Monthly archives for August, 2005

Thursday, August 18, 2005

The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch, part 11

Being the part in which she forces me to bang her, a completely fictional alternate ending graciously provided by Jenna.

The next day after FIB spoiled my sheets, I noticed her acting very strangely. She was talking to herself and mumbling in what seemed to be another language.

Later I noticed a strange swelling in my left testicle. The swelling started out as a bump the size of a huge mosquito bite and progressed in size until it was nearly the size of a lemon.

Eventually the pain was so intense that I drove myself to the hospital. When I got to the there all the doctors and nurses were standing around looking at and squeezing my balls and talking amongst themselves. They couldn't find any cause for my sudden affliction.

By the next morning the morphine drip wasn't working and I was starting to ask the doctors for death. My family came in to visit me at the hospital; my poor mother was crying her eyes out, pleading with the doctors to save her baby's testicle so he may one day produce an heir to the tossed salad fortune.

Just when things were looking the bleakest yet, in walked Lazy Roomie and FIB. I was pissed. I could not deal with FIB at a time like this. How could Lazy Roomie bring that fat ugly piece of shit? Lazy Roomie asked if the 3 of us could be alone. Looking at him in the most confused face I could summon, Lazy Roomie looked at FIB and said "Tell him, or I will." Suddenly FIB pulled out a crazy looking Voodoo doll. FIB went on to explain that she was so pissed that I threw her out of my bed that she put some Fat Indian Bitch curse on me. The cause of my testicular ailment was FIB!

FIB said that she would remove the curse if I would become her lover and give her a son. I looked at my testicle and looked at FIB. Could I? Would I? I could sacrifice my jewel and be forever known as Sterile Darrell or I could be with FIB. I made my decision. I'll do it. I'll fuck FIB. Now as I type the rest of this story I am thinking of Girlfriend and The Kid and wondering what would have happened if I chose option B.

THE END?

posted at 08/18/2005 10:18 pm : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, Guest posts, The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch : Tagged ,

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

The Skateboard Chronicles

As I mentioned recently, The Kid has been showing an interest in skateboarding. We bought him a decent board and a set of pads and we've been taking him to the city skate park.

He was doing great the first few days, but since then he's really lost patience. He wants to skateboard, but he doesn't want to learn how to skateboard. A little of it is that he's afraid of getting hurt, but it's mostly that he's discouraged with his progress.

So I made a deal with him. Everything he wants to learn, I'll learn right along with him. After dinner tonight was the first time I made good on our deal. I dusted off the cheap old board I bought and used for a few minutes long ago and we went to the skate park to practice together.

I'm thirty-one years old, and I am learning to skateboard.

posted at 08/17/2005 10:28 pm : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, General : Tagged ,

Fat Indian Bitch, an announcement

So the tale is done. Part 9 is the official end of the story. But that doesn't mean we have to let FIB fade away yet.

Immediately after I posted part 1, I began hyping things up a bit. Some of the scenes in the middle were hype-worthy, but the ending was completely anticlimactic. The hype very quickly spun out of my control, but it's still all on me that the story could never live up to the expectations.

To that end, I asked Snake if he would like to submit a fictional ending that meets the ideas he formed about the story. He was kind enough to oblige. You'll find his part 10 directly below this post. (Or here, if you're currently reading this on a post page.)

And now I'm opening things up. You can write your own ending to The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch. If you had unmet expectations, be it bloodshed, monkey sex, both or neither, you can finish the story as you like. E-mail it to me and I'll post it here to share with everyone.

posted at 08/17/2005 01:27 am : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch : Tagged

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch, part 10

Being a completely fictional alternate ending, graciously provided by The Snakehead.

The next day when I got back from work, I said a little prayer before entering the house. "Please let me see her sleeping on the couch", I muttered.

I opened the door.

There she was, sleeping soundly on the couch that barely fits her. Half her ass was hanging over the edge of the couch. I let out a sigh. Whew, what a relief, I thought to myself. Things are finally going back to normal again. Aren't they?

I wasn't too sure as I didn't know what to expect from her. So I refrained myself from popping a bottle of champagne just yet.

The next day, I came home, saw her on the couch. She seems to be half awake, so I gave her a polite nod. She ignored me. Or at least she seems to be ignoring me. That's fine by me. One less headache.

Next day, same scenario. So was the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. She never slept in my room anymore. She never bugged me anymore. She never offered to do my laundry anymore. Hell, she didn't even acknowledge my presence anymore. If I wasn't too drunk on my champagne, I would actually think that she was ignoring me.

Soon, days turned into weeks. I finally ran out of champagne, and was sober for the first time in weeks.

One weekend while I was home alone, doing my laundry, something hits me.

It felt weird. Something was not right.

It was as if I'm missing something. I couldn't figure out what, but it just felt like a part of me was missing. I shoved that thought away, and continued loading the washer with soiled laundry, when I saw something in the basket.

A pair of boxers.

Specifically, the pair of boxers that I thought FIB was secretly sniffing back when she offered to do my laundry. I looked at it, and was overwhelmed by emotions that I didn't know I had.

I missed her.

She had been ignoring me ever since I poked her with a baseball bat and kicked her out of my room that fateful morning. What was that, like a month and a half ago? I couldn't believe it has been that long.

I reached down to grab that boxers, and just when I was getting up, I heard the front door opened, and in walked FIB. With boxers in my hand, I headed for the living room.

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?!" She jumped. Apparently she wasn't expecting me to be home.

"Why haven't you talked to me in 6 weeks?" My voice was getting louder.

"……."

"Answer me!" I was yelling now.

"I didn't know what to say to you," she looked like she was about to cry. "I know you hate me so I kept my distance."

"I… I don't….. hate you," I soften. I didn't mean to make her cry.

"Well yeah? Then why did you treat me so badly all the time? I was so good to you. I did your laundry, I took care of you…."

"I…. I…."

"You what?"

"I missed you." I took a step forward.

"You what?!" She looked incredulous.

"I missed you. A lot." I moved towards her until we're 2 feet apart. I can smell her perfume. Or was it her body odor? Something is stirring in my pants.

"I did too." She said softly. She has the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen at that moment. My pants were getting tighter and tighter.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I grabbed her face with my boxers covered hand and kissed her. I kissed her hard. Soon our tongues were fighting each other, and we were kissing like there was no tomorrow. We were literally sucking the breath out of each other.

My hand started traveling down her body. I never realized that she has such rocking ass. And her breasts, my God! Her nipples were fully erected on a pair of 36Ds.

"Let's go to my room" I said when I came up for air.

She grinned, and didn't say anything. I held her hand and led her to my private sanctuary. Once we're inside, I kicked the door closed as we continued ravaging each other's body.

I was so hard I thought I was gonna explode in my pants right there and then.

As we proceed to tear each other's clothes right off our body, she took the boxers right off my hand and started sniffing it right in front of me.

"Fish, you smell so fucking good," she said as if she's high on weed.

"Oh yeah? Then you're gonna like the real thing even more," I replied.

"You let me be the judge," she said, pushing me on the bed and starting working on my tool. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let out a moan. Man, if I knew she gives such good head I would've banged her a long time ago.

5 minutes into the blow job, I was ready to cum. Yeah, she was that good. But I'll be damned if I didn't get the chance to tap that ass. So I pulled her up and started going down on her.

Man, she was squealing like crazy. I had her. I had her good. She was literally begging me to fuck her with my tongue. I obliged. 30 seconds later, she came.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. Oh. Oh…" she can't speak.

I got up, flipped her over, and started tossing her salad. What can I say? I had to do it. I'm not going to let that delicious ass go without it's salad tossed.

"Oh my God, Fish. That feels so fucking good, Fiiiiiiiiiish."

Listening to her, I was so hard the head was shiny. I decided it was time. I lifted her ass up, positioned myself, and entered her in one swift move.

"Aaah!"

"You like that don't you, you little bitch."

She didn't answer me. She couldn't answer me as she was too busy moaning and groaning and squealing at the same time.

Soon we were rocking the bed. And the room. It almost felt like we were rocking the house. I just can't seem to get enough of that ass. That perfectly round and tasty ass. I was like a fuck machine. I couldn't stop myself.

10 minutes later, I was ready to explode.

I cried out, and then was hit by the most explosive orgasm in my entire life. Surprisingly, FIB came too. We orgasmed in unison. We were meant for each other.

That night, I banged her for the 2nd time. We fell asleep afterwards in each other's arms.

The next morning, I woke up alone in the bed. No sign of FIB. I looked around, and saw a post-it on my laptop.

Fish, I'm sorry. I have to go. I have to.

I looked at the note, dumbfounded.

What just happened?

I didn't know.

I scanned the room looking for the pair of boxers.

They were gone.

*************

2 months later, I got a call on my cell phone one day. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Hi Fish."

"Hi. Who's this?"

"It's me, Fat Indian Bitch."

"Oh hey…. Err… how are you?"

"Fish, I got something to tell you."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant."

THE END?

posted at 08/16/2005 09:44 pm : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, Guest posts, The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch : Tagged ,

Sunday, August 14, 2005

The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch, part 9

Being the part in which I spend the night with her, and also in which we conclude our story.

The previous chapter's Goldilocks and The Three Bears incidents ("Someone's been sleeping in my bed!") happened at the beginning of the week, on Monday and Tuesday morning. The rest of the week turned out to be unusually quiet. Fat Indian Bitch was exactly as one might hope a roommate to be. She was friendly, but she was leaving me alone.

When I'd wake up in the evening, she'd say hello… and then return to what she was doing. She was friendly, civil, and completely normal. Things were blissfully sane at my house. There wasn't a trace of creepiness. For the first time, I felt like we were proper roommates instead of predator and prey.

All in all, it turned out to be a very pleasant week. I moved into the weekend feeling pretty good about my home life. On Saturday night, the four of us went in on a pizza. We sat around the living room nursing beers and playing Cruisin' USA on my Nintendo 64.

Around 10, Lazy Roomie decided to turn in. He and I were the only ones playing games, so I decided to head to my room, too. Even though Saturday was one of my days off, I was usually in the habit of staying awake until morning. I set a CD playing softly and loafed on the bed with a book. I read for about thirty minutes when I heard a knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"Hello?"

It was FIB. "What is it?"

"Can I come in?"

I didn't quite know what to make of this. I was elated that she was finally respecting my space enough to ask, but I had no idea what the hell she wanted.

"Hello?" she said again.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Uhh… I suppose."

She came in and spent a moment looking around like she'd never seen the place. She gestured at my crappy folding wooden chair. "Can I sit down?"

"I suppose."

She sat and asked me what I was reading. I held up my book so she could see the cover. (In case you're wondering, it was John Leo's Two Steps Ahead of The Thought Police.)

"Oh," she said. "What kind of book is that?"

"Social commentary. It's a bit conservative, but it's insightful and kind of funny."

"Oh. Not my kind of book."

"FIB, what do you want?"

"I'm bored. LR went to bed and Lazy-Eyed Nottie fell asleep in the living room."

"And what do you want from me?"

"Well, I thought maybe we could hang out."

"Umm…" I had no idea what to do. What was this all about? I thought about my answer long enough to make the silence uncomfortable, which in itself is a strong message. In the end I decided to see if we could actually be friends. "Yeah alright," I finally said.

The rest of the night went surprisingly well. We listened to music, smoked cigarettes, and talked. A lot of it was mindless small talk. We talked about movies. (She tends to favor mainstream comedies, the stupider the better.) We talked about music. (Her favorite song is "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails.) We talked about books. (This part of the conversation was very one-sided, because apparently she'd never read anything that wasn't required by a teacher.) We talked about jobs. (Also one-sided, as she'd never had one.)

It was a good conversation. She didn't seem so much like a stalker as she did a friend. As night turned into morning, she became visibly more and more tired. Around dawn she could barely keep her eyes open and I told her it was time to leave. She seemed grateful, almost as if I was the one keeping her. She shuffled away and I shut the door behind her.

I was pretty happy about the way things turned out. We talked as friends, as equals. She gave no hint of her crush on me, if she indeed still had one. I went to sleep that morning feeling immensely relieved.

The next night was something else entirely. I'd slept earlier than usual, so I woke around 6 in the evening. I showered, made something to eat, and still had a few hours to kill before work.

My three roommates were watching Ace Ventura (a tape from FIB's collection), so I sat on the couch to watch it with them. I noticed disdainfully that FIB and LEN were swapping their damn notebook back and forth, something I hadn't seen them do for a few weeks.

Eventually, the notebook was passed to me. I'd never really participated in their note passing sessions. For a long while, they'd stopped passing me the notebook. That FIB was trying to suck me into note writing again seemed very disturbing. This was the kind of thing that we'd left behind weeks ago. I assumed that this was some kind of sign that the previous night's normalcy was anything but normal. We'd had a perfectly normal conversation, the kind of conversation that any two people might have. Thousands of roommates were probably having that same conversation at the same time. Unfortunately, I think FIB read far more into that conversation than was ever intended.

Crestfallen, I took the notebook. Written there in a girl's loopy script, in pink ink even, was the simple question "What do you really think of me?"

I read the question twice, hoping it would change into something different with a repeated reading. She was looking at me with an expectant, hopeful look on her face. It was time to end things. "Give me the pen," I sighed.

I wrote exactly what I thought of her. I pulled no punches. I was harsh. I don't remember verbatim what I wrote, but I recall using words like "ignorant," "obsessive," and "irritating." I wrote that I was not interested in her. This was probably at least the tenth time I'd told her this, but this was the first time I'd done so using words like "childish" and "completely unattractive to me."

With her silly pink pen, I wrote probably fifty words in all. About thirty of them were unfriendly adjectives. I passed the notebook back to her. She read it without a word. Her cheeks began coloring impressively. She started to cry. After a few minutes, she wrote me a short response: "Is this really how you feel?"

I handed the notebook back without writing anything. I simply said, "Yes, that's how I feel."

She sat there crying for a few more minutes. Lazy Roomie and Lazy-Eyed Nottie must've guessed what had just happened because they both did an excellent job pretending not to see us. After almost ten minutes of crying, FIB jumped up from the couch.

She stomped into the kitchen, returning a moment later with our box of trash bags. She began stuffing all her possessions into the bags. The three of us watched silently. FIB never brought much into the house so she didn't have much to pack. After two and a half bags she was done. She grabbed her coat and her car keys and stormed out the door. She never returned. Later in the week Lazy Roomie (whom you may recall is FIB's half-brother) told me that FIB had returned home to live with her parents again.

So that was it. It was finished. FIB was gone for good. It was more than eight years until I saw her again, and that was just a chance encounter in a parking lot where I don't believe she even saw me.

Things were finally resolved. And all it took was for me to be more deliberately vicious and mean-spirited than I'd ever been before, or ever been since.

THE END?

posted at 08/14/2005 10:15 pm : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, The Legend of Fat Indian Bitch : Tagged

Friday, August 12, 2005

Cartoon Friday

Cartoon Friday
Image credit: Mike Keefer, The Denver Post

Award winning comments

Medal of the Order

Best Comment Trail (tie), August 2005

posted at 08/12/2005 11:33 am : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, Cartoon Friday : Tagged

Thursday, August 11, 2005

"Tell him I sent you. Ask for the Onion Loaf."

Have you seen Donald Trump's blog? It's not very interesting, even when compared to other self-serving celebrity ego vehicles. I'd much rather read any of your blogs. (Because our blogs aren't egocentric at all.) The comments are moderated and seem to be broken. Trackback doesn't work right now either.

But it's certainly quotable. I love this one: "The Trump brand carries a promise that whatever bears the name will be elite." Unless you're talking about Trump: The Blog, in which case mediocrity is just fine.

posted at 08/11/2005 01:49 pm : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, Geekery : Tagged

Damn

Lately The Kid has been talking more and more about skateboarding. He's had a cheap Wal-Mart skateboard since last year, but that thing is a piece of junk. The board barely rolls, so he's not learning much.

The other day we took him to the skate shop and bought him a real starter board. We've taken him a few times to the city skate park a few blocks away. He's already showing a little improvement and a lot more confidence.

He's taken quite a few tumbles and he's got a few scrapes in places the pads don't cover. Every time he falls (which is virtually every time he touches the board), we say encouraging things. For Girlfriend, that usually means something like "don't give up, Buddy, you're doing great," and for me usually means "don't worry, Kid, chicks dig scars!"

We went to the park yesterday and I noticed something I'd missed before. One of the ramps has a tarnished brass plaque that reads "In Memory of Skater Guy You Hung Out With In High School But Never Knew Had Died."

Well, shit.

The last time I talked to Skater Guy was years ago, just before graduation. It's not like we shared a Best Friends Forever necklace, but I still would have preferred to learn of his death some other way. I guess now I know why he wasn't at the reunion.

posted at 08/11/2005 12:01 am : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, General : Tagged

Monday, August 8, 2005

Weekend weirdness, continued

I dedicate this post to Jess, my new muse.
 

Sundays are often lazy days around my house. Girlfriend works nights, so she usually spends Sunday afternoons sleeping before work. During those "quiet hours" The Kid and I will often go to the park, visit one of the grandparents, read books, or whatever. This weekend The Kid decided to take a nap too, so I had a few hours to myself.

As I stood in the living room wondering what to do with my little bit of freedom, I remembered something that happened about an hour earlier. The Kid went out to the garage alone to look for a toy he thought he'd left in the car. I thought it might be a good idea to step out and make sure he'd closed the car door behind him.

I was outside less than thirty seconds, but that was plenty of time for an ambush. The old guy who lives in the house next to mine will often sit in a certain spot in his living room where he can glance out his window and see me entering and leaving through my patio door. At least once a week he hustles out his back door to catch me and ask some computer-related question. Or sometimes to just talk, and get away from his wife.

Yesterday was a little bit of both. My neighbor's very elderly mother-in-law was visiting, so when he saw me he jumped at the chance to get away from her. We spent several minutes chatting back and forth about the 91 year-old house guest who was currently driving him bat shit crazy. Then he moved on to the day's question.

He wanted to know the best way to hide his downloaded porn collection. Old Porn Neighbor usually asks a pornography-related question once a month or so. [To be clear, he is an old guy who is my neighbor and likes porn, not a neighbor who likes old people porn.] He's asked about how to tell legal from illegal porn, criminal liability should he accidentally download something illegal, the best way to conceal his newsreader without breaking the program's functionality, secure deletion methods, etc. My favorite question is one he's asked several times in various ways.

"What's the best way to hide my porn from my wife?" Every time he asks that, I have a hard time not snickering at him. It's a little creepy talking about pornography with a guy who collect Social Security checks, but he's really a sweet, harmless old man. He and his wife bring us fresh vegetables when they visit the Farmer's Market, and in the winter he often cleans off our sidewalk with his snowblower.

It's not something I'd care to dwell on, but it would not surprise me to find that his, umm… night life… is no longer as satisfying as he'd like. I don't begrudge him his porn habits, but it's still weird talking with him about it.

posted at 08/08/2005 11:17 pm : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, General : Tagged ,

The eternal question

If we can make frying pans that eggs won't stick to at 300 degrees, why can't we make pants that my balls won't stick to at 90 degrees?

posted at 08/08/2005 03:26 pm : Permalink
Categorized Ancient history, Huh? : Tagged

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