Showing posts with label strip club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label strip club. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 10, 2021

"COLT"

 


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“Colt”

 

Dude! I love that our house was bought by Jack Thee Jackal! I sent him a DM, congratulating him on buying the house, offering to show him around, party with him, but he didn’t reply. No probs! He either didn’t read it or didn’t believe it. He gets thousands of DMs, I’m sure. 

I tried making a YouTube channel like Jack’s. I’d grab my bros and we’d go out, do stupid shit, copycat Jackass stuff. We did one where we dressed up in girls’ lingerie and played golf in a graveyard.

And we made another series, where we preyed on victims at school, or around the mall, or the neighborhood. Our goal: to find them, and fart on them. We’d stalk, hunt, hide, and then jump out of bushes, burst out from behind closed doors, or jump up from the backseat of a car or leap down from a tree or fire escape, either naked, wearing only a pair of assless chaps, or in just a pair of briefs, and then we’d unleash ass, point and fire unfiltered farts at friends and classmates.

Sometimes a classmate might open a door to a classroom and find one of us, pants pooled around our ankles, bent over in their direction, ready to launch a stinky ass attack.

Possibly the worst of the videos was the “Fart Alarm Clock,” where a buddhi bandit would patrol the library, sneak up on a sleeping classmate, drop trou, bend over, lean his ass in, and just let out a booming burrito fart, ass mere inches from the sleeper’s face…

“Bare booty fart ATTACKS! The most vicious, NO FILTRATION!” was the title and theme. But no one watched. Except a couple people, who told us that we suck. That we “suck RAW!” I think those were the exact words.

Then I tried making music, rapping. I wasn’t good at that either. I got even worse feedback on that when I uploaded my tunes to the interwebs. In my mind, though, I sounded dope. I sounded like Eminem. I was going to BE the next Eminem. But then I saw the comments I was getting. In fact, one song went sort of viral- but for the wrong reasons. Thousands of people watched my video, cracked jokes about it, called me all sorts of shit, a “wigger,” mostly, “wack AF” and I even received death threats and a couple guys challenging me to fistfights.

All over a free video, a basement rap I slapped together on my computer. A song about smoking weed in my school’s handicapped bathroom!

(Handicapped people were the most pissed about it. One even asked, “Dude, where am I supposed to smoke weed?” Looking back on it, he had a point. It was pretty fucking wack...)

Posting stuff online, I guess it’s pretty easy to discover your limitations when you get that amount of instant feedback. Man, reading hundreds of people telling me that I sucked, I can’t say it was good for my psyche. 

Oh… Well.. Fuck them! I was still living in a house big enough to have its own zip code. I was always aware of that. Particularly since my earliest memories, from when I was a tiny kid, were of being in a cramped apartment, with my parents, back when my dad had first started playing pro football. But once he signed that big contract, ah man, life was pretty easy.

My life has always been easy. Maybe too easy… I’ve spent countless hours just watching and rewatching gangsta rap videos, smoking weed… I’ve never been too motivated… My sister, a few years younger than me, was always a nerd. She was always hitting the books...

Not me, though. I’ve never found a calling. I never took to football, like my old man. I got more of my mom’s DNA. I’m not that tall, only 5’11, and am thin, like her. I’m not super coordinated, either. I’m just not great at sports, which kinda always made me feel like I was a disappointment to my father.

Not that I didn’t try. When I was little, I joined Pop Warner. Dad didn’t force me into it or anything. But I thought he’d want me to be a jock like him. When I sucked at football and quit, however, he never mentioned anything about it. I didn’t know quite what to make of that then. I still don’t.

He was always a bit distant, my Pops, off in his football world. But I respected him, I must say. I looked up to him. He was big and powerful. He gave us a great life. He was gone most of the time, and was aloof, but that’s just his temperament. He’s a quiet man. He lets his deeds do the talking. And I respect that. My dad is cool. He was good to us. I mean, like sure, he’d spaz out, break stuff around the house and scream after games. It’d scare the shit out of me and my sis, but it was never directed at us and he never got violent. He was never abusive.

Him, nor my mom, never really disciplined us, ever, that I can recall. There were a few babysitters and maids who’d get in our faces, from time to time. Usually they’d be on my case for my shitty grades and a couple Jackass stunts the school got upset about.

But other than that, I never got in too much trouble. As a kid, I was pretty mellow. I still am. I think I’ve been in one or two fistfights in my entire life. I’m just laidback. So much so that people might think I’m on Xanax or something. But nah, I don’t take drugs too often these days, aside from an occasional bump or two of the nose candy and, of course, smoking weed, but that’s a plant, not a drug, in my opinion…  

Nah, man, my biggest problem has been, and continues to be, my lack of direction.

I mean, like, at first I’d wanted to be on Jackass. Then I’d wanted to be Eminem. But since none of that transpired, I don’t know what to do. I didn’t have a Plan B or C.

Lately I’ve been working odd jobs. My degree sucks. Like, I went to a party college, got drunk, and copied all my papers from the internet, paid nerds to do homework for me. Even with cheating, though, I still barely graduated college. I failed English. WTF? I speak English! How the hell did I fail English? Damn…

I guess part of the problem was that I was never interested in learning the stuff they taught in school. In math class, I’d be thinking about learning to fix my engine, buying parts for my car. In English classes, I hated Shakespeare, but I liked reading other stuff, like Tucker Max, and thrillers. I love thrillers! My friend in high school got me into Bukowski. His poetry kicks ass. Reading it, I couldn’t believe anyone would actually write shit like that. It’s the only poetry I could ever enjoy.  

But the stuff they assigned me to read in class was terrible. It was always so fucking boring. The only assigned reading I ever liked from English class was Mark Twain. That dude was fucking cool. Emily Dickinson? Beowulf? Nah, not for me. Jane Austin? Yuck. Fuck off!

To me, that’s the problem with school. You’re forced to learn this or that. It’s something about being forced into it that turns me off. If I’m into something, if I want to learn it, I can’t pry myself away from it. I’ll spend hours on Wikipedia sometimes. I’ll dive down intellectual rabbit holes, reading all sorts of shit. I fuck with knowledge; it’s not that I don’t enjoy learning. 

I could just never find that spark in school. Maybe I just wasn’t lucky enough to have a Dead Poets Society jump up on the desk “OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN” type of teacher. You know, a teacher from one of those 1980s movies…

My degree was in Business Administration. But I had no idea what business I wanted to do. I still have no idea what business I want to do. In fact, I don’t even like business. I don’t like the corporate world.

What do I like, aside from pranks and jokes? Women. Oh, man, I LOVE women. They love me back too. I’m not that tall or muscled-up, but I’m sinewy, and have been told I resemble the actor Robert Pattinson… I’ve never had a problem meeting chicks…

Women, yeah, dude, I’m really a fan of their organization… Every time I hook up with a new girl, take off her clothes, I feel like a little kid opening a Christmas present… I love their soft skin, their hair, their scents, their makeup, stockings, high heels; the way they walk, talk, the way they dress, their shapes, curves. Seriously, if there were a job where I could just stare at women all day, that’s what I’d do.

My dream job would be that, or maybe a photographer, snapping photos of models all day. Nude models. Or a pornographer. But I’m not too into the hardcore stuff. I prefer the more tasteful, Playboy stuff, or nude paintings. I’m not into chicks spreading their snatch and doing gangbangs, anal, or weird Japanese stuff... 

To be frank, I’m not sure what I’ll do for work. Before, I never worried about money. But that was before my parents went broke. Now that I can’t count on inheriting millions, I’ve suddenly got to make my own way.

Since I like women, nude women, in particular, I’ve been working as a DJ at an upscale strip club. I got the gig through a friend who bought into the club. I should have bought in with him, scored a loan from my old man, back when he had more cash. Same as my Pops, I guess, I’m not a good businessman.

But, thems is the breaks, as the old-timers say. And I’m doing okay, DJing, rocking trap tunes, looking at fine babes every night, fine NAKED babes.

I’m even allowed to audition “talent,” watch aspiring exotic dancers shake it for me and the manager, other staff. I’ve dated like three of our strippers, but can’t say it’s my favorite thing to do, dating our dancers.

Man, I caught feelings for one, this petite Latin honey. She was chill, funny, and freaky in the sack. A damn dimepiece. The chick had a cobra tramp stamp and killer curves and the most gorgeous face ever. She was stunningly pretty, with that intricate, exotically sumptuous type face that only Latin babes have. She was just stunning, with or without make-up, that hot of a chick. 

We only dated a few weeks, but I fell for her, I admit. And it fucked me up, watching her from the DJ booth, her down on the stage, her doing splits, prancing around naked, wiggling her ass in dudes’ faces, seeing dudes ogle her bare body. The worst was watching her do lapdances, bumping and grinding on middle-aged creeps or fratboy asswipes. The wolf-faced fucks. Dudes running their hands on her body. It fucked me up. I felt like a cuckold.

I mean, man, I dated this Instagram model chick. A butt model. That was all she did, all she did was take pics of her butt, post it on the ‘Gram. Every day, a different butt shot. Bending over, walking up stairs, leaning against a wall, lying on her stomach... She was creative with it, too, like an artist, a Picasso of ass, coming up with all sorts of different contortions, angles, lightings, all sorts of truly ingenious ways to present her butt to the camera. She did things with her ass that I couldn’t imagine possible, for real...  

And look, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that she showed her butt, in thongs, lingerie, and bikinis on Instagram every day. I didn’t care that she cashed in on her looks. I know there were like millions of dudes across the globe jerking off to her. But I didn’t care.

Like, for real, more power to her. She’s a clever and enterprising chick. I could see her one day having a reality show like the Kardashians. I mean, everyone thinks those Kardashian chicks are stupid floozies, but they’re not. They’re smart businesspeople and are raking in billions. I respect that. I respected my butt model chick too. She was fucking cool…

But there was something different, man, seeing my girl on stage, seeing the dudes in person. It was different, seeing their pervy faces, seeing their hungry eyes. It kinda fucked me up, man… It was a kick in the balls…

She didn’t stay long anyway, the Latina. She moved to another city once she’d saved a bit of cash. She told me she was only doing the job to help pay for her dad’s heart surgery... I lost touch with her after she moved, and she deleted me from her Snapchat... 

Thems is the breaks. Better to have loved and lost, right? I’m not sure if it was love, really. But it fucked me up. It fucked me up for a good minute…

After her, I stopped dating our dancers. These days, I’m back on Tinder more, hooking up. To be honest, I’ve never had a serious relationship, only hookups, short term things. If I’m with a girl too long, I start losing interest in her, start seeing her like a sister or something, I don’t know, why. It’s weird. 

But, like, yeah, man, my life isn’t too bad, altogether. The future… I guess that’s what bugs me. I don’t know, for sure, what I’ll do. The more I think about it, the more I feel lost. I just want to have fun, really.

I mean, seriously, man, why is it that we have to do something? Why can’t I just be? The world is so full of demands, complications. It’s never as easy as it is on TV...  

I mean, like, dude, when are the robots coming? Aren’t the robots supposed to come and take our jobs? Do the shitty stuff people don’t want to do? And then Amazon or the government can give us money, and we can all chill, let fucking Alexa, Siri, and R2D2 do shit. Then we humans can just chill, eat and fuck, just live like the French. Yeah, man, I think the future will be awesome. Yo, I can’t wait…

But at least for now, at least until Larry David or Andrew Yang becomes President, like, I don’t know, I don’t know, man. I don’t know what I’ll do.

I spent a couple years traveling the world after college. That was for sure the best time of my young life. I traveled Europe, Asia, South America. I backpacked. I worked bar gigs out there. I taught English. I thought my travels would help me “find myself.” But they didn’t. I didn’t exactly find myself, but I found something else in Tibet. Man, I found something far greater and far more important.

And it’s helped me. Helped me a lot. It really has...