitely be hearing about that for months from the manager). I grabbed his lapel, raised my arm and made a fist, I was about to wail on this poor chump because, well, that's the way the world works. We live in the jungle.

Then something I can only attribute to God, well God and the hits of X I took the night before, happened. Our eyes met and I was overwhelmed with compassion for him. I was unable to hurt him. I let him go and he climbed the fence and ran off. I told Gino he was too fast for me.

***** *****

A couple of weeks later a few friends and I headed up to Raleigh-Durham North Carolina for a monster rave. Ten thousand fucking kids in this huge convention center type building. The music was fucking tight too, Rabbit in the Moon, Josh Wink, Doc Martin, Uberzone. It was officially off the cheese. But it was pretty gnarly in its own right. There were cops walking around constantly busting kids for minor drug possession. The jail was probably full of kids in baggy jeans and crooked visors. And considering I was selling acid, mostly to strangers, more or less out in the open, it was pretty scary.

By maybe Five in the morning I had sold most of my acid and was candy-flipping my ass off. It was time to dance for about five or six hours straight. Yes, I was one of those fools who didn't start dancing until the sun was peeking through the nighttime sky. And it was in the middle of Doc Martin's set, he was playing this mystical, all-healing house music. I was jumping around and having a good old time. And I spun around and accidentally clocked a cop with my elbow. Partytime just ended, I still had about ten hits of acid in my pocket, as well as other things. I wound up crouching down in front of him. He raised his arm and made a fist. Our eyes connected and he was overcome with a sense of compassion for me. He was unable to harm me. He let me go and I walked off. Later on that day I wound up getting crazy fucked up with a bunch of big time rave promoters from all over the country and meeting Rabbit in the Moon. But that's a different story.

 

[mustynutz]

A few weekends ago I had one of my biggest laughs ever when some buddies and I got this eight year old boy high on PCP. Normally I would be against that kind of thing - you know, sharing drugs with someone who has never chipped in before. I tell you though, when that little kid was wigging out like a two bit street junky, it was comedy gold. One minute he was digging away at invisible roaches crawling out of his skin, the next he was raging against imaginary teletubbies. We finally had to bring him down a bit with some heroin because he was starting to come after us with murder in his eyes. I tell you, it was so cute. Once the heroin kicked in though, he was out like a light, dreaming blissfully away in his soft chemical heaven.


The next weekend we slipped a quad of acid to a ten year old girl in her apple juice. She was playing with her Barbies in a playground, so we just sat back with some cold beers and waited for it to kick in. About a half an hour later once the acid began to take hold, we were in for a treat. She started staring at her hands like she had never seen them before. The little girl was like this for almost 20 minutes. Then she dropped her Barbie to the ground, and began to stagger around the playground like a demonic pixie.


Holy crap it was funny.


She started yelling something out, but for the longest time we couldn't understand what she was saying. It sounded like, "Wa Ba Ma Gaaaaaa!" which we finally deciphered to mean, "Where's my Barbie?"


I picked her Barbie up and presented it to her. "Here's your Barbie, little girl," I told her.


She regarded the Barbie with a look of absolute dread on her face. "That's not my Barbie!" she screamed. She then turned and ran as fast as she could directly away from us. My buddies and I turned and looked at each other. "Holy shit, did you see that?" one of my friends said. After that we couldn't hold it in any longer. We fell to the ground overcome by laughter. We were literally gasping for breath because we were laughing so hard. When we finally laughed ourselves out, the little girl was gone.


I hope she didn't get hit by a car or something, or run into some creepy strangers.


Anyway, if you're bored and you have some extra drugs lying around, just slip them to some kid. The entertainment value is more than worth the cost of the drugs.

 

[mustynutz]

It's about 3am and I am awakened by some noises from outside. It seems that my new upstairs neighbor's at it again. He and his friends are always up doing something. Last weekend one of my friends was sitting on my porch and almost got drizzled on when one of them in their drunken stupor pissed off the balcony. I don't keep a clock near my bed so I'm not subjected to the game of "if I can just fall asleep now I can still get 3 more hours of sleep" but I can guess by the blackness of the room that it's the middle of the night. For the next hour I drift in and out, but am awakened again and again by the sounds, which sound closer and louder than usual. Several times I hear what I could almost swear was tapping directly on the window outside my bedroom. Finally I decide to get up and investigate. I sit up in bed to see that my cat is in between the blinds and the windowsill, and figure she's the culprit and go back to bed. Moments later I hear the noise again. I stand up and peer through the blinds to see a kid, about 21 or 22, half-naked just standing outside my window.

This is more than a little bit creepy. I'd taken some melatonin to induce REM, so I myself am in a little bit of a haze, and although the digital clock is giving me tracers I can see that's it's 4am. What the fuck is this dude doing outside my window at 4am? I throw some pants on, being fairly noisy while doing so stomping around my apartment and make my way to the door. When I open the door, he's still there, and barely even notices me opening the door. His head slowly turns, and I quickly ask...

"Is there a particular reason you're hanging out on my porch at 4 in the morning?"

He looks confused, and replies "this is Chad's place." I turn and look over my shoulder. Nope, no Chad here.

"This is my place, and I don't know any Chad"

He again looks confused, and leans over the balcony looking downward. (Despite the fact that he lives above me) "Where'd he go? Is he fucking with me?"

"Are you alright partner?"

He mumbles something about alcohol. "I'm so sorry, I guess I'm in the wrong place" he says and shakes my hand.

Now mind you, my porch does not look like any other porch in our building. There are two wooden chairs outside my door and a bright fucking florescent yellow mountain bike was hanging just above his head where he was standing. You actually have to duck to avoid the handlebars so it's pretty impossible to miss. He neither looks nor acts drunk so I quickly dismiss the comment about alcohol. He apologizes and starts to walk away. I notice he is carrying away several of my things, a candleholder I had sitting on the porch and a makeshift ashtray I had made to put cigarette butts in.

"Hey, that's my stuff you're walking off with buddy."

"It is? Oh, I'm sorry." He sets the candleholder down, and refers to it as "a nice end table." He again starts to walk away and is still carrying the makeshift ashtray, which is full of butts. He seems quite attached to it at this point, so I decide that perhaps it's best to let him keep it. As he walks away I look down to see he has left behind what appears to be a severely mangled stuffed animal.

Now friends, there are only a few substances I am aware of that would make a person act this strange. These would include PCP, peyote, salvia divinorum, acid and shrooms. He doesn't look like the type to do dust or know where to get it. Peyote's pretty hard to come by in this part of the country. Salvia wouldn't last that long, which leaves acid and shroooms. He seemed a little too laid back for acid, so if I had to guess I'd say that he was shrooming his nuts off. It was quite obvious he had no concept of where he was or what he was doing, so hallucinogens would seem to be the best explanation. Coincidentally, I had recently thought about doing hallucinogens again, as it's been some time since my last adventure. I had sworn never to do them again (you can read more about why I made this resolution in my post entitled Over the Edge...) but reading some posts on the subject had made me a bit nostalgic and there was also another factor involved. We'd recently gotten a new band member, and he'd never experienced a full-blown trip on hallucinogens.

One positive thing I can say about this type of drug is that it can definitely be a bonding experience. Aside from sexual relations, tripping with someone is just about the most intimate experience you can have with a person. That's why just like sex, you need to choose your partners wisely. I am not a butt pirate and am certainly not about to get freaky-deaky with a bunch of dudes, so I thought it would be a good experience for us to trip together as a band. After watching this kid however, it sort of put things in perspective. "Is that what I'm like when I'm tripping?" This kid had no concept of reality or of the consequences of his actions. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all. As far as I know, that kid lives upstairs in a one-bedroom apartment, just himself and his dog. I don't know his name, but the next time I see him I'm going to ask and if he says Chad, (or calls the dog Chad) I'm going to be more than a little bit freaked out. Maybe he thought his dog locked him out and was waiting to be let back in but in actuality was on the wrong floor? Who knows? I tried to fall back asleep.

After about an hour of sleeplessness I managed to doze off. It's strange the things your subconscious mind carries with it from the conscious world into REM. I still had a sufficient dose of melatonin in my system, which always gives me crazy dreams, but this was a little too bizarre. I dreamt that I went to our new guitar player's house, supposedly right after what had transpired outside my window. I knew for certain that I wasn't tripping but seeing this kid in his condition had triggered some sort of flashback, and although I hadn't consumed anything I was in a fully hallucinogenic state. I'd heard of such flashbacks being possible but had never experienced one. I was also cognizant of the fact that because this kid had disturbed my sleep, I had no intention of getting up and going to work, which meant that at some point I would have to call in. Everything was a blur. We tried rehearsing but our guitarist could see I was non-functional and quickly gave up. "How long did we practice for" I asked? "About ten minutes" he replied "but we didn't really play anything." Strange, it seemed like hours.

I noticed the clock, and it was just after seven. (I have no idea why we would be rehearsing at seven o'clock in the morning, but whatever...) "Oh shit, I need to call into work!" I still hadn't been able to explain to my friend what had occurred at my home that had me so shaken, as my words were failing me at the moment. I tried to call my job and thought I had done so, but would soon find out I was mistaken. All of a sudden his grandma shows up, and I realize I don't have a shirt on. I quickly run into the bathroom, but when I return all of a sudden I'm wearing only my boxers. I seem to have no control over what I'm doing and don't even know where my clothes are. His grandma is of course appalled, as she can tell I am far from sober. Just then there is a knock on the door. I open the door (still in my boxers) and it's a police officer. He pulls out a cassette recorder and presses play. Apparently I had called 911 and told them I wouldn't be coming into work. The message was barely audible, and this threw up a red flag and the police traced the call. Just then, my alarm went off.

I woke up, just long enough to call my job and tell them I wouldn't be in, and went back to sleep. I'm writing to you now, fully rested, although I don't recall the latter portion of my dreams. There is still a mangled teddy bear sitting outside my door, so I know that portion was real. Some people believe dreams have significance, and while this one was certainly bizarre I believe the overall message of the events that transpired is simple. Drugs are bad, m'kay?

 

[mustynutz]

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Sex, Drugs, and Violence (46 hits)
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Submitted by John Smith <icbc.at.hotmail.com> (View user info) at 2004-01-04 06:46:01


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I was good while I was in Japland. Compared to how bad I could have been, and others were, I was a bright and shining star. To say my year overseas made me bitter would be an understatement. The grotesque mediocrity and traditional immorality realigned my perception like a jackhammer straightening railroad tracks. When I once again set foot on American soil it was with the understanding that I could be a sheep or a wolf, and I wasn't feeling very sheepish. So I took two months of leave to exercise my newfound sadistic lust. I set off alone because I doubted anyone would tolerate such behavior for an extended period of time and female company would've defeated the purpose of the expedition in the first place. Which was to cause as much trouble, and get as much pussy as possible without the loss of life, limb, or liberty. And rest assured, I found and pushed that line repeatedly.

It was with this intention that on a Friday at 9pm I mounted the steps of a frat house near San Diego State University. Former Sergeant, turned womanizer and drunk, Mike Andrews, met me at the door. "Great to see you man!" he said as he gave me a manly hug. "You look good." referring to the beard, long hair, and tan the last six weeks of freedom had afforded me. "Come meet the guys. Hey guys this is the dude I told you about, fought off twelve Mexicans and dragged my knocked out ass back to the states." He was referring to one of our less adventurous trips south of the border. The real story was that he got too drunk to find our table, sat at someone else's, and used their change to order drinks. When the waiter wouldn't serve him, Mike got belligerent. Then the women whose money he was spending came over and kicked the crap out of him. Combined, they weighed less than he did, and returning their money was all it took to stop the violence. But hey, whatever got me in the door and furthered my cruel endeavors. He introduced me to the group and handed me a beer. I called him an asshole and walked off. Mike and his friends were the worst kind of sheep, the kind that think they're wolves because television tells them they are, and the others sheep don't bother to correct them.

I surveyed the flock. We had the blonde, could be a model sheep, they ranged in breast size, hairstyle, and percentage of exposed skin. My appetite for them had been satisfied the first week in Rocky Point. There were the red headed, freak sheep, whose only differences were number of piercing and whether or not they'd expect a reach around. I had one of those awaiting my return to Yuma. There were the brunette, intellect/activist/jock sheep. Their similarity to the Mike and Likes made them not worth my effort. Oriental sheep, not a chance, black sheep, no, Latina sheep, meh and then just more of the same. Damn I was hungry, but what for. My eyes wandered back over to the Latina sheep. She was about 4"10' 130 lbs, had an ample, firm looking butt, nice rack and cute face. If you scaled the room by appearance she would have been a five, dead average. But something held my gaze, one of those aspects of attraction that only works because you can't quite identify it. Perhaps it was the way she was sitting, alone on the staircase, hands on her knees, feet bouncing to the rhythm of the music. She was disengaged from the whole scene while still seeming completely organic to it. She scanned the room with mild disinterest and when she got to me our eyes met. Then I saw it, that spark of intelligence, a certain flame that denotes an understanding that there is more that this. And for a moment I considered the possibility that I may not be the only wolf here. But no, I couldn't justify that. We're very rare and unconditional loners. Anyway, Dinner was definitely served.

I walked back to Mike. "MOOOOO... I mean sorry about telling that story man. I didn't realize..."
"Whatever." One major difference a wolf and a sheep is when you slap a wolf in the mouth it'll bite you, while a sheep will just apologize. "Who's the cute one on the steps over there?"
"Aww man, I don't know her. She's here with Jenn." He responded, pointing to a three, over at the bar. "Don't try to get with Jenn, she's all religions and doesn't put out. I don't know about her friend though. Hey, if you can get it, hit it!"
"Well as long as I have your approval, By the way you're still an asshole."
"Aww John you're so funny." Pissing him off wasn't worth the time it would take. I started my surveillance. All I needed was an in, and it came with surprising speed. The three, who will henceforth be referred to as Dimwit, was chatting with someone when the Bartender placed her drinks on the conter. I didn't actually see the slip. All I saw was some rapist walk along the bar and lift his hand. Then there was a slight disturbance on the surface of the liquid. Awesome, I thought as I approached my prey. I get to play hero tonight. We wolves never use drugs, we prefer our meals go down fighting. I started conversing with Dinner before Dimwit even noticed her drinks. She was friendly, upbeat, clever, and had a good sense of humor. No introductions were made since neither of us showed enough interest. She played the game well. Dimwit came over and handed her a cup. Apparently out of some ritual, and before I could say anything they chugged the liquor. Dimwit had some difficulty while Dinner simply swallowed hers in four gulps. I watched helplessly as some white particulate matter drained into her mouth with last drops of fluid. I felt a slight pang of guilt for not trying harder to stop it but that was quickly overcome by curiosity. I'm sure there have been advances in the date rape field since I left and I wanted to see the effects. If it was X all I had to do was hang around and I'd get what I want. And if it was something else, well I'm sure I'll treat her right, I always do...

Dimwit walked away as I looked at my watch, 9:15. Dinner invited me to sit and we got to know each other. By 9:30 the loss of inhibition had taken full effect. By 9:50 she had goose bumps and was in a visible state of arousal. I couldn't see Dimwit anywhere, and that didn't concern me. Whatever misfortune befell her was her own fault. She was a little old to have made a mistake like this and to take friend down with her was even worse. I watched the rapist hover with a wistful stare. An act of violence would complete this evening nicely. I was convinced she was on X until about 10:00 when she started staring intently at nothing. Perhaps the formula had included a mild hallucinogen.
"Wow, that's a beautiful horse."
Perhaps it wasn't so mild. "Yeah you like that? His name's Aries."
"Such an amazingly white coat. Why did they let you bring a horse inside?"
"Well he's kind of a magical horse, not everyone can see him."
"Really? Awesome."
"Yeah and besides, he's being really good. He hasn't bitten anyone all night."
She laughed, hugged herself, and began rubbing her shoulders. As she pushed the sleeve of her shirt up I saw something that caused my teeth to grind and my stomach to shrink. It was like proving that it really is all fun and games until someone looses an eye. She had a tattoo of a bulldog in Dress Blue Alphas, the uniform that defines the Marine Crops as the sexiest branch of the service. I had seen this tattoo maybe fifty times before. It was the most popular for students who study avionics at Naval Air Station Pensacola. And sure enough across the bottom was the Corps motto, "Semper Fidelis" I quickly pulled her sleeve back down and sat there fuming.

10:15. I had precious little time. The deep-rooted standards of decency and caring were making vast gains against my more shallow beliefs in selfish vindication. If I'd left then I could probably have still found someone else to devour. But she was in poor shape. Whatever was in that cocktail was pretty strong. She had maybe five more minutes of consciousness. I was ashamed of myself for allowing this to happen. If the drug contained ecstasy the repercussions would be severe. I even began to worry about Dimwit. My mind made one last appeal to evil by reminding me that she was just another irresponsible female Marine, of the type that had motivated this adventure in the first place. But that wasn't true. At that moment she was my little sister, who had gotten into trouble when she trusted the wrong person, and needed a helping hand. I was comforted by the fact that the white knight in my mind could so easily defeat the sadist. But the whole debate was instantly moot when the rapist sat down beside us.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Nah bro, just chillin..."
"Could you go chill somewhere else? We're kinda busy."
"What, you with her?"
"Yes!"
"That's funny I didn't see you come in together."
I had no patience. Without sizing him up I stood and bared my teeth. He was surprised by my willingness to throw down, but having 40lbs on me and being of a truly sheepish mindset he took the challenge. A kick to the gut, fist to the temple, and knee to the throat, and he was on the ground. I was standing over him, disappointed, wondering if he had any friends when a bottle exploded on top of my head (ten stitches). It was in the perfect place to make a big mess and do little more. I tried to look as indifferent as possible when I fed the assailant my fist. I busted a knuckle on his tooth (seven stitches). By then the Mike and Likes had gotten in on the action, and soon I was disengaged.

 

[mustynutz]

I got a dishtowel full of ice for my head, held it in place with someone's rather expensive Fedora, wrapped my hand, collected my unconscious, would be feast, and made my exit. It had been a good night.

I found the keys to a new Jetta in her pocket. The base decal said Yuma. Which meant they had to be staying somewhere nearby. I tried to put her on the back seat only to find Dimwit had already passed out there. That worked out nicely, and explained why she could be so naive. If no harm ever came from her carelessness there would be no need to change. After placing Dinner on the passenger seat I flipped through her wallet looking for some indication of their residence. Dinner's name was LCpl Angie Jones. She had been in the Corps for about two years. The pictures she carried led me to believe she was taken. And the ring on her finger looked pretty significant. Bingo, a magnetic swipe key to the base hotel on MCAS Miramar. I drove them home. The guard at the front gate was gracious about the blood on my face, and the hotel personnel went so far as to call the duty doc to come patch me up. After depositing them both in their room I left a signature coin in Angie's hand. These are a Marine tradition that shows the EGA on one side and some identification of the person, place, or unit on the other. Mine were solid silver, a little bigger than a quarter, and inlaid with my name in gold Kanji. At thirty bucks each parting with them is not too difficult. These days when asked where she got it she tells the story of a gentle horseman in search of someone to help. As she lay there sleeping I was tempted one last time to take advantage. I'm very glad I didn't, because two weeks later when I returned to work trimmed and shaven, I found both Dimwit and Angie sitting in my shop where they both fall under my supervision. Neither showed any sign of recognition.

Chapter Two

After being regularly impressed by Angie for about a month, we went on a three-week training rotation to the middle of the Arizona desert. I tried not to notice that we were spending more time with each other than with the rest of our shop. When she made her feelings for me known it was like God giving me a cookie for being such a good boy. I have since learned that she is also a predator, not vicious enough to be a wolf, perhaps a hawk or some other bird of prey. I have since given up my wolfish ways in favor of more meaningful, caring relationships. So I guess I'm a sheep dog now. A hawk and a sheepdog, I wonder what the kids will look like.

 

[OG young SAV]

Looks like I've got plenty shit to read on tonights Subway rude....Good lookin'