Thurdays Time Killaz

[mustynutz]

few weeks ago, I went and visited a friend on Long Island. We went to a bar, and I met a girl. Pretty decent looking, skinny, big rack, and a typical JAP personality.

We made out for a while on the dance floor- her sucking my tongue, me trying not to get poked in the eye by her snot rocketeer.

Yup, she had a HUUUGE nose. Me saying that she has a big nose is like me saying that southeast asia got a little bit fucked up by the earthquake/tsunami.

So I leave the bar, and reunite with my friend. I make a drunk phone call to my old roommate, who upon hearing my story, says, "Did you hump her nose?" In complete seroiusness. Crazy mush...
---

I am currently in the process of unpacking my shit from the moving boxes. in other words, I live out of boxes. This morning I was hanging up some dress pants in my walk in closet, which has its own heating vent.

It was warm. I was sweating.

Suddenly, like a new york city rapist, I feel a pressure in my abdomen. Not thinking anything of it, I squeeze out a faht.

It was extra special terrible, since I am sick. And I ate chili last night. So it smelled bad.

So do not fart in closet.
-----

I made chili last night. It was delicious. Sirloin, kidney beans, homemade tomato sauce, chili powder, cayanne pepper, lots of onions, and a few jalepeno peppers. (several ingredents omitted due to security concerns)

It was delicious.

Being that I have stayed home sick the past few days, I had a pretty solid case of nasal congestion worked up. Every once in a while, the liquid boogers would dry up, and require some manuel stimulation to retreive them. (another e before i word)

I picked my nose, got this dried up bloody booger, and was treated to the chemical equivalent of a blender up my nostril. I have been pepper sprayed before, and it was the exact same feeling, but only in the nose, not the eyes. I screamed, and blew my nose until it bled. again. I have been doing that a lot recently. I went into the bathroom, and snorted some water until i passed out.

i came to, and felt a much slighter burning sensation; releived. I scrubbed my hands with dial soap, which i thought would do the trick.

I later found out it didn't.

Don't masturbate after cutting jalepeno peppers either.

 

[mustynutz]

So, you think you're safe playing your "video games" do you?

Well, computer games may be all fun and games but they most certainly aren't all fun and games.

Like my father used to say "It's all fun and games till someone's daddy gets drunk and abuses them on the sofa". And man, was he right about that!

Here we have listed some of the more common VGA's, or Video Game Ailments, that maybe you should think about when somebody is next picking up your joystick and challenging you to a wrestle.

Warning; Wearing condoms over the hands while typing does not 100% guarantee safety from injury!


Tetris Eye Burn. (No known cure)

This comes from playing too much tetris over an extended period. The falling blocks being projected into your brain become so ensconced in your being that, in certain places where you are understimulated (Just before sleep, on a long journey, having sex with your spouse) you will actually SEE falling tetris blocks behind your closed eyelids.

Not only that, but you will try and get as many lines as you can and you CANNOT HELP IT! You cannot persuade your mind to just throw in the trowel and hit the space bar till the little blocks make a scraggly line to the top! No, you have to keep going as it gets faster and faster and FASTER AND FASTER and then you roll over and have a cigarette...

Minesweeper LuckPush MegaClick Addictive Syndrome or MLMAS (No known cure)

Included on most computers, Minesweeper has that fascinating ability to be shit, but addictive (see below). Its a game of clicking shit but if you need me to explain the rules then you shouldn't be reading this at the moment. The thing with minesweeper is that you can play for such an extended amount of time your brain actually goes into negative function. Your brain waves go backwards, or something... I'm not a neuroscientist. Go away.

When your mind collapses after the first 150 games, you will begin the phase of "LuckPush MegaClicking", where if you don't reveal the entire gameboard through a random series of clicks (with no thinking involved whatsoever) then you won't accept it. Where initially you would settle for four or five revealing little testers, now you are pushing 20+ pre-clicks and, like above, there ain't shit you can do.

Solitaire (Patience) Mental Apathy. (No known cure)
You play too much solitaire- Your brain will turn off. Just like minesweeper. It doesn't mean, however, that you will stop playing. Seeing thos ecards tumble down is like crack, but so much better... ah...

VG Rage
Video game rage can come from a myriad of sources-
-Just getting beaten by Angel Sephiroth cos you are one cast of "Cure" Short.
-Racing a 2 hour GT3 endurance race and crashing on the last lap.
-Playing ANY GAME (notably Point Blank 2) and getting beaten by an Octopus. FUCKING OCTOPUS!

The results are always the same. One PS2 controller lodged in a TV or one keyboard mashed to pieces. Hospitalisation inevitably follows.


So, children. Now that you are educated about the dangers of video games, you will know how to approach them in an adult and sensible manner, and hopefully give them the respect and caution they deserve.

As I know you all only take orders from one person, my good friend Jesus will finish this for me.

 

[mustynutz]

This Saturday was pretty dull for the better part of the day. Did some work in the yard, hung some Christmas lights, and watched a litte TV. Nothing special. Until about 6 that evening.

My fiance and I had been invited by her coworker to a small Christmas party at his house that night, which actually began with a slight scuffle between us over proper attire. She was hell bent on having me dress up. Black pants and the such. I wanted to wear jeans. I mean Christ, it was a party, I wanted to be comfortable, and I had just gotten a kickass new pair of boots. I won. Boots and denim it was.

Sidenote: every guy at the party was in jeans. Kickass. We walked in and I gave her the LOOK, and she knew she was owned. Sweet.

Fast forward 3 hours, and the men are all upstairs playing hold 'em, and I'm 90% through a fifth of Captain. Not my drink of choice, but the best option based on what was at hand. Beggars can't be choosers. I wanted to bring a bottle of Jack to the party, but she thought wine was more appropriate. No one drank the wine. I think I need to start choosing our gifts.

As soon as I begin to lose my stack, I realize I'm drunk. These were real nice guys, but shitty card players. An idea is hatched to go hit a bar. Outstanding. I'm in. Sign me up. Someone mentions Arizona Pete's, and I'm even more in. I mean, I was already wearing the boots, right?

So we get there, pay the ridiculous $8 cover, and walk in to the cover band playing the hell out of Garth Brooks. These guys were golden. It was going to be a good night.

After an hour or so of hanging out, an open-ended dare is given out to the men in our crew. Someone must ride the bull. The mechanical bull, encased behind a fence surrounded by the same old blue mats we all had in our middle school gym classes. Fuck it, I was IN. I was thinking Lane Frost as I was telling myself to cowboy up. It was on.

I get in line behind this chick who was busting out of her top. I was looking forward to seeing her get thrown off the bull in hopes the shirt would cease to contain her assets. Sadly enough, the bull operator decides that was the day he was going to spread his holiday cheer, and he barely turned the thing on. It was like Revenge of the Nerds when they were trying to buck Ogre off the trojan horse - the thing didn't hardly buck. I felt cheated as I watched that little bitch go in a few circles, wave her hat, dismount and walk away like she just found the square root of pi.

Doing what any chemically imbalanced person would do, I talked shit to the bull operator. Told him he was a puss for not bucking her, and that I was going 8 seconds on his ass.

M
I
S
T
A
K
E

I must have made his night.

I got on that thing, and he skipped the whole warm up mode. He threw the switch directly to 'puree' and before I knew what had happened my nuts were halfway up my ass.

I didn't fall off the bull.
I didn't get tossed off the bull.

I was thrown like a frisbee 14 feet into a wall of blue padding that felt like cinder block. If my friends had blinked they would have missed the entire sorry exhibition.

As I stood up, the sarcastic bitch asked if I would like to try again.

Trying to force my arm back into socket, I politely told him noooooo and made my way back to the bar.

8 seconds my ass.
Cowboy up?

Nope. DOWN.

 

[mustynutz]

don't know if someone has posted a similar story to this at some point but this is a tale of great misfortune and woe.

Names have been changed in this one.

Julia was one of the dirtiest girls I had come across (no pun intended) in a long time. She enjoyed sordid sex and there was nothing she wouldn't try. Except the glorious holy grail, anal. I had been trying to win her round for a few weeks. But nothing had worked. I had taken her out for expensive meals, I had bought her gifts, I had tried sweet talking her and even emotional black mail.

"Babe if you really love me you will at least give it a go."

"Get fucked arsehole" (yet again no pun intended)

It seemed hopeless. Until one day whilst we were laying on the bed together talking crap she said something that would change my life forever.

"Hun, you know the anal thing?" She said tentatively.

"Yes, Babe?" I said my ears and other parts of my anatomy pricking up.

"Well Maria was telling me that her and her boyfriend do it regularly and that it's amazing." the next eleven words came out very slowly and very cautiously. "I was wondering if you still want to try it?"

Well I didn't need a written invitation. I stripped her quicker than a fat boy stripping a mars bar ice cream on a particularly hot day. Clothes off and little Timmy ready to go we got into the swing of things. Oral came and went and we were in the middle of fucking when I asked her if she was ready. She nodded. Oh thank you god, you know I'll be there first thing Sunday. I thought to myself.

I went down on her again and whilst "sticking my tongue in her holiest of holies" to quote pulp fiction, I slowly slid a finger into her arse. She whimpered in pleasure as her muscles tensed and relaxed. YES! This was a goer! I told her that everything would be fine, rolled her over and slowly began pushing into her. She loved it. I've never heard a girl make noises like she did that night. It became almost scary how much she was enjoying it.

"Do it harder, do it fucking faster!" She moaned.

I happily obliged and began to drill like a pro when something unsightly happened.

"Baby I'm going to cum, shoot over my back!" I had held my orgasm back for too long and welcomed those words.

Well I'm not going to argue with a girl in the throws of an orgasm. So I began to withdraw when it happened. I don't know if you already know this but during anal, muscles tense and relax. As I withdrew, Julia relaxed a little more than I had planned.

She farted. Problem is, she didn't just fart. Farting I could deal with. You guessed it. Shit sprayed out of her arse like a fire hose. It went fucking everywhere. All over my stomach, legs and cock. All over the bed sheets and everywhere else in between.

"What the fuck!?" I screamed. Julia spun around with a look of complete terror on her face.

"Uh, ba......I." She stumbled and stuttered but didn't quite know what to say. I ran to the bathroom to get myself cleaned up. I could hear her crying in the bedroom but I was too pissed to go and comfort her. Plus the bitch was covered in shit. After I had gotten all of my girlfriend love shit off myself, I made my way through to the bedroom.
She threw herself at me screaming.

"This is your fault you motherfucker!" I was amazed. My fucking fault? I wasn't the one who had just sprayed shit all over the bedroom.

"What!?" I was stunned.

"You and your fucking "It'll be fine babe, you'll love it everyone's doing it!""

I gathered my shit together (man this story is full of them isn't it?) and headed for the door. I told Julia I would call her tomorrow and left.

It wasn't long after that that we decided maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore. Although I would never hold that shit against her.

 

[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.

they dont wanna see strike 3

 

[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]

Just when I thought I’d pushed my manager to the limit with my endless tirade of bullshit, he fires back at me with some unexpected shit. We have a quick sit-down today to discuss our goals for next year, and i’m expecting him to go off.

I don’t know if I told you this or not, but I was written up again recently for “underperforming”. The shady part about it was, he admitted during our session that the bank’s inability to effectively schedule personnel resulted in my “lack of production”, along with everybody else in the bank. Thus, the write-up was bogus. It was bullshit. But I thought it would ge me one step closer to being fired. I left that meeting with a smile on my face.

Back to the present: my manager’s about to give me my goals for next year, and i’m certain that he’s about to drop the hammer on me. I waas ready for him to basically call me a piece of shit that would never amount to anything. I was eager to hear about how much of a disappointment I am to the bank, etc. But he threw me for a loop when he said, “Despite the difficulty we’ve both ad this year, I still have faith in you. I honestly believe that you have the most potential of anyone i’ve come across in the bank. That’s why i’m going to make sure I do everything in my power to help you succeed next year.”

What?

Another year?

Aw naw hell naw!

What do I have to do (legally) to get fucking fired around here?!?!?!?!!?

 

[mustynutz]

GET YOURS TODAY
http://www.lesliehall.com/8-sweaters1.html

 

[mustynutz]

Yesterday I decided to have a day off of work and take every drug I could imagine. Ecstasy, Valium, Marijuana, Peyote, Acid, my dad's onion dip, and I possibly swallowed a few pounds of carpet from laying on the floor for four hours and chewing on it. The phone rang a few times but I just yelled some curse words at it and it stopped. I spent the whole afternoon drawing paintings of pencils and ice cream. Rocky Road motherfucker, that's right, that's hard to draw. All the little chunks and shit...

I eventually came down and ate some turkey still left over from Thanksgiving. My phone started blowing up this time, even the f-bomb couldn't stop it. I picked up the phone expecting Morpheus to tell me I was the one but was shocked to hear my friend Brad on the other end. Brad is a douche and I hate him as I do all my friends so I wasn't really pumped to hear from him, and he was pushing me to take care of his kid so he could go get some tail. Real class act.

"Isn't there like a baby club ran by a rapper or something you can go to for god's sake? I'm not in the mood to..."

"You gotta help me buddy please! I gotta go to Diamonds tonight cause Elise is dancing. She totally wants me man, every time I get a dance she's like...you know...smiling...and one time I swear to god she tried to kiss me on my ear. Are you going to deny me the right to possibly get-it-on with a stripper? Ever since my girl Jamie died giving birth to our baby I've had a really hard time getting back in the scene you know?"

"That's not really what I would consider a scene but all I know is she better be hot. You know i'm down with sloppy seconds. I don't understand why or how you are calling me. Didn't I burn down your house two weeks ago because I was drunk and thought it was a giant parrot?"

"I had to move back in with my parents, but it's cool, except for the fact that dad is still obsessed with backgammon. I still don't understand that game at all. They're out tonight probably banging and I really ain't got any other friends, so..."

"You are a sad excuse for a man you know that? Bring over your baby, but I will not guarantee it's survival."

"Give me a percentage."

"43%"


.........


"Better than I thought it would be. I'll be there in 15."


Brad arrived and threw his child out the window in what appeared to be a cardboard box. There was a note on it.

Yo Yo YO!

Thanks for taking care of the brat. Be back tomorrow.

Brad

P.S.- her name is Nat.


What care and craftsmanship, and god the time spent on this. The box was stuffed with tissue paper and a baby that was really sad because it was crying really loud. I just laughed at her for a second and called her a bastard child before I picked her up and brought her inside.

"Alright then, I am totally disregarding your name and calling you baby from now on. You can't expect me to remember it now can you? I mean, come on now baby."

She laughed at me for a good minute. Wow, this chick was awesome! And she doesn't talk! I think I'm in love!

"So, you dating anyone recently? Got your eye on that goofy kid with six toes don't you? You need a real man in your life, baby."

Again the laughter! Now she's just trying to be a tart and get me to like her! I hate it when people try too hard so I got turned off, and realized she was probably incapable of handling someone so smoking hot such as myself.

"Alright, it's like 9:30 so....want to go to a bar?"

The baby started crying and throwing her little fists in the air like she could actually do something to me. Why do women always want me to stay in and watch movies? Do you fear that I will have sex with someone at the bars? You should.

"I will not have this baby! No woman restricts my right to drink. Don't tread on me godammit!"

She cried even harder. To hell with this, she's going. Maybe she'll calm down once I get a shot of some Grey Goose vodka in her. God that stuff is water i'm telling ya.

We hit The Orbit for a few games of pool with the locals and I was planning on getting trashed beyond belief. Thank god that baby can drive.

As soon as I walked in the place I was swarmed by women ranging in age from 21-24. They were so interested in this baby and my willingness to take care of it. They got a little testy when one of them said I was a sleazeball for taking a baby to a bar, but I just denounced her faith and said she hates god and gives satan rimjobs in a church. No one talked to that lady the rest of the night.

"So baby, you can really pick up the chicks! What's your secret?"

The baby stared at me and just shouted. She shouted and shouted. Then she cockblocked me to the extreme by puking all over the pool table. Not cool man, I had a shot on the nine ball and could have won fifty bucks. The women slowly retreated and I found myself alone with a baby and vomit. Dismayed, I took the baby home and fed it some Cheetohs, figuring she needed something greasy in her stomach after a hardcore night of partying, I think.

I awoke the next day and checked to see if she was still crashed from the night before. She was sleeping peacefully on the counter, without a care in the world. I thought to myself, "godamn, that's one ugly baby". I grabbed my phone and called Brad to see how the previous night went...

"So, did you hook up with Elise the stripper?"

"Dude, get this, she's got, like, the crabs, and, oh you won't believe this, man, she was totally, like totally, african-american."

"What the fuck? Wouldn't you notice something like that off the bat you dumbass?"

"She used this powder and she looked Latino! Jesus, my dad is gonna kill me if he ever finds out I tried to do, you know.......a negro."

"Well, your secrets safe with me dipshit. Come by and pick up your baby."

 

[mustynutz]

How did Nat do last night?"

"Who the fuck is Nat?"

"You..didn't read?"

"Just pick up your kid godammit! I've got things to do like watch tennis and eat deoderant! Don't bother knocking or anything either, she's outside for easy access."

"You left her outside?"

"She's fine man, happy as whatever the fuck is really happy. You might have to look for her though, I made sure she blended in with the background so no one would steal her."

"What? What did you do to her?"

"Settle down she's alive. I dressed her up that's all. Too bad you have an ugly baby, wouldn't have broken my camera with her face."

"You mother---!"

<click>

what I request from you is information. Is your child a surefire cutey who doesn't vomit every time it goes to a bar? Then tell me so I can harrass you into sending me your child! That's right! After I sleep with 45 women I will ship your child back with a basket of assorted meats and cheeses! I will take a picture of your child surrounded by hot chicks, ensuring him that at one time he was attractive and not covered with acne and disgusting hair. Could it possibly be your child I write about next time? Make sure it is! Send me those godamn babies!

 

[mustynutz]

Ok, before you flame me I just want to say I know the rules. But this couldn't wait until
tomorrow. This just happened and......sadly I write it on the internet rather then tell actual
humans. What's wrong with me?

The greatest thing I've ever done.

I have several ads in local phone books for "Polishing & Chrome Plating" and more often then I'd
like, I get residential calls asking me to polish lamps or door handles and other miscellaneous
household items. It's safe to say 85% of the time I refuse this kind of work because Mr. & Mrs.
Homeowner don't like to spend lots of money. There's a key word I look for when I accept this type
of work. "Antique" Today a lady called and asked me if I can "refinish copper antique elephants".
What city are you in? "Beverly Hills". Kaching! I'll be right over.

I pull up to a decent size house, nothing too fancy but you can tell there's money. I ring the
doorbell and after 2 minutes I'm ready to go home thinking it's a prank, just then an extreemly
thin and frail woman answers the door wearing dark sunglasses and her head is wrapped in a long
scarf. It's easy to see this is a chemo therapy chick because she's covering her (bald) head. She
apologized for time it took to answer the door, we shook hands and I walked in. Within 30 seconds
I can tell she used to have money. She clears her throat and introduces herself as Alex. She then
takes me to her patio where her copper elephants are, there are 6 in total. The largest one is
about 2 feet long and over a foot high and they each get smaller down to a tiny baby and their
trunks are supposed to interlock. They're heavy, pure copper. I flip one over and it's made in
1937 with some handwritten signature.

Alex: I'd like to get these refinished. I want a full polish to show the beauty of the copper then protected with a durable lacquer finish.
Me: Um.... Yeah... See, these are antiques and they'd be worth more if you left them alone.
Alex: Why would you say that? Are you an antique dealer?
Me: I've done enough decorative plating & polishing to know that once you refinish something that's this old and original, the value decreases severely.
Alex: Hah! You're just afraid that you'll catch what I've got.
Me: Not at all ma'am
Alex: Well it's cancer and it's not contagious.
Me: I don't care what you've got, if you want me to polish these then....
Alex: Whatever, just ... Leave the fucking elephants alone and get out

 

[mustynutz]

If I had walked out, there would be no reason to post.

I'm not a sensitive person. Fuck you and fuck your pain, tough shit, tough break. Well, I didn't
think I was a sensitive person and I found out I was dead wrong. I looked into her eyes because I
was going to tell her off and I didn't like her attitude. But I didn't look IN her eyes, I looked
into her soul and ....... This is going to sound strange, but in a freaky way I felt her pain. By
her skin and eyes you can tell that this was a once gorgeous woman. Now she is a frail skeleton
with skin. I stared at her for about 8 seconds without speaking (8 seconds is a long time when you
are looking into a persons eyes and not saying anything). Without warning I leaned in and hugged
her. Oddly she didn't resist and hugged me back. She started to cry. I absolutely hate to admit
this, but I started crying too. There we stood hugging and crying on each other for a good 5
minutes. During that time she was mumbling a prayer and thanked God. When we finished our
cleansing hug, we wiped each others tears and smiled then laughed in ebarassment.

Me: Why was you praying?
Alex: I was thanking God. I prayed for a hug.
Me: ?????
Alex: It's been over a year since....I've been.. hugged.
Me: No shit?
Alex: (laugh/cry) No shit. Ever since this started....... I have nobody, no friends, no time, no...

She went on to explain that ever since her cancer, her husband left and she has no real friends
left because she's always going to doctors or feels like shit. I hung out for an hour or so and we
both exchanged sob stories. She was so hungry for conversation and attention that I actually felt
sorry for her. Usually I piss on sympathy whores, but this was different. Her life was pure shit
and it was ending in the shittiest way possible.

The copper elephants? She was going to refinish them and leave them for some charity so they can
sell at a higher price.

She's got about 4 months left.

The greatest thing I've ever done was give someone a hug and be a shoulder to cry on. We take
human contact/touch for granted. We can touch ourselves all day long, but nothing compares to
being touched by another person (that's why I used to jerkoff with the left hand, it felt like
somebody else was doing it).

Sorry about that, the post was too sensitive and feminine.

I'll be visiting her again. We exchanged phone numbers. As I left I got a sincere thank you and a
kiss on the cheek.

 

[mustynutz]

So I have a little problem. Well, I guess it's not a problem as much as it is an annoyance.
Yes, that's it, I have a little annoyance, and that annoyance is my co-worker.

You see, I sit in one of those four to a cube cubicles and I am the only woman. In fact, the majority of employees at this company are men. On my floor alone, there are probably around 200 men and 10 women. Ladies you might think this is terrific for a single girl, but I assure you it is difficult being the only single and yes, I will toot my own horn here, cute female in a predominately male industry.

In any case, in my cube one of the guys is a young twenty-something, preppie, shy cutie pie that basically keeps to him-self with exception of arguing with his girlfriend over the phone on a daily basis. Apparently she is very insecure and is quite the whiner. One time they were a fight because he was watching the Miss America Pageant one night, and they argued about it all week. She couldn't understand why he needed to watch a show that had beautiful woman whom were scantily dressed. Umm, cause he's a guy you moron, that's what they do. Hell, I even watched it.

The second guy is a very nice married man who often comes in late and leaves early. I really haven't been able to figure him out though because he is Chinese and speaks very broken English. But, I like this guy, and he always has a fresh pot of herbal Chinese tea brewing for my pleasure. Once he even tried to explain the true meaning and origin of the Chinese symbol that I have tattooed on my back. Apparently they lied to me at the parlor.

Then there is the Dick Head. I call him this because he's a dick. His head is bald, oddly shaped and resembles...well...a Dick. He is around 6'2 and basically is a normal looking guy but I can't stand him. He is rude, obnoxious and just a real jerk in every way. He is the type of person that has some negative to say about EVERYTHING. For example, on my desk I have a few pictures of my dog Tiger Lilly who I love dearly. He knows this, and is constantly saying that dogs are useless animals and should be killed; yet he has three cats. Now don't get me wrong, I love all animals, cats included but come on now. Dogs, useless?? Man's bestfriend is NOT useless. In fact Nicole and I
were discussing just last night just how useful dogs can be. But that is another story entirely.


Dick Head is also a huge baby and throws these little fits when things don't go his way. The other day his boss came by to tell him this test run that he did for a project was incorrect and he whined like a little bitch for an hour after his boss walked away. He is an authority on everything and is never EVER wrong.

In any case, this is not why I dislike Dick Head. I dislike him because he is gross and has some seriously nasty habits. He sits at his desk day in and day out and makes these strange gargling, snorting sounds like he is trying to remove snot from his nose. This goes on ALL day every day. I have offered him Kleenex in an attempt to insinuate that maybe he should blow his nose more often. He declined my offer. I even left cough drops on his desk once, but he thought someone was pulling a prank on him and threw them in the garbage.

Another nasty habit of Dick Head is his gas. He farts constantly. Now I understand that people have gas every now and then, but he just sits there and lets them rip as if there is no one else around. I just can't fathom how he can do this, especially with a woman in the cube. Have some respect man!! Sometimes, he farts and snot-snorts at the same time. Double Whammy!!! It's fucking gross. Now most of my friends are guys and I can appreciate and understand the excitement and pleasure they get when ripping a solid, strong masculine fart. But the difference is, they are my friends and it is usually in the privacy of a home somewhere. Dick Head is not my friend and we most certainly are not at home.

 

[mustynutz]

And finally, lets discuss his nasty disgusting body odder. He must never wear deodorant because he smells like onions and constantly has wet, sweaty armpits. As I turn around, even now, I can see the pool of wet under his arms as he sits there snorting. It is not as if he has a strenuous, manual labor job. He sits at his desk and runs programs all day. I guess he must just exert a lot of energy farting and snorting.

I am really at a loss on what to do here. I have tried subtle ways to inform him of his disgusting nasty habits but alas, nothing has worked. Damned if I know.

 

[mustynutz]

Tuesday afternoon at work was hot. I mean SMOLDERING hot. So hot that I was sweating before I even fired up my machine that cuts steel pipes. After moving around for a little bit, the situation would only get hotter and hotter.

I needed to do something to cool down. I need a fan, like everyone else had, to blow air on me. I had a fan, actually, but a little poopy cheap fan that moved air about as fast as a stubborn turd. I needed something with POWER.

Portland, that day, hit ninety degrees and all the heat from the sun was captured and contained in this machine shop. Worse, there are absolutely zero windows, so the air was still and wet.

"I can handle this," I thought. I pinched and rolled my spongy earplugs between my fingers, jammed them in to my ears, put my safety goggles on, tied on my apron, and took a quick breath. "I can handle this." Then I put on my bright turquoise latex gloves.

The extension cord to my fan was fully extended so that I could put my fan right next to my face. I fired up the machine and put the first pipe between the clamps and turned the wheel to pull the blade through the steel pipe.

Sweat was already beading on my face and the first drop plopped on the inside of my goggles, making everything to the top left of my left eye blurry. "Fine, okay, it's starting already, but my fan will cool me down and dry my face, you'll see, just take it easy," I thought. I put the cut pipe on a big chunk of blackened plywood and prepared for the next process. I ran my deburring tool around the sharp edges and stacked the pipe in a big steel crate. Another plop of sweat on the goggles. "I'll check the fan to make sure it's on 'high,'" I thought, even though I was triple sure it already was. It was.

Ten pipes later I couldn't see anything. Twenty later and I could feel drips tickling my nose and cheeks. Thirty later and my armpits were squishing with every movement and I could feel the occasional drop slide down my chest and lower back. Every time I bent down to pick up another pipe, at least five drops of sweat would shake off my face.

I turned my machine off, took my goggles off and cleaned them with the bottom corner of my T-shirt. Then I looked around. Everyone else was dry and happy. They had better fans.

I put my goggles back on and cut a couple more pipes when I finally slammed the red button, turned to my bone-dry coworker, and said, "I CAN'T DO THIS!" I was PISSED. I was sweating so much that it was not only uncomfortable but also EMBARRASSING.

He said, "HUH!" and he lifted one side of his headset.

"I CAN'T DO THIS!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"IT'S TOO FUCKING HOT IN HERE!"

Then he did something that surprised me. He quickly looked left, then right, then left, then back at me. He had that 'I've got a naughty secret' look on his face. He said, "there are BIG fans in 'bend.'" 'Bend' was a few meters away from 'wash' and we worked in 'trim.' He continued, "we're not supposed to take them but nobody in bend works swing."

My eyes got big and I too looked around just to make sure we could secure this deal without getting caught. I said, "can you help me?"

He said, "sure, but if you get caught, I didn't say anything. Got it?"

"Yep." I wiped new sweat from my eyebrows.

I considered the danger. I could only think of two possibilities for getting caught. The first was Steve, the swing-shift foreman who rolls around on his electric golf cart. The second was Tweek, the fork-lift driver. Tweek scares me. He's pissed off all the time... a certain rat.

My friend turned off his machine and escorted me to bend. There were three vacant and dark work stations in bend, that I could see, and Steve and Tweek were nowhere in sight. We passed the first dark station—another poopy fan like mine. I shook my head 'no.' We walked by the second station to find a slightly bigger fan than mine but it looked all beat up. I shook my head 'no' again and my accomplice sighed and kept walking. Then we arrived at station three.

There must have been a crack in the roof somewhere because a beam of angelic sunlight illuminated a certain spot in station three. As we curiously walked by station two, I pinched my T-shirt and puffed it a couple times to cool down. We both looked at this beam of sunlight, with dust particles floating through it, and wondered what was around the corner. We rounded the corner at the same time and at once I lost my breath. Glistening in the beam of sunlight was an all-steel construction high velocity eighteen inch air circulating fan with a full 360 degree adjustable tilt. Rubbing my hands together and giggling, I looked to my left, then sharply to my right, then left again, and then I approached the fan.

Then, all of the sudden, I heard a "BEEP BEEP." It was Tweek!! "Oh fuck, oh fuck," I thought, as I was trying to think of a good reason to be in bend should Tweek inquire. I was caught in his headlights and his propane-powered fork-lift was heading right for me. At the last minute he spun off to another direction and started picking up a pallet. Then he disappeared. PHEW!!

I wiped more sweat off my face with my shoulder and grabbed that fucking fan and speed-walked back to my work station and knocked over my stupid poopy fan with a determined swipe and then I clunked down it's replacement. My hands were shaking as I fiddled with the extension cord—it felt like everyone was watching me. I plugged that fucker in and I immediately saw the huge steel rotating blades rotate from entropy to a singularity to an explosive blur that sounded like "WHAW WHAW WHAW" when it spun. I stepped in front of it. My T-shirt and apron ruffled behind it's power. The beads of sweat on my face rolled toward the back of my skull like raindrops on a passenger side window driving eighty through a lightning storm. All I could say to myself was "AHHHHH."

I had to give thanks to the fan. I had to give it a name. The fan's name is "The Big Dick."

Thank you, The Big Dick. Thank you.

 

[mustynutz]

The following is a 100% true account of actual events:

Springtime. Senior Year in high school. Me and most of my friends were already into college and thus had no reason to care about school anymore, so we did what most high school seniors do - we got exceedingly drunk and stoned at all possible times. This tale begins at one of those very times, a little shindig at my friend's (we will call him D) house.

A group of my friends had gotten together prior to the party and decided that this would be the night that we would do the impossible, we would roll the biggest joint ever known to man. We then compliled the necessary materials, rolling papers, weed, etc. We had about 10 grams of weed by the night of the party, along with everything else, and so the first thing we did when we got to D's house was to decide who was going to roll it.

This brings me to Ollie. Stoner Extraordinaire. We voted Ollie the official roller of the joint and he set out to do his work, slowly grinding the weed, glueing papers together, etc. In about 30 minutes he was done, and pretty much everyone at the party went outside and gathered around in a big circle to toke the glorious J.

I should mention at this point that at the time, Ollie was the proud partner of an exceedingly horny girlfriend, whom he pleased quite regularly. And guess what? After the joint, she wanted to fuck. So up the stairs they go into D's bedroom for some quick fucky sucky action. At this point Ollie was blazed out of his mind and also buzzing off a few beers he'd managed to pack away - so basically he's pretty fucked up. The rest of the story comes directly from Ollie's mouth.

Apparently they got up to D's room, undressed, and started going at it. His nympho girlfriend kept urging him to "shove it in harder" and he complied, in an effort to sate the insatiable succubus. After a while of this, Ollie starts to get a little upset because he's going pretty hard and yet she's still screaming for more. In an attempt to salvage what little was left of his honor and manhood, Ollie goes a little nuts, and starts really pounding her. Hard. According to Ollie, it was at this juncture that he started to feel really light-headed and he looked down and saw the blood gushing out of his dick and over the clean white sheets of D's bed.

Ollie, who is uncircumcised and also does not believe in the use of condoms, had literally ripped his dick. He had fucked this girl so hard that his foreskin had ripped, and the blood was flowing like the waters of Niagra Falls out of his penis. Now i know, many of you guys out there are probably thinking that this is something out of a drug induced satanic nightmare, or that you would not wish this terrible event upon even your worst enemy. If i had looked down in an inebriated state and saw my dick gushing blood, I probably would have started to cry before I passed out. But Ollie is a trooper, and he pressed on.

At this point, D's sheets as well as Ollie's girlfriend are covered in blood. Ollie runs to the bathroom, puts his dick in the sink, and starts washing it off while wildly rumaging through the medicine cabinet for some band-aids, spewing half the contents over the bathroom floor in the process. After applying a lot of pressure with lots of toilet paper, he got the bleeding to stop and bandaged up his poor, now shrunken and injured phallus.

After D found out that his sheets were covered in blood, and asked Ollie what the fuck happened in his room, Ollie told him that he was showing his girlfriend his knife while they were in bed and he had accidentally rolled over on it and sliced his ass. His ASS for gods sake. Ollie may be a trooper, but he sure as shit wasn't any good at lying.

We all think that Ollie's girlfriend, who soon broke up with him, was emotionally scarred by that night. And really, who can blame her. The poor girl got bled on. By his dick.

Be careful what you scream for when you're fucking - you just might get a bloody dick.

 

[mustynutz]

This one comes from my very own Concealed Hidden Invisible Not-Kewl vault. That is to say, it is something embarrassing enough that I had never even considered telling another soul, even my best friend. After all the shit I've read on Uber, however, I feel comfortable sharing this story. That, and it occurred to me that the other party involved probably has not kept this story to herself. Cunt.

Okay, so here's some basic background stuff to better understand this story:
1. I'm a guy.
1a. I like blowjobs.
2. I watch porn.
2a. Porn gives me ideas.

In my early teen years, I discovered the wonders of porn, thanks to friends and my sister's ex-husband's poorly hidden stash. I saw regular porn, french "golden shower" porn, german "shit" porn, even good ol' american "horse blow-job" porn. The only thing that really pressed my buttons, though (besides good ol' naked womenz and intercourse), was the thought of cumming in a chick's face. Swallowing is cool and makes for easier clean-up, but nothing says "You're my personal slut, BITCH!" quite like spraying your seed on a girl's mug.

Fast forward a few years, to my second or third girlfriend. We're making out, we get to the clothes-stripping stage, and she hits me with the "I'm not ready for sex yet" speech, sounding almost like a health class instructor. Personally, I think it's bullshit if you're basing it on the whole "sacred" premise, the stupid dream of losing your "virginity" to the "perfect someone." Most people's first times suck (I'll leave that for another post). It's especially stupid if you're willing to go down on a guy and vice versa. You're gonna let a guy finger you, but his penis is forbidden from the Cave of Wonders? Fucking weak. Oh shit, went off on a tangent. Eh, well, this is Uber, that's what people do. Anyways...

So she gave me the speech and, quite frankly, I didn't give a damn. Yes, she said "I'm not ready for sex"; but as soon as she said "but", I knew I was gettin' a little sumpin' sumpin' (hey, it was the 90's, and she was hispanic). Fast forward after I went down on her, she's satisfied and ready to ravage my cocker. I sat down on the edge of her bed and she proceeded to work some magic. For a few minutes, I was caught up in the enjoyment of the blowjob. That's when I remembered my early teen fascination....

"Mmmm, baby, that shit feels good..."
"Mm--glurg--hmm?..glurgleglurg"
"Mmmm...you like how I went down on you before, right?"
"glurg..mmhmmmm..glurg-glurg"
"Can I do something when I cum?"
"Mmm? glurg glurg-glurg glurg" --I sensed some nervousness on her part here. But stll--
"Can I shoot my load in your face..."
"glurg glurg gwha?"

It was an interesting sight. She had ceased the sucking, and looked at me with imploring eyes, with her mouth still on the tip of my dick. I foresaw this reaction and looked back with imploring eyes of my own, complete with an extended lower lip, like a 4-year-old about to cry. There was a slight struggle, but finally--

"Okay...glurg glurg glurg.."
"YES!!" --This, of course, was in my mind.

Fast forward not too far in the future to near the end of the blowjob. Maybe she just wanted to get it over with, or maybe she was just plain nervous (probably both), but she started going reeeeally fast after my announcement. And she threw in deep-throating action. So, here it was, the moment of truth, the period of precision, the time of awesomeness--

"Oh shit, baby, I'm about to cum!"
"Glurg glurg...ok..."

She was nervous, but she was a real champ about it. She aimed my rock-hardness in between her eyes and put her hand around my shaft to keep jerking me off. If she had been pointing a loaded revolver at herself, I don't think she would have looked any more nervous.

But if I had only known....

"OHH shit, yea! Here it comes...yeaahh--AH FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! OWWW"

Ohh, I came in her face alright. And it was awesome. Too awesome. I guess the FIRST load I shot in her face scared her off, because she pushed my cock out of the way--perfectly in line with my left nostril as a SECOND load shot off. FUCK!...FUCK! And to reiterate--FUCK!!!

My girl was too distracted with my junk that was on her face to immediately notice what had just happened. But when she did...well, yea, she pretty much forgot she had been nervous. Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed. I mean, we were both cool about it afterward. We both had orgasms, we both had cum in our face, waddaya gonna do? But I had a hell of a time blowing it out. Have YOU ever made a cum bubble with your nose? I think not.

 

[mustynutz]

10:48 p.m.

Sam, Backer and I are ready. The hunt has begun, and I will not return empty-handed. Determination sits on my shoulder with a shotgun pressed to my temple. I will succeed or I will die. There are no other options. I walk into the party with my life on the line.

11:39 p.m.

It's the third time she has looked at me, and it's go time. I make my way across the room, towards this brunette bombshell. I can smell her scent from here, and it only makes me want her more. I can hear Determination cock the gun...I'm past the point of no return. I stand right next to her and stare into her gorgeous green eyes; she looks up and smiles at me...

12:58 a.m.

It feels good to be back in my own bed, and even better to be in it with her. She was a little cold at first, but I warmed her up quick enough. We've been making out for twenty minutes now; I'm making my move. I reach down and unzip my pants. Her eyes open wide for a moment, but she quickly recovers. Her lips are bright red, and she is slightly moaning. I give her a little nudge on the head to let her know what direction she should be going in. This innocent little princess is about to be taken for the ride of her life. She doesn't know what she's gotten herself into.

1:03 a.m.

What the hell have I gotten myself into!? This innocent little princess is insane!! Things started out well enough. But the head, dear lord the head! Does this girl realize that I'm not made out of titanium? She may already have sheered off the top layer of my skin down there. I need to get the hell out of there, but I can't. If I make a sudden movement, I might lose my only reason for living. I'll just have to ride it out and then make a break for it.

1:22 a.m.

OH MY GOD. The brunette has just been upgraded from cute to weird to mentally defective. I just "finished" in her "facial orifice", and she didn't swallow right away. She didn't swallow at all. She gargled it. SHE FUCKING GARGLED IT! She looked at me, winked, wiped off her lips, and then bent her head back and gargled it. That was too much for me. I feel bad for throwing her out of the room like that, but damn, she gargled. There will be no gargling on the premises, sweet pea. Damn, I'm shaking. That shit just freaked me to the core.

1:26 a.m.

"You gargled me!! Don't you realize how weird that is!?"

"Sorry, it was my first time, I didn't know!"

"WHAT THE FUCK? Do I look like mouthwash? Do I taste like Wint-O-Green? You need to let me know, because if I do I need to go to the doctor immediately!"

"Come on, just let me back in. Unlock the door. It's cold in the hallway."

"Hell no, baby. You've been banished from here forever. You crossed the line with that little move. 'It's my first time'...don't give me that shit! You know damn well you're crazy, so just get the hell out of here. I swear, I'm gonna call the cops!"

"Yeah right, you psycho. Go ahead and call the cops, because I'm not leaving!"

1:49 a.m.

"So that's when she started gargling me, Officer."

2:12 a.m.

It sure is cold in this cell. That cop is lucky she was cute, or I wouldn't have gone quietly. She's lucky I didn't have to show her who was boss. When the hell do I get my phone call? Wait till the boys hear about this.

 

[mustynutz]

the cat in the hat smokes crack

We all know this cat from our storybook rhymes;
From happier times, and from sunnier climes,
But the clock always ticks, and the chime always chimes,
And the Cat in the Hat, well, he fell on hard times.

And here the Cat sits in his small run down house
And he's smoking crack pipes with his common-law spouse
And there's shit on the floor
And there's cops at the door
But he's distracted staring down his bitch's blouse

And he's thinking of old days, of good times, of fun
Of those kids that he messed with, and things that he's done
And he's wondering how it all came down to this -
To this shitty life, shitty wife, shit-eating bliss.

He could blame his slut mother, but he won't do that;
How much can you really expect from a cat?
And he could blame society, could blame his friends
But instead, he decides that he must make amends.

And he leaps to his feet, and he yells a glad yell,
And, leaving the silly dumb bitch where she fell
Over onto the floor, as she rolled off his lap,
He jumps out of the window, screaming "Fuck this crap!"

And children, I beg you, if reading this book
Turn your young eyes away - don't you peek, don't you look
For the Cat in the Hat
Who took up smoking crack
Fell down twenty floors
To the street
And went splat.

 

[mustynutz]

Friday always comes so unexpected. This week, it brought me to a place that I've never been to before. This Friday brought me to where the trail goes. To the bottom of the rabbit's hole. I found the center of it.

I was in a Harlem crack-house, I knew that. The basement was large and green-and-white-striped. It would have been cold, but the water heater that I was near warmed the room so I could relax. I sat on the ground with my back against the wall and a crack-pipe in my hand.

How did I come to this place? What was happening? With every hit of crack I took, I walked further and further down a crystal hallway towards a monument of amethyst. There before me was the Rock of Ages, the throne of God.

The great rock bellowed, "Who are you and why have you awakened my spirit?"

I had tapped into it. It was the center. It was the vortex that I found in my acid trips. Here, in the basement of a crack-house in Harlem, I was meeting God for the very first time. The drugs were serving as some kind of mental gateway.

"I am Sam," I said. "I have come to ask you what the greatest thrill of the universe is?"

God rumbled, "Look into me and see your reflection. It will take you to who you are."

And as I looked, I saw a sea of red blood. Literally, there was an ocean of blood and I was in it. I was humping a blue demon from behind. The female demon and I fucked in the sea of blood, her wings flapping in delight. I then realized that the demon that I was fucking looked just like my mother. And I began to see that my arm was tied off as I had done some heroin. And there was a joint in my mouth. I had discovered my greatest thrill—being stoned off my ass fucking a demon version of my mother in a sea of blood. That's my nirvana.

And here is what I learned, after meeting God in Harlem:

I treat being a sociopath as a fun thing, and much of the time it really is. I can't tell you the pleasure that I get out of my life and I know that the average jackass on the street won't ever feel half the thrill that I do in any given month. But there's another part to the disease—another part that's not glamorous at all. There's always the knowing, the constantly being cognizant of the fact, that you have no soul.

When I lay under the stars at night, I don't ponder the nature of existence or the possibility of God. I only think how great the sky would look if I had some acid and Pink Floyd to listen to.

When a girl tells me she loves me, I don't feel any joy in my heart. I only feel my dick swell because I know I'm gonna get laid.

When sitting in class, I don't ever think, "Wow. So that's how that works," or "Jeez, that actually happened?" I only daydream about whether or not I think I can actually get away with murdering someone.

Because I'm a sociopath, I feel no remorse or sympathy for anyone. I don't believe in true beauty outside of a good high or a brilliant con. I think Shakespeare is garbage and I think the only goal in any woman's life is to be a good little cock-sucking slut.

And the funny thing is that I am fully aware that I am somehow missing something that all people who are not sociopaths seem to see. I don't get people who dig sunsets. I don't ever wake up in the morning happy to be alive. I don't fucking understand anyone who isn't a psycho like me. All you people are so trusting and so stupid. I don't understand why all of you don't think with your brain more.

But sometimes, usually after I smoke some weed, I wonder what it's like to be a person that actually feels love. What is it like to feel things like passion and forgiveness and fear of God? What is it like to be a normal human being? And I can't help but think, there's got to be something in these emotions that I'll never understand. There has to be some part of "being a good person" that makes people into priests and artists and scientists and teachers instead of criminals and drug-dealers and lawyers and politicians like the rest of us sociopaths.

And I'll never know.

But I will know my ways. I will know what it was like to flip off my boss and throw a donut at his shiny, bald head. I will know what it was like to rape a Russian virgin under a porch. I will know what it was like to take enough drugs to kill a horse and spend a week thinking I was dead. I will know what it was like to have killed each of those kittens and what it felt like to hang them by their necks on that old lady's tree. I will know things that no one else will ever know.

And as I met God in that Harlem crack-house, I realized that the entire thing—my entire sociopath syndrome—was some sort of cosmic a trade-off. It was a blow-job for a sunrise. It was heroin for Jesus. And I now knew that being a sociopath was just as good, if not better, as being an ordinary person. Don't you think?