Another piece is local, but works out only about once a month. She sucks like a Royals' relief pitcher. I have concerns about her because I am relatively certain that I am not the only one puttin' the wood to her. Let us just say that I know she could take a transplant, because her body has not rejected an organ in ten years.
Two others work about once a week, but one of them is
really high maintenance. She makes incredible efforts to
remain attractive.going to the spa, the gym, and makeup/
hair-removal artists frequently. Like Ann Margaret
in Grumpy Old Men, they spackled her good. The other
weekly could ruin a marriage.or save it, depending on your
perspective. She is so hot the Rice Krispies are speechless.
As Dr. Phil would say, "She was as handy as a pocket on a
shirt."
The fi fth is head-over-heels in love, and unfortunately
I have verbally reciprocated. I would cut her loose, but,
she has DSLs and these giant titties, and I guess I love
pussy more than I want to protect anybody's feelings. She
is Irish, and awfully proud of it. You would think that she
is a direct descendant of St. Fucking Patrick. Any in depth
conversation with her includes the statement, "Freud said
that the Irish are the only people that are impervious to
psychoanalysis."
I always reply, "They can't even rule their own fucking
island." That probably makes me an asshole, but I can live
with that.
Six and seven are my Missouri strange connection when
I attend my monthly Air National Guard drills in St. Joe.
One of them, Lori, is a funeral director from St. Joseph, and
the other, Amber (I call her Amber the Tight), is worth the
drive to Chillicothe. Amber and I met in the strangest way.
I had just dropped off a guy from my shop that lived on the
outskirts of Chillicothe. On my way out of town, this young
girl was sitting on the side of the road on the hood of her car.
I am not usually helpful, but she was just as cute as a speckled
pup. I pulled in behind her and started walking toward her
car. She saw the uniform and just started dripping. Do not
ask me how she did it. Amber claims she felt like she had
a fl at, so she pulled over to check it. Much to her relief, the
tires were all fi ne. Returning to her driver's side door, she
found the car to be locked, with the keys inside. When I
got close to her, she almost whispered, "You get me out of
this.I'll suck your dick for a week." It does not take much
more incentive than that. I took a wire hangar out of my
uniform bag, and in less than two minutes had manipulated
its old shape into a Slim Jim. Five minutes after that, well,
it started off to be a great week. Amber is so fl exible, she
can almost lick my nuts from the reverse cowboy position.
It does not hurt that she is barely twenty. We are not going
to the bar anyway. I know, I know. I might get herpes just
from writing this.
Back in the day when I had thoughts about marriage,
I had compared theories regarding what to look for in a
marriage partner. The Old School went something like this: Find somebody with conversation skills because when
the desire or ability to screw fades, you will need it. I
call bullshit. Find someone who likes to screw. If you do
not, by the time you get to the point where your erogenous
zones are non-existent, you will not want to talk to them
anyway. Finding someone cute, who likes to shag will keep
you happy now, and allow you time to learn to love your
partner. By the time you are in your 50s or 60s, you will
have loved and gained a relationship you can talk about. You
will also know where the elusive G-spot is located. Why
Ernst Grafenberg did not just tell us all a long friggin' time
ago is the biggest mystery. I fell for the marriage thing once,
and as soon as she crossed the threshold as Mrs. Batiste, the
campaign started for me to change.
Ambitious thoughts are gravitating toward how easy
and enjoyable I can make this life, and no, I am not assuming
there is another. Achievement and accomplishment are
great. I have achieved, and I have accomplished. Now I
want to do something else. I want to think, or not. I want
to sleep a lot. I want to watch TV (Mostly sports). What I
do not want is to be bothered. Call me lazy, I do not care.
Waste your life criticizing mine. Do what you have to do.
I am not sure there is anything left to accomplish before
settling in for the big dirt nap.
Everybody that has ever wanted me to do or be something
did so for their own agenda. Bless their hearts, my folks
wanted somebody to brag about. The soon-to-be-ex-wife
wanted a breadwinner (I am talking about a great deal of bread here). Maybe I learned something from my kids.
Just be happy. Try to keep happy those for whom you are
responsible, and then do what you have to in order to be
happy yourself. Do not care who it impresses or does not
impress.
Other than permanently earning the title, "United
States Marine" back in 1972, my greatest accomplishment
was being the 99th Knight to be knighted in the Lords and
Ladies Pub in Kailua, Hawaii. It would take me 13 weeks to
describe boot camp, and there are multiple movies produced
and books written about it already, so you will get no boot
camp history lesson from me (I recommend the movie, Full
Metal Jacket, and any book by W.E.B. Griffi n.).
Briefl y, to be knighted in the Lords and Ladies Pub,
you needed to pass the test, or the rites of Knighthood.
This task was considerably more diffi cult than what Sir Paul
McCartney or Sir Tom Jones might have gone through. The
sole criterion was that you consumed 99 different alcoholic
beverages on the premises, in a period of one week, and you
would be timed to the minute. Not too tough, some of you
might say, after the quick public math tells you it is a little
over 14 beers a day. Now consider that they were all of the
imported variety. Remember, domestic means tame. If
that still does not appear too daunting a task, I am worried
about you.
It was not that I wanted to upstage my Knighthood.
I did not even set out to accomplish anything. I just had
an interest in being a Private Investigator. The version of PI that I had previously seen on the tube intrigued me.
Magnum was cool, and he got a ton of strange cooze. It was
a sexy occupation. After completing the 15-week, on-line
training, and license application through the state, I sent off
for the badge, via FedEx overnight. It was actually a bi-fold
wallet with a built-in badge that you could fl ip open to really
impress the chicks. Too bad I could not afford the red Ferrari
(not even the rental).
I knew there was not much demand for Private
Investigators in Lincoln, Nebraska, so I continued to serve
my country in an Air National Guard unit across the line
in Mo. St. Jo, and I kept the state job as a security guard at
the State Penitentiary. In the beginning, I took a few jobs
helping out some insurance company. They had a hunch that
some of their clients had lied about disability claims, and
they wanted me to catch them scooping snow, or carrying a
piano. Many things in life are indelible; becoming a priest,
for example. You are a priest forever, because of the holy
orders. When you are baptized, you are forever a Christian.
When you graduate MCRD, you are forever a Marine.
Perhaps the best example is this: People are cheaters, and
they will cheat the system.
Surveillance became pretty boring stuff. Spending
hours peering through the end of a video camera lens was
not what I had imagined. It was not adding to my collection
of strange either.
Enough about me. This story is not about me. It is about
my friend.uh.acquaintance, Charlie Mount. I guess it would not be so bad to continue calling Charlie my friend,
but the idea of distancing myself from him is better for
now.