TimeKiller..."Making love is what my bitch does when I fuck her"

[mustynutz]

When you first get into a relationship with someone, there's usually lots of sex. Usually, it's good. Both parties of the relationship don't complain. You meet, you go out to eat, you go home and have sex. You watch a movie, you have sex. You have sex, then you have sex. Sex sex sex.

Recently, I was asked a question by a girl that caught me offguard:

"Do you only date me because we have lots of sex?"

My honest answer is-- No. That's not the only reason I date her. I date her because she's fun to talk to, she has an awesome personality, and she's an amazing person.

And she has nice titties.

I'm just kidding, I'm not THAT shallow.

They're mediocre titties.

Honestly, the sex is one more reason for me to stick around-- I mean, it's a way you show your love for her. It's also the only viable excuse you have for bending a girl's legs behind her head and slamming your body into hers without having to explain why.

After she popped that question, I tried the "What are you talking about? Of course not?" defense.

After that didn't work, I applied the "I'm a fucking idiot. Hey look! A birdie!" defense.

Neither of which were very successful, spank you very much.

All of this rambling leads me to this question-- is there ever a relationship where the sex isn't questioned? Almost 99 percent of the time, the female is the one that asks if you're with her because of the sex. Maybe that's why some men turn gay-- they can have all the sex they want and their partner won't complain about it. Why? Because it's a guy. Guys want sex.

Of course, they have to give up women and have sex with each other to get all the sex they can handle.

A small price to pay if you ask me.

I took my questions to the women and polled them. I asked 100 women if they thought that their boyfriend was only still around because of the sex.

50 percent said yes.

40 percent said no.

10 percent (one big girl) sobbed, stating that "Little Debbie would never use me for sex", breaking down and crying right there in front of me. Then she saw a hotdog vendor, forgot about her problems, and pushed me out of the way on her way to Frankfurter heaven.

To be fair and impartial, I asked many gay men the same question. 3 to be exact.

"Well, I love the cock! My partner gives it to me all the time and I give it to him. It's great to have the same thing that we can give to each other!", said Harold as he adjusted his high-heels and blonde wig.

Before I could ask the other two the same question, I had to agree to meet them in a bar and drink a shot of tequila before they'd talk to me. I woke up the next morning in their room wearing a maid's outfit.

I don't want to talk about it...

Online. But call me and I'll explain the juicy details. There'll be a charge of 2.99 for the first minute. 99 cents each additional minute.

What is the right answer to the question, "Are you dating me because I'm having sex with you?". If you say no, then don't expect any sex for a while. If you say yes, see above.

In fact, since having to answer that question, here's a detailed schedule of my sex-life since then:

Sunday: No sex.
Monday: No sex.
Tuesday: Had sex (with myself)
Wednesday: Dropped a hamburger on my crotch and dog licked it off. Still considering that one.

To be quite honest, I joke around in my articles-- but that's not a reflection on how I truly am. I respect my girl and have never used her for sex. I love her and will cherish her for the rest of my life. Women are equal and will never be treated unfairly by me.

The previous paragraph was brought to you by Women Against Men˜. I'm not condoning that paragraph until the check clears.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is--

Jamie Foxx fit perfectly into the role of "Ray", but a poor dialogue can't make up for his stellar performance.

Thanks for listening.

 

[mustynutz]

MY RESUME

While at my current job, I've been looking for other work as of late. To impress my future employers, not only did I write the greatest resume known to man but I had even gotten my current boss to write a cover letter for me. Please note that I do not live at the current address posted on the resume, nor do I have the same phone number.

I have since changed addresses and phone numbers, so trying to stalk me will be a waste of your time and the time of the person who currently lives at the address.

Actually, I take that back. The girl that lives there is a hot blonde. Wouldn't be a total waste of time.

So, I walked into work the other day and reminded my boss that he had to type me up a cover letter by the end of this week for me to submit to my new employer. My boss was too caught up in his work--

Okay, he was too busy being drunk and playing solitaire to worry about it. Basically, he told me to type up the cover letter myself and he'd sign it. No problem, this is my chance to make myself look good.

"Just type it up and I'll sign it."

Wow, what a great boss. "Thanks, sir. I'll have it in here tomorrow."

"Y'know, you're one ugly mother fucker''.

I'll let that slide, seeing as how he's drunk. "Thank you, sir."

After he fell asleep while sitting up with a cigarette still lit in his hand, I decided it was time to leave the office. After typing out a cover letter namely as a joke, I decided to put it on his desk anyway just to give him a good laugh. I had the real one at home. After all, there's no way he'd sign the fake one. No way at all.

Unless he's drunk.

Seeing as how he's always drunk, he signed it.

After of hours of fucking with my scanner, I've decided it hates me, so I can't scan the actual document with the signature, but I can copy and paste it. Keep in mind, my boss didn't type this up. I did. This idiot signed it. I'm actually considering using it.
------------------------------------------------------------

To whichever fuckers this may concern:

Hello, my name is Michael Smith, Currently employed by me is Juan Valdez De Caliente Putoz . He wants a job with you. Although I don't want him to leave, I've decided that I wouldn't want to work for an ugly ass drunk who's to cheap to pay more than minimum wage. So I don't blame him one bit.

Juan's main duty is covering for me when I'm out getting drunk or at home recovering from said drunkenness. He doesn't kiss my ass. It's not like I'd remember if he did. I'm a drunk. Remember?

Juan's other duties include:

-Kicking ass
-Picking up my slack
-Taking names from previous ass-kicking.

I'm a little drunk at the moment, so if I have any typos, I do apologize. Juan isn't only my best employee, but he 2#%@JOfpsaf094

Sorry, fell asleep for a second there. Now that I'm sober, I can type this cover letter more coherently. Anyway, Juan is a great employee. He exemplifies awesomeness and ... you know what? This is boring. Let me get drunk so I can finish this.

Okay, here I am drunk again. If you have a problem with me being drunk, I'll kick your ass. Don't believe me? Somewhere in your head, you think I'm some punk bitch, huh? Well, I'll kick your head's ass too. In fact, I'll take on both of you at the same time.

Juan doesn't start drama or any gossiping around the workplace. How do I know? Namely because I've cheated on my wife with all of the 17 year old waitresses that work here. Juan knows this and he hasn't said a word about it. You have a problem with a 45 year old man sleeping with 17 year old waitresses? Here's my business address and phone number, proof that I'm not scared of you OR the cops--

(information edited for obvious reasons)

Juans also a great listener. When I'm busy bitching about my financial situation or my nagging wife, he actually takes the time to sit down and listen to me. I even pay him for the time he sits down to listen.

Juan is one badass mother fucker. This one time, these bikers came into my business and started talking smack. Juan headbutted one and threw him out the window. He then put another one in the figure four. After that, he manhandled the other 18.

I'm just kidding. There were only 15.

So if you need a bodyguard, Juan is your man. Of course, you don't need a bodyguard, or else Justin would be applying for that. Now that I think about it, why the hell is he applying for a stupid job like this? He's smart, sexy, and funny. He could be a doctor, I bet. Everybody would be pissed off because some young gun would go up in that hospital and heal everybody up.

But seriously, hire him. I've already fired him because he's too good. He's a smooth talker too. The other day, I almost signed half of business ownership over to him. I'm willing to bet he almost convinced me because he's really good with words.

Or I was drunk, I forget. But still, hire this fucker or I will.

Michael Smith

United States Secret Service , San Francisco
Chief of Foreign Affairs / International Translations

 

[mustynutz]

PROFILE:

I'm a 28 year old male. I graduated from ****** in 1995. I didn't graduate at the top of my class, but then again, I didn't graduate from the bottom--so I must have something to offer in the business world. Why didn't I graduate the top of my class, you ask? I'll blame it on girls-- and the education system. Bad education system, bad!

I've attempted to go to college several times, but I haven't because I don't want to make the professor look bad when I pass all of his/her tests without even studying. I also don't want to make the other students feel like they have to try harder because there is a hot, sexy, genius guy that gets all the credit. What? You don't believe me? Okay, here's the real story--

If you haven't guessed by now, you need to sit back, relax, and open up a soda. Or water-- if you're into that low carbs diet shenanigans--

It was a cool night in March of 1977, the wind was blowing, Days of Our Lives was on TV. I was in the womb of my mother, probably listening to her complain--that's all she ever does to this day. So anyway, she went into labor that night. I would have been born on the floor of a New York apartment builiding had my father not agreed to tape Days of Our Lives so my mom could watch it later.

I think I went back a little too far. Let me start over-- Hi! I'm a responsible 28 year old male. I like long walks on the beach, candlelit dinners, and listening to Barry White. Er-- time to get serious. Sorry. You want somebody professional, right?

I had worked at Bi-Lo, a grocery store, for three years. That was my first job-- mama was proud. So proud, in fact, that she took all of my money to support her alcoholic ways. You probably didn't want to know that. The reason I left Bi-Lo was simple, I went three years without a raise. Wouldn't you be PO'd if you went three years without a raise?! Of course not, you're on salary and you drive a 2004 Lexus. I left Bi-Lo for Hibbett Sports in Cherrydale Plaza. I was there for a whole year and I loved it. I worked with a middle-aged guy named Mark Smith who seemed to be going through his mid-life crisis because his wife stopped having sex with him, and I also worked with a fellow named Terrell-- he's an aspiring actor. He prefers to be called Big T. of Da Barcode Boyz.

At this time, I was living on my own, had a roommate, a nice car, and a job that I was happy with. That's when things started to go downhill. Each month, I gave my roommate my half of the rent. He was supposed to use it to-- you guessed it, PAY RENT! His idea of paying rent was going down to the local bart, getting drunk, then bring home a 40 year old Waffle House waitress. So, it wasn't long before the mortgage company hit him with a warning to get out. Unfortunately, I wasn't informed of this warning. One day, he casually tells me that I needed to be out of the house by the end of the week. Right about the same time, my mother had a heart attack and almost died. I had no choice but to move back home. While mama was in the hospital recovering, she didn't pay her part of the car insurance-- since I'm under her policy, my insurance was cancelled as well. The carlot found out. Bye bye car.

Up until December '03, I worked at the Gap in Haywood Mall-- it was only seasonal. I couldn't handle working at this place for more than 3 months because of the simple fact that the gay midget that worked there named Julian would constantly hit on me. (I'm not gay). I'll explain more about the gay midget if you hire me. In fact, I've got tons of stories for you. After the Gap, I decided my life was going nowhere, so I decided to join the Air Force in hopes of getting some free college. Long story short, that fell through because earlier in the year, I had a small case of Pericarditis. It's a temporary severe chest cold. Huge emphasis on the word TEMPORARY. Uncle Sam didn't see me fit for his military because he didn't want to take any chances with any illnesses to do with the heart. I bet I could kick his butt if you give me 3 minutes in the ring with him. Speaking of kicking butts, you can hire me and push me around all day. If the pay's good, I'll be your stepping stone--

Bad day at work? Pay me, beat me. Kids and wife at home giving you good grief? Give me a $100 bill and kick me square where it counts. As long as you promote me to janitor after 6 months.

After the military experience, I lost my car again. Unfortunately, I had to work at a local fast food joint in town called Fine Foods. The Spanish cooks that worked there I thought were my friends were actually backstabbers. Everyday when I clocked in, one of them would exchange greetings with me--

"Wassooop hoto?!"

"Hey man!"

-high five-

Turns out, ''hoto'' is spanish for a derogatory term for homosexual. Not to mention one of the employees, Diego, would make prank calls to my house and call me a ''beeeetch corndog''. Once again, I'll explain this when you hire me. I also want a big office, a company car, and I want you to call me ''son''. You also have to let me move into your home and take me on father-son bonding trips. I'm going to call you 'Pops', even at work. Since you're going to work on adopting me, you cannot fire me-- ever. I also want dibs on your position when you're ready to retire. Don't question me, I'm your son. At work, we're going to come up with our own secret handshake that will make all the other employees jealous. A regular morning meeting between you and I should be like this--

Me: "What's up boss daddy?!"
You: ''Chillin like a villian, because I've got that fillin' like Bob Dylan on penicillan, son!"
Me: "Sweet, I'm taking the day off dad!"
You: "Whatever, son!"

I'm looking forward to checking my e-mail and seeing it flooded with prospective employers looking to hire every ounce of awesomeness that is King juan. If you're reading this right now and laughing and NOT thinking of hiring me, then I probably didn't want to work for your company anyway.

I'll be looking forward to responses from Texaco, Taco Bell, and McDonald's. If I'm lucky, maybe even Denny's. Let's cross our fingers and hope this stupid resume gets me hired. If you haven't noticed, all I have is humor. I will work hard though. If you want contact information of previous employers, references, and skills, please e-mail me at [email protected] or [email protected]

Oh, I can type really fast too. I can also throw popcorn behind my back and catch it in my mouth. Remember that when you're asking yourself, "Okay, both are qualified-- but which one can catch popcorn in his mouth after throwing in the air behind his back?"

How is that for skills?! I'm being brutally honest with this resume, so don't think I can't work. At least I'm not throwing hire subliminal this messages guy resume.

Serious employers only.

 

[mustynutz]

So, after going on a few dates with this girl I met a few times, she already wanted me to meet her parents. Even though she's in college, her mother lives a few miles from the campus. Seeing as how her father left her when she was younger, I was quite happy that I didn't have to meet him.

Would you want to meet a father who left his girl?

Oh wait, that's right. You couldn't. Because he left.

No problem. This'll be a cakewalk. I'll meet her mom, have dinner, then go home for a little hanky-panky with the daughter.

"Oh, and Justin, you'll be meeting my grandmother too. She's 75 years old, so be nice."

"Be nice? When am I not nice!?"

"Remember that midget that cut in line at the grocery store?"

"Yeah, he shouldn't have done that."

"Well, you had to bring up his handicap. You told him to commit suicide by jumping off a curb. That's not very nice."

"You're missing the point! He cut in line!"

I'm not a mean person. I just tend to point out the obvious in certain situations. Also, I get really annoyed when someone is saying or doing something that they think is right, but is actually wrong. For example, today I was minding my own business in Wal-Mart making fun of the Mexicans buying "No Fear" t-shirts, when I overheard a man singing the wrong song lyrics to Chumbawamba's 'Tub Thumping'.

"I get knocked down, buy an elephant, you're never gonna keep me down!"

I elbowed my girlfriend. "Did you hear that guy? He's singing the wrong lyrics. I think I'll politely tell him the right ones."

"No, Justin. Just let it go."

Before she could stop me, I was tapping on the man's shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir. I just thought I'd tell you that you're singing the wrong lyrics."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, the lyrics to the song you're singing-- they're wrong. It's 'I get up again', not 'buy an elephant.'. "

"Why the hell does it matter?"

"Well, you see-- why would you buy an elephant while you're down on the ground? It just doesn't seem that logical."

"Get the fuck away from me, weirdo."

I seem to have gotten a wee bit off track. Getting back on track, I was now aware that I had to meet her mother and her grandmother in the same night. No big deal, right?

Oh, so wrong.

The introduction wasn't so bad. Her mother was as polite as can be as the grandmother sat in the corner. Well, she was in a wheelchar. There's not much else she could do. Although, when I excused myself to their bathroom it was quite uncomfortable trying to do my business while granny's panties hung a foot from my face. They were labeled 'Friday'. Bitch didn't even have on the right underwear.

Lazy bitch.

So, for the night, the mother informs me that we're all going country line dancing. Just great. I dressed up like a suave businessman to go two-step with some barefoot hillbillies.

As I entered the place, there was one huge crowd in the middle doing the same dance for every song. The moves were quite difficult, but I'll try to recall them for you here:

Step left.
Step right.
Step back.
Step forward.
Repeat.

Something like that.

I jumped into it and tried to have fun, dancing with the mother and my girlfriend. I looked over in the corner and saw grandma just sitting there in her wheelchair. I know that she can't walk, but there were a few dance moves she could've done.

She could have done the YMCA dance. I'm sure she's not limited in arm movement. Hell, she could have done some old-school ''roof-raising''. Or the upper-body portion of the safety dance. But no, she just sat there.

I walked up to her and tried to make small conversation, you know, so that she didn't think of me as the new boyfriend of the grand-daughter who's too good to speak to the old woman.

"Hey grandma! How you doing? Having fun?"

She looked at me with wide eyes. "I just wanna put you on a popsicle stick and lick you up."

I thought this was cute grandma talk for "he's so adorable", but she continued.

"So grandma, wanna dance?"

"Only if I can grab on that tush!". She then raised her hand and smacked my butt.

Okay, actually she didn't smack my butt. Her motor skills were somewhat missing because of her age, so she more or less back-handed my upper thigh.

From there, we went back to their house for dinner. Grandma hadn't spewed any dirty talk since then, but when the mother and daughter went into the back to check on a dress or something, grandma made her move. She started doing the 'fish' mouth, where she puckers he lips.

Once again, I thought it was cute grandma stuff. I thought she was blowing kisses. Wrong.

"Did ya like that?"

"What do you mean, grandma?"

"My lip action. Did you like it?"

"Um..."

"Back in my day, I was quite the floozy. I could please any sailor that came into the dock with these lips."

Oh no. Grandma's trying to steal me from her grand-daughter. Just to give you an idea of the two women I had a choice betwee, let me give you some stats:

Granddaughter: 5'4, 120 lbs., blonde hair, green eyes, tan.

Grandma: If she were standing up straight, she'd be about 5 foot 5. Seeing as how she didn't sit up straight as a kid, she was bent over at an impressive 4 foot something.

"C'mon sonny, if I take these dentures out, I could give you twice the pleasure any of these young floozies could give you."

"Hey, you're right. Seeing as how you don't have any teeth, the suction would create quite the pleasure-- WAIT! NO! What are you doing?! This is wrong!"

After I denied her advances, all she did was talk down about me the entire night. While the four of us were sitting in the living room talking, she happened to put on her glasses and glance at me from across the room.

"Dang Lauren, you could've done better than this. Look at him. He's too scrawny. His feet are small. He's not too attractive. I bet he has a small hoolinanny too."

Although grandma's argument was convincing, Lauren decided not to leave me that night.

 

[Gringo Starr]

LOL...that resume is lovely...

BTW...since in new to the TIME KILLER stories...im just curious...who is this guy?Hes funnier than shit...

 

[mustynutz]

I pushed my long bangs out of my face as I peered through the window of the unfamiliar house.

There he is. That's my target.

It's a strange feeling when you know something that someone else doesn't. He's sitting on his couch, legs up on the coffee table, the only thing his mind is thinking is probably what's on television.

He doesn't know what I know.

I knelt back behind the bushes, trying my best to see even though the darkness won't allow. The only light I see is the glaring of the man's TV screen through the window.

I looked up at the moon. Full.

People do crazy things when the moon is full.

I pulled the pistol out of my pocket and gently cocked it back. The click was the loudest noise I had made all night. I slowly peaked up and looked into the window again. He was still sitting there, stuffing his face with food.

I'm about to kill a man. I don't want to.

But I need to. Or I'll be killed.

***

"Okay, here's the deal-- you see that car over there?"

"Yes sir."

"The keys are in the ignition. Your job is to get inside that car and drive it to Mobile, Alabama. The address is on this piece of paper."

I extended my arm and accepted the envelope with an address written in permanant marker. Someone couldn't find a pen-- or a piece of paper for that matter.

"I understand, sir."

"Do NOT, I repeat-- DO NOT touch what's in the trunk. As a matter of fact, don't even LOOK in that fuckin' trunk. I have ways of knowing if you've fucked with something. You're just the delivery man, got it? You fuck this delivery up, I'll fuck you up. You drive straight there and ask to speak to Mr. Jones. He'll take care of the rest. Here's half of your payment--"

My eyes widened as Lenny handed me a stack of what seemed to be hundred dollar bills. I was in shock, I had never seen this much money before, let alone had it on me.

How did a straight laced good kid end up being a driver for one of the biggest drug kings of the south?

Greed.

Not necessarily greed, but need. I needed money. I wanted money. I had to have money.

My old roommate, Mike, was orphaned as a child. His adoptive parents happend to have close ties to the mafia, so he had always been protected by them his entire life. He always told me that if I needed money, all I had to do was meet with 'his people' and they'd take care of me.

The only catch?

I was in it for life.

I just wanted some change to get out of debt and to buy a car that actually ran. I'm getting in deeper than I needed to. Regardless though, this was my first delivery. This was my chance to gain the trust of Lenny.

"You'll get the other half when you get back. If you get pulled over, it's all on you bro. You haven't seen me, you haven't talked to me. This is YOUR stuff. If you rat us out--"

He lifted his finger to my head in the shape of a gun.

My heart raced. My mouth becoming dry.

"Bang.... now show me what you've got. Drive the speed limit and be back by tonight."

I placed the wad of money wrapped tightly in rubber bands into my shirt pocket as I slowly made my way toward the black Lexus. The door was open and it was already running. As I got closer, I could hear 'Sweet Home Alabama' on the radio.

At least these guys have decent taste in music.

I slid onto the beige leather seat and pulled the door shut. I think that's when it hit me--

Wow, I work for the mafia.

Me.

When I was several miles down the road, car set exactly at 65 miles per hour on cruise control, I unrolled and counted the money that had been handed to me just minutes earlier--while trying to keep my eyes on the road.

Twenty seven hundred, twenty eight hundred--

I was ecstatic. I hadn't even counted half of the stack yet--

Holy crap. I have 8 thousand dollars on me.

"Take your time, don't rush. You can stop and eat a few times if you'd like", is what I recall Lenny saying.

It's 2 o'clock in the morning, I'm in a black Lexus with several hundred pounds of drugs in the back. I had better get off the roads for a while to let my my settle down.

I pulled into the parking lot of Denny's, seeing as how it was the only restaurant open this late. I parked the car at the very entrance. I wanted to be careful, but not too careful-- didn't want to make it obvious that I was hiding something.

"Hi sir, how many tonight?"

I looked behind me, then back at the waitress.

"I believe it's just me."

She winked at me as she turned to lead me to a table. She was trying too hard to earn her tip. She smelled something on me.

She smelled money.

I adjusted the tie on my suit and sat down at the booth of the otherwise empty dining room. Lenny had bought me this suit himself. He requested that I wear it for this occassion.

"When you represent me, you have to look good" was his motto.

I glanced over at the booth a few feet away from me and noticed a southern family eating their late night-- or early morning-- breakfast. The scrawny man, probably around 40 years of age, looked up and smiled at me as he adjusted his Jon Deere hat.

His son, couldn't have been more than four years old, didn't notice the surroundings. When you're four, why bother? He just anxiously ate his bacon and sausage as his mother told him to slow down. I looked out the window to the only other car in the parking lot.

It was a late 70's model Toyota Celica. Seran wrap was in the place of what should have been a glass window. There was a spare donut where a regular sized tire should have been. The fender was blue, the hood was red, and the rest of the car was primered grey.

"I know how it is to struggle and be unhappy", I thought to myself.

These people were obviously struggling, seeing as how the mother was digging through her purse for change just to pay the bill. They were poor-- but happy.

I have more money in my pocket than these people probably do altogether-- why aren't I as happy as them?

The father took his hat off and placed it on the boy's head as he smiled up at the loving dad.

"Y'all ready to go see grandma??"

"Yea! Gwandma!!"

I smiled, wishing I could find happiness in the simple things like family. But I had no family that would bother to see me anymore, I had abandoned them for this lifestyle.

"Sir? Can I get you anything?"

I happily ordered my food, paid the bill, then proceeded to get up and leave. I watched my waitress and overheard her talking with one of the other waitresses--

"When's he due?"

"The doctor says the 23rd of next month. Me and Robby can't wait. He's been wanting a kid forever. I just don't know if we'll be able to afford him."

My hand reached into my pocket and I counted out five hundred bucks in hundred dollar bills and laid it on the table.

I gave her a warm smile and nod as I exited the restaurant.

"Dang, what are we gonna do baby?"

I noticed the southern couple and their kid were still in the parking lot. The hood of their beat up car was up, the wife sitting in the passenger seat holding the boy-- the husband under the hood.

"You guys need any help?"

"I don't think so, bud. Thanks anyway. This car's seen her last ride."

I looked under the hood, pretending that I knew what I was looking for.

"What's wrong with her?"

"A rod was knocking earlier this week, I think she finally messed the block up. It's dead. Thanks though."

"Um... I know this might seem out of place, but I don't know another way to say this-- one block away there's a car lot--"

"Nah, we ain't got no money.."

"Well, there's a nice minivan sitting out front. On the window it says $200 down. So here."

I pulled out two hundred dollars and pushed them in his direction.

"Whatchu think we are? Some poor moochers that can't take care of ourselves? Take you and your pity money somewhere else, boy!"

"No, I just--"

"Trying to do your good deed for the day by helping out the less fortunate? I know your kind, boy! You go out waving your money around, thinking people will kiss your ass!"

"Please, just take it. It's not like that."

"Get ou of here! We don't need you!"

He put his hands on my chest and pushed me a few steps back. His son started crying. I let my head hang low as I turned away and walked to my car.

I've got to make this delivery before daybreak.

I pulled out of the parking lot, getting an evil look from the poor man as he stood there with his family--stranded.

He's stranded, but they'll eventually get out of there.

I'm stuck here forever.

 

[mustynutz]

My eyes struggled to stay open as I kept a tight grip on the steering wheel, trying to keep the car in the lane. I had been driving for hours and had grown increasingly more nervous, realizing that if I was pulled over, I was going to jail for a long time.

How'd my life end up like this? Why am I delivering drugs for a living?

Money. Greed.

Greed for money.

I glanced in my rearview, thinking about the family that I left stranded in the parking lot. I wonder if there was some way I could have helped them. My thoughts soon dazed me off into a feeling of subconscious for several minutes. I finally snapped out of it and steered back onto the road. I was watching the road but not paying attention.

I glanced down at the spedometer that read '95 MPH'. I lightly tapped on the breaks as I eyed my rearview mirror again.

Blue lights.

My heart pounded as I let down my window, the officer's bright spotlight shining into the Lexus, blinding me. I reached into the dashboard to grab the registration as the officer approached my driver's side door.

"License and registration".

My hand violently shook as I handed him the papers. "Here you are, sir", I managed to squeeze out.

"Do you realize how fast you were going, son?"

"Yes I do. I've been driving all night and somewhat dozed off at the wheel, sir."

He lowered his head and peaked into the car. "How'd you manage to get a nice car like this in your name?"

"My name, sir?"

"Well, yes. The car's registered under your name."

Lenny must've taken every precautionary measure to make sure that if I got caught hauling his dealings, that I'd be the one to go down.

"Oh, well-- I got a lucky break. In fact, I'm on my way to a business meeting, sir."

"That explains the suit", he said. "You sure you're not delivering drugs?"

I froze.

He smiled. "Haha, I'm only messing with you. No need to take offense."

After receiving my ticket and a warning to get some sleep, I slowly pulled onto the highway again, making sure to let the officer pass me before I picked up my speed.

It seemed as if I had driven for several more hours when I finally came across the big green sign that pointed out my destination.

Mobile, 1 mile.

As I inched closer to the dropoff, so many thoughts raced through my head. What if I don't have what they want in the trunk? What if I get killed?

What if?

I checked the address written on the old envelope one last time as I found the driveway of the home in the suburban neighborhood. I stuffed the envelope into my suit pocket as I shut the car off and stepped out. I glanced down at my watch.

4:43.

Was anyone up this early? What exactly am I supposed to do? Lenny never gave me specific instructions. Cut and dry, I was told to take this car to this address, let them take what was in the trunk, and drive back.

I adjusted my tie as I stepped onto the porch. As I proceeded to knock on the door, it opened before my knuckles could touch its surface. A man about my height wearing a white blazer stood in the doorway with black slicked back hair.

"You're early. Come in."

I stepped into the home and eyed my surroundings. Needless to say, whomever lived here was quite wealthy.

"So, um.. do you guys just unload the drugs, or what?"

My heart raced as I realized what I had just said. I made an assumption that I had delivered them drugs. I wasn't supposed to know what was in the trunk. My breath quickened as he turned around and looked at me as he reached into his blazer pocket.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Nah, that's Jonny's job. Have a seat, kid."

Why does everyone call me kid?

I lowered my posterior into the huge leather chair just as a huge man walked through the hallway entrance and stood behind me. He then placed his hands on my shoulders, to hold me down I assume.

The man my height sat in the throne-like chair a few feet across from me.

"Okay kid, Lenny tells me this is your first delivery. This is how we do things here-- First of all, Lenny isn't the highest person on my list of trustworthy peoples, ya know? In that trunk, if you don't have exactly what we bought, you know who's going to pay?"

The big man tightened his grip on my shoulders.

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. "Uhh. Me?"

"Good kid, good kid. He learns fast, doesn't he Jonny?"

Jonny patted my shoulders with his huge hands, causing me a small amount of pain. "Yes he does, boss."

''Hey Jonny, tell this kid what's gonna happen to him if our criteria isn't met."

I tilted my head to meet Jonny's eyes and to watch him speak. "He's gonna be sleeping with the fishies, boss."

"Good. Now tell him what four times four is."

Jonny lifted one of his hands from my shoulder and scratched his temple. "Uhhhh.."

"You see kid, Jonny's not too smart when it comes to math and shit. He's real street smart though, ya know?"

I nodded, not caring about the mental capacity of the huge man behind me. My only thoughts concentrated around what was in the trunk. I really hope he didn't decide not to come up on his end of the bargain-- at least not on this run.

"Okay Jonny, bring him outside. It's time to get a look at the goodies."

Jonny grabbed me underneath my right arm and forced me to walk outside to the car that I had parked there a few minutes earlier. The smaller man opened the driver's door and popped the trunk. Inside, I noticed three black duffel bags. The man lifted one up, unzipped it and peaked into it.

Jonny held tight onto my shoulders as I stood there awaiting my fate. The man checking the bag lifted his head and smiled at Jonny, then at me.

"Jonny boy, remember that whore that ratted us out?"

"Yeah boss." Jonny looked on curiously.

The man then dropped the bag. In his hand he held a human head by the hair as my body became limp and I almost passed out.

"Well, looks like Lenny came through for us!"

My heart thumped inside my chest as I watched on. The man lifted the head and started talking to it.

"That'll teach you to cross us you damned broad. That's no way to get AHEAD!"

The man burst ouf laughing as Jonny looked on, puzzled. "Uh, I don't get it boss."

"Don't worry about it Jonny. That one was way over your HEAD!"

He then burst into a laughing fit again, then made eye contact with me. "So far, so good, kid."

I gulped as he peaked into the next bag. He smiled as he dropped the bag to the ground. I tasted the sweat pouring down my face.

"He's two for two, Jonny!"

He then grabbed the third duffel bag and walked over to Jonny and I. "Here Jonny, do the honors."

Jonny let go of me and stepped in front of the duffel bag lying on the ground. The smaller man stood next to me. Jonny lifted the bag and started to unzip it.

The small man grabbed me by my arm and pulled me several feet back, almost as if he didn't want me to see what was in the bag. I was still in shock that I had been riding along with a human head the entire night.

Jonny's excitement soon turned to a frown. "Uhh.. boss? How many did he say we were gettin'?"

"5, Jonny. Why?"

"There's only four in her, boss."

The boss reached into his blazer pocket and lodged the barrel of a pistol into my side. "Remember our deal, kid?"

The boss lifted the pistol to my head as I just stood there, silently shaking. Just then, an attractive blonde woman ran outside.

"Arthur! What are you doing!? I told you NOT to do your business here!"

"Get back in the house, bitch. This is between me and the kid". He raised the gun to my skull again.

 

[mustynutz]

"Why are you killing this one?!", she retorted.

Great, I'm just another one on the list to her.

"See that bag down there?"

"Yeah, Arthur.", She walked over near Jonny and picked up the duffel bag that determined my fate.

"We ordered 5 kilos. Each kilo is wrapped in plastic. The problem? There's only four."

She looked into the bag, then at Jonny, then started giggling.

"You let Jonny count 'em, didn't ya?"

"Yeah, why?", Arthur lowered the gun from my head.

"You know better than to let that dumb ox do the math, there's 5 in here."

Arthur placed the gun back into his blazer pocket. "Oops. Sorry kid."

I breathed a sigh of relief, not being able to say a word. I just stood there, really intent on jumping in the car and driving far away from this place. Arthur glanced at Jonny.

"You big stupid piece of shit. I almost killed someone because of your stupidity."

"I'm sorry, boss", Jonny lowered his head, noticeably saddened.

Arthur pulled the pistol back out of his blazer pocket and pressed it to Jonny's chest. He turned his head toward me.

"Kid, I suggest you leave now.". He turned his attention back toward Jonny. "I should've done this a long time ago.."

He looked over at me again. I hadn't moved, obviously shaken from the events. "What did I tell you kid? I said to--"

Before he could finish his sentence, Jonny's enormous fist came flying into his face.

"Don't make fun of me!", Jonny screamed.

Arthur fell to the ground, gun still in hand as Jonny stood there crying tears. The woman rushed to Arthur's side, then started screaming.

"Get out of here! Both of you! He'll kill you!"

By this time, my reaction kicked in and I took off to my car and slammed the door. I turned the key and slammed the gas into reverse. Just as I was about to take off, I heard Jonny's voice.

"Take me with you! I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! Jonny's scared!"

I couldn't react as the big man pulled the passenger door open and sat in the seat. I pressed the gas and the wheels skidded in place only creating smoke. I looked through the rearview and noticed Arthur on the ground reaching for his gun.

Just as the tires caught traction, Arthur fired one shot-- then another. Bullet holes rattled the back window as I veered out of the driveway and onto the road. I didn't slow down as I found the highway entrance and sped onto it.

Only then, I looked over into the passenger seat and noticed Jonny slumped there with his head in his hands, crying.

I have to go from here straight to Lenny's. What's he going to say when I show up with a member of his now enemy's mob?

I glanced down at the car clock as my thoughts calmed down. 5:15.

Time goes by slow when you're about to die.




To be continued......

 

[Gringo Starr]

And if dude was borin on 3/77...wouldnt that make him 27????WTF???

 

[mustynutz]

Your honor, the prosecution would like to call Clennin Macklebee to the stand."

Clennin adjusted his overalls as he stood up. The sweat on his forehead was visible as he licked his thumb and index finger and ran them over his eyebrows. His big steel toe boots thudded on the courtroom floor as he made his way to the seat beside the judge.

"Mr. Macklebee-- How was your morning?", the prosecutor was trying to make small conversation with the small-minded redneck.

"I'unno, I was sleepin''.

"Mr. Macklebee, I hope you know what you're here for. You're being charged with assault and battery as is your friend, Dale."

"I's understands."

"How did you meet Dale?"

"We's was friends in highschool. Me and Mr. Nigger Hater goes way back, Miss."

"Clennin, his name is Dale Nigrator. Not 'negro hater'. Anyway, let me cut to the chase. Are you a racist?"

"No ma'ams. I ain't hate nobody."

Mr. Clennin Macklebee is being charged with beating a young black man almost to death along with his friend Dale. Both could face up to 15 years in prison unless acquitted. Unfortunately, Clennin chose to represent himself namely because he couldn't afford an attorney. His cousin Arney, who dropped out of school at the age of 12 had the most education in the family-- but he wasn't able to make it.

"Mr. Macklebee, you were raised all of your life in Alabama. Your family testified that you disliked anyone that wasn't caucasion. Isn't that true?"

"Uhh.."

"Anyone that wasn't WHITE."

"Oh."

"I apologize Mr. Macklebee, I'll try to use smaller words. Answer the question."

"That ain't true. I love everybody. I like spicks, wetbacks, even niggers."

"No further questions, your honor."

The prosecutor smiled as she walked back to her seat. She knew she had this case won. Mr. Macklebee smiled as he walked back to his seat. He knew he had this case won. After a long weekend, the trial picked up again the following Monday--

"Mr. Macklebee, how was your morning?"

"I'unno, I was sleepin'."

"Right. Your honor, with your permission, I'd like to show the court the videotape of Mr. Macklebee and Mr. Dale Nigrator pushing a black male and then finally, the defendant, Clennin Macklebee punches him in the face and the male falls to the ground."

"You may." The judge leaned back, even he knew the outcome of this silly trial.

Clennin had to think fast. He knew that if the jury saw this video, he'd be going to jail for sure. He tried to think of some way he could prevent that video from being shown.

"EJECTION!"

"What?", the judge stammered.

"ABSECTION!"

"I'm assuming you mean objection, Mr. Clennin. Under what grounds??"

"Under these grounds, sir."

"No, I mean-- why are you objecting?"

"Cuz. That video's gonna be a-damagin' to my case right hurr. I don't want it shown."

As the video played, the jury looked on in horror as they watched the beating of an innocent man by two obvious racists, Clennin being one of them.

The prosecutor stopped the tape. "Mr. Macklebee, is that you in that tape?"

"No ma'ams. I was fuckin' my sister."

"What?"

"Oops. I mean-- I's was duckin' my whisker.", Clennin smiled at the good save he just made. He didn't want the court or his family to know his private business.

"Did you say that you were having sex with your sister? Mr. Macklebee, that's illegal. You two are related."

"No we ain't. We got different daddy's."

"Okay Clennin, no more games. I've tried being nice. That's YOU in that tape. Your voice is very distinct. In the tape, we can even overhear you saying, and I quote-- 'Get that nigger'.".

"No ma'am. I said 'kill that nigger'."

"No further questions your honor."

On day three, the prosecution's case was looking pretty good. Clennin's case was-- non existent. Clennin stayed up all night trying to think of some defensive strategy to save himself from the big house. Then it came to him.

"Mr. Macklebee, do you have any explanation about the tape?", the prosecutor asked.

"Yes ma'ams I do. I ain't be no black people. It depends on how ya's look at that thar tape."

"Explain, please."

"Well ya see, if ya play it backwards, me and Dale is just helpin' that there black fellow up and sendin' him on his way."

The case was thrown out.

 

[mustynutz]

After watching the Presidential debate tonight, I decided to keep the TV on and watch the local news. I actually quit watching the debate when Bush uttered the stupidest comment-- even for him.

"Need some wood?"

Idiot.

About 15 minutes into the news broadcast, one of the anchors mentioned that an elderly woman is now dead by means of suicide. She was 92 years old. If she's been on this Earth for 92 years, couldn't she wait another few years?

Surprisingly, there has been a steady uprising of elderly suicides in my area. In fact, just last week a 85 year old woman made the news when she called a doctor and asked him where her heart was located. You see, she was going to shoot herself point-blank in the heart.

"Two inches below your left nipple", he replied.

She's now in the hospital, recovering from a gunshot wound to the knee.

My neighbor, who happens to be quite the nice man, once told me that he tried to kill himself a few years ago.

"Hell son, I'm too old to walk, too old to fuck, even too old to enjoy porn anymore. I can beat my tallywacker like it owes me money and it still won't get up. I have nothing to enjoy anymore..... Wait... no.. I take that back.... I DO enjoy shitting myself. That's fun."

Why would an elderly person want to kill themselves after all these years? Was it because they want to be put out of their misery? I took my questions to the local nursing home to get answers.

One man in particular, Mr. Duncan, tried to hang himself early last year-- but realized it was impossible because he didn't have shoestrings on his bedroom slippers.

"So, Mr. Duncan-- why is it that so many people your age are ending their lives?"

He concentrated heavily, squinting his eyebrows as his eyes stayed steady in one spot.

After I realized he wasn't concentrating on the question, but actually eyeing a dust bunny that happened to be floating in the air, I moved onto another interviewee.

"So sir, you're near 90 years old. You're in love with a woman who is 2 years younger than you. You've already had two heart-attacks. You've tried to kill yourself once before. Are you sure it's safe for you-- or your wife-- to get married at such an old age?"

"Eh?"

"Your wife-- she's a little sick."

"I can't help the fact that I have a little dick. I'm old, sonny."

"No, no. Your soon-to-be wife. She suffers from acute angina.."

"Oh, I know. I peaked." He then highfived me as he moonwalked off.

After looking around the almost empty room for a subject to interview, I noticed a small-framed elderly woman in a corner knitting a sweater.

"Hi ma'am, mind if I interview you about elderly suicide?"

"Oh sure, deary. And call me Grandma Puddin'."

"Ok Grandma Puddin'... How old are you?"

"Oh deary, don't ask a woman her age! Let's put it this way-- When I have dreams, they're in black and white."

I chuckled as I asked her about her husband.

"He died several years ago. You see, Grandma Puddin' made a mistake by marrying that man. He was a crazy, crazy man. But we had already been married for 50 years, so what the heck. He always told me that if he ever died, he'd dig his way back up through the grave and come kill me. I told the old man to act his age and the poor man just dropped dead."

"So, did you have any problems with him coming back from the grave?"

"Nope, he can dig all he wants. I had him buried upside-down."

"I'm sorry he can't be here to enjoy life with you."

"Oh no deary, he wasn't a good husband or grandfather. I despised the impotent bastard. I actually laid on the floor every night just to feel something hard for a change. Somehow, we did manage to have a kid 3 years ago right before he died."

"Ah well, that's nice. So what's it like raising a three year old son?". I was getting way off-track with my questions, but this woman was really interesting.

"Grandma Puddin's really old, sweetie, so it was a pain in my wrinkly ass. Breast feeding was an ease though, I just dropped my boobie down to him and let him do his thing."

"That's nice. Hey, what do you think of elderly suicide and the reasoning behind it?"

"Ya know what? Grandma Puddin' doesn't have an opinion on those people. In fact, Grandma's glad these are her last days. There are too many floozies running around with their labias hanging out of those low-rise jeans. Too many damn teenagers running around with their hippity-hoppity nonsense. All of these youngin's can suck Grandma Puddin's dick."

After parting ways with Grandma Puddin', I came to realize something. I'm not looking forward to growing elderly.

I'll be the old man sitting in the corner babbling on about a story that happened to me 50 years ago that nobody cares about. When I tell a joke, it won't make any since but everyone will give me a pity laugh. During birthdays, I'll be staring blankly at the ground as everyone gathers around-- nobody wanting to be there.

At least I'll still have Matlock

 

[mustynutz]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MOMMY!!!!!!"

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

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

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

"Mommy? Can I call daddy?"

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

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

Knock Knock.

"Who'zat?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Anything!"

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

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

Jessica looked up at Mr. Hannigan with wide eyes.

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

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

"Hello? Dad?"

 

[mustynutz]

lol...damn

 

[bayGIANTS]

fuckin musty. I thought I would actually have the patience to read this thread but as I finished the first one, a little fly caught my attention and I proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes on trying to kill it. It got away and now I am very frustrated that I have neither read a whole musty thread nor killed the damn fly. thanks a lot.

 

[mustynutz]

you are useless...kill yourself now, donate to population control

 

[bayGIANTS]

I will do that. goodbye siccness

 

[LoC415]

Well I am actually at work with nothing to do here..so I thought "Hey something to read!"...while laughing my ass out I let out a fart...now that I embarrassed myself I don't think I can continue, my ass is begging for me not to. Thank you musty!!!

 

[mustynutz]

lol

 

[Justin]

CLASSIC