ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell. Tucker Max
Читать онлайн.Название I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780806535937
Автор произведения Tucker Max
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство Ingram
Bouncer “You need to take your friends and get out of here.”
Tucker “Look man, our cars are out in that parking lot. You are going to have to walk us out there. Those fucking guys have guns, and they are very angry with us.”
The bouncer sees the logic in this, and explains the situation to the other bouncers. They encircle us, and begin walking us toward our cars. The rednecks are none too happy about this, but the lead bouncer has somehow managed to convince them to not launch a full-scale assault on us. I can only assume he threatened violence and inevitable police involvement.
We finally make it to Credit’s car, when I notice that Brownhole is nowhere to be found. Fucking great. I should leave that disloyal coward cocksucker back in the Oak Room. Scanning the parking lot, I see him. He is walking next to the very truck that El Bingeroso had been kicking earlier, talking to the older redneck driving it.
Thomas sees this, and yells out, “Oh shit, guys, Brownhole is gonna get fucked up!”
El Bing “What? Where? Brownhole! WE HAVE TO BACK HIM UP!” and he tears off running towards Brownhole and the truck.
The subsequent conversation I did not hear, but was reported pretty much the same from both Brownhole and El Bingeroso. Brownhole had apparently made headway into calming the old redneck driving the truck. This guy not only owned the truck in question, but also the very bar that everything had started in. He was on the way to convincing the old redneck to call off his henchmen, when all of the sudden El Bingeroso runs up.
Old Redneck “Son, your friends are lucky you’re here to get them out of this. I kill people like them.”
Brownhole “Yes Sir, I’m glad we can resolve this peacefully.”
El Bing [as he runs up] “Brownhole, what the fuck? Let’s get the fuck out of here. He’s got a gun!”
Old Redneck “A gun? Boy, I got two guns.” At which point the old redneck pulled a 9mm pistol out from a hidden compartment in the truck, and held it up along with his sawed-off shotgun from before.
El Bing “OH SHIT!”
El Bingeroso tried to back up so fast he fell over.
Brownhole “El Bingeroso, go away, go back to the car, I’m taking care of this.”
Old Redneck “Hey, hey boy, you’re the one who kicked my truck. You got to pay for a new grill.”
Brownhole “El Bingeroso, come on, let’s go. Sorry Sir, my friend needs to get home, he’s very drunk. Your grill looks fine.”
Old Redneck “Who’s gonna pay for a new grill for my truck? Goddammit!”
The bouncers thankfully re-intervened at this point, and everyone piled into Credit’s car. Being the sober one, I drove over to GoldenBoy’s car, and GoldenBoy and Brownhole got out. We sat there and watched them get in, and then pull off.
This is important, because the conversation in the car for the next twenty minutes as we drove to Chapel Hill revolved around this event. El Bingeroso was convinced that we had left GoldenBoy and Brownhole to die by the hands of the rednecks. Hate refused to believe that there were any guns involved. Thomas was convinced we were being followed. Credit fell asleep. It went something like this:
Hate “Dude, we fucking left GoldenBoy and Brownhole. They’re fucking dead, man. We left them to die, man. What the fuck?”
Thomas “Tucker, man, speed up, those lights have been behind us since we left Durham.”
Tucker “Guys, everyone relax. GoldenBoy and Brownhole are fine, the redneck with the gun parked his truck, we are fine, so everyone just shut up.”
Hate “What gun are you guys talking about? There was no gun.”
El Bing “Fuck you Hate, I saw the fucking gun. I saw the gun that the rednecks are using right now to kill Brownhole and GoldenBoy. How the fuck could we leave them? They’ve been shot. We left them for DEAD. THEY’RE DEAD! FUCK!!”
Hate “There was no gun.”
El Bing “FUCK OFF HATE, I SAW THE FUCKING GUN. THERE WERE TWO GUNS, ASSHOLE!!”
Thomas “Seriously, just pull into a police station. The rednecks are following us.”
Hate “Who cares? They don’t have any guns.”
El Bing “FUCK YOU MAN, I SAW THE GUN. I SAW THE FUCKING GUN! GOLDENBOY AND BROWNHOLE ARE DEAD! WHAT THE FUCK?!? WE ABANDONED THEM!”
Thomas “Those are totally the same truck lights. They’ve been behind us since Durham. Tucker, seriously, start evasive maneuvers or something.”
El Bing “We left our friends… WE’RE COWARDS.”
Hate “Speak for yourself.”
El Bing “FUCK YOU HATE! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”
We eventually made it to Chapel Hill. GoldenBoy and Brownhole were fine, no one was following us, Credit woke up, and everyone told Hate that there were indeed guns. We drank some beers, calmed down, and headed home.
I was exhausted. Being the only sober one in a group of nine retarded drunks is not fun. Fuck this; from now on, I’m drinking and driving. El Bingeroso and Thomas were the last two I dropped off, and I headed into El Bingeroso’s place with them to get a beer; I figured I had earned it.
El Bingeroso decided he was hungry, so he took out a roll of unopened, pre-made cookie dough from the refrigerator, tore off the package, plopped the whole thing down on a cookie sheet, and threw it in the oven, setting the temperature at somewhere around Lowest Level of Hell. He tossed us a few beers, and we relived the night for a while, filling each other in on the parts that the other two had missed. After two beers, Kristy came out of her room, groggy and sleepy-eyed, and said to El Bingeroso,
Kristy “What is that smell?”
El Bing “Oh, sorry baby, that’s cookies burning.”
Kristy “Umm, OK. Can you guys keep it down, I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow.”
At this, Thomas stood up and said, “Keep it down? WOMAN, WE’RE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE!!!”
THE BLOWJOB FOLLIES
Occurred—various 1994–2004
Written—July 2004
Blowjobs…the sweet sounds of silence. The problem with oral sex is that it’s like writing. When done right, it’s amazing, but there are just so many ways it can go wrong, and when it does, it’s just not worth it. These are some of my funnier blowjob stories:
Say It, Don’t Spray It
High school was the first time I realized that blowjobs would be a painful pleasure. I was dating a girl from another school in my area. Besides being one of the hottest girls I’ve ever known, she was also one of the very first girls to give me head. We were both new at it, and she liked me to courtesy tap. This was because I had convinced her that—I’m not making this up—it wasn’t “real” oral sex as long as I didn’t cum in her mouth. Aren’t 17 year-olds funny?
The first few dozen times she went down on me I courtesy tapped just like she’d asked. One time we were in my car, parked right out front of her house because I was dropping her off after a date. Instead of a kiss goodnight, I suggested she blow me goodnight. She thought this was a brilliant idea.
I quickly got carried away with the risk and thrill of having her suck my dick twenty yards away from her house where her father, who I hated, was waiting for her to come