On a web site, someone asked the question: Have you ever popped a girl and then saw her several years later and she made you want to puke?
I posted a story about a girl and some seemed to enjoy it so I will put it here for those that do not frequent that web site.
Back when I was in high school I would bang pretty much anything with a vagina and a set of lung warts. One particular girl, Kimberly McCellan -- aka: Booger -- was very unattractive. She had a pig nose, wore glasses, had some messed up choppers, a mullet and easily topped the scales out at over 200 +. Looking back, I’m pretty sure she was mildly retarded because I can’t remember a single intelligent conversation I had with her. One particular conversation that I remember the most is when she asked me if I ever got “poop” on my hand when wiping, and, if so, did I ever smell it. She was indeed quite strange.
She was my don't-tell-booty call. This is how the relationship started:
She lived in this shack of a home with her older sister and their mother. Her father had been a garbage man until he was killed when a cable on his garbage truck broke and severed his jugular vein. My dad knew Mr. McCellan as he was known in these parts as "Goat Man". He always kept a yard full of goats and hogs. He wasn’t a farmer, but he made a little extra cash to support his alcoholism by selling hogs and goat milk. One of my dad’s favorite stories is about the time he went over to Mr. McCellan's to purchase a hog and witnessed Goat Man fighting a goat. Apparently, the goat had rammed Goat Man and he had decided he was going to teach it a lesson. He hopped on a tricycle that he had fashioned into a goat rammer and started a ramming fight with the goat. My father said this went on for about 15 minutes until finally the goat gave in and stumbled off -- lesson learned.
Anyway, the mom was extremely overweight, so much so that she rarely left the home. A few times a year my parent’s church would help out a poor family and my father would always make me help. I guess he thought it was supposed to teach me some type of valuable lesson about how it sucks to be poor. For the most part they helped out families around the holidays; buy toys for kids that Santa wouldn’t visit, buy a Thanksgiving dinner for a family in need, yard work -- stuff like that. This particular case, the family they decided to help out was Booger's.
As most of you know, my father is a retired police officer, but what some of you may not know is that he is also decent handyman. He can fix pretty much anything that breaks around the house (dishwashers, washing machines, toilets, etc.) and he can also build stuff; decks are his forte, so when Ms. McCellan informed my father’s church that she was in need of a deck with a wheelchair ramp, my dad was more than happy to help out.
The deck building started in late December and it was cold, really cold. I, of course, was being the whiny little bitch that I am when it comes to manual labor and my father was being his typical hardassed self, so we were butting heads. I was telling him that it was too cold to be outside working and he was asking me if my little boy pussy was bleeding.
Booger's older sister must have heard us because she stepped outside and asked if we would like some hot coco. I jumped at this offer as if I were a Jew in Auschwitz being offered some stale bread. While I was in their home warming up, Booger walked over to the table and sat down across from me. We had some small talk and then she asked if I would sign her year book. The year book was in her bedroom so we walked back there. 5 minutes later she was face down and I was taking a trip down the tuna tunnel. From that point on, Booger became my regular booty call. When I was in a dry spell or just needed someone to take some of my frustrations out on, I'd call Booger. I fucked her in several locations, but our favorite spot was this old saw mill that was about a mile from my home because it was secluded and well insulated. Booger would put-out anytime and anywhere.
About 6 months ago I saw here in Wal-Mart. She, like her mother was (I think she is dead now) is extremely overweight. She was riding in one of those fat carts that all Wal-Mart’s have and I avoided her like she was Black Death, and, yes, I wanted to puke when I thought back to the many times I rolled in her bulldog lip.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Confused
Well, it has been one strange week for me. First of all, I made the decision to end my relationship with Lilly. Well, really, it was kind of a mutual decision.
I didn’t dump her over the fact that she had been a whore. I decided I could live with that, but the fact that she had clued me into her dark secret gave me way too much ammunition to not use. Plus, she made the mistake of thinking that my house was her house which was cool with me, but she started bitching about some of my living habits and that was not cool. It’s my damn house and if I want to leave a dirty towel on the floor, I’ll leave a dirty towel on the floor, or, if I want to leave a dirty dish in the sink, I’ll leave a dirty dish in the sink.
When she would start in on me about trivial shit, I, of course, would have to bring up the fact that she had been a whore. The first few times I did this she would just go to another room and cry, but eventually she couldn’t take my insults and we decided to go our separate ways.
Yesterday, Jana called me and said she had made an appointment for Luke to have his picture made at Wal-Mart. She said something had come up at work and she couldn’t take him. Maybe she considers greasing her boss’s pole, who, by the way, is a highly respected pediatric dentist with a wife, “work”, but I just consider it her being the tally-whacker loving whore that she is.
Anyway, the appointment was for 5:30. I got there at 5:20. When I walked in, there in the lobby sat a clan of hillbillies. There had to be at least 23 of them and 9 of them were kids – all of them dressed for pictures. The woman working, who I found out later was the all important manager, asked me:
Manager Bitch: Do you have an appointment?
Stump: Yes. It’s for 5:30.
Manager Bitch: Well, this (she motioned to the clan of hillbillies) is my 5:00 appointment, so it’s going to be a while. Why don’t you walk around and kill some time.
This kind of pissed me off, but knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it, I decided to buy Luke some fruit snacks and maybe run The Method on one or two women. A lovely blonde with great glands for the hands caught my eye and I moved in for the kill. She had a couple of kids running around, so I was able to strike up a conversation with her about them and before long I was programming her number into my phone with plans for a lunch date later this week. Sometimes it’s just too damn easy.
I had managed to kill about 30 minutes, so I paid for my stuff and went back over to the portrait studio. The clan of hillbillies was still there and they were raising hell. The momma/grandmother/aunt was yelling at all the kids and the manager bitch was just laughing. Had I been the manager, I would have kicked them out of the store, but she seemed to be having the time of her life. I got Luke settled in with his fruit snacks and started reading one of the magazines (Cosmo).
One of the hillbillies was sitting across from me. She was quite rotund with a bad haircut and she had rotten little nubs for teeth. I would look over at her and she would smile at me and then look away. I could tell that she was creaming herself by just looking at me, but the thought of that made me want to puke right there in the floor. Some of the hillbilly kids would run out of the studio and come over to where Luke and I were sitting and want to touch Luke. I was scared he was going to catch scabies or something far worse from these dirty little shams so I would push them away with the magazine. They didnt seem to like this much and started hurling toys in my direction. Luckily, before I had to smash one of their inbred little faces in, the husky hillbilly that wanted me stepped in and got control of the little mongrels.
An hour later, they were finally finished. It was at this time that I found out the manager bitch was the only one working. It’s Christmas time, so, of course, many, many people want to get pictures made and they have one person working? What a damn joke.
Luke was throwing a fit because he was tired and hungry, so the pictures were not going to be good and I was pissed. I mean, this isn’t a damn doctor’s office; it’s a freaking portrait studio. I am of the opinion that if you make an appointment at a portrait studio you should be able to walk in at your appointment time, have your pictures made and be on your way.
Manager bitch walks in and says:
Manager bitch – I’m sorry. This has been a busy day.
Stump - (my anger would not let me hold back) Yea, its Christmas time. To me, it looks like your stupid manager would have more than one person working.
Manager bitch – I am the manager.
Stump – Well, you should have more than one person working. This is one of the most wobber-jawed (one of my dad’s words) operations I have ever seen.
Manager bitch – Let’s just get the pictures made.
She then snapped one picture of Luke. At that time, some woman came in wanting to pick-up her pictures and manager bitch goes off to help her. Well, I just snapped, so I grabbed up a screaming Luke, cussed out manager bitch loud enough that the midget Wal-Mart greeter came in to see what was going on and then I stormed out.
When I got Luke home, I told Jana about my sordid plight expecting some sympathy from her and instead of sympathy, she takes this as an opportunity to tell me how bad of a father/person I am. As she is doing this, I notice what I’m pretty sure is some cum-crust on the corner of her mouth. It could have been doughnut glaze as she claimed, but I used that as my opening to point out her many faults. She grabbed Luke from me and put him in his bed while we continued to defame one another.
As one slam rippled into another something started to happen; this put-down battle was turning us on. As Santa Claus Comes To Town played on the tv, I had Jana bent over the back of her couch and was beating her brakes off. I realize I was probably getting sloppy seconds, maybe even filthy fourths, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I really wanted to hurt her. I pulled out a chunk of her hair, smacked her ass around and called her every dreggy name I could think of and she loved every single minute of it.
I’ve had all kinds of sex, but this was a first for me. I have never hung one on a girl that I hate so much, and, honestly, it was probably the best sex I have ever had. There was no kissing; no hugging, just hate filled fornication that really served no purpose at all.
Once we were finished, neither of us knew how to act. As I was pulling my pants up, Jana offered me some hot coco, but I told her I needed to leave. She picked up her panties and said: Close the door on your way out. I’m still confused as to how I should feel about this.
I didn’t dump her over the fact that she had been a whore. I decided I could live with that, but the fact that she had clued me into her dark secret gave me way too much ammunition to not use. Plus, she made the mistake of thinking that my house was her house which was cool with me, but she started bitching about some of my living habits and that was not cool. It’s my damn house and if I want to leave a dirty towel on the floor, I’ll leave a dirty towel on the floor, or, if I want to leave a dirty dish in the sink, I’ll leave a dirty dish in the sink.
When she would start in on me about trivial shit, I, of course, would have to bring up the fact that she had been a whore. The first few times I did this she would just go to another room and cry, but eventually she couldn’t take my insults and we decided to go our separate ways.
Yesterday, Jana called me and said she had made an appointment for Luke to have his picture made at Wal-Mart. She said something had come up at work and she couldn’t take him. Maybe she considers greasing her boss’s pole, who, by the way, is a highly respected pediatric dentist with a wife, “work”, but I just consider it her being the tally-whacker loving whore that she is.
Anyway, the appointment was for 5:30. I got there at 5:20. When I walked in, there in the lobby sat a clan of hillbillies. There had to be at least 23 of them and 9 of them were kids – all of them dressed for pictures. The woman working, who I found out later was the all important manager, asked me:
Manager Bitch: Do you have an appointment?
Stump: Yes. It’s for 5:30.
Manager Bitch: Well, this (she motioned to the clan of hillbillies) is my 5:00 appointment, so it’s going to be a while. Why don’t you walk around and kill some time.
This kind of pissed me off, but knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it, I decided to buy Luke some fruit snacks and maybe run The Method on one or two women. A lovely blonde with great glands for the hands caught my eye and I moved in for the kill. She had a couple of kids running around, so I was able to strike up a conversation with her about them and before long I was programming her number into my phone with plans for a lunch date later this week. Sometimes it’s just too damn easy.
I had managed to kill about 30 minutes, so I paid for my stuff and went back over to the portrait studio. The clan of hillbillies was still there and they were raising hell. The momma/grandmother/aunt was yelling at all the kids and the manager bitch was just laughing. Had I been the manager, I would have kicked them out of the store, but she seemed to be having the time of her life. I got Luke settled in with his fruit snacks and started reading one of the magazines (Cosmo).
One of the hillbillies was sitting across from me. She was quite rotund with a bad haircut and she had rotten little nubs for teeth. I would look over at her and she would smile at me and then look away. I could tell that she was creaming herself by just looking at me, but the thought of that made me want to puke right there in the floor. Some of the hillbilly kids would run out of the studio and come over to where Luke and I were sitting and want to touch Luke. I was scared he was going to catch scabies or something far worse from these dirty little shams so I would push them away with the magazine. They didnt seem to like this much and started hurling toys in my direction. Luckily, before I had to smash one of their inbred little faces in, the husky hillbilly that wanted me stepped in and got control of the little mongrels.
An hour later, they were finally finished. It was at this time that I found out the manager bitch was the only one working. It’s Christmas time, so, of course, many, many people want to get pictures made and they have one person working? What a damn joke.
Luke was throwing a fit because he was tired and hungry, so the pictures were not going to be good and I was pissed. I mean, this isn’t a damn doctor’s office; it’s a freaking portrait studio. I am of the opinion that if you make an appointment at a portrait studio you should be able to walk in at your appointment time, have your pictures made and be on your way.
Manager bitch walks in and says:
Manager bitch – I’m sorry. This has been a busy day.
Stump - (my anger would not let me hold back) Yea, its Christmas time. To me, it looks like your stupid manager would have more than one person working.
Manager bitch – I am the manager.
Stump – Well, you should have more than one person working. This is one of the most wobber-jawed (one of my dad’s words) operations I have ever seen.
Manager bitch – Let’s just get the pictures made.
She then snapped one picture of Luke. At that time, some woman came in wanting to pick-up her pictures and manager bitch goes off to help her. Well, I just snapped, so I grabbed up a screaming Luke, cussed out manager bitch loud enough that the midget Wal-Mart greeter came in to see what was going on and then I stormed out.
When I got Luke home, I told Jana about my sordid plight expecting some sympathy from her and instead of sympathy, she takes this as an opportunity to tell me how bad of a father/person I am. As she is doing this, I notice what I’m pretty sure is some cum-crust on the corner of her mouth. It could have been doughnut glaze as she claimed, but I used that as my opening to point out her many faults. She grabbed Luke from me and put him in his bed while we continued to defame one another.
As one slam rippled into another something started to happen; this put-down battle was turning us on. As Santa Claus Comes To Town played on the tv, I had Jana bent over the back of her couch and was beating her brakes off. I realize I was probably getting sloppy seconds, maybe even filthy fourths, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I really wanted to hurt her. I pulled out a chunk of her hair, smacked her ass around and called her every dreggy name I could think of and she loved every single minute of it.
I’ve had all kinds of sex, but this was a first for me. I have never hung one on a girl that I hate so much, and, honestly, it was probably the best sex I have ever had. There was no kissing; no hugging, just hate filled fornication that really served no purpose at all.
Once we were finished, neither of us knew how to act. As I was pulling my pants up, Jana offered me some hot coco, but I told her I needed to leave. She picked up her panties and said: Close the door on your way out. I’m still confused as to how I should feel about this.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Light Hooking
Today I find myself in a bit of a dilemma. It all started last week during Thanksgiving. Lilly, the woman I have been dating, invited me to spend the week with her family up in Cawker, Kansas. I’m sure most of you have heard of that town because it the home of the world’s largest ball of sisal twine. That’s right; their claim to fame is an 18,000 pound ball of twine.
Against my better judgment, I decided to make the trip with her because I am hooked on her hooch. She has some of the best poon my meat-baton has ever beaten, and she is a freak. When I say freak, I don’t mean that she likes to do it with the lights on or likes being on top, I mean the girl is Manson crazy in the sack. Example: I was taking her to my parent’s church to show her off and she buffed her muffin for me on the ride there. I almost hit a big homeless dog while watching her. Another example: I have a great deal of stamina when it comes to saucing the clam, but this girl even has me beat. One night after we had a sex marathon, she wanted more and I was played out, so she pulled out this dildo that could pass for one of those big holiday sausage logs. This thing was at least 14 inches long and as big around as a tube of Black Jack. I thought she may be able to take about a 1/3 of it but she ended up taking just about the entire thing and loved it. Honestly, I had mixed emotions about that because I didnt know if that should scare me or really turn me on. For the record, it did both. Overall, she is my kind of girl, so I didn’t mind spending a week in hell for her.
For the most part, it was a good trip. Her father is pretty cool. He has blood circulation problems in his legs and he isn’t able to walk long distances. He loves fishing but with his leg problems he really can’t get out, so they bought a home that had an in-ground swimming pool and he turned it into his own personal fishing hole. It is filled with creek and rain water and he has stocked it with bass, cat fish and carp. He has even put their old Christmas trees out there to give the fish several places to live. I’m not much of a fisherman, but I even caught a pretty big bass (I’d say it weighed about 5 pounds) and fought another one for about 5 minutes before it broke my line.
The food was good. Lilly’s mom doesn’t cook dressing in a pan; she makes dressing balls which was a first for me. I didn’t think they were as good as my NaNa’s dressing, but they were still pretty decent. During the entire time we were there they played old Christmas music: The Time Life Christmas Collection, The Ventures, Merle Haggard, G.F. Handel, John Rutter and a host of others. I know this because I had to play DJ for most of the week. Also, her mom likes to have awkward conversations. One time she asked me if I knew if my mom had hemorrhoids. I told her I didnt know and she proceeded to tell me that her hemorrhoid cream had stopped working and she was now "backed up".
The best part about the trip was getting to nail Lilly in her parent’s home. It was almost as if I was back in high school sneaking around and drilling girls while their parents were asleep. I popped Lilly in her old room, on the kitchen table at 2 in the morning, on the living room couch and even got some head from Lilly in the bathroom while her mom was in the next room singing with Bing Crosby and popping up some kettle corn.
Anyway, on our way home, Lilly was telling me how much fun she had and we were having one of those deep conversations. She was telling me how when she was in college her dad had lost his job and she had to start working as a waitress in some fancy restaurant/hotel to help for her college tuition. She said she was always complaining to some of the women in there about not making enough money and one of them told her she should start “light hooking” with some of the restaurant clientele because she could earn more money with one regular customer than she could in a month of waitressing.
She told me that for the rest of her time in college (about 2.5 years) she “light hooked” and was able to pay for college, buy a car and had plenty of spending money. She explained to me that “light hooking” isnt outright whoring, but rather it was having a few regular guys pay her to have sex with them. She said she never had over 4 guys and that 2 of the guys were her “constants” over her time of light hooking. Once she graduated college she moved away and claims to have retired from her days as a light hooker, but I really don’t know that I believe her.
So today I am torn. On one had I want to keep dating her because the sex is out of this world and I really think I could marry her, but on the other hand she is a whore, but not really because she claims to have only been with 7 guys in her life (8 counting me) and I really don’t consider that a whore.
I have a decision to make.
Against my better judgment, I decided to make the trip with her because I am hooked on her hooch. She has some of the best poon my meat-baton has ever beaten, and she is a freak. When I say freak, I don’t mean that she likes to do it with the lights on or likes being on top, I mean the girl is Manson crazy in the sack. Example: I was taking her to my parent’s church to show her off and she buffed her muffin for me on the ride there. I almost hit a big homeless dog while watching her. Another example: I have a great deal of stamina when it comes to saucing the clam, but this girl even has me beat. One night after we had a sex marathon, she wanted more and I was played out, so she pulled out this dildo that could pass for one of those big holiday sausage logs. This thing was at least 14 inches long and as big around as a tube of Black Jack. I thought she may be able to take about a 1/3 of it but she ended up taking just about the entire thing and loved it. Honestly, I had mixed emotions about that because I didnt know if that should scare me or really turn me on. For the record, it did both. Overall, she is my kind of girl, so I didn’t mind spending a week in hell for her.
For the most part, it was a good trip. Her father is pretty cool. He has blood circulation problems in his legs and he isn’t able to walk long distances. He loves fishing but with his leg problems he really can’t get out, so they bought a home that had an in-ground swimming pool and he turned it into his own personal fishing hole. It is filled with creek and rain water and he has stocked it with bass, cat fish and carp. He has even put their old Christmas trees out there to give the fish several places to live. I’m not much of a fisherman, but I even caught a pretty big bass (I’d say it weighed about 5 pounds) and fought another one for about 5 minutes before it broke my line.
The food was good. Lilly’s mom doesn’t cook dressing in a pan; she makes dressing balls which was a first for me. I didn’t think they were as good as my NaNa’s dressing, but they were still pretty decent. During the entire time we were there they played old Christmas music: The Time Life Christmas Collection, The Ventures, Merle Haggard, G.F. Handel, John Rutter and a host of others. I know this because I had to play DJ for most of the week. Also, her mom likes to have awkward conversations. One time she asked me if I knew if my mom had hemorrhoids. I told her I didnt know and she proceeded to tell me that her hemorrhoid cream had stopped working and she was now "backed up".
The best part about the trip was getting to nail Lilly in her parent’s home. It was almost as if I was back in high school sneaking around and drilling girls while their parents were asleep. I popped Lilly in her old room, on the kitchen table at 2 in the morning, on the living room couch and even got some head from Lilly in the bathroom while her mom was in the next room singing with Bing Crosby and popping up some kettle corn.
Anyway, on our way home, Lilly was telling me how much fun she had and we were having one of those deep conversations. She was telling me how when she was in college her dad had lost his job and she had to start working as a waitress in some fancy restaurant/hotel to help for her college tuition. She said she was always complaining to some of the women in there about not making enough money and one of them told her she should start “light hooking” with some of the restaurant clientele because she could earn more money with one regular customer than she could in a month of waitressing.
She told me that for the rest of her time in college (about 2.5 years) she “light hooked” and was able to pay for college, buy a car and had plenty of spending money. She explained to me that “light hooking” isnt outright whoring, but rather it was having a few regular guys pay her to have sex with them. She said she never had over 4 guys and that 2 of the guys were her “constants” over her time of light hooking. Once she graduated college she moved away and claims to have retired from her days as a light hooker, but I really don’t know that I believe her.
So today I am torn. On one had I want to keep dating her because the sex is out of this world and I really think I could marry her, but on the other hand she is a whore, but not really because she claims to have only been with 7 guys in her life (8 counting me) and I really don’t consider that a whore.
I have a decision to make.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Lilly
The Tuesday night date was fairly typical. We met at a little Italian place, had a bite to eat, had some drinks, had some laughs and just enjoyed ourselves. She told me some ER stories that I pretended to think were hilarious, but in reality, the only thing on my mind was shagging her. She was wearing a pink sweater due to the cold snap we are having which meant she wasn’t showing much skin, but her nipples were bulging out; I wondered if she was wearing a bra. This, of course, led me to wonder if she was wearing any panties.
We ended up in my car making out. I was able to determine that she was not wearing a bra, but she was wearing panties. She caressed my clam hammer. Eventually, she was able to put a halt to our heavy petting and said she needed to get home……cock tease. I was left with a throbbing case of the navy balls. You guys know exactly what I’m talking about: The type that feels like a dwarf is between your legs holding your marbles and squeezing them just enough to make you feel like you need to puke.
Once I was home, and after I finished the job Lilly had started, I listened to my phone messages. There was one from Lilly: Hey, Stump. Please don’t hate me. I had a great time tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Around 11 am Wednesday, Lilly called:
Lilly: Hey. How are you doing?
Me: I’m fine, just working.
Lilly: You want to do anything tonight?
Me: Sure. What did you have in mind?
Lilly: I’m working today, so I am going to be tired.
Me: You want to just hang out at my house and drink some beer?
Lilly: laughing Sounds like fun. I’ll be over there around 8.
To be honest, I wasn’t looking for much out of her. Once a girl teases me like she did, I normally just ignore them, but since she was making the effort and I had nothing better to do, I didn’t see the harm in letting her come over.
Considering that I had already spent a good deal of money on her the night before, I damn sure wasn’t going to spend much money for this date, so I bought a case of Rolling Rock, some hamburger meat and a bag of Golden Flake potato chips (Thin & Crispy).
When Lilly got to my house, we grabbed a couple of beers and walked out onto my deck to grill-up the burgers. After a little bit of chit-chat, Lilly comes over to me and starts kissing on my neck and whispering into my ear: I promise I’m not gonna run off tonight.
With that, it was on. We started kissing and soon I had her up against my french doors with her shirt pulled up around her neck and sucking on her nipples.
Not long thereafter, we were in my room and I was pounding her smackey like a champ. I had her legs over my shoulders wailing away on her. It didn’t last long, but it didn’t have to.
Afterwards, we were laying there talking, she was telling me how much she enjoyed it and I was half listening to her while trying to watch the football game that was on. Suddenly, out on my deck I see a huge fire. It was my grill and it was flaming. In my lust, I had forgotten to turn my grill down and the hamburger grease had leaked down onto the cooking element which caused a huge fire. I ran out there, still naked, and got the grill turned off. Lilly was out there, wrapped in a sheet and laughing her ass off. I told her I didn’t think it was funny and she asked me if I thought she needed a spanking. She then dropped the sheet and bent over the railing of my deck – she didn’t get a spanking.
As I was behind her churning butter, I glanced over to my backdoor neighbor’s house and see my elderly neighbor staring at us through his kitchen window. He’s just standing there staring. I thought about stopping, but Lilly seemed to really be enjoying herself and I’m not one to leave a job half finished, so I just picked up my pace and concentrated on the task at hand. I finished her off and we went back inside.
Thursday morning I was rolling my trash can out to the curb and, as usual, “Tom” came by. He did like he always does; he stopped, rolled down his window and asked me my thoughts on the game this weekend. I told him I thought Bama would win by at least 17 and he said: I think it will be at least 24 points.
After he said that, he says: You didn’t ruin your grill last night did you?
I informed him that I thought my grill was fine and he just kinda half-laughed and drove off.
We ended up in my car making out. I was able to determine that she was not wearing a bra, but she was wearing panties. She caressed my clam hammer. Eventually, she was able to put a halt to our heavy petting and said she needed to get home……cock tease. I was left with a throbbing case of the navy balls. You guys know exactly what I’m talking about: The type that feels like a dwarf is between your legs holding your marbles and squeezing them just enough to make you feel like you need to puke.
Once I was home, and after I finished the job Lilly had started, I listened to my phone messages. There was one from Lilly: Hey, Stump. Please don’t hate me. I had a great time tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Around 11 am Wednesday, Lilly called:
Lilly: Hey. How are you doing?
Me: I’m fine, just working.
Lilly: You want to do anything tonight?
Me: Sure. What did you have in mind?
Lilly: I’m working today, so I am going to be tired.
Me: You want to just hang out at my house and drink some beer?
Lilly: laughing Sounds like fun. I’ll be over there around 8.
To be honest, I wasn’t looking for much out of her. Once a girl teases me like she did, I normally just ignore them, but since she was making the effort and I had nothing better to do, I didn’t see the harm in letting her come over.
Considering that I had already spent a good deal of money on her the night before, I damn sure wasn’t going to spend much money for this date, so I bought a case of Rolling Rock, some hamburger meat and a bag of Golden Flake potato chips (Thin & Crispy).
When Lilly got to my house, we grabbed a couple of beers and walked out onto my deck to grill-up the burgers. After a little bit of chit-chat, Lilly comes over to me and starts kissing on my neck and whispering into my ear: I promise I’m not gonna run off tonight.
With that, it was on. We started kissing and soon I had her up against my french doors with her shirt pulled up around her neck and sucking on her nipples.
Not long thereafter, we were in my room and I was pounding her smackey like a champ. I had her legs over my shoulders wailing away on her. It didn’t last long, but it didn’t have to.
Afterwards, we were laying there talking, she was telling me how much she enjoyed it and I was half listening to her while trying to watch the football game that was on. Suddenly, out on my deck I see a huge fire. It was my grill and it was flaming. In my lust, I had forgotten to turn my grill down and the hamburger grease had leaked down onto the cooking element which caused a huge fire. I ran out there, still naked, and got the grill turned off. Lilly was out there, wrapped in a sheet and laughing her ass off. I told her I didn’t think it was funny and she asked me if I thought she needed a spanking. She then dropped the sheet and bent over the railing of my deck – she didn’t get a spanking.
As I was behind her churning butter, I glanced over to my backdoor neighbor’s house and see my elderly neighbor staring at us through his kitchen window. He’s just standing there staring. I thought about stopping, but Lilly seemed to really be enjoying herself and I’m not one to leave a job half finished, so I just picked up my pace and concentrated on the task at hand. I finished her off and we went back inside.
Thursday morning I was rolling my trash can out to the curb and, as usual, “Tom” came by. He did like he always does; he stopped, rolled down his window and asked me my thoughts on the game this weekend. I told him I thought Bama would win by at least 17 and he said: I think it will be at least 24 points.
After he said that, he says: You didn’t ruin your grill last night did you?
I informed him that I thought my grill was fine and he just kinda half-laughed and drove off.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
The ER
I had plans to go to the Alabama/LSU game. The only problem I had was that it was my weekend with Luke (my son). I called Jana on Thursday and explained the situation, and to my surprise, she recommended that I come and get him Thursday afternoon, keep him that night, hang out with him on Friday, bring him home Friday night and then get him again this weekend. Damn I thought. What’s gotten into her other than large amounts of dick?
Not wanting to risk her turning into the Incredible Bitch, I ran on over and picked up my boy.
When you are a single dad with a 9 month old, there’s really not a whole lot for you to do. Normally, after I pick him up, I will go by McDonalds, get him a chicken nugget happy meal and take him to my house. Then the standards are him watching one or two Baby Einstein videos (those things are amazing, btw. You parents with young children should invest in them if you haven’t already), an hours worth of Peek-A-Boo and his favorite; Superfly.
Superfly is really quite simple. It involves me sitting Luke on the couch, he then jumps off onto my chest/stomach and I act like he has absolutely destroyed me. He could play this game all day and night, but eventually my chest starts hurting so I will drag out an air mattress and let him jump off onto that. Its name, of course, derives from the great Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka.
As we were playing, my phone rang, so I jumped up to answer it and left Luke sitting on the floor. It was a friend and he was going over our plans for Saturday:
A. Leave around 9
B. Buy beer
C. Drink beer
That was pretty much our plan.
We were talking about some other things to do once we got there and then I hear CRASH!!!! and then very loud scream-crying. In all my time with Luke, not once has he ever been able to climb up on the couch by himself, but apparently, he has now learned how to do just that. While I was having my phone conversation, he had climbed up on the couch and decided to do a nose dive onto the floor.
He was lying on the floor screaming his head off. Holy shit! What do I do?
I picked him up and tried to console him but his crying just got worse and it wasn’t some little cry, he was screaming like he was being slowly tortured by the Vietkong. I walked him outside and was able to get him somewhat calmed down by calling up my dog, but his crying never really stopped and I noticed he was favoring his left arm. I tried to feel it to see if I could feel any broken bones, but that just made his crying worse.
What am I going to do? I thought, so I did what any single-dumb-father would do, I called my mom. She told me that I needed to take him to the ER and that I probably needed to call Jana. What the hell do you know? I’m not calling that crazy bitch and telling her I just broke our sons arm. She is always telling me that I play too rough with him, and I damn sure don’t want that lecture. With that, I decided that I would take Luke to the ER on my own.
I fumbled around, managed to get a bag ready, got him loaded into the car and off we went.
We got to the ER in record time. Thankfully, it wasn’t all that crowded and Luke had stopped crying for the most part, so I thought this would be a quick visit…..boy was I wrong.
I got him signed in and then we sat down. About 3 minutes later, some piece of white-trash wearing a Confederate flag shirt that said Its not a redneck thang it’s the right thang, a pair of tattered blue jeans and a dumb look on his face comes staggering over to me telling me his sob story.
Me and my wife were in a car wreck……sumbitch my knee is killing me…..and she is over at that other hospital…..is my head bleeding?.......and I am at this hospital. It’s not but three…..I think I bit half my tongue off…..its not but three blocks that way and they won’t let me leave. Do you think you could give me a ride over there?
There was a hard liquor fog following him around which was mixed hippie stink. I told the guy that I was waiting to see a Dr. and that I couldn’t leave the ER. He started to get a little belligerent towards me. The only weapons I had was a Diego sippy cup, my car keys and an old Cosmo that I had rolled up. Thankfully, a police officer, one of the many I would see this night, came around the corner and Otis decided he would go beg for a ride somewhere else.
Shortly after that, I was called back to the area where you see a doctor. I’m sure it’s like most ER’s around the country: Several rooms closed off by sheets with a bed in each room.
Immediately, a really hot nurse caught my attention. She was wearing Alabama scrubs and even though she wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was in a ponytail, she was still very, very hot. The great thing about nurse scrubs is that you can always tell if a female nurse is a freak or if she is an Aunt Bea because the panty line is always visible. If you can see the granny-panty line, she is an Aunt Bea, but if you see a freak-line, or no line at all, it normally means she has a wild side to her. This nurse, Lilly, had no visible panty line and she had an ass that should of come with its own song; Salt Shaker by the Ying Yang Twins would by my choice. Damn! She was fine.
Despite the fact that I wanted to focus my energy on scoring with Lilly, I had to give all my attention to Luke. He wanted to play with everything in the room and over the last couple of months, I have heard some horror stories about staph infections and I didn't want to take him back to Jana with a broken arm plus an infection that could possibly kill him, so I was trying to keep him from touching anything. Thankfully, being the great father that I am, I came prepared; Plain M&M’s. Not one of those little pussy small packs, but one of those big bags that cost, like, $7. I whipped out the pack and in no time he was in my lap focusing all of his attention on downing a handful of the M&M’s.
This, of course, allowed me to focus some attention on Lilly. She was sitting out at the nurse’s station and she kept looking back in my direction, so I knew she wanted me. Unfortunately, there was a bipolar woman next door to me that was crying over the fact that they had apparently stuffed a muffler up her nose and it was hurting. She had this cough that sounded like a cat trying to pass a hairball and she was saying that she was about to puke. Please! Somebody help me! It hurts! I’m gonna puke!. And with that, she puked and she puked and she puked and then she puked some more. There’s blood in it! Oh, God. There’s blood in it! I'm dying.
While Puke Woman was over there spilling her guts in the floor, a stab victim was wheeled in. I came to learn that he had been stabbed in the neck by his girlfriend and his mom thought she had hit his “jigular vein” because he was “bleeding a lot” and it was “really dark”.
Of course, with all of this ongoing, Luke was not a high priority on the emergency list, and honestly, he wasn’t even acting like he was hurting anymore. He still wasn’t using his arm, but he wasn’t crying.
The next 4 hours were probably the longest 4 hours of my life. Chaos was all around me, Luke had long periods of crying and I was really worried that someone was going to come in and shoot the place up. The only thing that helped me was the fact that Lilly kept coming into the room flirting with me. She brought me some Sprite for Luke, some Ruby Tuesday’s that she had ordered, some Tylenol for the excruciating headache that I developed and some much needed conversation.
I learned that she’s recently divorced, no kids, lives in an apartment, drives a Toyota Forerunner, likes to play racquetball and is fluent in Spanish.
At 1:30 am, after I had witnessed a fight between the girl that stabbed her boyfriend and his mother, got to hear Otis tear into a doctor over his jacket and saw a group of Mexicans throw a birthday party; I learned that Luke had no broken bones. They gave him some Motrin for the pain and told me that I should take him to his pediatrician if he kept acting like his arm was hurting. I did, however, walk out with Lilly’s phone # and plans for a date with her on Tuesday night.
to be continued
Not wanting to risk her turning into the Incredible Bitch, I ran on over and picked up my boy.
When you are a single dad with a 9 month old, there’s really not a whole lot for you to do. Normally, after I pick him up, I will go by McDonalds, get him a chicken nugget happy meal and take him to my house. Then the standards are him watching one or two Baby Einstein videos (those things are amazing, btw. You parents with young children should invest in them if you haven’t already), an hours worth of Peek-A-Boo and his favorite; Superfly.
Superfly is really quite simple. It involves me sitting Luke on the couch, he then jumps off onto my chest/stomach and I act like he has absolutely destroyed me. He could play this game all day and night, but eventually my chest starts hurting so I will drag out an air mattress and let him jump off onto that. Its name, of course, derives from the great Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka.
As we were playing, my phone rang, so I jumped up to answer it and left Luke sitting on the floor. It was a friend and he was going over our plans for Saturday:
A. Leave around 9
B. Buy beer
C. Drink beer
That was pretty much our plan.
We were talking about some other things to do once we got there and then I hear CRASH!!!! and then very loud scream-crying. In all my time with Luke, not once has he ever been able to climb up on the couch by himself, but apparently, he has now learned how to do just that. While I was having my phone conversation, he had climbed up on the couch and decided to do a nose dive onto the floor.
He was lying on the floor screaming his head off. Holy shit! What do I do?
I picked him up and tried to console him but his crying just got worse and it wasn’t some little cry, he was screaming like he was being slowly tortured by the Vietkong. I walked him outside and was able to get him somewhat calmed down by calling up my dog, but his crying never really stopped and I noticed he was favoring his left arm. I tried to feel it to see if I could feel any broken bones, but that just made his crying worse.
What am I going to do? I thought, so I did what any single-dumb-father would do, I called my mom. She told me that I needed to take him to the ER and that I probably needed to call Jana. What the hell do you know? I’m not calling that crazy bitch and telling her I just broke our sons arm. She is always telling me that I play too rough with him, and I damn sure don’t want that lecture. With that, I decided that I would take Luke to the ER on my own.
I fumbled around, managed to get a bag ready, got him loaded into the car and off we went.
We got to the ER in record time. Thankfully, it wasn’t all that crowded and Luke had stopped crying for the most part, so I thought this would be a quick visit…..boy was I wrong.
I got him signed in and then we sat down. About 3 minutes later, some piece of white-trash wearing a Confederate flag shirt that said Its not a redneck thang it’s the right thang, a pair of tattered blue jeans and a dumb look on his face comes staggering over to me telling me his sob story.
Me and my wife were in a car wreck……sumbitch my knee is killing me…..and she is over at that other hospital…..is my head bleeding?.......and I am at this hospital. It’s not but three…..I think I bit half my tongue off…..its not but three blocks that way and they won’t let me leave. Do you think you could give me a ride over there?
There was a hard liquor fog following him around which was mixed hippie stink. I told the guy that I was waiting to see a Dr. and that I couldn’t leave the ER. He started to get a little belligerent towards me. The only weapons I had was a Diego sippy cup, my car keys and an old Cosmo that I had rolled up. Thankfully, a police officer, one of the many I would see this night, came around the corner and Otis decided he would go beg for a ride somewhere else.
Shortly after that, I was called back to the area where you see a doctor. I’m sure it’s like most ER’s around the country: Several rooms closed off by sheets with a bed in each room.
Immediately, a really hot nurse caught my attention. She was wearing Alabama scrubs and even though she wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was in a ponytail, she was still very, very hot. The great thing about nurse scrubs is that you can always tell if a female nurse is a freak or if she is an Aunt Bea because the panty line is always visible. If you can see the granny-panty line, she is an Aunt Bea, but if you see a freak-line, or no line at all, it normally means she has a wild side to her. This nurse, Lilly, had no visible panty line and she had an ass that should of come with its own song; Salt Shaker by the Ying Yang Twins would by my choice. Damn! She was fine.
Despite the fact that I wanted to focus my energy on scoring with Lilly, I had to give all my attention to Luke. He wanted to play with everything in the room and over the last couple of months, I have heard some horror stories about staph infections and I didn't want to take him back to Jana with a broken arm plus an infection that could possibly kill him, so I was trying to keep him from touching anything. Thankfully, being the great father that I am, I came prepared; Plain M&M’s. Not one of those little pussy small packs, but one of those big bags that cost, like, $7. I whipped out the pack and in no time he was in my lap focusing all of his attention on downing a handful of the M&M’s.
This, of course, allowed me to focus some attention on Lilly. She was sitting out at the nurse’s station and she kept looking back in my direction, so I knew she wanted me. Unfortunately, there was a bipolar woman next door to me that was crying over the fact that they had apparently stuffed a muffler up her nose and it was hurting. She had this cough that sounded like a cat trying to pass a hairball and she was saying that she was about to puke. Please! Somebody help me! It hurts! I’m gonna puke!. And with that, she puked and she puked and she puked and then she puked some more. There’s blood in it! Oh, God. There’s blood in it! I'm dying.
While Puke Woman was over there spilling her guts in the floor, a stab victim was wheeled in. I came to learn that he had been stabbed in the neck by his girlfriend and his mom thought she had hit his “jigular vein” because he was “bleeding a lot” and it was “really dark”.
Of course, with all of this ongoing, Luke was not a high priority on the emergency list, and honestly, he wasn’t even acting like he was hurting anymore. He still wasn’t using his arm, but he wasn’t crying.
The next 4 hours were probably the longest 4 hours of my life. Chaos was all around me, Luke had long periods of crying and I was really worried that someone was going to come in and shoot the place up. The only thing that helped me was the fact that Lilly kept coming into the room flirting with me. She brought me some Sprite for Luke, some Ruby Tuesday’s that she had ordered, some Tylenol for the excruciating headache that I developed and some much needed conversation.
I learned that she’s recently divorced, no kids, lives in an apartment, drives a Toyota Forerunner, likes to play racquetball and is fluent in Spanish.
At 1:30 am, after I had witnessed a fight between the girl that stabbed her boyfriend and his mother, got to hear Otis tear into a doctor over his jacket and saw a group of Mexicans throw a birthday party; I learned that Luke had no broken bones. They gave him some Motrin for the pain and told me that I should take him to his pediatrician if he kept acting like his arm was hurting. I did, however, walk out with Lilly’s phone # and plans for a date with her on Tuesday night.
to be continued
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Dog
Dear Dog,
Yesterday, I caught wind of your little quandary. I read it on Drudge and after reading it, I thought to myself; So he dropped the 'N' word, big deal, and then I went back to admiring my balls because they are freakin' HUGE.
Then, last night, after I had polished off the latest slut that is worshipping me, by the way, she loves my balls, too, I caught your David Duke rant on that TMZ show. Damn, man! What were you thinking? I lost count after about the 39th N-missile.
I watched this program one night as I was moisturizing my balls. It was about this skinhead leader in Alabama. His name was Bill (Go Figure) Riccio.
As you can see from the picture, Riccio looks like a bucket of pig shit covered in skin with a Leonard Pratt haircut. Anyway, the show revolved around him and a group of young men wearing Iron Maiden t-shirts and Red Man hats. They talked about their "perfect America" and how we need to get rid of blacks, Jews and Mexicans. The show was about an hour in length, and in that hour, I heard the "N" word less times than I did in your 1 minute phone conversation.
You are worried about people comparing you to Don Imus? All he said was nappy headed ho. You will be damn lucky if people compare you to Imus. If I were you, I'd be worried about people comparing me to Bull Connor, Wolfgang Droege and Catfish Cole.
Granted, you were able to bounce back after participating in a murder, but you used the "N" word countless times, Dog. You would have been better off raping Barbra Bush in front of a live tv audience while choking a litter of puppies.
You managed to build an empire even though you look like a haggard Dallas Page and have a wife who looks like she should be slaughtering cows in Idaho. I know you have a soft spot of burnt-out Samoans and abused women, but that can only get you so far in life.
You had it all, Dog, and now you have thrown it down the shitter. I really hope you are happy with yourself.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go admire my huge balls.
Best Wishes,
Stump
Yesterday, I caught wind of your little quandary. I read it on Drudge and after reading it, I thought to myself; So he dropped the 'N' word, big deal, and then I went back to admiring my balls because they are freakin' HUGE.
Then, last night, after I had polished off the latest slut that is worshipping me, by the way, she loves my balls, too, I caught your David Duke rant on that TMZ show. Damn, man! What were you thinking? I lost count after about the 39th N-missile.
I watched this program one night as I was moisturizing my balls. It was about this skinhead leader in Alabama. His name was Bill (Go Figure) Riccio.
As you can see from the picture, Riccio looks like a bucket of pig shit covered in skin with a Leonard Pratt haircut. Anyway, the show revolved around him and a group of young men wearing Iron Maiden t-shirts and Red Man hats. They talked about their "perfect America" and how we need to get rid of blacks, Jews and Mexicans. The show was about an hour in length, and in that hour, I heard the "N" word less times than I did in your 1 minute phone conversation.
You are worried about people comparing you to Don Imus? All he said was nappy headed ho. You will be damn lucky if people compare you to Imus. If I were you, I'd be worried about people comparing me to Bull Connor, Wolfgang Droege and Catfish Cole.
Granted, you were able to bounce back after participating in a murder, but you used the "N" word countless times, Dog. You would have been better off raping Barbra Bush in front of a live tv audience while choking a litter of puppies.
You managed to build an empire even though you look like a haggard Dallas Page and have a wife who looks like she should be slaughtering cows in Idaho. I know you have a soft spot of burnt-out Samoans and abused women, but that can only get you so far in life.
You had it all, Dog, and now you have thrown it down the shitter. I really hope you are happy with yourself.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go admire my huge balls.
Best Wishes,
Stump
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
A Quad Classic: Sarge's "What's New" with 46&2
BTW - Sarge Says "Hi"
_____________________________________________________________________________________
46&2 Loves the Quad
46&2 loves the Quad and says he tries to log on every day. He is especially impressed at how much smarter all the members of the Quad are than he is, "except that dude Sader", he says.
46&2 once killed a man in Etowah who disrespected the Sugar Hill Gang. After serving a short time in Atmore, he joined the Army where he could kill people without any punishment
"It was fun, but I got tired of it at times," he says. "After you've killed about 200-300 people, the thrill starts to ebb a bit." After the Army, he moved back to Alabama.
"Alabama was where I felt most comfortable. It stinks less than Mississippi."
When asked about his favorite Quad poster, he has a quick answer.
"Sarge," he said. "That guy is like a God to me...I worship him."
"Someday I hope to start a church where we do nothing but talk about how wonderful Sarge is."
Even as a relatively new Quad Poster, 46&2 has set posting records for most sheep pictures, most posts referencing Les Claypool, and most obscure LSD references.
Given 46&2's background, most posters don't realize just how thoughtful, intelligent, and caring he is.
"I like puppies, kittens, ABBA, flowers, backrubs, long bubble baths, stuff like that," he says.
"I want to work hard on getting more in touch with my feminine side - I often wonder what it's like to be a woman and to, you know, really contact that space in my own way."
Notes: 46&2 has three outside children and bad case of chlamydia.
46& 2 has been stoned at more than 45 different rock concerts, 15 tractor pulls, 7 football games, and 1 piano recital. Regarding this, he says, "Do what now?"
_____________________________________________________________________________________
46&2 Loves the Quad
46&2 loves the Quad and says he tries to log on every day. He is especially impressed at how much smarter all the members of the Quad are than he is, "except that dude Sader", he says.
46&2 once killed a man in Etowah who disrespected the Sugar Hill Gang. After serving a short time in Atmore, he joined the Army where he could kill people without any punishment
"It was fun, but I got tired of it at times," he says. "After you've killed about 200-300 people, the thrill starts to ebb a bit." After the Army, he moved back to Alabama.
"Alabama was where I felt most comfortable. It stinks less than Mississippi."
When asked about his favorite Quad poster, he has a quick answer.
"Sarge," he said. "That guy is like a God to me...I worship him."
"Someday I hope to start a church where we do nothing but talk about how wonderful Sarge is."
Even as a relatively new Quad Poster, 46&2 has set posting records for most sheep pictures, most posts referencing Les Claypool, and most obscure LSD references.
Given 46&2's background, most posters don't realize just how thoughtful, intelligent, and caring he is.
"I like puppies, kittens, ABBA, flowers, backrubs, long bubble baths, stuff like that," he says.
"I want to work hard on getting more in touch with my feminine side - I often wonder what it's like to be a woman and to, you know, really contact that space in my own way."
Notes: 46&2 has three outside children and bad case of chlamydia.
46& 2 has been stoned at more than 45 different rock concerts, 15 tractor pulls, 7 football games, and 1 piano recital. Regarding this, he says, "Do what now?"
Why I'm Suspended From TI
What?© Stump 2007-10-29 07:12:11
Stump Jones
to Dalton
show details
Oct 26
I was just wondering if you could explain to me what you consider to be vulgar and what is not vulgar.
Thanks
Stump
Dalton Orr
to me
show details
Oct 28
It's probably not going to matter, Stump. We are pretty sure we are going to be closing down The Quad soon anyway.
Dalton
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Deletion Notice
Please read and check unread deletion/suspension notices, then submit the form. You will not be allowed to post again, until all suspensions have expired and all notices have been read.
Read View Type Duration Expires Reason Comment
Read Suspension 3d 2007-11-01 08:18:55 Inappropriate to the purpose of the forum Send me the email from Dalton that we're closing down the Quad. rodney@tiderinsider.com
_____________________________________________________________________________________
For the record, I have talked with Rodney at length and he has explained to me the error of my ways. I made a bad joke that caused him a great deal of grief. Rodney made it a point to tell me that he enjoyed the Quad and has never considered shutting it down.
Again, it was a bad joke on my part.
I didnt even think it was all that good of a stir myself.
Stump Jones
to Dalton
show details
Oct 26
I was just wondering if you could explain to me what you consider to be vulgar and what is not vulgar.
Thanks
Stump
Dalton Orr
to me
show details
Oct 28
It's probably not going to matter, Stump. We are pretty sure we are going to be closing down The Quad soon anyway.
Dalton
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Deletion Notice
Please read and check unread deletion/suspension notices, then submit the form. You will not be allowed to post again, until all suspensions have expired and all notices have been read.
Read View Type Duration Expires Reason Comment
Read Suspension 3d 2007-11-01 08:18:55 Inappropriate to the purpose of the forum Send me the email from Dalton that we're closing down the Quad. rodney@tiderinsider.com
_____________________________________________________________________________________
For the record, I have talked with Rodney at length and he has explained to me the error of my ways. I made a bad joke that caused him a great deal of grief. Rodney made it a point to tell me that he enjoyed the Quad and has never considered shutting it down.
Again, it was a bad joke on my part.
I didnt even think it was all that good of a stir myself.
Rush Propst
So Ol’ Rush, The Ol’ High School Coach, The Ding decided to step down at Hoover U? I have talked with people who say, I knew the first time I saw Rush talk that he was an ass, or, Did you see how he talked to those kids on that show?
Honestly, I could have told you people that a long time ago, even before he went on to fame and fortune there at Hoover U. You see, Rush is from Ohatchee. He is river scum. Before Rush, the most famous person from Ohatchee was the guy that caught an 83 pound catfish down at the Ohatchee Dam. Him, or the guy that goes around town selling homemade pies (peach, apple or pecan).
Like the saying everyone knows, You can take the trash out of the trailer park but you cant take the trailer park out of the trash (think Britney Spears), there is a saying in this part of Alabama, You can take the clodhopper out of Ohatchee but you cant take the Ohatchee out of the clodhopper. Ohatchee is in his talk. Ohatchee is in his hair. Ohatchee in his blood. Ohatchee is ingrained into his very soul.
A perfect example of Ohatchee thinking was witnessed by everyone last night when Rush said; I want everyone to know that I had an affair. I’m human blah…blah….blah….blah.
The word affair, to me, sounds like one or two sexcapades in some dirty motel that has jizz stained sheets and rents rooms by the hour. He has a second family living somewhere. That’s not an affair – Mormonish, yes, but affair that is not, yet Rush honestly thinks what he did is "just an affair". He made a mistake. The devil took hold of his pole and made him make a mistake. It's ok now, though, because he has dropped to his knees and asked for forgiveness. That is Ohatchee. Rush doesnt know that Beelzebub isnt the one influencing him, it's his heritage, his pedigree.
Rush Propst. The name itself sounds like a 3rd rate porn star.
I really don’t blame Rush for this, though. I blame Ohatchee. There used to be this store in Ohatchee called “Red’s Tavern”. It was just like Ike Godsey’s General Merchandise and Red was just like Ike Godsey. You would walk into the store and the first thing you had to do was step over Red’s prized coon dog “Jim”. The store had a pot-belly stove, two old guys sitting in rocking chairs playin’ checkers and the hearty aroma of horse feed and hard candy. I used to love going in that store with my Paw-Paw and listening to the old guys talk about football and telling their latest fishing stories.
Red ran his store like Ike did, too. He would buy local goods and sell it in his store. He also allowed people to have a line of credit. Red was Old School and he didn’t change when Ohatchee went from Small Town Alabama to Meth Capital of Alabama, so people started taking advantage of Red. They would run-up a huge bill and stick Red with it. Eventually, Red closed down the store and died in an abandoned camper on the outskirts of town. He made sure he didn't die in Ohatchee.
Today, Red’s store is a gathering place for meth-heads, gutterpups and loose women. That is Ohatchee. It is the 1930’s mixed with Compton, West Virginia and Mexico. That is Rush Propst’s home.
Citizens of Ohatchee should not be allowed to leave the city limits because things like Rush’s situation happen, and while that is common for Ohatchee, it tends to shock people that aren’t from that hell hole.
What truly, truly amazes me, though, is that the high-ups there at Hoover were so blind to the Ohatchee monster that is Rush Probst. Not only did they allow him to coach their children for years, but they also allowed MTV to come in and air their dirty laundry for the whole world to see. That’s like putting Michael Jackson in charge of a Boy Scout Troop or going down on Paris Hilton, it’s just moronic. These people should be packing their bags right along with Rush.
Did you see that one episode of Two-A-Days when Rush went back to Ohatchee? When he visited his parents graves and then went to see his grandmother? One of his cousins that they put on the show was wearing a J&K Logging shirt, coaching shorts and a heavy five-o-clock shadow and she was the best looking one of the bunch. His grandmother? She looked like an Ebola corpse lying there on her bed puffing on an unfiltered Luck Strike and singing Rush's praises. That is Ohatchee.
Rush should be forced back into Ohatchee and out of the public spotlight.
I do, however, have to give Rush props for making it as far as he has in life. He has made Ohatchee proud, I'm sure.
Honestly, I could have told you people that a long time ago, even before he went on to fame and fortune there at Hoover U. You see, Rush is from Ohatchee. He is river scum. Before Rush, the most famous person from Ohatchee was the guy that caught an 83 pound catfish down at the Ohatchee Dam. Him, or the guy that goes around town selling homemade pies (peach, apple or pecan).
Like the saying everyone knows, You can take the trash out of the trailer park but you cant take the trailer park out of the trash (think Britney Spears), there is a saying in this part of Alabama, You can take the clodhopper out of Ohatchee but you cant take the Ohatchee out of the clodhopper. Ohatchee is in his talk. Ohatchee is in his hair. Ohatchee in his blood. Ohatchee is ingrained into his very soul.
A perfect example of Ohatchee thinking was witnessed by everyone last night when Rush said; I want everyone to know that I had an affair. I’m human blah…blah….blah….blah.
The word affair, to me, sounds like one or two sexcapades in some dirty motel that has jizz stained sheets and rents rooms by the hour. He has a second family living somewhere. That’s not an affair – Mormonish, yes, but affair that is not, yet Rush honestly thinks what he did is "just an affair". He made a mistake. The devil took hold of his pole and made him make a mistake. It's ok now, though, because he has dropped to his knees and asked for forgiveness. That is Ohatchee. Rush doesnt know that Beelzebub isnt the one influencing him, it's his heritage, his pedigree.
Rush Propst. The name itself sounds like a 3rd rate porn star.
I really don’t blame Rush for this, though. I blame Ohatchee. There used to be this store in Ohatchee called “Red’s Tavern”. It was just like Ike Godsey’s General Merchandise and Red was just like Ike Godsey. You would walk into the store and the first thing you had to do was step over Red’s prized coon dog “Jim”. The store had a pot-belly stove, two old guys sitting in rocking chairs playin’ checkers and the hearty aroma of horse feed and hard candy. I used to love going in that store with my Paw-Paw and listening to the old guys talk about football and telling their latest fishing stories.
Red ran his store like Ike did, too. He would buy local goods and sell it in his store. He also allowed people to have a line of credit. Red was Old School and he didn’t change when Ohatchee went from Small Town Alabama to Meth Capital of Alabama, so people started taking advantage of Red. They would run-up a huge bill and stick Red with it. Eventually, Red closed down the store and died in an abandoned camper on the outskirts of town. He made sure he didn't die in Ohatchee.
Today, Red’s store is a gathering place for meth-heads, gutterpups and loose women. That is Ohatchee. It is the 1930’s mixed with Compton, West Virginia and Mexico. That is Rush Propst’s home.
Citizens of Ohatchee should not be allowed to leave the city limits because things like Rush’s situation happen, and while that is common for Ohatchee, it tends to shock people that aren’t from that hell hole.
What truly, truly amazes me, though, is that the high-ups there at Hoover were so blind to the Ohatchee monster that is Rush Probst. Not only did they allow him to coach their children for years, but they also allowed MTV to come in and air their dirty laundry for the whole world to see. That’s like putting Michael Jackson in charge of a Boy Scout Troop or going down on Paris Hilton, it’s just moronic. These people should be packing their bags right along with Rush.
Did you see that one episode of Two-A-Days when Rush went back to Ohatchee? When he visited his parents graves and then went to see his grandmother? One of his cousins that they put on the show was wearing a J&K Logging shirt, coaching shorts and a heavy five-o-clock shadow and she was the best looking one of the bunch. His grandmother? She looked like an Ebola corpse lying there on her bed puffing on an unfiltered Luck Strike and singing Rush's praises. That is Ohatchee.
Rush should be forced back into Ohatchee and out of the public spotlight.
I do, however, have to give Rush props for making it as far as he has in life. He has made Ohatchee proud, I'm sure.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Grievances
My Sister: Honestly, I am disgusted over the fact that I came from the same womb as you did. You truly are a load that Daddy should have shot into a steaming pile of cow shit because that is exactly what you are.
Words like gutter-slut and hussy and strumpet and whore are too good for you. I will simply call you Bush Pig.
You are just nasty. A boot-licking-cock-craving-bush-pig-whore. You are the Britney Spears panty crust of society.
You slept with a homeless guy! How does someone even get to that point in their life? You are a mother of 3 kids. You arent supposed to act like a coked out Lindsey Lohan.
Our parents have been making excuses for you since you were a kid. We all know that you almost died, and maybe that brush with death did affect your brain in some way, but that in no way gives you the right to live you life like you do. Its not brain damage that is causing you to shoot yourself up with God knows what.
Newflash for you: A meth lab is not a home....its a damn meth lab. And that ditch donkey you are married to is the caucasian version of Mike Tyson.
Yes, you do need to go to rehab.......again. And, yes, the world would be better off if you were to drowned in a pool of whale urine.
Quad Posters Who E-mailed Rodney Thinking The Quad Was Ending: Not much to say here other than you are all a bunch of imbecilic twits. I, Stump Jones, posted that. When has anyone, especially Quad posters, believed anything I have ever posted? You deserve to be hit in the face with a lumberjack chain and shit on by that mangy big foot that is all over the tv right now.
Props To BK23 for stepping up her battle with glen curtis:
There once was a man named Glen Curtis
All us ladies were afraid he would hurt us.
His closeted ways
Made him want us to pay
For being unable to serve us.
His boasts and his bragging did puzzle
For no women did WE see him nuzzle
And due to his stature
We thought it more natural
That he'd rather suck on a gun muzzle
A man crush he did have on a lineman
And admittedly he was a fine one
For riding the pine
And toeing the line
When his linesman was being a hymen
To this bag of douche please raise your glass
For no one is quite in his class
In sitting out games
And dropping big names
In smallness of size
He's no big surprise
He picks on the ladies
To much protesting maybe?
He is what he loves and that's ass.
Nicely done.
ricksteel: Did I sleep with your wife or are you just another lowly member of the TI society that longs to be me? Do you really think you are gaining anything by attacking me?
Honestly, you really don't deserve the thought I have given you already. I am better than you. You know that and I know that. Just accept it and move on with your sorry existence.
Roll Tide
Words like gutter-slut and hussy and strumpet and whore are too good for you. I will simply call you Bush Pig.
You are just nasty. A boot-licking-cock-craving-bush-pig-whore. You are the Britney Spears panty crust of society.
You slept with a homeless guy! How does someone even get to that point in their life? You are a mother of 3 kids. You arent supposed to act like a coked out Lindsey Lohan.
Our parents have been making excuses for you since you were a kid. We all know that you almost died, and maybe that brush with death did affect your brain in some way, but that in no way gives you the right to live you life like you do. Its not brain damage that is causing you to shoot yourself up with God knows what.
Newflash for you: A meth lab is not a home....its a damn meth lab. And that ditch donkey you are married to is the caucasian version of Mike Tyson.
Yes, you do need to go to rehab.......again. And, yes, the world would be better off if you were to drowned in a pool of whale urine.
Quad Posters Who E-mailed Rodney Thinking The Quad Was Ending: Not much to say here other than you are all a bunch of imbecilic twits. I, Stump Jones, posted that. When has anyone, especially Quad posters, believed anything I have ever posted? You deserve to be hit in the face with a lumberjack chain and shit on by that mangy big foot that is all over the tv right now.
Props To BK23 for stepping up her battle with glen curtis:
There once was a man named Glen Curtis
All us ladies were afraid he would hurt us.
His closeted ways
Made him want us to pay
For being unable to serve us.
His boasts and his bragging did puzzle
For no women did WE see him nuzzle
And due to his stature
We thought it more natural
That he'd rather suck on a gun muzzle
A man crush he did have on a lineman
And admittedly he was a fine one
For riding the pine
And toeing the line
When his linesman was being a hymen
To this bag of douche please raise your glass
For no one is quite in his class
In sitting out games
And dropping big names
In smallness of size
He's no big surprise
He picks on the ladies
To much protesting maybe?
He is what he loves and that's ass.
Nicely done.
ricksteel: Did I sleep with your wife or are you just another lowly member of the TI society that longs to be me? Do you really think you are gaining anything by attacking me?
Honestly, you really don't deserve the thought I have given you already. I am better than you. You know that and I know that. Just accept it and move on with your sorry existence.
Roll Tide
Friday, October 26, 2007
I hate you, Jana
Jana, you are a whore and I hate your guts. I would have no problem watching you get eaten alive by a pack of hungry gars or raped by a well endowed Kodiak bear.
Why are you such a damn bitch? I know for a damn fact that you are spending the child support money I give you on beer, sex toys and porno movies for you and the many men that grace that slutish little gash you call a vagina.
I still can't believe I was stupid enough to marry you. Granted, you fuck like a porn star on ecstasy, but that's about all you have going for you other than your tits and your fathers beach house.
I honestly pray that you are striken with a bevy of venereal diseases that rots you from the inside out and takes years to slowly kill you.
I am sick and tired of your shit, and don't think for one minute that I don't know its you and your group of gang-bang buddies that continue to vandalize my house. I havent retaliated because you are the mother of my son, but if you continue to do this I am going to destroy your ass!
I still have that tape we made and don't make the mistake of thinking I am above sending a copy of that to your dad. How do you think he would like it seeing his little girl sucking sausage like the slut that she is?
I'm tired of the phone calls and your constant demands for more money and you cutting my time with Luke short; I'm tired of you.
Yes, I posted a picture of you here, and if you don't stop, I am going to spread pictures of you around faster than a bad chain e-mail.
It ends today.
Why are you such a damn bitch? I know for a damn fact that you are spending the child support money I give you on beer, sex toys and porno movies for you and the many men that grace that slutish little gash you call a vagina.
I still can't believe I was stupid enough to marry you. Granted, you fuck like a porn star on ecstasy, but that's about all you have going for you other than your tits and your fathers beach house.
I honestly pray that you are striken with a bevy of venereal diseases that rots you from the inside out and takes years to slowly kill you.
I am sick and tired of your shit, and don't think for one minute that I don't know its you and your group of gang-bang buddies that continue to vandalize my house. I havent retaliated because you are the mother of my son, but if you continue to do this I am going to destroy your ass!
I still have that tape we made and don't make the mistake of thinking I am above sending a copy of that to your dad. How do you think he would like it seeing his little girl sucking sausage like the slut that she is?
I'm tired of the phone calls and your constant demands for more money and you cutting my time with Luke short; I'm tired of you.
Yes, I posted a picture of you here, and if you don't stop, I am going to spread pictures of you around faster than a bad chain e-mail.
It ends today.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Melissa
I ran into a girl I used to rail on back in the early days of college career. At that time she was quite portly. I'd say she is 5'8ish and she probably went close to 190 back then. Melissa was the standard "booty-call" or "hump-buddy" that some of you may of had back during your wilder days.
Eventually, she found a boyfriend, got saved and married the guy. I had not heard from her in years.
So, two months ago, I went to watch my nephew's football team play. As I'm standing in line to get some nachos and a drink, I hear, "Stump!, Stump! It's me, Melissa."
What stood before me was no beefer. This girl was trim and she looked like sex in a sun dress. Melissa had gone from a drunk lay to an instant twitcher. I was dumbfounded as we stood there talking about the past and what all had happened in her life over the last several years. She is still married to the guy she married in college, she has her teaching degree (elementary) but she is a stay at home mom. We talked for a little while and then as the conversation was ending, I asked if she would like to grab some lunch sometime. She said she loved that idea and gave me her phone #.
Over the next week we ate lunch 5 times. It was more like old friends catching up rather than long lost hump-buddies chatting, but ultimately our conversations turned to sex. If I have ever learned anything about women, it’s that once you get them talking about sex, it’s not long until her panties are lying on the floor and she is skinning your pole like an experienced fur trapper. This theory, once again, rang true.
She was not the same lay she was back during college. Back then, she didn’t get into a lot of positions. Generally, it was straight up or her on top which was fine with me because I wasn’t looking for any type of prize (other than my own).
Now it was like she had taken educational courses on how to thoroughly screw a guys brains out. Her snatch felt like some kind of super heated sauna complete with a commercial grade vacuum cleaner.
You know how you feel after you run a long distance or you workout really hard? Well, that is how I would feel after a session with Melissa. At the end of a 5 day span where we fornicated each day, I had lost 7.5 pounds. I swear, I couldn’t get enough of her, and it seemed like she couldn’t get enough of me, so yesterday when she called me, I knew I was in for another treat. Sadly, I was wrong, very wrong.
Rather than a session of sex, Melissa informed me that she was pregnant. She even went so far as to present me with two positive pregnancy tests in Zip-Lock bags. I would love to put the blame on her husband, but considering he had a vasectomy two years ago, I don't think that's possible.
Before I could fully soak in the enormity of the situation, Melissa informed me that she was going to have an abortion (paid for by me) and that we are going to end or relationship.
With that, she got up and walked out of the restaurant and the only thing I could think was: She didn’t even touch her food. I guess I was just in shock
Eventually, she found a boyfriend, got saved and married the guy. I had not heard from her in years.
So, two months ago, I went to watch my nephew's football team play. As I'm standing in line to get some nachos and a drink, I hear, "Stump!, Stump! It's me, Melissa."
What stood before me was no beefer. This girl was trim and she looked like sex in a sun dress. Melissa had gone from a drunk lay to an instant twitcher. I was dumbfounded as we stood there talking about the past and what all had happened in her life over the last several years. She is still married to the guy she married in college, she has her teaching degree (elementary) but she is a stay at home mom. We talked for a little while and then as the conversation was ending, I asked if she would like to grab some lunch sometime. She said she loved that idea and gave me her phone #.
Over the next week we ate lunch 5 times. It was more like old friends catching up rather than long lost hump-buddies chatting, but ultimately our conversations turned to sex. If I have ever learned anything about women, it’s that once you get them talking about sex, it’s not long until her panties are lying on the floor and she is skinning your pole like an experienced fur trapper. This theory, once again, rang true.
She was not the same lay she was back during college. Back then, she didn’t get into a lot of positions. Generally, it was straight up or her on top which was fine with me because I wasn’t looking for any type of prize (other than my own).
Now it was like she had taken educational courses on how to thoroughly screw a guys brains out. Her snatch felt like some kind of super heated sauna complete with a commercial grade vacuum cleaner.
You know how you feel after you run a long distance or you workout really hard? Well, that is how I would feel after a session with Melissa. At the end of a 5 day span where we fornicated each day, I had lost 7.5 pounds. I swear, I couldn’t get enough of her, and it seemed like she couldn’t get enough of me, so yesterday when she called me, I knew I was in for another treat. Sadly, I was wrong, very wrong.
Rather than a session of sex, Melissa informed me that she was pregnant. She even went so far as to present me with two positive pregnancy tests in Zip-Lock bags. I would love to put the blame on her husband, but considering he had a vasectomy two years ago, I don't think that's possible.
Before I could fully soak in the enormity of the situation, Melissa informed me that she was going to have an abortion (paid for by me) and that we are going to end or relationship.
With that, she got up and walked out of the restaurant and the only thing I could think was: She didn’t even touch her food. I guess I was just in shock
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