Jesus, I used to be a complete asshole. Sorry, AR. This happened in uh... 1998 maybe? 1999?
--Dave
1st half by Jeff Downing, 2nd half by Dave Smith In-Fat-uated ------------------ OK, here you go. what I saw.... The 4 speed. Oh my, what a car. It was like a dream come true. A factory 4 speed. And with a 273 V8 to boot. Man, could it get any better? Friday I took it when I drove downtown for the usual Friday activity of hanging out at the Legion Hall and going to Inferno's with the Archbishop David "Smith", Dave Ninja and Lisa. Billtari was even around when I finally tracked down the crowd hanging out at the Legion. First I tried the Archbishops place of employment, then his homestead, finally the Lesion. We sat around, drank some beer, watched the "Where are they Now" thingy on MTV about 80's one hit wonder rock bands. There was also the bet. Val Kilmer was hosting the dumb MTV thing and we got to thinking about horrible Val Kilmer movies. Then Dave and I thought of The Princess Bride. Jason Patrone said he weren't in the movie. Sure he was. A bet for a 6-pack of King Cobra Tall boys ensued. Dave and Jason left for work to check the web for the correct answer. DOH! Willow, it was Willow with the midget that Val was in. Patrone came back with a brown paper bag filled with booze. I finally was coerced into going and picking up Davey and Lisa because it started raining. I did and Davey gave me the temp/oil pressure gauge he got from his old man and also a air thingy for my compressor so I could inflate my flat tires at home with my compressor when my tires are flat. It was an old one with a built in gauge. Nice. When we got back to the Lesion we sat there for a minute and then decided it was time to go to Inferno's for pizza and calzone. Dave Smith decided to stay behind. He was hoping for some chicks to show up that he could pick up on.... We drove down to Inferno's and found out that the infernal place was overun with teens and maybe some crummy band or something. It was packed! So we skipped it and began debating where we would go for food. Wienerschnitzel? Vallejo's? What? We decided on Wienerschnitzel and the Latino food place next door (not Taco Hell) on Broadway. I got a burrito and had Bill get me some fries from Der Wiener place. Lisa ordered tacos or something with no cheese, but she got cheese, so I had to watch her pick it all off. She doesnt like "white' cheese or something. It is "gross". Ok, that makes perfectly good sense to me. Then we went next door to see what was holding up Bill and Davey. Apparently some creepy guy kept eyeballing Bill, maybe he wanted to beat him up for being dumb or something. I ain't sure. But finally Bill got his food and we left. Back to Bills and Daves to eat, drink and watch TeeVee. Bill ran over to Cheaper to get a twelver. We ate, watched some TeeVee, and then Davey started playing Skull Monkey on Playstation. Then Dave showed up again. No chicks to pick up on at the Lesion.....then it happend....He called Nauru, the Fat Web Cam Chick. Dave had gotten to know here via her website. She actually came to Sacto at least twice. Crazy. Oh my. What now? She was having a party? Where? Yuba City, oh the Air Force base? Got directions? Dave wanted to go. Time to see the Web Cam chicks home and setup. Oh man. Who would go with him? He was in no condition to drive. I said...(I should have bit my tongue) "I'll go" (I knew I had to go cause it is what Guy would have wanted) He kinda ignored me and proceeded to try and talk Bill into going. He started makeing his case (it was pretty weak) and Bill was already fat and bloated from eating 3 chili cheese burgers some fries, half my burrito and something else he got at the weinerhouse. Not to mention all the beers at the Lesion and the house. Dave begged, pleaded, threatened, cajoled, bribed, cried, whined and promised. Nothing worked. Bill was being a spined pillar of opposition. I told Dave "Lets's Go!" and I headed out the door. They know that when I say lets go, I go. No waiting around or anything. I got outside, went to the car and waited, I figured Dave would be right behind me. Nope, after a couple of minutes I went back in and Dave was still jumping around in front of Bill on the couch and trying to talk him into going. Dave was surprised when I walked in, he figured I would just go home. Not this time. This time I turned off all sensiblities. I told him lets go again and he finally gave up on Bill and Davey and Lisa going. It was just me n Dave. We started driving. When we got to Roseville the car started to have problems. It kept running but it would surge and pulse at a high speed. Hmmmm, we were baffled. Dave was determined to get to the dumb party though. Against my superior intellects reasoning I kept going. We stopped in Roseville to fill up on gas and buy a twelver. Dave paid for 13 gallons when the needle read 1/4 tank. Hmmm, that means 5 gallons when I am at a 1/4 tank, nice information to have. Then we continued on our way, carefully. Turned out that if I didn't go to fast there wasn't any problem. We drove....and drove.....and drove. We were headed for the Air Force Base. I told Dave it was the biggest (in terms of area) in the US. Wow. He asked me all kinds of questions about living on a base, about ID cards and junk like that. I educated him on the ways of the military brat. We drove through some small vacant towns. Man, 10:30 pm, (that is 2230 hours for you military types) and these towns were rolled up tight. Finally came to the sign that indicated the base was another 8 miles down the road. We drove out this back country road, nothing in sight. Man, how far out is this place? Miles I told Dave. I thought we might have to drive for days more after we actually got to the base. At the gate we had to stop and fill out paperwork so we could waltz around the base like we owned it. The guard, some Buck Seargant chick from florida equipped with armaments (these got Daves attention). She was nice and all to us, considering that we definately did not fit the typical base type looking personell. She called to Nauru's place and confirmed our visit and all, gave us passes and then we were off. Luckily the house was close to the gate. I needed to pee. The car made it fine, except for the pulsating part. Dave pulled out a couple of beers out of the twelver and gave me one. Gotta show up at the door with beers in hand he said. We banged on the door and then we went in. Soon as we stepped in I knew it was going to be a long night. There was Nauru and 5 other people sitting, nearly comatose, around the living room. The TeeVee was on with the sound off. The radio provided noise. They were apparently listening to a friend on the radio or something. The crowd was kinda odd. Nauru: Fat web cam chick, lusting after Dave. Fat Chick: Fat chick friend of Nauru. Obviously gay guy but in denial: He is obviously gay but won't admit it. It was his birthday. Skinny punk rock like chick: skinny, 3 colors of hair. Non descript other chick: I think she had short hair. Long haired 80's rocker type: complete with long blond hair, sunglasses (which he wore inside the house all night while I was there) and long handled comb sticking out of his back pocket. And then there was me and Dave. I really can't tell you much about these people cause they pretty much sat there comatose and just glared and me n Dave. I drank a little beer and then decided I definately will want to leave so I had better switch over to soda pop. I also ate some m&m's later. Dave drank beer. Plenty of it. He started harassing Nauru in his fun loving way, calling her a midget and junk like that. Patting her on the head condiscendingly and talking down to her like she was 2 year old with a bladder control problem. She loved it. We got to see the exciting world of web cam chicks. Basically it was just a computer in her bedroom with a camera on top of it and a light so that it got good pictures. She chainsmoked GBC cigarettes. Mmmmm, fancy. She also had some props in her room. Dave kept asking her about the webcam. How could she make any money. She ain't like one of the other chicks that has a free site and is always sticking things into her snatch. Every day you can tune in and she has small children, vegitables, home appliances and everything else you can think of crammed in her twat. Nauru was vague about it all and deftly deflected his inquisition. This went on for a couple of hours... crazy. It was the worst. I could feel my life getting sucked out of me. I felt that if I closed my eyes I would die. My life force sucked clean out of me. I refused to give in.....must......escape.........before........it ...is......toooooo......laaaaaatttteeeeeee..... I told Dave that I really gotta go. I can't stand no more. He didn't want to let me go. I wanted to go. He wanted me to stay. We would only get a chance to talk quickly when Nauru would be momentarily be distracted by one of her other friends. Then she would be back. Dave would pat her on the head some more and talk down to her some more and call her midget some more. The fat Nauru friend continued to give us the evil eye stare. Finally a break happend. A couple of her friends left. I aint even sure which ones. YES!!! We could leave now cause others had left first. We wouldn't make a faux pas by arriving late and leaving early. Finally Dave gave in and told Nauru that, well, we were gonna take off. She told us to stay. I said I HAVE TO GET HOME!!! Then she set me free....she said she was going to Sacto tomorrow. I saw my opening and I jumped at it. I looked at Dave and said "Great, then you can give Dave a ride home." I gave Dave a minute to refute this. Nothing. I said goodbye one more time and started for the door. Goodbye goodbye goodbye!!! ( I said it the whole way out the door). I paused outside the kitchen window before I left to give Dave a chance to leave with me. I waited about a minute, but he kept talking to Nauru....I guess the attraction of the web cam chick was too much to resist in his druken state. I left, drove home, went to sleep. Turned out the pulsating car was caused by a clogged fuel fitler. I called Daves and left a message for him to call me when he got home....so I could find out what else happened after I left...He called at 7:30 pm (that is 1930 hours for you military types). --------------------------- Dave's half: Jeff left me blind drunk. I looked around, realized where I was and sucked down a cyanide capsule I had hidden in a false tooth. Better death than fat chick. You know, you grow up chanting "no fat chicks" till it's some sort of natural response. You're not exactly sure why "no fat chicks." Yeah, you have some guesses, but you don't really know. Well, "no fat chicks" is more than just a catchy slogan like "don't pee on the electric fence" it's a Commandment like Charlton Heston brought down from the Mountain. When God sayeth, "Verily verily, I say unto thee, No Fat Chicks" the bastard meant it. Don't ask me how I know, but I repent, oh Lord do I repent. ------ It was creepy. I've never had sex with someone who I didn't like just to be doing it. I sat around being mean to her friends (not unusual). There was a gay guy, a "wacky" bi-sexual, and a fat bitter peckerwood. The gay guy wasn't gay, they all said, but I wasn't buying it. He was. Even if he didn't know it. Then her friends left and she put the moves on. It was creepy. I was really drunk. Had a Del Taco burrito around 11:30 am and quit eating for the day. No more food, only booze. Started drinking pitchers of Guinness at 5 and it was like 1 or 2 am. She took off her clothes and man oh man, she's fat. I ain't shot a load off that fast before in my life. I joke about 3 pumps and a rollover, but I didn't even make that. Then I started laughing a lot -- semi hysterically -- and scared her. I kept thinking about the time Jack and some guys swiped a watermelon and sat around all night making jokes about fucking it. Then after everyone left, Jack figured what the hell and cut a hole in the watermelon. He said he was laughing at himself while he humped it but he kept banging away until he nutted. Ended up with a scab on his dick from the rind. Well, if Jack could hump a watermelon, I could hump the fat chick. I grabbed another can of Busch, smoked a cigarette and went back to work. Only now I was too drunk to get it up proper like. Had her on her knees but she was too fat to get in good. Flipped her over, and she was bouncing around a lot and I was having problems keeping it in. I'm just a little guy and she had a lot of mass to wrestle with. As she'd buck, she'd bounce me off. I ain't no great thing in the sack, but undoubtedly, I was the worst I've ever been nookie wise. Slept as far away from her as possible with one arm anchored off the side of the bed. You ever see the episode of the Simpsons where Homer gets really fat and he flops down in bed, the bed sinks and Marge rolls on top of him? It was like that. She pulled down the mattress. I woke up hungover and sat on her couch until 5 pm waiting for her to give me a ride home. Yeah, plenty of sober time to think about what a cold-hearted thing I'd done. The Butthole Surfers said "a funny thing about regret is, it's better to regret something you have done, rather than regret something you haven't done," but I'm not so sure about that. Most of my life has been spent with that idea driving me, but now that I'm an old guy (almost 31!) I have my doubts about that. I spent the day watching Maximum Overdrive and pretending to be asleep. I probably said two things all day, "Hi, how's it going?" and "Where's your husband?". France, she said. She had gone and picked up her kid while I was "sleeping" and her kid was a little freak show too. Something I couldn't place my finger on. Not freak enough to charge admission to see, but more like just a touch of the Downs Syndrome. On the way home, she asked if she'd see me again. I said probably not. She said she figured. I started asking questions to fill the silence. As she piloted her beat to hell, barely running VW Bug through the rain, she fished a generic cigarette from the glove box, peered through the blurry smear that the non-working windshield wipers left on the windshield and said as she repeatedly flicked the dying pink Bic lighter to light the budget smoke, "I make $100,000 a year. I have over 550 paid subscribers and three girls working under me." I asked her how long until she made her first million, "Oh, about two years. Well maybe a little longer if I'm just making $100,000 now." She asked me if I wanted to go clubbing in Yuba City and I told her I was going to see the Pretty Girls that night (my friend Jason's band that had played two parties). "Oh the Pretty Girls. I thought they broke up." Giving her the benefit of the doubt I asked if there was a local band of the same name. "No, they're from down there. The bi-sexual that was at my house last night dated one of them, I think." When I got home I literally crawled into a hot shower and felt dirty and ashamed. I don't know why people don't believe me when I say that, but it's true. The jokes started coming in the day I got home. Hey Dave, didja roll her in flour? Hey Pig Fucker, oink oink! People walking by my desk at work snickering. Hey Ladies Man, how was the Nauru-b-que? At least I can cross out cam girl AND fat chick. It's an ugly life, and I can be an ugly person. ------------------------------------- About a year later I ran across pictures she'd posted on her site where she'd was giving blow-jobs and sticking bottles and bananas up her baby-hole. Those times I hung out with her, I didn't think she was sleazy, I just thought she had retarded social skills (like I'm anyone to judge social skills after having a sarcastic fuck and then posting a story about it on the Almighty Internet). She seemed like a decent enough girl who was a bit clueless, but not in the clueless without having a clue sort of way. More of the purposeful cluelessness because it's easier to deal with life when you don't know what's going on. Does that make sense? Nauru Island link: virgin.net Quote from site: Nauru has been gutted by the mining of phosphate and if you find yourself here, you certainly won't bump into tourists for very good reasons Nauru hate mail link (From The Picking on the Retarded Dept.) From stileproject.com Cournee's Hate Mail to Nauru
