A Holiday Tradition

We’re going to try something out. Each holiday I’ll add a new part, chapter, section, to the story I am about to weave. I have been kicking this idea around in my head for a bit and we’ll just see how it all comes out. I’ll get it out of the way now this probably will not be work safe or child appropriate. It will be a tale that you’d expect only I could come up with in my sick and twisted head.

Let’s get to it. Shall we?

Part One:

She rolled out of the bed slowly as not to awaken the man next to her. Her head was still cloudy as she slowly made her way to the bathroom in the general direction in which her level of inebriation would recollect. She closed the door as not to allow the latch to slam shut and awaken the man left spent in the bed, simultaneously she clicked on the light. She caught her reflection if only briefly in the mirror. Her disgust in her decisions of the evening prior and the acts of debauchery in the room outside prevented her from making eye contact with herself. She had been here before. The men, the sex, the sneaking away in the night with a handful of stolen cash and pills from the medicine cabinet. She was no stranger to these times. “Get your shit together Angie, and get moving” her pounding head replayed like a defective iPod.

Angie was still too drunk and high to care or notice that the toilet seat was up. “Typical pig” Angie thought to herself as she lowered her ass down on the cold porcelain of the bowl. For a second she smiled and thought it felt good on the fresh welts across her bare ass. As she slowly flexed her Kegel muscles and strained to urinate she could feel the spent seed from the barely conscious man in the room next door leave her body. Outside of meeting at the bar the night before she didn’t know the man. This wasn’t her first rodeo with having unprotected sex with a strange man. She preferred it that way. The additional risk of contracting some strange disease from a nameless soul heightened her sexual gratification. Bareback Angie is what all the boys in the fraternity called her. She smiled at the distant memory as she continued to relieve herself in the sleeping mans master bath. Just as she was about to finish her stomach churned and she gulped. She wasn’t finished and continued to evacuate not only her bladder but also her bowels. “We’ll theres that steak from Thursday” Angie guessed to herself while holding back a slight gag from the odoriferous smell. It took a half a roll of toilet paper to sufficiently clean herself. Angie knew there was no way in hell what she deposited in the toilet with all the associated accoutrements were ever going to naturally see the inside plumbing of the structure she was soon to escape. “What the hell I’ll let sleeping Captain Asshole figure it out in the morning”. Bareback Angie also never flushes its her calling card.

Rifling through the mans medicine cabinet and pants on the bathroom floor Angie scored some hydrocodone, half a bottle of penicillin $130 in cash and what she guessed was some low grade Turkish hash. “Not a bad haul for an early Saturday morning” she hazily thought to herself. Angie turned off the light and slowly pushed open the bathroom door. She needed to find her clothes and she needed to get the hell out of that house.

Angie was soon on the floor on all fours. This wasn’t the first time she had been in this exact position. This time however there was no man behind her driving her face into the carpet. The man continued to snore from the bed as Angie felt around for her pants. She was safe for the time being but she could feel her anxiety building in her throbbing head to be anywhere but where she was.

Then it happened. How Angie kept from screaming even puzzled her. She knew what it was the moment it happened. “Its the assholes dog”. The man was an animal lover of sorts. Had an affinity for large American Bulldogs. “But he locked the dog in the kitchen what the fuck was he doing in the bedroom? What the fuck is this dog doing licking the crack of my ass?” Angie thought in a wave of terror as the cold nose of the dog gave a few whiffs of Angie’s stale balloon knot.

Angie was in trouble and she knew it. She tried to push the dog and “shoo” him away. Not happening. “Dozer” she recalled the man calling him last night was about eight pounds more then Angie weighed and built like a brick shithouse. Any attempt to stop the dog and Dozer in an octave lower then a pipe organ in the key of G would slowly growl and bare his teeth. The sleeping man would stir, snort and roll over to the other side of the bed each time the dog made a peep.

Angie was an admitted slut. Girls, boys, three ways you name it Angie had done it. There was even that one time in high school during a sleep over when she jerked off her friend Monica’s Golden Retriever for some school girl laughs in a game of spin the bottle. Angie had a feeling she was going to have to update the ol’ resume now.

Angie wasn’t getting off that easy tonight and for the second time in the last many hours Angie was getting railed from behind face in the carpet. This time it was Dozer the Pitbull doing the driving. Angie bit her lip to keep from wailing out. Soon it would be over. The dog will grunt hop off and Angie would be free, lucky in the fact he had stolen a half bottle of penicillin just a few short minutes before. She’d need the pills.

After Dozer had is way with Angie much as his master had a mere few hours before, he ambled back toward the kitchen to lay down near the air conditioning register in the floor. Dozer liked the cool air on his balls and often slept in the kitchen.

Angie knew her time was quickly counting down to vacate the premisses before the sleeping man or the dog awoke for a stab at round two. She finally found her pants and blouse crumpled in the corner of the room. Her thong panties were gone. She didn’t care. Angie slipped her pants and blouse on, stuffed the drugs and cash in a pocket and headed for the door. One shoe near the couch, and another was picked up by the front foyer. She bolted.

Angie had about a two mile walk back to the bar to get her car. Two miles is a decent distance to walk and think about how far ones life has slipped the bounds of decency. Bareback Angie however doesn’t think about these things. She does what she likes. She lives for no one but herself. On this particular walk back, Angie tried to categorize the evenings sexual encounter into a level of pleasure. She couldn’t do it. Her pause came knowing sex with animals is morally and ethically wrong, but for the life of her she couldn’t decide what she got more pleasure from. The unknown man or the unknown man’s faithful dog.

Angie crushed a Hydrocodone pill and snorted it. She debated whether to shower as soon as she got home or to wait and savor things. She was now torn and sexually aroused thinking about the unknown man and his dog. She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the unknown mans house.

One day she would go back……….

 

Ok, so there you have it. Part One of Angie’s Adventures. (working title) I like to flesh the characters out a bit so I can’t just jump in to the murder and whatnot. Hope you like it. Whats the next holiday? Valentines Day? Oh the possibilities!

Merry Christmas kids!

Let ‘er rip tater chips!

Militant

I have only one thing to say about this.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Pop rock male artist of the year? Seriously? I know the AMA’s are bullshit and can barely suck the sweaty piss flaps of the likes of Rolling Stone magazine. I would have referenced a nice ball sack for Rolling Stone magazine but they don’t know anything about having a sack much less balls for the last 30 years.

“This is for all you haters.”

I am sorry for my foul language this morning, but as the Dude, Jeffery Lebowski would say, “this aggression on simple musical taste wont stand, man!”

What the holy shit has happened to us as a country, a nation, a world power? Where has our greatness gone? I caught this little blurb of a shithead accepting his award for male pop and rock artist of the year and between wanting to cry, vomit, and then slit my own goddamn throat, it dawned on me, this little shithead is exactly what went wrong. Well him and about a bakers dozen other little shitheads and twats that somehow gained popularity through the failed and homogenized corporate musical machine we swim through in our daily lives.

Where is a drunkin Nikki Sixx and bombed Ozzy rushing that stage knocking the mic out of that pussies hand and then squatting down shitting on him right for live TV?

Where is Zack de la Rocha climbing a stage curtain, lighting, then burning that shit show to the ground in protest of that ass zit of a kid accepting his rock male artist of the year on behalf of his “haters”?

Where was the camera when Scott Weiland and Lemmy from Motorhead were tag teaming this little twerps mother backstage and making her air tight? Oh wait that was in my dreams. Sorry.

This is such bullshit on a colossal level I almost can’t breathe. How does this happen? How do we break out of this horrible dream? This has to be some kind of bizarro world dream. This can’t be real. Its all a horrible horrible dream. I mean this kind of shit and the people that buy into it, would become a nation of pantload sissified gentry that would elect some cockamamie half bastard communist for a president. TWICE! Tell me its a dream. Please for Christ’s sake wake me up from this nightmare.

Anyone that knows me, knows I have a pretty diversified taste in music. Anyone that puts in the time and effort and truly creates musical art is deserving of all the riches and their just due as anyone else. This Bieber music and I use that term very loosely, is simply not music.

Bieber is essentially the cute and charismatic offspring of basically a teenaged slut, who had nothing in life more remarkable then a laptop with a Youtube account. Cute and charismatic kid, cheap webcam, silly haircut, youtube and its welcome to paradise. He’s bigger then the goddamn Beatles without one single iota of an ounce of talent. You think this little shithead is going to sit down at the piano then write and compose the next Hey Jude? Sgt. Peppers? This hump wont bust out the next “I think were alone now” ala 1987 Tiffany.

Knowing all this, who in the hell is listening to him? Obviously a heck of a lot of people. Well I have one thing to say to each and every one of you. Fuck You! You bought into this sham of entertainment and you created a monster in the industry that we’ll never get away from now. This turd realistically should be working birthday parties out of the back of his mothers broken down Celica while she blows frat boys for gas money. Instead he’s getting male pop/rock artist of the year and twenty million twitter followers because you sheep will follow a hand grenade off a cliff in hopes of a blue tomorrow.

Not me! I’ll sit here and bitch for something better. I’ll put out a good word for local music. The guys and girls working in shitty bars, busting ass, sleeping in vans. A chick sleeping in her car with her dog and guitar writing her own music, selling bootleg cassette tapes and teeshirts for her next meal. Those are the deserving artists that should be getting our support. Not these other losers picked from obscurity on the internet, thrown in front of a mic and AUTOTUNED to some corporate garbage Pepsi, Coke, Budweiser, or Ticketmaster thinks you want to listen to.

Oh, and you bastards listening to Flo-Rida, Chris Brown, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry arent innocent in any of this either. There is plenty of stink to go around and you’re all covered in it!

Wake up people.