you must remember the original posting with this title. it was written and a link was sent to the person in question from the post. to say she didn't find it delightful is an understatement. she, for some ridiculous and unexplained reason, had a fucking hissy fit because i "wrote a monologue" about soemthing that included her and a moment that happened in past.
no shit it was a monologue! i don't have multiple personalities to help me make it a dialogue, or to help act it out. so i did what i could: i told it from MY perspective, not OUR perspective. i think she just wanted to find a situation where she could use a big word in the correct context. wow, she didn't fail to do so. should i be handing out cookies? no? splendid, i didn't think it was a cookie worthy moment either.
i tried my best to paint her in a light that was more than what she deserved to be painted in. i drew her up in tones of sensual bliss, hues of goddess-like form and splattered a little mysterious devilishness in there as well.
excuse me for thinking someone would rather be painted in a positive light, as opposed to one that soaks anyone involved in a cloak of disease and udder disgust. alas, i shall be using that second light in this post, as i re-write the situation in tones and highlights of vile, horrid, acidic lexiconal dementia.
so please, my heathen word junkies, enjoy.
it was like any other night in the dungeon that housed our teen bible study group, or whatever it is you might have called it. personally, my favorite at the time was "oprah's ultimate oppressive book club". we, the batch of teen angst ridden and hormone driven, had finished up the rousing intellectual brainwashing session and there was free time to be had. i found myself wandering around the basement of the pastor's home, which doubled as the children/teen bible school, with nothing to think except, "fuck, i really want a cigarette and some whiskey right about now." the sad part was neither were within my reach and i was forced to wait on my ride, who happened to be the youth pastor, with the hope that somewhere beyond the confines of this shit-hole i would be able to grab hold of strong drink and cancer sticks.
one thing i learned very quickly, from these simple fuckers, is that if you have the urge to fuck around and get lit up like a christmas tree there will be a gracious wait period brought on by the "dire spiritual crisis" of some half assed believer in the flock. this night was no different. it was now a sure thing that my boozing and smoking with unsavory characters would have to be put on hold. fuck my life. i found my way to the space around the oven that was so well placed in a basement. who the fuck puts an oven in a non-rented basement? jack-asses, thats who. the youth pastor was running his jab and then she found her way to me: the town weiner wench.
the broad who stood before me had been said to have had an unending need for face porking, this coming from several sources that were from different backgrounds to say the least. while i was curious as to the level and caliber of her special talent, it was safe to say that it wasn't the time or place to try my luck. she wasn't built like an asian, to say the least, but more like a fluffy cloud of well fed southern psychosis. i wouldn't have been shocked if her wall lacked the usual teenish boy band and metal band posters but, instead had a delightful collage of pictures featuring David Koresh, Jim Jones and Joseph Smith. she was a statistic in the sense that she was raised by religious people and wanted to rebel in order to counter-act the world she had been taught within.
she lumbered toward me, with i thought at the time was a limp, and made eye contact. i wasn't sure how retarded things would or could get, but i knew that i wasn't going to be taking the rap as aggressor if shit hit the fan, because if there is one thing i have never been it's a rapist. her hefty, overly stuffed body came closer and i was stuck between her and the oven. she reached out, i assume imagining me as a value meal, and grabbed onto my arm and slipped another tentacle around my waist. she pulled me into her 98.6 degrees of portly frame and kissed me. yeah, i kissed her back, that is until i felt her teeth clamp into my tongue. i pulled away and tasted the blood filling the space under my tongue. i swore and told her to fuck off and that there is a thin line between being "kinky" and being "a sorry cunt".
i'm not going to toot my own horn, but i will say this:
"you're boy isn't a model or a sandwich, but he was sure enough a hot and tastey morsel for that hog."
so thats the re-write peoples. as i said, i tried at first to be nice and paint a person in a brilliant and positive light. this was a mistake which i was made abundantly clear of. so to fix the problem, i chose to paint that unappreciative twat in the same kind of illumination that most everyone saw her in on a daily basis, which was a light of several colors. pathetic "trying too hard" tactics, dramatic emotional outbursts and slutty intentions. her life was a punchline and we all had our laugh at her.
i tried to be nice and it backfired on me, so now i say...
CHOKE ON A PORK SWORD TRICK! NICE DIDN'T LOOK GOOD ON ME ANYWAY.
One of the Side Effects of Xanax,
Dax.
so please, my heathen word junkies, enjoy.
it was like any other night in the dungeon that housed our teen bible study group, or whatever it is you might have called it. personally, my favorite at the time was "oprah's ultimate oppressive book club". we, the batch of teen angst ridden and hormone driven, had finished up the rousing intellectual brainwashing session and there was free time to be had. i found myself wandering around the basement of the pastor's home, which doubled as the children/teen bible school, with nothing to think except, "fuck, i really want a cigarette and some whiskey right about now." the sad part was neither were within my reach and i was forced to wait on my ride, who happened to be the youth pastor, with the hope that somewhere beyond the confines of this shit-hole i would be able to grab hold of strong drink and cancer sticks.
one thing i learned very quickly, from these simple fuckers, is that if you have the urge to fuck around and get lit up like a christmas tree there will be a gracious wait period brought on by the "dire spiritual crisis" of some half assed believer in the flock. this night was no different. it was now a sure thing that my boozing and smoking with unsavory characters would have to be put on hold. fuck my life. i found my way to the space around the oven that was so well placed in a basement. who the fuck puts an oven in a non-rented basement? jack-asses, thats who. the youth pastor was running his jab and then she found her way to me: the town weiner wench.
the broad who stood before me had been said to have had an unending need for face porking, this coming from several sources that were from different backgrounds to say the least. while i was curious as to the level and caliber of her special talent, it was safe to say that it wasn't the time or place to try my luck. she wasn't built like an asian, to say the least, but more like a fluffy cloud of well fed southern psychosis. i wouldn't have been shocked if her wall lacked the usual teenish boy band and metal band posters but, instead had a delightful collage of pictures featuring David Koresh, Jim Jones and Joseph Smith. she was a statistic in the sense that she was raised by religious people and wanted to rebel in order to counter-act the world she had been taught within.
she lumbered toward me, with i thought at the time was a limp, and made eye contact. i wasn't sure how retarded things would or could get, but i knew that i wasn't going to be taking the rap as aggressor if shit hit the fan, because if there is one thing i have never been it's a rapist. her hefty, overly stuffed body came closer and i was stuck between her and the oven. she reached out, i assume imagining me as a value meal, and grabbed onto my arm and slipped another tentacle around my waist. she pulled me into her 98.6 degrees of portly frame and kissed me. yeah, i kissed her back, that is until i felt her teeth clamp into my tongue. i pulled away and tasted the blood filling the space under my tongue. i swore and told her to fuck off and that there is a thin line between being "kinky" and being "a sorry cunt".
i'm not going to toot my own horn, but i will say this:
"you're boy isn't a model or a sandwich, but he was sure enough a hot and tastey morsel for that hog."
so thats the re-write peoples. as i said, i tried at first to be nice and paint a person in a brilliant and positive light. this was a mistake which i was made abundantly clear of. so to fix the problem, i chose to paint that unappreciative twat in the same kind of illumination that most everyone saw her in on a daily basis, which was a light of several colors. pathetic "trying too hard" tactics, dramatic emotional outbursts and slutty intentions. her life was a punchline and we all had our laugh at her.
i tried to be nice and it backfired on me, so now i say...
CHOKE ON A PORK SWORD TRICK! NICE DIDN'T LOOK GOOD ON ME ANYWAY.
One of the Side Effects of Xanax,
Dax.
Ah the basement of terror...I remember those times...kinda like the movie Carry, "They're all gonna laugh at you!" :::flames bursts in every direction::: MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! :::screams:::
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