For Trinity. Listen.
Well hey there, you willies Enjoyer. Thank you for stopping by on the weekend, during your valuable and rare leisure time. You have decided visit here during your web-surfing. God Bless You.
Have you ever noticed that the WWW structure is called "The Internet," but to use it for browsing is called "Surfing the Web?" No one calls it Surfing "The Net," even though Sandra Bullock was in a movie of the same name in the last century.
Things have changed.
Things always do.
Hopefully, they evolve.
For those of you who are averse to the scientific concept of Evolution, well, let's just say that Change is God's Will.
Here's the final chapter about Trinity, my first Lady. And here, I will tell you why I now call her a "bitch." This is something I rarely ever do.
Unless the bitch calls for it. But I never, ever use the C word.
Well, unless there is a good reason for it. Feel free to call me a dick, bastard, fucker, asshole. I've been called worse. Just don't let me hear you say it.
In this next chapter you will not see the end of Bryan, that bastard. You knew this, unless you are quite forgetful, or simply don't care for my tales, which is cool with me.
There is Survivor, Biggest Loser, and Strange Foods To Eat In Places You Will Never Visit to watch on the boob tube.
Enjoy them! All are good diversions from our work time. Speaking of which, there are links below in case you simply come here for those. No harsh on you, weary Inter-Tubes Traveler. Get your happy on.
Now for those of you interested, Get Your Weekend Game On and Read.
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Trinity : Final Chapter.
The House Party
Here's the song that Bryan listened to while he got ready.
Bryan was quite excited. He had his new clothes, and now he was not wearing bell-bottomed jeans anymore. This night, he didn't even wear his tight "shortsssths," which was a good thing.
No need to frighten off the competition for the ladies, or scare the ladies themselves. Seemed like only cougars really appreciated his tight shortsssths anyways. Cougars with money and unavailable husbands...
He plastered the sides of his head with hair gel, combed up a rocking wave, and then poured two bottles of Draknar all over his burly chest.
I brushed my teef. I'd created a monster. It was Bryan.
Jooovie face breaker was in the closet now. Out came the Cougar Slayer. God Help The Ladies. Yeah, right. I rolled my eyes.
If only I knew that someday he would be a Punk Fucking Rocker.
Trinity had taken a liking to his suave manner, his new clothes, and his ability to talk drugs.
He'd passed me by in light-years.
Fucker. Tonight, he would become The Bastard.
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Here's a tune as antidote to Bryan's Song.
We took our bikes down the side streets, avoiding the main streets. As we rode in a southerly direction that early evening with the dusty sky glowing in pastel colors, slowly settling into a deep red, the warm desert air licked our skin like a well-paid hooker.
We each had taken a coupla shots from the hip flask Bryan stole from his daddy's locked liquor cabinet, key hidden above the living room picture-window trim. So we glowed as well. We had the trembly anticipation of our first house party, and glorious Trinity awaited me. I was planning on having some fun with that honeyed loveliness. This bike ride was the best part of what would turn out to be a fuck of a night.
The ride home was a fucking nightmare.
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When we got there, we noticed all of the sleek, gleaming low-riders parked in the street, on the grass of her lawn, and even on neighboring lawns. Had the car owners asked for permission? Probably not. We then and there made the very smart decision to hide our bikes behind some shrubs.
Trinity's home looked to have been built in the 1930's, complete with adobe brick hip-walls, a small but tidy courtyard garden entrance behind a black, wrought iron gate, and shit even had a small fountain in the middle.
Her front door was a massive wooden beast with black iron hardware that looked to have been forged in the fires of hell by Hephaestus himself. The window in it was orange stained glass.
We knocked, and I expected Long Duck Dong to be swinging from it when it finally opened.
Instead, it was Trinity herself, my Aphrodite. I smiled.
She grabbed me and gave me a big hug, mashing her full, firm breasts against me. If I had a tail, it'd be wagging.
Bryan shook her hand like a gentleman, and she smiled at him. But, was that a sort of glimmer in her eye for him? Even if it wasn't, I was still looking for it. Jealous, no?
Inside, everyone was either wearing large, white t-shirts that were freshly-ironed and spotless, with grey or brown or black pleated baggy slacks, and shiny black shoes that looked sharp like knives, or else they wore tight, single-colored sparkly party dresses. These were folks dolled up to look their very best, in their own style, and they were all quite remarkable to see. The men's hair was shiny and slicked-back like from the fifties. The ladies wore varying heights of hair-sprayed front-fans in the Chola style. There was a reason young male Messicans wore hairnets in school. For this very sort of event.
Music with heavy base and throbbing beats thickened the air.
We strode in wearing our suburban 80's Valley Dude clothes, but aside from a couple of unguarded stares, no one took a swing. Trinity, you see, had prepped them for our arrival, and she didn't want any shit from them.
God Bless Her.
Trinity wore a gold dress short on both top and bottom, which suited her deep tan and long legs. Holy fuck. Her green eyes and golden hair rendered her striking and highly fuckable. But these men in this home of hers were raised by their madres with proper manners regarding women, and she had no fear of being molested by any of them, lest they be beaten up and then ostracized by the others.
They were all family of a sort; tribal indeed. A different sort of culture from what Bryan knew. But not me.
We were introduced around, and we were welcomed politely, even if with somewhat guarded and reserved eyes from our new "friends." No one made fun of our garb in English, but when folks speak in a language that you do not fully understand and then they laugh, one always suspects that they are laughing at you. Human nature.
But mostly correct.
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The kitchen table, which had twelve seats (those Messicans and their Catholicism, God Bless 'Em) had room for their large families at every Sunday meal. Now this table was surrounded by folks snorting piles of powder of various colors from glass plates and mirrors, but not the surface of the table itself. Odd sign of respect, or was it simply covering their tracks?
It appeared that they were bowing in submission to their host, and receiving communion of a different sort. The Confession booths in Church would be busy the next week's Sunday, no doubt, with the Padres hearing the same tales of the previous weekend's debauchery all day long then.
No one would be going to church tomorrow.
Back then, a Saturday Night Party could last until Monday. Probably still happens.
Bryan made a bee-line to the kitchen table. Folks there were feeling quite groovy, and even though ladies were quite nice to him, and some even hugged him, Bryan knew enough to be respectful. Then he leaned and partook, to a round of approving hollas and laughter.
He was in. Even if his probation officer might not approve.
Me? I was the nerd from my homeland back east, and I'd never even smoked a cigarette. Trinity put her arm around my skinny waist and started to pull me toward the table.
But I halted. She looked me in the eye and raised her eyebrows. I leaned in to kiss her cheek, and then whispered into her ear, "I'm not doing drugs."
She nodded, but her arm somewhat stiffened.
You see, this sort of changed things. On a couple of levels.
First, and most immediate, is that when you are new into a round of people who are doing illegal activity, it can make them nervous when you do not engage as well.
There was a large amount of contraband on this large table, along with a bunch of folks who regarded me as a gringo stranger, who had much to lose and I had very little to offer in return, except for my own engagement, as security for them.
Trinity hid her inside fear, and then led me to the bathroom.
Some eyes followed, but it was Trinity, in her own home, and she was surrounded by her tribe.
She closed the door behind her, and looked me in the eyes. "You have to do just one line. I'll make it a small one. I'll fluff it out, to look wide, but you have to."
I shook my head. "Trinity, I have never done drugs, and I ain't about to start."
She was raised to never question her man, I think, for she did not argue with me then and there. Her jaw set firm, and she sighed, then turned and opened the door. I watched her curvy rear jiggle out, then turned and looked into the ornate mirror. There was friggin potpourri on the back of the toilet, for crying out loud.
My thin face stared back. I would not be doing any drugs, ever. I had big hopes for the future. Nothing would ever cause me to do such bad things.
I went back into the kitchen. Bryan was smiling quite happily, and he gestured me over.
"Dude, the pink pile is the best! Ya gotta try that one!" His breath was short and rapid. He had his meaty hands stuffed in his white slacks, and two ladies were hugging all over him.
"Bro, I ain't doing drugs."
A couple of young men just in front of us looked at each other, and their faces changed.
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EVOLUTION
Now, when you suddenly find yourself in a potentially dangerous situation, your instincts will warn you. Heed these warning signals. Our DNA has crafted these self-preservation guides into our physical structure through millions of years of Evolution, and to dismiss them is to flip the bird to such pro-creative design. Your DNA wants you to survive long enough to pro-create, to go forth and multiply, and you are acting a fool.
Like this: You are walking through a darkened, empty parking lot toward your car, and your hair stands up on your arms, your heart suddenly begins pounding, and you get the willies.
Bad is to dismiss it as a chill, rationalize it away as nothing. Our human intellect has been around for a short few millions years, but our animal instinct has been with us for eons, honed through trial and error. Error means that you do not pass on your mistake to any offspring.
Good is to become highly aware, and fight or flee. Is the danger coming from the other side of the car, or from behind you?
Do you run to your car, unlock it, jump inside, and lock the doors?
Or do you simply get the fuck out of there?
How close are you to your car?
Do you possess armament for defense, or can you at least put up your dukes and block a knife?
You have only a moment to decide, for to pause is to face peril.
What DO You DO?
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Bryan smiled and snickered. "Very funny, pal." He had a sort of look under his suddenly hollowed-out smile.
"He's funny, isn't he, Lupe?" The young, pretty lady on his left shoulder near me, giggled.
"Si, Bryan, he sure is an odd bird!"
Bryan's eyes went from mine to the men in front of us. Then he looked back at me.
And me? I simply smiled back, and swallowed. I stayed resolute in my decision. I said "Fuck You" to Evolution.
Tomorrow, I'll tell you about what happened next.
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LINKS
God's Will: Scientific Evidence of Evolution being a hoax.
Saturday cartoon.
Speaking of walking on water, now you kids can too.
Here's a pic concerning Jesus' birthday and some visitors.
Today and Tomorrow, site of pics. "Underwater" is nice. So is "Daylight."
Closest pics of the Sun's Corona (crown or Halo) during an eclipse.
Dote:
Don't eat raw slugs. God's Meek Creatures may inherit the Earth...
Anti-Dote: Odd pics (some NSFW).
For me, nano spider bots. Meaning: molecular bots. Very nice, high fives. What does God say about nanobots in the Bible, I wonder? Hmmm.... Nothing...
White paper written about molecular bots.
Doubler? Now with goats. Jeez. Us.
Speaking of animals, PETA has an animal kill rate of around 98% ...Un-Godly.
Antidote: living in a Church.
More for nerds like me.
50 paper robots. Cool. Man made life forms, out of paper?
Cool Paper structures, colored.
Not cool. People who steal. That is a Commandment we all agree on.
Thank you for partaking of my tales.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
Truly.
Tune for you for your Saturday.
---willies out.
OK, one more pic, for shits and giggles. I promise, if you press on it, it will grow. It gets bigger if you click.
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