11

This story was written by willies on February 13, 2010.



Click, pour, pack and puff, baby.




It was a helluva a fight.

Let me tell you all about it.


Joey always looked sharp, talked sharp, and this short, scrappy fucker could hold his own in a fight. Big time. Equivocate him with that Russel dude from Survivor. You want him on your side. Just don't get on his bad side.

Bryan was a big dude with a square jaw and calloused clubs who came out of the Pen with a bit too much bravado. But Bryan still is one of the most loyal friends you would ever want to have on your side. He even told me once, way back when, that he'd take a bullet for me. I mean, wow. Never doubt Bryan, you see. You will see.

Sean always loved exploring the Edge of Danger. Even when he wasn't looking for trouble, yeah, Trouble always found him. And he was always fond of including us in each shit storm he could find. There is a story I will tell you about the Fuckno, CA. State Bulldogs football team and a parking lot fight where I indeed discovered the interesting concept of PTSS for a bit after. But that is another True Story.

Sean is now in the Pen, for a long time it has been, and for a little while longer. He was the guy you may remember from earlier stories with the shotgun and crack that I've told you Mighty TDCers about, who will never admit to slamming juice into his thigh while he played football.


Tellesco was Sean's Bitch. He was also Sean's best high school football buddy. Tellesco's parents were rich. Sean liked his bitches to be rich.


And Fat Jerry, well, he was hell bent on Maim. You will see. Mean bastard, if you were on the wrong side of the line.
In this here WEAW TDC True Story Chapter: at the time, he was simply fucking Huge.

He slammed Juice.

Now, this Punk/Messican True Story Fight begins with some information for you to digest beforehand.

Cocai--- I mean , there are certain things which can cloud a person's judgment, and when such a thing occurs to one of your buds, what you do next depends upon three Factors, which are these Three things:

I. Is there more of this judgment-clouding material, and if so, how do I obtain it?

II. Am I safe to pursue such a course of action?

Now, there are three sub-factors to consider in order to reveal your answer to numba two above.

A. Will this material be good enough to warrant the risk and possible danger inherent in such a course of behavior?

B. Is there a possibility that in doing so, I may put others in jeopardy?

C. If I continue on, can I get out of the worst possible scenario that may occur due to my misbehavior, and can I help my buds follow me to safety? Understand, while I would never babysit any of my buds, I did always end up being the safety for them, to get them out of situations. Extractor of teeth, and Extractor of my buds. Never were guns involved. That's just too easy.

Except for this time.

I always find the Hard Way. It's my bane, my curse. But also, my Salvation.

Bryan was my salvation this here time when I got knocked down.

Now mind you, there is the Third Factor from the list above, and it is this:

III. Will this course of action end up with us all safe, sound, and able to tell an interesting story about it later on?

I leave it up to you to consider that. But I did the math that night, and conceived a new consideration.

Now, before I tell you about this new consideration I had, here is how we six young bastards, (four punk rockers and two big football players), found ourselves in such a situation. It wasn't Sean this time who found a new shit storm to fight our way out of.

It was Joey.

And here we begin.

+++++++++++++++++++





Joey had met a new contact, and she was a fucking bad-ass. Black haired Messican beauty with those deep green eyes, fighter's body with up-high C-cups, ink on her arms, leather on her body, and she was always armed.

She would only deal with those she knew well. She was getting Kilos straight from Peru, and it was flaky. In this context, the word "Flaky" means, "Excellent." Flaky means that when you take a razor blade and chop it into powder, what you are chopping gets all flaky, like snowflakes. The original Ether, used to cut it back then, (don't know what they do with it now-a-days) in the harvest house, it stings your nose. You can get a nose-bleed if you do not chop long enough to release that shit. Best idea was to cut it further with Powdered B-Vitamins to increase your investment.

This was not simply greed. This was also safety for return customers.

A brick of pure shit is hard-packed. Pull a corner off of a brick, and it will look like the curds of cottage cheese, but they are pearly, and hard-packed and look dry, but they are not. These curds look like tiny Opal Gems, all clinging together, rainbows and everything, when you knock a corner off.

(It must be said here that I have not been near any of this thing for 25 years. Statute of limitations and all...)

Now go pack, pour, sip and puff. This song takes a bit to load, and it is loud, and nasal.



++++++++++++++++++++++

Joey fell in love with her. OK, obviously it was, "got a permanent hard on for her." And she took a liking to him. Dude had that effect.

Not me. In high school, I always ended up in the dreaded "Good-Male-Friend-Zone" with hot chicks always crying about their asshole boyfriends and asking "What should I do?" when I, as every other wholesome American Teen, simply wants to get their finger, tongue, or dick wet.

Well, Joey got his finger, tongue, face, dick and balls wet. Thanks a lot Joey.

She was connected.


And she made the mistake of enjoying Joey enough to want to get herself Joey-ed again.

Often.

Call it "En-Joey-ment."

We did not.

He called her "Flor-Du-Mall," which was quite odd, because he is Latino, and this is close to a French phrase that means "Flower Of Death," in this case. I think he knew about Baudelaire somehow.

Anyways, her Gangster Man didn't not know about Baudelaire. He knew about guns.

This did not bode well for us.

Now, being incapacitated, this story will continue tomorrow on Sunday.

So here are some links for you in the mean while.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++



These links are directed at the Huge Asshole who knocked me down. No, I do not hold a grudge. Ya think?

But this is how I would imagine him these days. Except for one fact. He was lesser, in the grand scheme of things. He got shot.

That is Messican for "Loser."

"I fart in your general direction."

To wit:

Are you the sort to wear t-Shirts with sayings on them to the bar in hopes of attracting chicks with your self-effacing humor? If so, sorry about punching you in the sternum last night. You'll get your breath back in a minute...

Leslie Hall is your type.

And, you probably won't get this.

Perhaps if your current name is Dick Ball and there is a teen in your house that sleeps for weeks at a time and you have to bathe her and dress her, pedopolice would like to talk to you.

You probably would build your home around those whom love you, like they invented in Japan.

Let me show you how to deconstruct your ideology.

But if, simply if, you were cool enough to create robots, this would be your salvation.

You might be storing your mental fat in an odd way, ya huge, juice-shooting muscly bastard.

Antidote for my TDC buds:

Abundance. Kinda NSFW cuz of all the boobie shots of one chick's amazing rack on a single page. Click it to grow it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tomorrow will be the continuation of this latest True Story, but before that occurs, there will be a new Chapter in the Tucky Thang above it.

God Help you.

God Help Us All.





---willies out.