Story Time

I figured that I would post all of my stories on one page (from oldest to newest) so that they are more easily assessable for you all.  New stories will be posted here as well as on the normal blog.

Sundays are the best days…

for observing freaks that is. They say that the freaks come out at night. Sunday nights, however, the real freaky freaks–as opposed to the poseur freaks–come out en masse. Over the last few weeks I have stumbled upon a local bar here in Queens that has turned into a gold mine of freakishness. (Let me take a second here to define what I mean by freak. First off I don’t mean that crazy, cool, but kind of weird hipster kid. When I say freak I mean the weird, mentally unstable, most likely smelly, disheveled, disorientated person. I mean the type of person that you look at in awe at the fact that they have survived on this earth long enough to reach adulthood. Maybe it proves the existence of a god since there is no way this person should be alive. That is what I mean by freak. Now that the semantics are out of the way let us continue on this journey).

The first time I sauntered into this bar a few weeks ago I was just looking for a little hole in the wall place where I could watch some baseball, drink a beer, and eat some decent pub grub. On the surface it didn’t look any different than the plethora of other little niche bars in the New York area. I was soon to find out different though. Around 7 PM the shift changed and the sky started to darken. A beer or two later and it was completely dark. I looked around and the change was drastic. The entire of the bar had changed. It had been populated by a bunch of commuters stopping off for a quick brewski before heading home, but that was no longer the case. The normal people had left, as quick as roaches fleeing when the lights are turned on, and had conveniently been replaced by a group of real fucking winners. I’m telling you these were some of the saddest people I had seen–until the next time I went back.

It’s amazing how much you can learn and see by just sitting back and watching people. So that’s just what I did sit back and watch. The most interesting person there was this young–she looked young but wound up being older than me–girl. This girl was a fucking true gem. She might as well of had C-R-A-Z-Y tattooed across her forehead. The craziness was just vibrating out of her body, it was uncanny. Anyways I sat back with growing curiosity and watched her and what I thought was her date. This dude must have been 60 so I also thought that maybe it was her dad. I just knew she was one of those crazy broads that had daddy issues so why wouldn’t she be going out with a dude old enough to be her daddy–but I digress. So I sat back and watched these two interact, and I have never wanted super hearing more than I did that night. Their whole demeanor and conversation looked so uncomfortable. I wish I could have heard it. Well the old man must have been a borderline freak because he boned out after a little bit, and the girl went outside to go smoke a cigarette. I decided to go outside also because well I was curious and the game was boring. I followed her out and fiddled around with my phone pretending that I was doing something important. I then gave her a sideways glance and caught her eye. This is where things got interesting.

“Hey whats up?” I asked.

“Smoking.” she stated bluntly, “Yeh I noticed that,” I quipped, all while thinking what a brain trust this broad is. “So how are you doing tonight?” This is when her sad tale of woe started.

“Well I’m doing really shitty, you know, I mean I just lost my job today and I was also evicted from my apartment. Lucky my friend is going to let my cat stay at his apartment but I can’t stay there.” That last part almost caused me to burst into uncontrollable laughter. The ‘lucky’ part is finding a place for your cat. Wow. Anyways she was standing there looking all sad and pathetic and I was doing my best not to laugh in her face when she finished up her cigarette and said her good-bye and walked back inside. The story didn’t end here though. Another beer or two later she walked out to smoke and once again I walked out shortly afterwards. Recognition came slowly to her, but eventually she recognized me and said hello. First we exchanged names, hers was Ellen, and then in need of more drama I started asking prying questions.

“So what kind of job did you have?” I asked. “Well I worked for some advertising firm in Manhattan.” Totally unbelievable, but whatever it’s her story not mine so I let her run with it. “Well sounds like a good job I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” I say reassuringly. “Yeh I guess, I mean, I’m just worried about tonight,” she says with an air of concern. “Why?? What’s going on tonight? ” I excitedly ask her. Unbeknown to me the craziness was about to start. “Nothing,” and here she starts to get kind of weepy, “I just don’t have anywhere to stay tonight. I think I might have to spend the night in the park,” she bemoans.

“Damn that sucks. How come your friend is keeping your cat but won’t let you stay also?” I was bewildered that she had a friend that would allow her cat to stay at his house and not her. I still don’t think she owns a cat and the friend is probably just as much a figment of her imagination. “I dunno I’m just glad my cat has somewhere to stay.” Right as opposed to you having a place to stay. Anyways she continued to lament her sad situation. “It’s going to be a cold night tonight. I really wish I didn’t have to stay in the park. I wish I had somewhere to stay,” she said as she looked up at me with pleading eyes. She was really fishing with that last statement. It wasn’t an empty wish. She was basically asking me for a place to stay. She even looked at me with a sideways type glance and gave me the whole doe-eyed, sad, innocent look, but of course I’m not down with random freaks crashing at my house, so I made sure she understood that. “Well good luck with finding a place to stay and be careful in the park it attracts all kinds of crazy individuals, I said as I started to head back toward my beer.”

I went back to the bar and continued to watch the game–I think the Angels were playing–and like I said it was kind of a boring game, as most AL games tend to be. I noticed that the Ellen kept glancing over at me, but I kept my eyes looking forward. I didn’t want to encourage her. She ended up leaving shortly afterward, I assume she headed out to the park to get herself a good bench to sleep on. After she left the night quickly descended into a blur for me as I started to take shots of whiskey and before I knew it it was 4 AM and I had to go catch the bus home. That wouldn’t be the last time I would see Ellen. I saw her the next Sunday and her crazy, amazing story got even weirder.

Sundays are the best days, Part Duex

The next week I went back to the local watering hole in hopes to me some more freaks, and I was not disappointed. I went to my seat near the end of the bar so that I would have a good position to survey all of the freaks in the bar. This time, once again, with the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon the normal patrons left, and the freaks descended upon the bar like a drove of zombies. Lucky for me my friend Ellen also returned and this time she looked much worse than before. She sat down next to me looked at me dumbly and smiled. I could tell she had no idea who I was or that she had already told me her life story only a week ago.

She sat there for a few more minutes looking dumbly around the bar. Finally she looked over at me and said “Hi, how are you doing?” I told her I was fine and then we exchanged names…again. We continued to exchange some pleasantries all the while I was receiving some sideways smirks from the bartender–who probably thought that I was trying to hook up with this wretch. Anyways I asked her what she did for work (the previous week she had told me that she had been fired from her job), and she started telling me that she was a photographer. She then went off telling me about how she has spent four months in Iraq embedded with one of the west coast Marine Infantry Units. I still think she is full of shit, but she did sound like she had some knowledge of the military. Either way I highly doubt that it was true; mostly because she was crying about her Manhattan advertising job she lost only a week earlier.

She dropped a smile on me and then said “Would you like to see some of my pictures?” “Fuck yeh,” I replied “I would love to.” She busted out her big suitcase that I hadn’t noticed–which was weird considering on how big it was–and pulled out a big sheet of prints. So she excitedly started to show me the photos telling where they were taken and what they were of. Some of them were actually pretty decent but most of them looked like garbage. Then she told me that she has a book coming out on Coney Island–fuck I mean her stories just kept getting wilder and wilder. I was half expecting her to tell me that on the weekends she is a race car driver.

She then excused herself to go to the bathroom and asked if I could look after her beer. I joked to her saying “Don’t worry I won’t drop any roofies in your drink.” She didn’t laugh but just looked back smirked and walked down the stairs to the bathroom. While she was gone the bartender–who seems like one of those MTV girls that is always looking for drama–came over and said “Do you know that girl?Are you two together?” all fast and inquisitively. I laughed and shook my head viciously. I then told her the story of last week, and then how she sat down next to me this week seemingly not recognizing me. She smirked and then said “Well I don’t like that bitch.” I laughed and told her “I think this broad is great but only in the sense that she is so fucking crazy I never know what she is going to say or do.” She looked at me like I was crazy, grabbed me a new beer, and then walked off. All this took place within a twenty minute period and still this girl was down in the bathroom. By the time she did come back I was already half-way finished with my new beer.

She walked up the steps from the bathroom looking like she had just crawled through the sewers of Shawshank. Besides it looked like she had lost a little bit of control of her motor functions. She wasn’t walking all that straight anymore her hands were doing the twitch. So she sat down next to me and I told her “Don’t worry your drink is fine.” She gave me a little crooked smile then said “Hey I’m gonna go outside and smoke.” I looked at her wondering if she was asking me for permission or if she was just talking because she was smacked out of her mind. Before she could leave, however, she embarked on one of the most violent and lengthy coughing fits I have ever had the pleasure to witness.

It reminded me of those movies where someone walks into a bar and simultaneously the record skips and everyone in the bar looks at the newcomer; except in this case everyone was so fucking taken aback by her coughing that they just had no choice but to drop what they were doing and look at the freak. Without getting over dramatic let me explain the ferocity with which she coughed. It began like a small creek gurgling in the woods just a normal cough, but then it continued on growing in power and ferocity. Her eyes began to bug out, and the veins in her neck began to bulge and throb, like Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk. After the first couple minutes sweat started to bead up on her forehead and she started making that gruesome hiiiiic hiiiiiic sound that usually occurs when you are starting to run out of breath. Her cough continued to grow more ferocious, and it continued to garner the attention of everyone in the bar. Eyes were affixed on this girl as everyone waited for an alien or something to pop out and disgorge her. About this time drool started to coagulate at the corners of her mouth, and after a few more coughs a tremendous flow of spit burst forth from her mouth. The spit just kept going and by the time it stopped it was hovering a few inches from the bottom of the floor. I have never seen such a long string of spit before. It was worth of an entry in Guinness’ World Records. While still in awe of such a fantastic display of coughing the bartender walked over to me and asked “Is she OK?” I shrugged my shoulders and said ” I dunno but she’s still breathing so I guess so.” The bartender looked at me then gave the girl a dirty look–which she couldn’t see because her head was buried into the bar–and walked off still shaking her head. I was ready to ask for some popcorn to further enhance the show when the girl finally stopped coughing. It must’ve lasted about five minutes.

I meekly put two fingers on her shoulder and asked her if she was ok. She shook her head NO like a St. Bernard and the spit dislodged itself from her mouth and made a beeline for my knee. I did a quit little juke and luckily it missed me and splashed onto the floor. She excused herself, and then walked outside to go smoke a cigarette, because that is exactly what she needed after the coughing fit she just had, but I’m not a doctor so what the fuck do I know. About halfway through her cigarette I walked out to talk to her. As I was out there in the streets lamps I looked at her face and noticed that she had some broad scratches on her cheek that she wasn’t completely covered by her hair. Thinking that there has to be a great story to go along with these scratches, I raised my arm up and lightly stroked her cheek and said “You seem to have some scratches on your face, what happened? Did someone do this to you?” She looked up at me with big bambi brown eyes that started to fill with tears. A couple of her tears escaped from her eyes and careened down her scratched up cheeks. She tried to blink them away, but it just caused more tears to be set free. She looked away from me and told me “It was my mom. She did this too me. I can’t fight back at my mom though, she’s the only person I can’t fight back against.” Statements like that tend to leave a person breathless. Now I was the one standing there dumbly. I didn’t know what to say or how to feel. Shit it was funny, sad, and tragic all rolled up together. Thankfully I didn’t have to think of anything to say to her, because right on cue her mom called her and they started to fight with each other. I walked back to my seat and watched her yell through the glass window like I was looking at some fucked up fish tank. The bartender came over gave me another beer asked my what was the drama and I told her. She walked away and we were both shaking our heads at the situation. Ellen came back inside grabbed her suitcase and still holding back tears said goodbye and walked off into the night.



In honor of GTA I figured that I would write my true-life tale of how I almost got arrested by the NYPD for doing absolutely nothing. So a few weeks back I finished up my latest semester of a few of us grad students decided to go out and celebrate. We decided we would stay here in the hood near our university since it’s quicker and easier than going to Manhattan, with the added bonus of not having to worry about falling asleep on the train and waking up next to some smelly bum. So we hit up some of the bars close to the university, and this being the first time I’ve ever gone out on a Wednesday with a bunch of other students, I was immediately promised myself not to do it again. Seriously some of these people are fucking lame. Granted the crowd I was with was good, but some of these students were just your classic Alpha Beta douche-bags. Along with them were the always annoying uber-hipster kids that think they are way too good for everyone but they still choose to grace everyone with their presence.

One kid was this chunky hipster kid wearing some fucking cliche band t-shirt. You know the ones I mean. The month+adjective+emotion=band name like: The October Everlasting Sadness or January’s Cruel Anger. Anyways even though homeboy was kind of fat he insisted on keeping with hipster tradition and wearing kids clothes. So his fucking shirt was about three sizes too small–much like the Grinch’s heart–and it accentuated his frumpy body. His conversation was just as lame. He talked shit about the bar we were at and kept ‘threatening’ to leave so he could go play Guitar Hero or Smash Bros. Originally he was saying that he wanted to play beer pong, but once I told him I was a beer pong savant and that I’d smoke him and his friends, he quickly changed his tune. The worst part is the dude looked like the hipster version of Ogre and yet his girlfriend was incredibly cute and nice. One of the mysteries of the world I will never understand.

Anyways after the hipster kids left the real fun began, and the $1 beers were flowing like water. We all started to have a real good time bullshitting, taking shots, and just being generally belligerent. I saw one of my companions talking to this other girl. They were both soccer players and they were both coaching so they had all kinds of shit to talk about. The girl she was talking to was so fucking beat though. I mean she looked like she had just shanked someone before she rolled into the bar. By that time I was feeling pretty good and I offended a couple of my companions by uttering some ribald comments about the shim. So after another hour or so we sauntered off back toward the university.

As we got closer to the university my friend Stacy asked me if I wanted a ride home. I figured why not it’s after 2AM, and I’d rather ride than walk. She told me that her car was locked up inside the school so she would have to jump the fence and then call security. I helped her jump the fence–which looked so painful, I mean if a guy was to sit on the top of a pointy fence he’d probably never have kids, but women sit on that shit like it’s a bench–and then she ran off to her car and I stood there by the gate with this other dude Carl. We were just sitting there bullshitting when Stacy pulled up and told us that she had called security and they were on their way to open the gate. She sat on her hood–with the lights and engine on–and we stood on the other side talking. About 30 seconds after we started talking an NYPD cruiser pulled up to the stoplight, stopped for about a second then flashed their lights at us. The officer riding shotgun–who will be know from here on as Officer Dickhead–rolled down his window and shouted “What’s going on here?” Well Stacy began to explain to him what we were doing as Carl and I just stood there nodding in agreement.

Well Officer Dickhead looked over at me pointed and said “Hey! You!” I turned toward him and said “ME?!?”

To which he replied “Yes you, you fucking drunk.”

Right there I knew something was going down. So I asked “What’s wrong Officer? Did I do something wrong?” He shook his head slow and methodically, and with the anger brewing in him replied “Give me your ID?”

I started to slowly inch toward him and asked “Did I do something Officer?”

“I’ll fucking site you for trespassing if you don’t give me your ID!” he shouted at me.

Right there I knew he was a scumbag so I quipped “How can you site me for trespassing when I’m on the sidewalk which is public property?

“Oh what are you a fucking laywer?” he squealed in annoyance.

“No officer I just know my rights, and I know I can’t possibly be trespassing on public property,” I reminded him. It was there where I decided that I would have to make a decision whether I was going to carry this through all the way or give in to the demands of Officer Dickhead. In the seconds that passed in the silence between my response and his, I imagined myself getting arrested, smacked around, and then locked up for the night in some smelly drunk tank. It was that last image that forced capitulation. I decided it was late and I would rather sleep in my own bed. “You’ve got some mouth on you, don’t you?”

“No officer I just know my rights,” I said as I walked over to his cruiser pulling out my ID. I didn’t give him my driver’s license though, instead I gave him my school ID. While the Officer was writing down my information I once more protested the harassment and told him that we had done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be mistreated like this. Up until this time the driver hadn’t said anything, but now he decided to speak up. It seemed like they were playing a little of the good cop/bad cop routine. He told me “Hey just be quite OK.”

Of course I’m kinda drunk and I’m not ready to stop pleading my case so I tell him “Well sorry Officer I don’t see why we are being harassed, especially since we haven’t done anything wrong.” Well Officer Dickhead had to respond in bad cop fashion “Well you just don’t shut up do you?” “You just keep running your fucking mouth,” he says trying to instigate something. His partner then chimes in like the good cop “Hey man just be quiet and everything will be ok.”

“I’ll be quiet when I find out why we are being treated like this,” I demanded.

Officer Dickhead chimed in now “You just don’t ever shut up do you?” “C’mon give me a fucking reason just give me a fucking reason and I will fuck you up.” “Keep running your mouth, I’ll be happy to take you in.”

Meanwhile good cop tells me “Just be quiet he’s not fucking around.”

At this point I finally decided I had pressed the issue as far as I could without going to jail so I shut, grabbed my ID, turned my back on the cop, and then walked away. At about this time the school security rolled up and the cops took off without further incident. So we piled in Stacy’s car she took me home, and the whole time I was just fucking livid. I got home retold the story to my roommates, and then walked into my room booted up the 360 and proceeded to kill some motherfucking cops.

High Drama in Queens

This afternoon as I was getting ready to head out for the day–around noonish–my doorbell went ape-shit.  So I ran downstairs expecting either the UPS guy or that it was my downstairs neighbors’ kids pranking me.  I walked outside and only saw my neighbor standing on the grass, he waved and told me it was a mistake.  I thought nothing of it and walked back upstairs, but I heard the whisper of walkie talkies.  I didn’t think anything of it and finished getting ready.  About fifteen minutes later I walked back outside, and realized that they were cops around my house.  My neighbors’ wife was talking to one–and her face looked red like she had taken a backhand–and my neighbor was talking to the other.  He told me sorry about the doorbell being rung and that he was “having problems with the wife.”  Umm yeah that’s pretty obvious I thought.   I told him no problem and walked away as fast as I could.

So I just get home around 6 hours later and it looks like round 2 took place while I left.  There is a patrol car here with two new cops, and an ambulance to boot.  I now have to wonder if he decided to throw her a real beating because she called the cops the first time.  If that’s the case I don’t want to be around for Round 3.

An Unexpected Journey

This afternoon as I sat in my room sweating profusely, and debating whether or not to turn on my AC unit, I instead decided to take a trip and enjoy the free AC on the subways. So I grabbed a book–Dante’s The Inferno–slung the satchel over my head and started stepping for the bus stop. As I was riding to the subway I decided on taking a long trip out to Coney Island. It would give me plenty of time to read, and then hopefully Coney Island would be mildly entertaining. Looking back it’s amazing how journeys end up breaking down. While my trip out to Coney Island was completely uneventful, once there everything changed, and weird things kept happening right until I got home.

I had decided to take the local train out to Coney Island so that by the time I got there I was able to get to the fifth ring of hell in The Inferno. The first stop once I got off the train was to get some lunch. I decided on grubbing up a carne asada burrito. While I was waiting for my burrito to be made I thought about how cool it would be if I could use the Jedi mind shit to make the cashier think that I had already paid her. After a few minutes of trying to influence her mind I quit. A few minutes later my burrito was done and she looked down at my order and wrote next to it “pagando.” I couldn’t believe it, she looked at me smiled, told me to enjoy, and then walked off. Well that’s where I pussied out. Although, this was what I was trying to accomplish for a few minutes, I am actually way to honest, to take something for free. So I called out to her and told her that I hadn’t paid yet. So I shelled out $8 for a burrito that, in the end, was only worth about $4. First off they used Parmesan cheese, used way too much rice, not enough black beans, and there was no guacamole or sour cream. Oh well, I still kind of wish I would have taken the burrito for free, but I’m banking on some good karma to come my way.

After the burrito I decided to take a stroll along the pier and check out the ocean. I don’t know what it is about piers and oceans, but they attract some weird fucking people. There must be some mystical pirate spirits that make people think they have to be all skeevy to go to the beach. I swear some of these people prepare for the beach by not showering for a week. This is true of almost every beach I have been to around the world so it’s some sort of world-wide phenomenon. I don’t get it and it just confirms my overall disdain for beaches in general.

There were two interesting dichotomies on the boardwalk though. There were two bands playing, one on the left side and one on the right side, of the boardwalk. First the band on the right side was a traditional African/Jamaican band. Their first song–and the only one I could stomach–was a tribute to Sean Bell. Now I’m not minimizing the tragedy of what happened, but just how the band chose to deal with it. First off it was poorly written, whoever wrote it needs to read some good poetry or rap, or take a class, the music was militaristic, and the message just flat out sucked. It basically tried to portray anyone of color as oppressed, any white person as the oppressor, and the whole NYPD as Bernard Goetz. Basically I loathe sweeping generalizations and stereotypes so there really wasn’t any redeeming factors about the song. Also let me just say I have friends and family that are cops and I know how hard and thankless the job can be. Despite my previous run in with the NYPD, I don’t hate cops. I don’t trust them, but I also know their job is shitty so I refrain from heaping condemnation on them, especially when the vast majority of them are good, honest people. Ok, I’ll get off my soapbox now.

The next band was much better. There were more of a fusion of R&B, Funk, and Reggae. Their sound was good and their writing was light years ahead of the previous band. While the message of their song had similar intonations–about people trying to keep you down–it’s direction was different. They had more of an Obama message: fight on, stay strong, and keep strong in your hope. I like them much better. Unfortunately, for me, the only song I heard was the last song of their set, so I continued on with my journey. As I walked next to the Cyclone I saw this dude who was so fucking drunk he collapsed right in front of a cop. I looked over and the dude was mumbling something on the ground as he lay flat on his back (the way he was splayed out on the ground looked like he was ready for a chalk outline). Finally, the cop helped him up and I laughed and shook my head.

As I was watching that scene unfold this black dude walked up to me carrying a bunch of his CD’s that he was trying to sell. I hoped against hope that he wouldn’t try to sell me one of his CD’s, because I just didn’t feel like dealing with that. Luckily, for me he told me a fantastic story. As I was shaking my head about the drunk, he sauntered over an said “Maaan I could never get that drunk man. Fuuuck that!” “Yeah I know what you mean,” I said “that’s just kind of embarrassing.” This is where he started his great story.

“You know man, where I come from you walk down the street like that,” and he tapped me on the shoulder to look at him do his impression of a drunk walk, “you become a vic man. A fucking vic. If we ever saw some mother fucker walking down the street drunk like that we would fuck them up and rob them, you know?” Just before he launched into the next portion of his story, I slyly swept my hand over my ass to make sure my wallet was still there. He then continued on, “You know, this one time we saw this cat fucking walking down our street. He was dressed to the nine’s. He had this fucking nice suit and tie on and a hat, a beaver hat.” I’m not sure what a beaver hat is, at first I thought of the Davey Crockett hat, but then I remembered that was a raccoon hat. Anyways he kept on talking.

“This motherfucker was so fucking drunk he just let us escort him down an alley where we sat him down and robbed him of everything. Haha, you know, that fucker just looked at us and said ‘you fucking robbed me’ and we just walked off you know.” I couldn’t believe that some random dude who I had know for all of a minute had just told me he had robbed someone blind once. Unbelievable what people will tell you if you give them the opportunity. Then he turned his story into an after school special. “You know man, that is the reason why I don’t drink or do drugs or anything. I saw the way we made victims of those people and I said no way not for me.” I was pretty stunned at this point and told him “well I guess it’s a good thing then in a weird way.” I’m not even sure what that means. I just felt compelled to say something. I mean he told me the reason he doesn’t drink or do drugs is because he used? to rob people that got drunk or did drugs. What do you say to that?

Shortly thereafter he took his leave of me–to go and try to sell some more CD’s–and I took my leave of Coney Island. Dante was much more compelling and interesting, because unlike Coney Island, I didn’t have to smell anything. I hurried up and got back on the N train and dove back into The Inferno. The train was largely uneventful until I got back to Queens. It was there that I transferred to the E and the weirdness began. There was some weird ass white family–I’ll put money down that they were Mormons–who had basically kidnapped the whole train. As soon as I walked into the car I knew I had made a mistake, but I figured it would give me something to write about.

So I sat down and just watched. The dad looked like he wanted to kill himself. He looked so fucking miserable, I almost felt sympathy for him. He had about 8 kids with him. His daughter–who looked about 9–was working the subway pole like a stripper. No shit she was swinging around the pole gesticulating up and down around and around for the whole twenty minutes I was on the train. I wanted to fucking tell the dad “hey if you let her feel comfortable on that greasy pole she’s gonna be riding one permanently in about ten years,” but I decided to keep my mouth shut. He had three other kids that were just raising hell yelling, jumping, and just being little bastards. Everyone on the train was visibly annoyed, but for some reason we all put up with it quietly, and patiently. He had two little boys who were sitting on another bench simultaneously picking their noses and wiping it on their legs, or the bench, or the poles. Disgusting. Every time the dad caught them he yelled, they would stop, he would down in deep depression, and then they would start up again. A vicious cycle indeed. The other strange thing is they had two other boys who, although everyone else was really white, both looked Latino. I know they were all together because of the way they were all interacting together. You can tell when people are comfortable with each other like family. The fact that they were much darker just fucking tweaked out my mind.

Finally, I was able to get off of the train and head to the bus stop. By this time it had started to drizzle again–who is the drizzle?–it had been drizzling intermittently throughout the day, but had not been bad at all. That is until I got off the bus and started my quarter mile walk to my house. Then the skies opened in epically biblical fashion. It rained and thundered like crazy, and I looked over my shoulder half expecting to see an ark come rolling down the street. By the time I got home I was soaked to the bone. I haven’t been in rain like that since the last typhoon I was in–seriously–and it figured it started the only time I was going to be exposed for more that a couple of seconds. Just my luck. Now I feel like I need a drink to cleanse my mind from the riffraff I’ve been exposed to all day.

The Never Ending Nightmare

There are certain events, that happen in the course of day-to-day life, that are like a kick to the nuts, to put it bluntly.  Some of these events, if you’re unlucky enough, will repeatedly kick you in the balls.  I am that unlucky, and today I was kicked in the balls once again.

It all started, innocently enough, about a year and a half ago, when I went out for a few drinks with a friend.  It was a grand ol’ night, and we got good and drunk.  Walking back to my abode, however, we noticed that there were firetrucks on my street.  We hurried towards them with curiosity, until we were almost there, and we noticed that the firetrucks were at my apartment.  This immediately sobered me up, and I felt an incredible sense of doom surround me.  My worst fears were realized when I got to the front and saw my door broken down, and firemen with their hoses inside my apartment.  I was further crushed when I found out that the fire, by some unlucky accident, had been confined to my room.  When I saw the damage I was floored.  Everything I had was gone, and it wasn’t so much the loss of possessions that hurt–although there was that–it was the loss of many irreplaceable items.  (Fortunately, the fire wasn’t my fault.  It was a freak electrical fire caused by a lamp, and faulty wiring).  I finished out the night by punching a brick wall until my knuckles started bleeding.  That was the first kick in the balls.

The next kick was when I found out that even though the owners were going to get insurance money, that they were unwilling to pay for any of the items I lost–which probably amounted to five thousand dollars.  Not only weren’t they going to pay, but I later found out that I ended up paying for the clean-up of the apartment, because I left my burned possessions there (mind you they told me to leave everything I didn’t want there, and it would be thrown out when they started to repair the apartment).  So in the end all I received was a refund for the week of rent left on the month.  That was number two.

A few months later, just before I moved to New York, I found out that the owner was suing me for over nine thousand dollars.  She claimed that her gorilla-insurance company inspectors had decided that the Fire Marshall was incorrect, and that it was my fault, and that I owed her the cost of all the repairs.  Luckily, for me I have legal insurance, so even though I am a man of modest means, I had lawyers who backed me up, and got her to back down.  That was number three.

Today, over a year and a half later, I received a letter from the owner’s insurance company.  They are now suing me for over eleven thousand dollars–it’s amazing how the amount keeps going up and up–this is fourth, newest, and hopefully the last kick in the balls.  Thankfully, I still have my legal insurance, and now I am represented by one of the best firms in NYC.  I don’t know if I will have to pay, or whether I will have to go to court, but I do know, that I am sick and tired of this issue.  I still haven’t recovered completely from the fire, and these bastards keep finding new ways to try and stick it to me.  It is in situations like this where the common man can feel insignificant and powerless.  It is also in times like this where I can begin to understand why people go postal and react in violent ways (note I do not feel violent, but people can only take so much.  Eventually even the smallest, most docile dog will attack when pushed repeatedly).  I still retain some hope that this will work out smoothly, and that maybe, perhaps, I may have the last laugh.

Harry Ballkowski

I have finally returned from Houston and what a trip it was.  The good part of the trip was that I got go to two ball games at Minute Maid Park and watch the Mets vs the Astros, I partied a lot, and I ate some great Texas BBQ and Mexican food.  The bad part of the trip was that the Mets showed their ass and I had to listen to a bunch of hick-ass Texans taunt me repeatedly.  Thank you very much Billy Wagner, you can now add another log to the fire of my burning hatred for you.  The entirety of my trip was one big blur of drunkenness, and amazingly nothing crazy or out of the ordinary happened.  I was kind of dissapointed, because I was hoping for some random encounter to happen that I could write about.  Plus it had been awhile so I knew I was due for something weird to happen.  Well lucky for you, my readers, I did have a crazy random encounter.

My original flight out of Houston was canceled because of Tropical Storm Eduardo so I ended up leaving a day later than I was supposed to.  I got dropped off at Hobby airport around 8:30 and I was through security by 9:00.  I still had over two hours left until my plane was scheduled to depart so I decided to grab some breakfast.  The breakfast restaurant was called Pappas and it was decorated with the typical southwestern style decorations: horseshoes, saddles, western paintings, and other paraphernalia.  It was also on the complete other side of the terminal from where I was supposed to be, but, like I said, I had plenty of time so I wasn’t worried.  I walked over to the restaurant and got a table all the way in the back of the restaurant where I had my back to the wall.  I already knew what I wanted so when the waitress came over I ordered the Trail Blazer–eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, and toast–and coffee.  The waitress brought me my coffee, and I started to zone out on my coffee just looking down at it staring as the steam came rolling off of the coffee.  I was really into this because I was tired and bored, but then I noticed someone approaching the table.

I didn’t think much of it because there were a ton of empty tables so I just figured they were going to sit at a table nearby.  I kept watching the steam roll off of my coffee when the chair in front of me was pulled out, and someone asked “is anyone sitting here?”  I glanced up slightly and saw a black woman pulling out the chair across from me.  She had dark skin, a broad flat nose, she was kind of chunky, but without being fat, she had fucked up dyed red hair that was half-braided, but nevertheless looked trashy, and she had a few inches on me.  However she was not a complete hag, she had some nice qualities, but she was definitely not the type of girl you bring home to mommy.  She carried herself in a very skanky way.  Anyways I told her no that no one was sitting there, and then my face looked visibly upset when she actually decided to sit down.  I looked around and noticed that there were at least 50 other possible empty seats in the restaurant, and immediately I knew something was up.  At first I thought that maybe she wanted a piece of my Harry Ballkowski, but I quickly changed my mind, and figured it was some sort of scam.

“So what are you up to?” she asked.

“Well,” I started to respond visibly perturbed, “I’m waiting for my food and then I’m going home.”

“Where’s home?”

“New York.”

“Are you here by yourself,” she quizzed me.

“Yep, just me.”

“Sooo no wife or girlfriend here?”

“Yeh, like I said I’m here alone.” It was here that I changed my mind again and decided that this was some type of airport sex thing, but I started thinking it was a set-up, and that maybe she was a cop.  She didn’t have the physique of a cop though, but you never know these days.  They let just about anyone become a cop.  It was also at this time that my breakfast came, and that I had completely lost my appetite.  Regardless I started to pick at my eggs, pushing them around my plate, and once in awhile actually taking a bite.  “Are you angry” she asked “because you look angry.”

“No not angry, that’s just how I always look.”

“Well you really look angry.”

“I can’t help it I have an angry face.”

“So you like to drink,” she abruptly changed the subject.

“Sure I do but it’s 9:00AM.”

“So that doesn’t matter.  You want to start drinking?”

“Naw it’s a little early for me today, and I’m still recovering from a long week of drinking,” I stated.

“Do you mind if I drink?”

“Knock yourself out, you don’t need my permission.”

“Will you buy me one?”  Now I have a rule about buying drinks for strange girls, no matter how they look.  Back in the day, when I was just a young pup still wet behind the ears, I used to fall into the trap so subtly set by women, and buy drinks for girls I didn’t know at the bars (now this rule applies equally for men and women, but usually it’s women that try to entice guys to buy them free drinks at the bar, much like Delilah enticed Samson).  Of course I am older and wiser now, which is why if you’re not a friend of mine, I won’t buy you a drink.  But in this instance I decided it was worth the $7.00, and the breaking of my rule, for the possibility of a good story.

“Sure why not,” I said as I motioned to the waitress.  She ordered a Grey Goose, cranberry, and orange juice.  I winced thinking about drinking vodka that early in the morning, and once again refused to drink with her.  After the waitress brought back the drink she started to question me in earnest, but I could always tell that she was kind of beating around the bush.

“So do you like black girls?”

“Yeh, I have known a few, and they were nice girls.”

“But have you ever been with a black girl?”

“Yep sure have.”

“Really???”  I can’t believe that.”

“Why is that?  What is so hard to believe about?” that I ask.

“Because white boys are all racist.”

“That’s not true but whatever,”  I say as I begin to lose interest in the conversation.  But just then she started to change the tone of the conversation.

“Soo,” she says with her best seductive face and voice, which, by the way, wasn’t very seductive “what did you think of that black pussy.”

BAM!, that question just smacked me in the face with its directness, and I noticed that the other patrons around me heard her, and were leering over at us.  This only added to the uneasiness and embarrassment that I was feeling.

“Well,” I started to stutter, “you know, pussy is pussy.”

“Awww shit you don’t have to lie.  I can tell you like that black pussy better.  We know how to work that dick with our tight pussies.  Our pussies are so much better than the white bitches.”  I was astounded by the filth that was coming out of this girls mouth, not because I have never heard anything like this, but just not from a stranger.  Usually these are the type of conversations that take place between a bunch of guys drinking beers, and talking about their latest sexual exploits.  The two closest patrons were now totally trying to eavesdrop, but at the same time trying to pretend that they weren’t interested at all.  She then asked me “can I taste it,” which I took to mean taste the food that I was still playing with on my plate.

“What?? my food?”

“Haha no silly your dick.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I want to suck your fucking cock.  You’ve never had a girl come up to you and speak like this have you?”

“Not a stranger that’s for sure.”

“So can I suck your dick?”

“What like here?”

“No, we can go in the bathroom and have an even exchange.”

“Exchange. What you want me to pay for a blow job?”

“Well, yes in a way.”

“What way like money?”

“Well, don’t worry about it we can just go to the bathroom.  I really want to taste your dick.”  This kept on going back and forth where I tried to get more info, and she just tried to get me to go to the bathroom with her, and have an exchange.  I am still not sure what kind of exchange.

“You see,” I started “I don’t do that type of thing.  I don’t like random hookups.”

“Why not? I’m just going to suck your dick.”

“Well first of all you could be a cop, and this could be a setup, secondly the cops are on the lookout for this type of shit in the airports, and lastly I don’t know you and I don’t want to get any diseases.”

“I understand, but I’m not a cop” she tried to reassure me “you have nothing to worry about, and I am completely disease free.”  I’m sure many people heard something almost exactly similar to that before they made a decision that ruined their life.  I, for one, was not going to allow this Jezebel to coerce me into doing something stupid.  Plus she wasn’t even hot enough for me to even think about, maybe, the possibility of doing something of this nature.

“Well I’m sorry to dissapoint but this just isn’t going to happen.  I’m tired and I want to go to sleep, and I don’t feel like spending the night in jail.”

“I already told you there’s nothing to worry about.”  Famous last words.  This type of back and forth went on for a few more minutes and I was starting to get angrier.  She kept looking at me and trying to be seductive, but it was just making me sick.  Finally she finished her drink and got up.  She started to leave and then turned back and said “you know, it’s too bad.  I would’ve loved to have that dick in my mouth.”  Uggg.  So she finally left and then the waitress came over and wanted to know what happened and if I knew the girl.  After I relayed a short, edited version of the story she was floored.  I told her it was pretty fucked up, but at least I had a good story to tell, and then I told her to keep on the lookout for the girl, because she might try to prey on one of her other customers.  I then paid my tab, and gingerly stepped out of the restaurant keeping my eyes peeled.  I didn’t want to run into her again.  Luckily for me after about 20 yards I spotted her, but she didn’t see me.  I then went into full on recon mode, and used a crowd of people and then some arrival/departure TV’s to hide myself from her view, and make my escape to the other side of the terminal.  Unfortunately my plane was delayed another hour, but thankfully I never saw the girl again.

That was probably one of the most random experiences I have ever had in my life, and I am sure that beyond all the sex talk, there was something bigger going on.  I’m not sure if it was some sort of police operation or if she had some friends she was working with trying to rob people.  I know there was something bigger going down, because my gut told me so, and I have learned to trust my gut.  Either way though I am glad that didn’t fall for their ruse, but I am also glad that I was able to bring back a good story for my loyal readers.


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