I don't think I have ever put this little story in print, ever. I guess I was fearing retribution, but now, screw it!!! It has been like 12 years and I don't care!!!! This took place the first semester of my freshman year.
Chris, my dorm roommate at the time, was taking some strong, prescription acne medicine for his pimple face. He had a smell you could not forget, so I wanted to leave him a memory he could never forget. He was a total prick. Always had to have things his way and no one liked him. I took some pills out of his acne medicine bottle and walked up to the local campus drugstore for a match and after minutes of searching, I found that the look of these pills matched perfectly with some ex-lax type pills.
To execute my scheme properly, I waited three days before our Thanksgiving leave from college and filled the bottle half way with ex-lax pills making sure the ex-lax pills were on top. Within one day he was already in the restroom for hours at a time.
This early success, enticed me into going down to the fireworks shop and purchasing some smoke bombs. For the next couple of days, when Chris would go into the bathroom, I would gently open the door and roll a smoke bomb into the stalls next to him. He was trapped (lest he get up and risk crapping himself) and, therefore, could not get out of the stall to see who was messing with him. His response was typically to scream and gasp, "I am going to kill you!" He would come out of the bathroom and walk down the hall, reeking of the smoke. This only lasted two days and then we were off for Thanksgiving leave.
When Chris came back to the room after the Thanksgiving break I asked him how his Thanksgiving was and he had some stories to tell me. He said he never crapped so much in his life!
Bastard deserved it!!
Showing posts with label College Days. Show all posts
Showing posts with label College Days. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Thursday, March 1, 2007
My Denny's Story
This happened in May of 1995:
I am known on local systems as the King of Denny's, because I have achieved that honored goal of being banned from a Denny's in San Antonio, TX. for life. For Life.
So, without further ado, I most humbly present My infamous biographical story entitled Denny's at 2AM.
Denny's, right before 2am, is a fairly quiet place. Aside from the bathroom vermin and other customers scurrying around, there isn't much there. There's the manager sitting at the counter working on his eighteenth cup of coffee, the Denny's waitpersons (to be politically correct) standing around talking, and the cooks dredging up phlegm from their lungs, spitting onto the grill and watching it crackle. There are a few customers around, mostly dazed college students like myself.
Then, 2AM. This is a special time, as the bars have just closed. In minutes, many late '70's domestic cars will swerve into the parking lot, their inebriated contents hungering for a Grand Slam, or maybe just looking for a cup of coffee to pass out in. After a few moments of searching, they finally get the doors open, and stumble into the cheery restaurant. They look a bit ill. Most are Denny's veterans, however, and could probably swallow a live hamster with no digestive trauma.
Eventually, they are seated. Most of the table light cigarettes, but the single non-smoker is invariably seated in the center of the group. Eventually, the intrepid waitperson walks over, and asks if they want coffee. Asks. Our waithero(ine) could have asked if they'd like a cup of gold. They all do, except the non-smoker, who wants herbal tea. This health freak hasn't yet realized that anything served in a greasy mug is toxic.
They get their coffee, a thoroughly evil substance that looks and smells like thin mud, but is evidently composed of materials with much higher atomic numbers than the components of anything organic. No one is sure what it is, but a team of Dennysologists have discovered that it will dissolve a nail in just under an hour. They have also discovered that exposure creates an effect vaguely similar to brain death.
After a few moments, the waitperson returns to take their orders. There are many Grand Splat breakfasts to choose from, but tonight the Harvest Slam is the favorite. For the uninitiated, this is the most evil breakfast item on the menu. It supersedes even the legendary Southern Slam, which features blobs of flour and yeast jokingly referred to as ``biscuits,'' covered with what looks like vomit after a meal of cat food and Cream of Wheat. The Harvest Splat, as previously stated, is worse. This features pancakes, but not the regular mushy discs of toxin that are normal Denny's pancakes. These are slightly darker in appearance. The taste brings to mind the odor of a stack of burning truck tires. The texture is a real treat, as some genius decided to put walnut pieces in the batter. They have no taste, but do give the disconcerting sensation of feeling as if you broke a tooth, and the piece is floating around your mouth. The ``pancakes'' have a strange coating over them, a thick yellow liquid with shriveled apple pieces floating in it. Avoid this at all costs; the fumes can damage sensitive sinus linings. Next to the ``pancakes'' there is a section devoted to the ``eggs,'' usually scrambled. These are truly fascinating. They are covered with water, but are somehow dry and crackly. They clump together for survival. They are an even, unnatural yellow. They shrivel up if you add salt. Finally, there are two pork fat strips, er, bacon, and two small brown sausages linked along one side, that resemble aged bowel movements more than anything else. Crude, but true. The contents of these are unknown. Spectrographic analysis by Dennysologists has so far proved inconclusive. This rounds out the entree.
At this point, the restaurant is quickly filling with drunken customers. As the table previously mentioned begins to eat, several other groups enter, and repeat the same ritual, or one very much like it. They have a longer wait, however, as the waitpeople are taking a cigarette break. Steam is rising from the kitchen, as the mysterious cooks, little more than heads with funny caps to the customers, bob around behind the counter.
Leaving before the brawl begins is a good idea. The manager has already slipped out the back door, just hope you have received your bill by then. After that, all that is needed is to go home and pump your stomach.
I am known on local systems as the King of Denny's, because I have achieved that honored goal of being banned from a Denny's in San Antonio, TX. for life. For Life.
So, without further ado, I most humbly present My infamous biographical story entitled Denny's at 2AM.
Denny's, right before 2am, is a fairly quiet place. Aside from the bathroom vermin and other customers scurrying around, there isn't much there. There's the manager sitting at the counter working on his eighteenth cup of coffee, the Denny's waitpersons (to be politically correct) standing around talking, and the cooks dredging up phlegm from their lungs, spitting onto the grill and watching it crackle. There are a few customers around, mostly dazed college students like myself.
Then, 2AM. This is a special time, as the bars have just closed. In minutes, many late '70's domestic cars will swerve into the parking lot, their inebriated contents hungering for a Grand Slam, or maybe just looking for a cup of coffee to pass out in. After a few moments of searching, they finally get the doors open, and stumble into the cheery restaurant. They look a bit ill. Most are Denny's veterans, however, and could probably swallow a live hamster with no digestive trauma.
Eventually, they are seated. Most of the table light cigarettes, but the single non-smoker is invariably seated in the center of the group. Eventually, the intrepid waitperson walks over, and asks if they want coffee. Asks. Our waithero(ine) could have asked if they'd like a cup of gold. They all do, except the non-smoker, who wants herbal tea. This health freak hasn't yet realized that anything served in a greasy mug is toxic.
They get their coffee, a thoroughly evil substance that looks and smells like thin mud, but is evidently composed of materials with much higher atomic numbers than the components of anything organic. No one is sure what it is, but a team of Dennysologists have discovered that it will dissolve a nail in just under an hour. They have also discovered that exposure creates an effect vaguely similar to brain death.
After a few moments, the waitperson returns to take their orders. There are many Grand Splat breakfasts to choose from, but tonight the Harvest Slam is the favorite. For the uninitiated, this is the most evil breakfast item on the menu. It supersedes even the legendary Southern Slam, which features blobs of flour and yeast jokingly referred to as ``biscuits,'' covered with what looks like vomit after a meal of cat food and Cream of Wheat. The Harvest Splat, as previously stated, is worse. This features pancakes, but not the regular mushy discs of toxin that are normal Denny's pancakes. These are slightly darker in appearance. The taste brings to mind the odor of a stack of burning truck tires. The texture is a real treat, as some genius decided to put walnut pieces in the batter. They have no taste, but do give the disconcerting sensation of feeling as if you broke a tooth, and the piece is floating around your mouth. The ``pancakes'' have a strange coating over them, a thick yellow liquid with shriveled apple pieces floating in it. Avoid this at all costs; the fumes can damage sensitive sinus linings. Next to the ``pancakes'' there is a section devoted to the ``eggs,'' usually scrambled. These are truly fascinating. They are covered with water, but are somehow dry and crackly. They clump together for survival. They are an even, unnatural yellow. They shrivel up if you add salt. Finally, there are two pork fat strips, er, bacon, and two small brown sausages linked along one side, that resemble aged bowel movements more than anything else. Crude, but true. The contents of these are unknown. Spectrographic analysis by Dennysologists has so far proved inconclusive. This rounds out the entree.
At this point, the restaurant is quickly filling with drunken customers. As the table previously mentioned begins to eat, several other groups enter, and repeat the same ritual, or one very much like it. They have a longer wait, however, as the waitpeople are taking a cigarette break. Steam is rising from the kitchen, as the mysterious cooks, little more than heads with funny caps to the customers, bob around behind the counter.
Leaving before the brawl begins is a good idea. The manager has already slipped out the back door, just hope you have received your bill by then. After that, all that is needed is to go home and pump your stomach.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Vidor, Texas and 4 Drunk Guys
Another blast from the past here. All of my friends down in Texas will know what I am talking about. This was originally posted on my now-defunct website in Sept. of 1998.
In college we had a saying: Don’t fuck with Willie. We said it almost as often as we “Texas Fight” on Saturdays for football and basketball games.
Willie was a big, beef-eating kind of a fuy. His skin was blacker than night and he had a death wish throughout most of our college lives. There was many a weekend when Jimmy, Jason, Willy and I would head out and immediately be up to no good.
One long weekend, we were visiting friends in Beaumont, Texas. Now Beaumont is Cajun country, almost on the border with Louisiana. The night of “the keg incident” we’d gone across the border to Hebert’s Grocery (again, for you yanks, it’s pronounced A-BEAR’S). Back in the back of the tiny store was a window with a guy on the other side making underage boys like ourselves very happy (We were all Freshman or Sophomores in College). This was the place all the kids from Texas and Louisiana within 30 miles would go for beer and wine. Four mega sized beers later we peeled out and headed back to Texas. Kelly and Willie were in Kelly’s latest loaner Mustang and Jason and I were in Jason’s piece of shit pick up that could rattle the paint off a house.
Alcohol does things to a man. Mostly make him stupid. And stupid is as stupid does, that night. Willie decided he wanted to go to the Taco Bell. But not the nearest one, no, no, he wanted the one in Vidor.
Oh, hell no. “You’re fucked up, man. We ain’t going to Vidor.”
“I’m hungry!”
“For a noose?”
I remember looking at Jason and he smiled and shrugged. “The boy wants to go to Vidor, let’s go.”
Shit. It was a fucking bad idea. Vidor is where the Klan is. And I don’t just mean a group of Klansmen residing in the city, I mean the whole god forsaken city. I am not joking. Vidor is the racist city in the world. The Klan headquarters is there. Even the police are world famous for their racism. Fucking Montel Williams did a whole show on the racism in Vidor, which only advertised to the rest of the haters out there that there was a safe haven for them right there in East Texas. Hell, the Klan posts a fucking sign at the Wal-Mart announcing meetings so nobody misses one.
We pulled up in the Taco Bell and Jason opened his glove box. “Put these on. Keep your mouth shut.” He gave me two cheap men’s rings. I put one on each hand. Jason had relatives in Vidor. He didn’t share their views, but it gave him insight on how to handle the mentality.
We were the only ones inside when we ordered, but halfway through the meal, because Willie insisted on eating in the dining room, we had visitors. Three white boys pulled into the parking lot driving a pick up with a keg in the bed. They came inside and immediately set eyes on Willie. That motherfucker I swear nibbled his taco from that point on. “Eat, bitch.”
“Man, my belly is hurtin.’”
Jason balled up his paper and glanced at Willie, then me, then Kelly. He held up three fingers, then four.
Outnumbering them didn’t matter one bit when the cops would arrest every damn one of us. No cop in his right mind would believe we just stopped in for something to eat. Blacks don’t just stop in Vidor. I don’t care if they’re diabetic and chancing a coma if they don’t get some fucking OJ in the next two minutes, they don’t stop in Vidor. Sidebar here -- I remember going to the Sugar Bowl in 1994 or 95. We were piled into a car that was being driven by our friend Tyrone, a Track and Field star at UT. We were beyond empty and needed gas, he refused to stop for gas in Vidor. This was a big athletic dude and he wouldn’t even set foot in that town. We ran out of gas turning off at an exit about 6 miles past vidor. He stayed in the car as my friend Drew and I had to walk to the gas station. He felt we were still too close to Vidor for him to venture out walking. Crazy shit! And it’s like that to this day.
Anyway, back to the story. We got up to leave just as the Vidorians’ order was ready. Willie swore he didn’t move first, but it happened so fast I couldn’t tell. One minute we were almost home free, the next we were ripping one skinny white boy after another off of Willie while he tore into the biggest one who’d been eyeballing him the hardest. The wiry son of a bitch I got stuck with kept drilling me in the chest until I finally got a knee into his gut. All I can remember thinking is “Oh, Jesus, not the face, don’t hit me in the face!” I could hide the bruising on my body, but a busted lip and black eye would generate a whole new shit storm with my parents, who were coming down to visit me in two days.
The one guy Jason was pounding had lost his nerve and ran to the other end of the dining room which freed both him and me up to get between Willie and the fucking moose he was brawling with. The cashier told us she called the cops, which was not good news for us no matter who started it. It took all three of us to drag Willie out of there.
Once we got outside Jason, Kelly and I all ran for our rides, but Willie took a detour.
“What the fuck are you doing? Come on!”
Willie had jumped into the back of the white boys’ truck and was pushing the keg out to the end of the bed. Then he jumped down, slid the keg off onto his back and walked it one agonizingly slow step at a time to Jason’s pick up. We dropped the tailgate and he set the keg down, shoved it back and lifted the gate.
“Souvenir.”
Jason called him a name not even I would repeat, but it was the first time I’d ever heard Willie laugh. I mean laugh hard. When we got out of there and hopped back onto the highway I told Jason. “I’m fucking glad he’s on our side.”
Jason looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Can you tell my pants are wet?”
Reflection: As I look back on this, I am sad to say that Vidor is still a messed-up place. I have some friends from there and I will say that not everyone in that town is a racist, but there seems to be a higher than normal percentage. CNN and several other news shows have done recent stories on the town. Here are the links to a couple:
CNN Story -- http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/12/08/oppenheim.sundown.town/index.html
http://www.tmcnet.com/usubmit/2006/12/13/2167699.htm
http://www.rtis.com/reg/bcs/pol/touchstone/april99/vidor.html
It is crazy to think that places like this still exist in this day and age.
In college we had a saying: Don’t fuck with Willie. We said it almost as often as we “Texas Fight” on Saturdays for football and basketball games.
Willie was a big, beef-eating kind of a fuy. His skin was blacker than night and he had a death wish throughout most of our college lives. There was many a weekend when Jimmy, Jason, Willy and I would head out and immediately be up to no good.
One long weekend, we were visiting friends in Beaumont, Texas. Now Beaumont is Cajun country, almost on the border with Louisiana. The night of “the keg incident” we’d gone across the border to Hebert’s Grocery (again, for you yanks, it’s pronounced A-BEAR’S). Back in the back of the tiny store was a window with a guy on the other side making underage boys like ourselves very happy (We were all Freshman or Sophomores in College). This was the place all the kids from Texas and Louisiana within 30 miles would go for beer and wine. Four mega sized beers later we peeled out and headed back to Texas. Kelly and Willie were in Kelly’s latest loaner Mustang and Jason and I were in Jason’s piece of shit pick up that could rattle the paint off a house.
Alcohol does things to a man. Mostly make him stupid. And stupid is as stupid does, that night. Willie decided he wanted to go to the Taco Bell. But not the nearest one, no, no, he wanted the one in Vidor.
Oh, hell no. “You’re fucked up, man. We ain’t going to Vidor.”
“I’m hungry!”
“For a noose?”
I remember looking at Jason and he smiled and shrugged. “The boy wants to go to Vidor, let’s go.”
Shit. It was a fucking bad idea. Vidor is where the Klan is. And I don’t just mean a group of Klansmen residing in the city, I mean the whole god forsaken city. I am not joking. Vidor is the racist city in the world. The Klan headquarters is there. Even the police are world famous for their racism. Fucking Montel Williams did a whole show on the racism in Vidor, which only advertised to the rest of the haters out there that there was a safe haven for them right there in East Texas. Hell, the Klan posts a fucking sign at the Wal-Mart announcing meetings so nobody misses one.
We pulled up in the Taco Bell and Jason opened his glove box. “Put these on. Keep your mouth shut.” He gave me two cheap men’s rings. I put one on each hand. Jason had relatives in Vidor. He didn’t share their views, but it gave him insight on how to handle the mentality.
We were the only ones inside when we ordered, but halfway through the meal, because Willie insisted on eating in the dining room, we had visitors. Three white boys pulled into the parking lot driving a pick up with a keg in the bed. They came inside and immediately set eyes on Willie. That motherfucker I swear nibbled his taco from that point on. “Eat, bitch.”
“Man, my belly is hurtin.’”
Jason balled up his paper and glanced at Willie, then me, then Kelly. He held up three fingers, then four.
Outnumbering them didn’t matter one bit when the cops would arrest every damn one of us. No cop in his right mind would believe we just stopped in for something to eat. Blacks don’t just stop in Vidor. I don’t care if they’re diabetic and chancing a coma if they don’t get some fucking OJ in the next two minutes, they don’t stop in Vidor. Sidebar here -- I remember going to the Sugar Bowl in 1994 or 95. We were piled into a car that was being driven by our friend Tyrone, a Track and Field star at UT. We were beyond empty and needed gas, he refused to stop for gas in Vidor. This was a big athletic dude and he wouldn’t even set foot in that town. We ran out of gas turning off at an exit about 6 miles past vidor. He stayed in the car as my friend Drew and I had to walk to the gas station. He felt we were still too close to Vidor for him to venture out walking. Crazy shit! And it’s like that to this day.
Anyway, back to the story. We got up to leave just as the Vidorians’ order was ready. Willie swore he didn’t move first, but it happened so fast I couldn’t tell. One minute we were almost home free, the next we were ripping one skinny white boy after another off of Willie while he tore into the biggest one who’d been eyeballing him the hardest. The wiry son of a bitch I got stuck with kept drilling me in the chest until I finally got a knee into his gut. All I can remember thinking is “Oh, Jesus, not the face, don’t hit me in the face!” I could hide the bruising on my body, but a busted lip and black eye would generate a whole new shit storm with my parents, who were coming down to visit me in two days.
The one guy Jason was pounding had lost his nerve and ran to the other end of the dining room which freed both him and me up to get between Willie and the fucking moose he was brawling with. The cashier told us she called the cops, which was not good news for us no matter who started it. It took all three of us to drag Willie out of there.
Once we got outside Jason, Kelly and I all ran for our rides, but Willie took a detour.
“What the fuck are you doing? Come on!”
Willie had jumped into the back of the white boys’ truck and was pushing the keg out to the end of the bed. Then he jumped down, slid the keg off onto his back and walked it one agonizingly slow step at a time to Jason’s pick up. We dropped the tailgate and he set the keg down, shoved it back and lifted the gate.
“Souvenir.”
Jason called him a name not even I would repeat, but it was the first time I’d ever heard Willie laugh. I mean laugh hard. When we got out of there and hopped back onto the highway I told Jason. “I’m fucking glad he’s on our side.”
Jason looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Can you tell my pants are wet?”
Reflection: As I look back on this, I am sad to say that Vidor is still a messed-up place. I have some friends from there and I will say that not everyone in that town is a racist, but there seems to be a higher than normal percentage. CNN and several other news shows have done recent stories on the town. Here are the links to a couple:
CNN Story -- http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/12/08/oppenheim.sundown.town/index.html
http://www.tmcnet.com/usubmit/2006/12/13/2167699.htm
http://www.rtis.com/reg/bcs/pol/touchstone/april99/vidor.html
It is crazy to think that places like this still exist in this day and age.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Why I Lived Alone for So Long
For one semester back in college I was sure I’d be the first man killed by a psychotic sleep walker. I had two roommates, James and Gabe. James was never around. He paid his rent, but his girlfriend had a place of her own paid for by Daddy Big Bucks. Gabe was always fucking there. The Dude had no other place to be. He had a blonde afro the size of Epcot Center, and it was on purpose. He had it permed every couple of months. Even had a mustache like Magnum P.I. But he paid his share of the rent and managed to make the preppy/redneck style look good and that was all I cared about.
I was up flipping channels on the TV at 2:00 one morning when I heard his shower come on. I thought it was odd that he’d get up in the middle of the night to shower, but maybe he’d been spanking the monkey and forgotten to use a sock or tissues to avoid the mess. It happens. He got up at 6:00 and showered again. I asked him why his ass had to use up all the hot water when he’d just showered a few hours before. He said I was full of shit. Why would he get up in the middle of the night to take a shower?
Whatever, bro.
A few weeks later I was up again watching TV when I heard shouting. Gabe’s door flung open so hard it hit the wall and he ran into the living room screaming. “He’s in my bed! He’s in my bed!”
Bullshit. Who in the hell would get into Gabe’s bed? He stood in the corner, whining and shaking his left arm with his right hand. Crazy bastard. I reached around the wall and flipped the light switch without going in, just in case he wasn’t out of his goddamned mind after all, but when I looked in there was nothing but a pile of crumpled sheets.
“Dude, there’s nobody in here.”
“I felt him, I felt him! I touched his arm.”
To this day, I believe that he had fallen asleep on his arm, it went numb, and he touched his own hand thinking it belonged to another man in his bed. By morning, Gabe had no recollection of the entire thing.
The day Gabe brought a 9mm back to the apartment I nearly shit my pants. “What in the – Fuck no! Uh uh, no, bitch. Take that shit out of here.” Gabe was going through his gangsta phase. Listening to NWA, drinking 40’s, and trying to be a gangbanger.
He said he needed it for his protection. He was starting to run with a rough crowd.
“Protection from what? You're the weirdest fucker in the whole complex" I said.
He insisted he needed the gun for his safety. He put it in his nightstand in his bedroom and told me where I could find it if I ever needed it. Yeah, when hell freezes over.
A few days later it was just after midnight when Gabe’s door creaked open. I looked up and saw four fingers, an eye and part of a ‘fro showing through the narrow gap in the doorway. The eyeball started roaming all around the room, not looking at anything in particular, then it and the ‘fro slowly disappeared behind the door, the fingers slipped back inside, and the door closed gently.
I went to my bedroom, locked the door, and didn’t come out until the sun was up. The next morning, Gabe and I had a long talk. I told him it was either him or I. One of us had to go. I knew damn well he couldn’t afford to split the rent two ways. He got on the phone, made a few calls. I went to class and when I got home, he was gone. He had cleared out his clothes, but left all of his other personal shit. CD’s, books, notebooks, his walkman, etc were all still there. I waited weeks for him to come back for the stuff, but I never saw him again. He was gone. Mr. Gabe had a new place to live. I learned that he dropped out of school later that week and no one knew where he went. His parents called to talk to him about 2 weeks after he left. They had no clue that he had moved out. To this day, I am not sure what happened. He could be dead for all I know. Maybe somebody was after him. All I know is that he was a crazy motherfucker!!
After him, I lived alone for about 12 years. Sure, I would have girls spend the night sometimes, maybe even a week or two, but I never really moved in with anyone long-term for a good while. One weird psycho roommate is enough.
I was up flipping channels on the TV at 2:00 one morning when I heard his shower come on. I thought it was odd that he’d get up in the middle of the night to shower, but maybe he’d been spanking the monkey and forgotten to use a sock or tissues to avoid the mess. It happens. He got up at 6:00 and showered again. I asked him why his ass had to use up all the hot water when he’d just showered a few hours before. He said I was full of shit. Why would he get up in the middle of the night to take a shower?
Whatever, bro.
A few weeks later I was up again watching TV when I heard shouting. Gabe’s door flung open so hard it hit the wall and he ran into the living room screaming. “He’s in my bed! He’s in my bed!”
Bullshit. Who in the hell would get into Gabe’s bed? He stood in the corner, whining and shaking his left arm with his right hand. Crazy bastard. I reached around the wall and flipped the light switch without going in, just in case he wasn’t out of his goddamned mind after all, but when I looked in there was nothing but a pile of crumpled sheets.
“Dude, there’s nobody in here.”
“I felt him, I felt him! I touched his arm.”
To this day, I believe that he had fallen asleep on his arm, it went numb, and he touched his own hand thinking it belonged to another man in his bed. By morning, Gabe had no recollection of the entire thing.
The day Gabe brought a 9mm back to the apartment I nearly shit my pants. “What in the – Fuck no! Uh uh, no, bitch. Take that shit out of here.” Gabe was going through his gangsta phase. Listening to NWA, drinking 40’s, and trying to be a gangbanger.
He said he needed it for his protection. He was starting to run with a rough crowd.
“Protection from what? You're the weirdest fucker in the whole complex" I said.
He insisted he needed the gun for his safety. He put it in his nightstand in his bedroom and told me where I could find it if I ever needed it. Yeah, when hell freezes over.
A few days later it was just after midnight when Gabe’s door creaked open. I looked up and saw four fingers, an eye and part of a ‘fro showing through the narrow gap in the doorway. The eyeball started roaming all around the room, not looking at anything in particular, then it and the ‘fro slowly disappeared behind the door, the fingers slipped back inside, and the door closed gently.
I went to my bedroom, locked the door, and didn’t come out until the sun was up. The next morning, Gabe and I had a long talk. I told him it was either him or I. One of us had to go. I knew damn well he couldn’t afford to split the rent two ways. He got on the phone, made a few calls. I went to class and when I got home, he was gone. He had cleared out his clothes, but left all of his other personal shit. CD’s, books, notebooks, his walkman, etc were all still there. I waited weeks for him to come back for the stuff, but I never saw him again. He was gone. Mr. Gabe had a new place to live. I learned that he dropped out of school later that week and no one knew where he went. His parents called to talk to him about 2 weeks after he left. They had no clue that he had moved out. To this day, I am not sure what happened. He could be dead for all I know. Maybe somebody was after him. All I know is that he was a crazy motherfucker!!
After him, I lived alone for about 12 years. Sure, I would have girls spend the night sometimes, maybe even a week or two, but I never really moved in with anyone long-term for a good while. One weird psycho roommate is enough.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Good ol' Drunk College Sex
This story happened my soph. year at UT. Sept. 1990
There's nothing special about this story except that...IT WAS ONE OF THE LUCKIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE. I do consider myself something of a ladies man. I am not ashamed to admit it. A week ago I was drunk and there were about six drunk girls at my friend Robert's pad. There was this fine blond girl with a nice rack and a blue mini-skirt who I later found out was named Marina and was one of the pom-pom girls for the UT basketball team. JACKPOT!!
Rob told me to go for it and I started trying to make my plan of attack. A girl this hot has been hit on everyway possible. I had to come up with something new. I went to the kitchen to take a couple shots a fucking miracle happened. I walked in and the girl was crying her ass off. Okay, I know, not what you call a Christmas miracle or anything, but I knew this was my chance to play up the nice friendly gentleman card.
I asked her what was wrong and she told me that her boyfriend was fucking some other girl so they broke up a week ago. Being kinda drunk I guess she just broke down so I invited her to take a couple shots with me. We took a shot of JD and vodka and I told her she could hang out in my room until she felt better. She took my advice and I told her I would check on her in like 10 minutes.
When I went in to check on her she was on my computer watching some porn of a blond chick giving a bj that I was jerking it to earlier. What a fucking moron. I left that shit on my queue in Winamp. I ran over, apologized, and reached over to shut it off, but this fine ass drunk girl just turned to me and said "I can do that way better than that."
I bet that she couldn't and after a bit of coaxing she was sucking my cock while I had a bottle of Jim Beam in my hand. Rob knocked on the door in the middle of it to see that we were okay and I yelled that we were sleeping. Then this girl started going wild and asked me to fuck her "as hard as I could." I happily obliged and had some of the best sex I have ever had in my entire young life. The next morning I woke up at around noon and she was gone. I haven't talked to her since, but drunk ass college sex is exactly why I came to school. God damn I need to get laid more.
There's nothing special about this story except that...IT WAS ONE OF THE LUCKIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE. I do consider myself something of a ladies man. I am not ashamed to admit it. A week ago I was drunk and there were about six drunk girls at my friend Robert's pad. There was this fine blond girl with a nice rack and a blue mini-skirt who I later found out was named Marina and was one of the pom-pom girls for the UT basketball team. JACKPOT!!
Rob told me to go for it and I started trying to make my plan of attack. A girl this hot has been hit on everyway possible. I had to come up with something new. I went to the kitchen to take a couple shots a fucking miracle happened. I walked in and the girl was crying her ass off. Okay, I know, not what you call a Christmas miracle or anything, but I knew this was my chance to play up the nice friendly gentleman card.
I asked her what was wrong and she told me that her boyfriend was fucking some other girl so they broke up a week ago. Being kinda drunk I guess she just broke down so I invited her to take a couple shots with me. We took a shot of JD and vodka and I told her she could hang out in my room until she felt better. She took my advice and I told her I would check on her in like 10 minutes.
When I went in to check on her she was on my computer watching some porn of a blond chick giving a bj that I was jerking it to earlier. What a fucking moron. I left that shit on my queue in Winamp. I ran over, apologized, and reached over to shut it off, but this fine ass drunk girl just turned to me and said "I can do that way better than that."
I bet that she couldn't and after a bit of coaxing she was sucking my cock while I had a bottle of Jim Beam in my hand. Rob knocked on the door in the middle of it to see that we were okay and I yelled that we were sleeping. Then this girl started going wild and asked me to fuck her "as hard as I could." I happily obliged and had some of the best sex I have ever had in my entire young life. The next morning I woke up at around noon and she was gone. I haven't talked to her since, but drunk ass college sex is exactly why I came to school. God damn I need to get laid more.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Courtyard Pool Orgy
This one happened on West Campus in September 1991.Austin, TX
There is a student apartment complex in West Campus called Orange Tree, right by frat row. I was over at a buddy of mine's house drinking with a bunch of people, and we just opened the door so people could go in and out to smoke. In stumble these three trashed sorority pledges (their house is right next door). One's hot, one's cute, the other one looked cute with beer goggles. Talk about easy pickins! My buddy Brett was already talking closely with the hot one, leaving the other two.
About 8-10 drinks later, cute and beer goggles start talking about how much they like to kiss each other. I say jokingly "I'd pay a dollar to see that," to which I got an unexpected "sure!" in reply. At this point I'm pondering how I can best take advantage of these sorostitutes, and quickly add that I'll throw in another buck if I can join in, and they went along with that too. I gave them 2 bucks and started making out with both of them at the same time. At this point many of my friends were pleasantly surprised (and impressed) at this turn of events.
Now, we are all drunk off our asses and I see the girls are getting super horny!! I make my move and I convinced them to get in the pool, at the time inhabited only by one lone couple we didn't know. I was with the two girls and start to finger bang both of them while Brett makes out with the third one. My one friend didn't have one, so I pushed one away and gave her to him. Before you know it, I'm screwing the one I have left, my two friends are with theirs, and the couple in the pool are going at it. This pool is in the dead center of the courtyard, everyone's front doors face it. So as 2:30 rolled around people who were getting home from 6th Street, started walking by and cheering on the orgy in the pool. After the pool orgy, we all parted ways. I took my girl back to my place and we screwed till about 6 am.
I woke up the next morning and remembered the pool event, but I was shocked to find the girl in the apartment. I didnt even remember her name, so I rummaged through her purse that was in the living room and found her drivers license (I didnt want to look like a bad guy). Glad I did. She woke up and had no clue where she was, though she did remember the pool. I dont think she knew my name either and she seemed a little embarrassed cause I kept calling her by her name and she would just call me baby or some other generic name. We took a shower together and screwed again, then I took her home. Best $2 I ever spent, period.
There is a student apartment complex in West Campus called Orange Tree, right by frat row. I was over at a buddy of mine's house drinking with a bunch of people, and we just opened the door so people could go in and out to smoke. In stumble these three trashed sorority pledges (their house is right next door). One's hot, one's cute, the other one looked cute with beer goggles. Talk about easy pickins! My buddy Brett was already talking closely with the hot one, leaving the other two.
About 8-10 drinks later, cute and beer goggles start talking about how much they like to kiss each other. I say jokingly "I'd pay a dollar to see that," to which I got an unexpected "sure!" in reply. At this point I'm pondering how I can best take advantage of these sorostitutes, and quickly add that I'll throw in another buck if I can join in, and they went along with that too. I gave them 2 bucks and started making out with both of them at the same time. At this point many of my friends were pleasantly surprised (and impressed) at this turn of events.
Now, we are all drunk off our asses and I see the girls are getting super horny!! I make my move and I convinced them to get in the pool, at the time inhabited only by one lone couple we didn't know. I was with the two girls and start to finger bang both of them while Brett makes out with the third one. My one friend didn't have one, so I pushed one away and gave her to him. Before you know it, I'm screwing the one I have left, my two friends are with theirs, and the couple in the pool are going at it. This pool is in the dead center of the courtyard, everyone's front doors face it. So as 2:30 rolled around people who were getting home from 6th Street, started walking by and cheering on the orgy in the pool. After the pool orgy, we all parted ways. I took my girl back to my place and we screwed till about 6 am.
I woke up the next morning and remembered the pool event, but I was shocked to find the girl in the apartment. I didnt even remember her name, so I rummaged through her purse that was in the living room and found her drivers license (I didnt want to look like a bad guy). Glad I did. She woke up and had no clue where she was, though she did remember the pool. I dont think she knew my name either and she seemed a little embarrassed cause I kept calling her by her name and she would just call me baby or some other generic name. We took a shower together and screwed again, then I took her home. Best $2 I ever spent, period.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Two Dollar Bill
This story happened in Austin, TX. I think it was 1991. Can't believe people already forgot the $2 Bill.
On my way home from the second job I've taken for the extra holiday ca$h I need, I stopped at Taco Bell for a quick bite to eat. In my billfold is a $50 bill and a $2 bill. That is all of the cash I have on my person. I figure that with a $2 bill, I can get something to eat and not have to worry about people getting upset at me.
ME: ``Hi, I'd like one seven layer burrito please, to go.''
IT: ``Is that it?''
ME: ``Yep.''
IT: ``That'll be $1.04, eat here?''
ME: ``No, it's to go.'' [I hate effort duplication.]
At his point I open my billfold and hand him the $2 bill. He looks at it kind of funny and shakes his head.
IT: ``Uh, hang on a sec, I'll be right back."
He goes to talk to his manager, who is still within earshot. The following conversation occurs between the two of them.
IT: ``Hey, you ever see a $2 bill?''
MG: ``No. A what?''
IT: ``A $2 bill. This guy just gave it to me.''
MG: ``Ask for something else, there's no such thing as a $2 bill.'' [my emp]
IT: ``Yeah, thought so.''
He comes back to me and says
IT: ``We don't take these. Do you have anything else?''
ME: ``Just this fifty. You don't take $2 bills? Why?''
IT: ``I don't know.''
ME: ``See here where it says legal tender?''
IT: ``Yeah.''
ME: ``So, shouldn't you take it?''
IT: ``Well, hang on a sec.''
He goes back to his manager who is watching me like I'm going to shoplift, and
IT: ``He says I have to take it.''
MG: ``Doesn't he have anything else?''
IT: ``Yeah, a fifty. I'll get it and you can open the safe and get change.''
MG: ``I'm not opening the safe with him in here.'' [my emp]
IT: ``What should I do?''
MG: ``Tell him to come back later when he has real money.''
IT: ``I can't tell him that, you tell him.''
MG: ``Just tell him.''
IT: ``No way, this is weird, I'm going in back.''
The manager approaches me and says
MG: ``Sorry, we don't take big bills this time of night.'' [it was 8pm and this particular Taco Bell is in a well lighted indoor mall with 100 other stores.]
ME: ``Well, here's a two.''
MG: ``We don't take those either.''
ME: ``Why not?''
MG: ``I think you know why.''
ME: ``No really, tell me, why?''
MG: ``Please leave before I call mall security.''
ME: ``Excuse me?''
MG: ``Please leave before I call mall security.''
ME: ``What for?''
MG: ``Please, sir.''
ME: ``Uh, go ahead, call them.''
MG: ``Would you please just leave?''
ME: ``No.''
MG: ``Fine, have it your way then.''
ME: ``No, that's Burger King, isn't it?''
At this point he backs away from me and calls mall security on the phone around the corner. I have two people staring at me from the dining area, and I begin laughing out loud, just for effect. A few minutes later this 45 year oldish guy comes in and says [at the other end of counter, in a whisper]
SG: ``Yeah, Mike, what's up?''
MG: ``This guy is trying to give me some [pause] funny money.''
SG: ``Really? What?''
MG: ``Get this, a two dollar bill.''
SG: ``Why would a guy fake a $2 bill?'' [incredulous]
MG: ``I don't know? He's kinda weird. Says the only other thing he has is a fifty.''
SG: ``So, the fifty's fake?''
MG: ``No, the $2 is.''
SG: ``Why would he fake a $2 bill?''
MG: ``I don't know. Can you talk to him, and get him out of here?''
SG: ``Yeah...''
Security guard walks over to me and says
SG: ``Mike here tells me you have some fake bills you're trying to use.''
ME: ``Uh, no.''
SG: ``Lemme see 'em.''
ME: ``Why?''
SG: ``Do you want me to get the cops in here?''
At this point I was ready to say, ``SURE, PLEASE,'' but I wanted to eat, so I said
ME: ``I'm just trying to buy a burrito and pay for it with this $2 bill.''
I put the bill up near his face, and he flinches like I was taking a swing at him. He takes the bill, turns it over a few times in his hands, and says
SG: ``Mike, what's wrong with this bill?''
MG: ``It's fake.''
SG: ``It doesn't look fake to me.''
MG: ``But it's a $2 bill.''
SG: ``Yeah?''
MG: ``Well, there's no such thing, is there?''
The security guard and I both looked at him like he was an idiot, and it dawned on the guy that he had no clue.
My burrito was free and he threw in a small drink and those cinnamon things, too. Makes me want to get a whole stack of $2 bills just to see what happens when I try to buy stuff. If I got the right group of people, I could probably end up in jail. At least I'd get free food.
On my way home from the second job I've taken for the extra holiday ca$h I need, I stopped at Taco Bell for a quick bite to eat. In my billfold is a $50 bill and a $2 bill. That is all of the cash I have on my person. I figure that with a $2 bill, I can get something to eat and not have to worry about people getting upset at me.
ME: ``Hi, I'd like one seven layer burrito please, to go.''
IT: ``Is that it?''
ME: ``Yep.''
IT: ``That'll be $1.04, eat here?''
ME: ``No, it's to go.'' [I hate effort duplication.]
At his point I open my billfold and hand him the $2 bill. He looks at it kind of funny and shakes his head.
IT: ``Uh, hang on a sec, I'll be right back."
He goes to talk to his manager, who is still within earshot. The following conversation occurs between the two of them.
IT: ``Hey, you ever see a $2 bill?''
MG: ``No. A what?''
IT: ``A $2 bill. This guy just gave it to me.''
MG: ``Ask for something else, there's no such thing as a $2 bill.'' [my emp]
IT: ``Yeah, thought so.''
He comes back to me and says
IT: ``We don't take these. Do you have anything else?''
ME: ``Just this fifty. You don't take $2 bills? Why?''
IT: ``I don't know.''
ME: ``See here where it says legal tender?''
IT: ``Yeah.''
ME: ``So, shouldn't you take it?''
IT: ``Well, hang on a sec.''
He goes back to his manager who is watching me like I'm going to shoplift, and
IT: ``He says I have to take it.''
MG: ``Doesn't he have anything else?''
IT: ``Yeah, a fifty. I'll get it and you can open the safe and get change.''
MG: ``I'm not opening the safe with him in here.'' [my emp]
IT: ``What should I do?''
MG: ``Tell him to come back later when he has real money.''
IT: ``I can't tell him that, you tell him.''
MG: ``Just tell him.''
IT: ``No way, this is weird, I'm going in back.''
The manager approaches me and says
MG: ``Sorry, we don't take big bills this time of night.'' [it was 8pm and this particular Taco Bell is in a well lighted indoor mall with 100 other stores.]
ME: ``Well, here's a two.''
MG: ``We don't take those either.''
ME: ``Why not?''
MG: ``I think you know why.''
ME: ``No really, tell me, why?''
MG: ``Please leave before I call mall security.''
ME: ``Excuse me?''
MG: ``Please leave before I call mall security.''
ME: ``What for?''
MG: ``Please, sir.''
ME: ``Uh, go ahead, call them.''
MG: ``Would you please just leave?''
ME: ``No.''
MG: ``Fine, have it your way then.''
ME: ``No, that's Burger King, isn't it?''
At this point he backs away from me and calls mall security on the phone around the corner. I have two people staring at me from the dining area, and I begin laughing out loud, just for effect. A few minutes later this 45 year oldish guy comes in and says [at the other end of counter, in a whisper]
SG: ``Yeah, Mike, what's up?''
MG: ``This guy is trying to give me some [pause] funny money.''
SG: ``Really? What?''
MG: ``Get this, a two dollar bill.''
SG: ``Why would a guy fake a $2 bill?'' [incredulous]
MG: ``I don't know? He's kinda weird. Says the only other thing he has is a fifty.''
SG: ``So, the fifty's fake?''
MG: ``No, the $2 is.''
SG: ``Why would he fake a $2 bill?''
MG: ``I don't know. Can you talk to him, and get him out of here?''
SG: ``Yeah...''
Security guard walks over to me and says
SG: ``Mike here tells me you have some fake bills you're trying to use.''
ME: ``Uh, no.''
SG: ``Lemme see 'em.''
ME: ``Why?''
SG: ``Do you want me to get the cops in here?''
At this point I was ready to say, ``SURE, PLEASE,'' but I wanted to eat, so I said
ME: ``I'm just trying to buy a burrito and pay for it with this $2 bill.''
I put the bill up near his face, and he flinches like I was taking a swing at him. He takes the bill, turns it over a few times in his hands, and says
SG: ``Mike, what's wrong with this bill?''
MG: ``It's fake.''
SG: ``It doesn't look fake to me.''
MG: ``But it's a $2 bill.''
SG: ``Yeah?''
MG: ``Well, there's no such thing, is there?''
The security guard and I both looked at him like he was an idiot, and it dawned on the guy that he had no clue.
My burrito was free and he threw in a small drink and those cinnamon things, too. Makes me want to get a whole stack of $2 bills just to see what happens when I try to buy stuff. If I got the right group of people, I could probably end up in jail. At least I'd get free food.
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