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Finally, after a year and a
half of sneaking around behind my girlfriends back (just remember,
you're my petunia in my garden of love, pumpkin-nut) I got the
"ok" to hang out with Damien again... Not like it mattered.
The reason? Bangcock tuna girl
Bachelor party baby! The victim - Stoovie. The place- Damiens
house of hard working women of the night. First of all, the evening
had a breeze of a late night sausage party in it, since Damien
wasn't handling everything himself for these special occaisions
like he usually does. Damien said he'd have it at his place,
provide the beer and get people to show. Stoovies brother in
law to be, Joe, said he wanted to handle the party favors, strippers
and all the food. The deal was simple, just show up, pay $30
a head, eat and drink all you can, and join in on what hopefully
would be a fuckin seafood buffet.
The original 2 Bangcock STD
donors were supposed to be at Damiens by 11, but their middle
eastern, oil dwelling, musty men of midnight (MMM for short,
their "managers"), were on Saddam time and showed up
an hour behind the troops who had been standing at attention
the whole time like the proud Americans we are. (Support the
troops and you all should be loving some BUSH.)
Then, before anything even
started, the shit the ceiling fan in a white room and it was
all over the fuckin place. You see, the original 2 poonanny pansies
in the garden of weeds decided that the price that was PROMISED
to Joe for TWO for one at the seafood buffet was wrong...they
told him he was reading off the wrong menu and the price was
2 whores on the floor for a lot more. Since they were running
so late, and Damiens house was overflowing with horny, drunken
idiots with money to burn, they thought they had us where they
wanted us and were going to pay. Joe was pissed off and almost
strated a brawl with the MMM (musty men of midnight) "managers"
and well...needless to say, he kicked them in the brown eye and
told them to hit the home turf of the boulevard.
Joe came back in with the BAD
news and was freaking out like chicken running through Ethiopia
(that's pretty fuckin scary!). Word got out to the swashbuckiling
crew of what was happening and we were a bunch of one eyed, spittin,
bonefish angry pirates! People were screaming, some were leaving,
(Like this manhole, Pittsburgh Steeler fan of a motherless goat
name Alejandria) others wanted their money back, all were looking
at Joe like he had the biggest tits in the room, expecting him
to do a dance and the rest were asking Damien what the fuck was
up now.
Damien was pretty pissed. He
took me, Joe and Miraslov in his room to figure out what to do.
We had Danimal watching the door, keeping the angry seamen from
the main ovary room. Damien was screaming at Joe telling him
to calm down because all of the panicking wasn't getting anything
done. We were looking through the rent a hooker papers, making
phone calls and getting nowhere fast. Damien, cooler than cool,
made a phone call to an agency he knew of. He spoke to the chotch,
in a calm, monotone voice and told him what was happening. Damien
hung up the phone and promised some bomb babes from the religion
of boobism and they would be showing up soon. The only bad part
was they weren't hookers that would suck fat cock, but they would
be hot and putting on a good display of raw fishery.
It's now 12:30 and the 2 new
providers of poontang make their way into Damiens palace of pork
entrepeneurs. They go back to his amazing room of animal antics,
still guarded the infamous Danimal, the 6'8" 69th wonder
of the world of women. 20 minutes later the show would begin
and so would this story...
 While the 2 tampoon lagoon occupants
were in Damiens bathroom putting on their neccessary warpaint,
Damien was in the kitchen, doing shot after shot of Jagermeister
on his never ending quest of drunken madness, trying to make
people (like me) barf all over the place. While this was going
on, Damien had his friend, codename: VHS Victor (named changed
to protect the guilty) stashing some movie making magic deep
in the fireplace of funk. "Victor" put a piece of electrical
tape over the red light on the vcr camera, and with the tinted
glass covering the fireplace, the camera couldn't be seen. We
tried it out to make sure it would work and it did. So we let
the tape roll, while the "ladies" got ready, for additional
entertainment later.
The girls came out and the
show started. It ended almost as quickly as it began with some
rowdy ice throwers being thrown out. Then it restarted and went
for a few more minutes and stopped again when some butt slinging
fartknocking chode champion took a fuckin picture! The flash
went off and the "ladies" saw it like a possum in the
headlights and headed straight the fuck out, back into Damien's
bedroom to pack their shit and leave.
Their "manager" went
back to Damiens room to calm them down. The girls said that if
the camera, or film in it could be found and destroyed, the party
would continue, if not, the show was ending. The buttered biscuits
were becoming beligerent. So while the chode smoker was talking,
Damien went into his office and grabbed a disposable camera.
Next, he handed it to one of the guys in the living room and
told him to throw the camera onto the living room floor while
Damien was dicatating the conversation to the "manager"
so the "manager" wouldn't know who threw the camera
on the floor. It worked perfectly. As soon as the fake camera
entered the arena of asshole aristocrats, their "manager"
found it and took it to the women to destroy. They did and the
party continued.
After all of this, I needed
hit of the old hippy hay off the heavenly hashpipe. As I walked
out front to smoke, I noticed toliet papering taliban terrorists
of the night (the bachelorette party) were running a muck in
the front yard. After some Raider fan-like gestures, I went in
to report to Damien. Once again, D (short for Damien) took over.
Damien walked out there and talked to the wannabe wedding bitches
and told them that "there were 2 women fucking each other
in his living room with the same dildo and he would rather be
watching them than wasting his time outside." So, D said
they could "either come inside and watch with us,"
or "act like a bunch of fucking cunts and get the hell away
from his house."
We went back inside and a few
ladies followed while the others left. We walked back in the
door and all of the other guys were crowded around, watching
the 2 bangcock lesbo whores in amazement as if they were all
christian virgins seeing the dirty deed done for the first time.
D just kind of laughed and said "You'd think that none of
these guys ever watched 2 chicks fuck each other with a double
headed dildo before." We both had a good laugh, went into
the kitchen and did some more shots.
The show finished and everyone
was happy. The girls took their money and went their way. As
soon as they left, "Victor" whipped out the vcr camera
from the fireplace to replay the action. We plugged in into the
TV just to find out that as soon as the first girl started to
get naked the fuckin tape ended! Apparently, "Victor"
had some "important things that couldn't be taped over"
like his briss, or what I like to call the decaptiation of the
purple headed love warrior, and started the tape halfway thorough
so it missed all of the nakedness!
By about 2:30am, Damiens place
looked like a scene from "Saving Private Ryan" and
was wasted. Bodies laying everywhere, it smelled like barf, stale
beer and food wherever you went and it was time to go home. So
I called my now undersatnding girlfriend to pick me up and take
my fucked up ass home. AND THIS TIME
I DIDN'T NEED TO USE A NAPKIN BECAUSE THERE WAS NO CREAM PIE
INVOLVED!!!!
See me, my lady and Danimal
with Tommy Chong, (who was kind enough to break in my heavenly
hash pipe) of Cheech and Chong by CLICKING
HERE. |
