Showing posts with label mississippi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mississippi. Show all posts

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Assraped by a Crazy Poetry Bitch (Part 3)




She pointed the hunting rifle at me and cried out, in an American, street pimp type voice, “Don’t move, you chickenshit, honky ass motherfucker!”

It was sort of weird being called a “chickenshit honky ass motherfucker” by another white person, but I was too freaked out by the gun she was pointing at me to really ponder this.

Prodding me up to my feet, with the icy tip of the rifle, she ordered me to turn around and place my hands on the edge of the couch.

It took a second to register, but soon enough, especially when she undid my jeans, I realized this crazy bitch was about to rape me.

Everybody, I'm sure, thinks about getting raped at some point. It's the worst fear of many women. But for most men, aside from maybe prison, the Catholic Church, Penn State, or the backwoods of Mississippi, we don't really think about that shit happening to us.

But here I was, pants around my ankles, gun to my head, soaking wet, drunk and high and staring down at a Dr. Phil book cover, about to take it in the ass from some crazy poetry bitch. It was the kind of moment that really leads one to serious introspection...

I guess she'd lubed it up, because it slid in my butt fast, the strap-on dildo. It didn't hurt as bad as I thought it would. Just felt like a big piece of shit going back into my ass rather than out. By and by, it wasn't nearly as awful I'd imagined, the few times I'd pictured getting assraped in a prison shower or accidentally wandering into a gay bar, drunk, wearing a kilt or something.

Speaking of prison shower rape, the scene in the film “American History X” totally fucking scared me, but this wasn't nearly that bad. It was a big breasted woman, after all, raping me, and not some heavily muscled, tattooed, white supremacist. Yeah, I'm sure it could have been a lot worse. As far as assrapings usually go, mine wasn't so bad, actually.

After about 20 seconds, my ass just went kinda numb. I pretty much stopped noticing the raping and focused my attention more on the quotes from Dr. Phil that adorned his book cover. I wondered what ole' Dr. Phil would say about this whole situation or how he might react to getting raped. I didn't think he'd like it very much. I also wondered what it'd be like getting raped by Dr. Phil. I think that definitely would be worse than this poetry bitch, or even the prison nazi.

The crazy poetry bitch seemed to be enjoying herself and was making strange monkey type sounds and every few minutes was yelling something about “gimmie that choon choon, you white bitch!”

Her chants were suddenly halted when I heard the front door to the flat open. Into the room walked a jaw droppingly beautiful girl in her late teens, around 18 or so. She looked exactly like the crazy poetry bitch, tall, monster tits and all, though much slimmer, and without the disheveled hair and messed up makeup. She did also have that one of her eyes looking bigger than the other thing, however.

“Oh, mum, not again!” The young girl screamed in apparent disdain at the evening's proceedings.



Friday, August 26, 2011

Frankie Metro Fucked a Goat





That fucking freak!! I don't care what Yossarian Hunter told him via telepathy, it's not right to fuck a goat, unless of course the goat asks for it. Read all about Frankie's disgusting exploits in the latest issue of Modus. Click here or Frankie Metro might fuck your house pet... if he hasn't already...


Monday, June 14, 2010

bat. shit. crazy.

we knew she was bat-shit crazy from the get-go, but that don’t get ya kicked outta the house ‘round here. hell, if ya ain’t a little fucked-up we might not even let ya in.

she came over with a twelve pack. an hour later we was wonderin’ why she didn’t just bring a case or two, instead of makin’ us drive to the store for a re-up. six beers into the new case she dropped her drawers & pissed in the middle of the kitchen floor.

after she cleaned herself up, she went out to her car. came back in with a big-ass diaper, put it on & crashed out on the couch ‘til mornin’.

bat. shit. crazy.

next time she came over she brought plenty to start off with. about eighteen or so in she asked for someone to hit ‘er. she wanted it right in the face, and she wanted it hard.

ain’t no fool gonna hit a broad right off the rail like that, but she didn’t give up. got all pissy ‘bout it, called us a bunch of fuckin’ pussies, so I decided to take one for the team. she was askin’ for it, after all.

I gave ‘er a good knock with my left, thinkin’ that’d be good enough. my twelve measly beers musta addled the ol’ brain. bitch called me a pussy again. “ya goddamn pussy, my na-na hits harder’n that.”

I clocked ‘er a good ‘un with the right. didn’t really mean to hit ‘er hard as I did, but shit happens sometimes. broke ‘er nose & blacked both eyes. them bitches was swole shut in ten minutes. she gave me a bloody kiss & said thanx.

bat. shit. crazy.

didn’t see ‘er for a couple weeks after that. she didn’t bring no beer next time, just a whiskey buzz & a bag of weed. she sat down by the fire, & asked for another lick.

I didn’t have no intention of hittin’ ‘er again, so I just kept playin’ my guitar. started into that tune with the chorus that goes “bang bang bang went frankie’s gun, he shot me down, Lucille.” first time through she cocked ‘er head kinda funny & just looked at me. I kept on playin’.

second time around her beer just barely missed my head. slung fuckin’ bud light all over my purty alvarez. I wouldn’t drink that shit for free, much less polish my two thousand dollar guitar with it. kinda pissed me off. “bitch, what the fuck is yer goddamn problem?”

“I don’t like that song.” “yeah, well no shit. lotsa people don’t like lotsa songs, but they don’t go ‘round throwin’ shit at folks.” she was getting’ damn close to earnin’ that knockout she’d been lookin’ for.

“frankie was my sister’s name. she shot herself in the head two years ago. dumb bitch, took me a month to get the blood outta the carpet. here, check this out.”

she reached down in her purse & fumbled for a minute. not findin’ what she was lookin for, she went out & rifled through her camaro, came back through the door smilin’. chunked somethin’ at me again, but this time I caught it. good thing, the goddamn thing was loaded. a smith & wesson snub nose .38. “what the fuck is this.”

“that’s frankie’s gun. & I don’t like that song.”

bat. shit. crazy.





Yossarian Hunter is a bad motherfucker from Mississippi. Read his poetry or fucking die.