westcoastvol
Active Member
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2003
- Messages
- 2,450
Last Sunday, I walked down to the local hamlet's street fair.
Having been in my hood for about a year, I thought it'd be a great way to expand ye olde horizons, check out the hamlet's selection of MILFs, scoff at the latest in ladies' tattoos (eww) and chug a few adult bevvies in the beer garden. It'd be a great way to spend the afternoon after a morning spent reading the LAT, NYT, watching Nadal confuse Federer and take in some World Cup. Innocent fun, right?
Christ, I wish.
The girlfriend, the dog, the neighbor and I walk down to the soiree. A block north of the shindig, a woman screams out in agony. "My dog! My dog!"
Sure enough, the woman, who was carrying her little lap dog in the third tit zone like a ******* Paris Hilton fashion accessory, had the dog outfitted with a harness, but not a leash. The dog squirmed away and took off like the proverbial Meat Loaf album title.
I looked down at my dog (had him three months), saw the dog moving with 10x the viscosity of greased owl ****, and like a real dumbass, I take off after the dog like Adrian Zmed in "TJ HOOKER" chasing a perp through the wily back streets of Santa Monica.
I go up the hill. Nothing. I run through mild cross-traffic. Nothing. I keep running uphill.
Now keep in mind I'm outta shape these days, as I'm currently beset with home remodeling and major allergy issues (I found out I'm allergic to rabbits today. Damn). And the run is entirely uphill to the Greek Theatre. I go anyway, yelling the dog's name. Sprinting like no one's bid'ness. I hear the owner cry and it makes me run harder.
Eventually, fatigue kicks in. I see the owner hop into a Smokey and the Bandit-era TransAm (complete with t-tops and eagle on the hood). I wonder if this is all for naught. But suddenly, the karmic payback kicks in at about Mach 74.
A woman with aftermarket bolt-on tits the size of Rhode Island runs up next to me (keep in mind I've never seen this woman before in my life). She says "Wow, is that the dog's owner getting in that car?"
"Yup."
"Wow, she's brave for doing that, but I used to be an escort, so I did that a lot myself, gettin' in cars and trucks with strangers."
"Rrrrrrreally? Do you still do it?" I asked.
"Nah, my boyfriend helped me get out of that and doing pornos."
"Oh."
"Yeah, we just had a baby."
"Congrats."
"Thanks.
By this time, we had found the dog, and we were at a traffic light, waiting to cross.
"Oww, my tits hurt."
"I'm sorry," I said, as I watched her massage her boooo-bies.
"Yeah, I just had them redone. I didn't like them, so I had them boosted up to a double-D. I'm not supposed to run for like six weeks, but I had to help that girl. They cost 12 grand, but I want them to look fake for fitness competitions."
At this point, I decided to test her bluntness. "Have you ever been DP'd in porn?"
"Oh yeah. Love it."
"And your boyfriend's okay with you getting ****ed on camera. Does he watch?"
"Oh yeah. The more the merrier."
Two postscript notes:
1. Didn't ask if I could finish on her grill.
2. Didn't get a photo. But trust me, she's fresh off the SS Springer.
Having been in my hood for about a year, I thought it'd be a great way to expand ye olde horizons, check out the hamlet's selection of MILFs, scoff at the latest in ladies' tattoos (eww) and chug a few adult bevvies in the beer garden. It'd be a great way to spend the afternoon after a morning spent reading the LAT, NYT, watching Nadal confuse Federer and take in some World Cup. Innocent fun, right?
Christ, I wish.
The girlfriend, the dog, the neighbor and I walk down to the soiree. A block north of the shindig, a woman screams out in agony. "My dog! My dog!"
Sure enough, the woman, who was carrying her little lap dog in the third tit zone like a ******* Paris Hilton fashion accessory, had the dog outfitted with a harness, but not a leash. The dog squirmed away and took off like the proverbial Meat Loaf album title.
I looked down at my dog (had him three months), saw the dog moving with 10x the viscosity of greased owl ****, and like a real dumbass, I take off after the dog like Adrian Zmed in "TJ HOOKER" chasing a perp through the wily back streets of Santa Monica.
I go up the hill. Nothing. I run through mild cross-traffic. Nothing. I keep running uphill.
Now keep in mind I'm outta shape these days, as I'm currently beset with home remodeling and major allergy issues (I found out I'm allergic to rabbits today. Damn). And the run is entirely uphill to the Greek Theatre. I go anyway, yelling the dog's name. Sprinting like no one's bid'ness. I hear the owner cry and it makes me run harder.
Eventually, fatigue kicks in. I see the owner hop into a Smokey and the Bandit-era TransAm (complete with t-tops and eagle on the hood). I wonder if this is all for naught. But suddenly, the karmic payback kicks in at about Mach 74.
A woman with aftermarket bolt-on tits the size of Rhode Island runs up next to me (keep in mind I've never seen this woman before in my life). She says "Wow, is that the dog's owner getting in that car?"
"Yup."
"Wow, she's brave for doing that, but I used to be an escort, so I did that a lot myself, gettin' in cars and trucks with strangers."
"Rrrrrrreally? Do you still do it?" I asked.
"Nah, my boyfriend helped me get out of that and doing pornos."
"Oh."
"Yeah, we just had a baby."
"Congrats."
"Thanks.
By this time, we had found the dog, and we were at a traffic light, waiting to cross.
"Oww, my tits hurt."
"I'm sorry," I said, as I watched her massage her boooo-bies.
"Yeah, I just had them redone. I didn't like them, so I had them boosted up to a double-D. I'm not supposed to run for like six weeks, but I had to help that girl. They cost 12 grand, but I want them to look fake for fitness competitions."
At this point, I decided to test her bluntness. "Have you ever been DP'd in porn?"
"Oh yeah. Love it."
"And your boyfriend's okay with you getting ****ed on camera. Does he watch?"
"Oh yeah. The more the merrier."
Two postscript notes:
1. Didn't ask if I could finish on her grill.
2. Didn't get a photo. But trust me, she's fresh off the SS Springer.
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