Just a sweet transvestite
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Publié :7/10/2007 22h29
Dernière mise à jour :18/10/2010 20h46 5244 vues
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October and Rocky Horror Night. Sneaking out, when I'm not supposed to disobey the old man.
Dressed or rather undressed as my favorite transvestite transylvanian.
Fishnet stockings, eyeliner, corset, water guns, Brad and Janet.
Keep your Freddy Krugers, Jasons and Micheal Myers.
I love the blonde, tanned Rockys in the gold bikinis.
Unshackled dark refrain, sing and dance to the time warp, again.
Boys look like girls, girls look like goth Elviras.
The poor uninitiated look on in comic terror.
And I'm prancing about like Lolita Wednesday Adams.
Spaced out in sensation. Teasing and hot.
Posing, for the voyeuristic intentions of befuddled onlookers.
Acting out the juicy parts in front of the screen.
Go party with the stage players after the live show.
Swarm the club and enjoy all that attention till dawn.
Wary of the coming sunrise, a would be horror whore.
3AM All Hallows Eve October 31st.
Walking home arms folded tight, against the night breeze.
Taking a shortcut through the cemetery is spooky enough.
But walking the extra blocks in five inch heels? No way.
Plus every cop that passes me, thinks I'm hooking.
Because I'm in panties, short leather jacket, creep show drag?
And walking the dimly lit back streets very late at night?
Oh, please. Give me some credit.
The creepy grave diggers lecherous come on? Reason to walk faster.
Ewww! I don't think so! What is it with old guys?
Mist and shadows add more chill to being scantily clad.
Step up the pace, past that owl staring at me from the branch.
And a little more to beat the oncoming thunderstorm.
Mournful gusts rustling the sidewalk dead leaves.
Watching the neighbors black cat on the fence, cautious as she watches me.
I hiss to get her reaction. Yellow eyes and arched back.
Then there at the end of the Hysteria Lane....home.
The house that trick-or-treat all kids avoid or egg.
Not being at all quiet, I come in by way of the front door.
Just as rain drops start to pelt the glass.
The garage still closed tight, mom and the old man not back yet.
Both at their sedate suburban halloween party.
They always stay over at the friends house.
Driving back the next morning, lite weights. And...snoring?
Why is there a body on the couch?...Naturally, I'm drawn to it.
Closer, I see my evil stepfather sprawled, sound asleep.
Half eaten sandwich and chips spilled on the floor.
They came home early, he's worried about kids egging the house. He can be such a pain in the ass.
When he's not pushing me around. He's calling me names.
Demanding me, to call "him" dad.
It's his house, his rules. You can never do enough, or anything to please him.
Yet, mom stays with him. He is NOT my real father.
My real father treated mom like the queen of the world.
Until he vanished to mysterious circumstances, working abroad.
His body never returned from the Transylvania authorities.
The gypsy woman put a medallion around my neck, in the village.
She offered a blessing, then hurried on her way.
What she meant, "never lose or allow it taken" is a mystery to me.
Just some crazy old woman with her superstitions.
It's spooky looking, reminds me of there. I continue to wear it.
We returned to America, to rebuild our life.
Dads business partner became moms new husband, my stepfather.
I just wish "he" would go away.
Call him daddy? Never, no way in hell!
It's a surprise, both of us there, that time of night.
Any other time I would simply dash up stairs.
Except this time I feel all empowered and fearless.
I danced in the aisles, been the envy of the envious.
Roamed party to party after the show. Had my own show for all to see.
I'm not about to hide from him now.
I have no respect for him, as it were.
Drinks and pharmaceuticals talking to me very loudly!
Don't dream it, be it. Calling for my blatant emergence from my closet.
As we know emotion can be a powerful mistress.
And Trisha/Glynn had indeed become its slave.
At five foot four, I feel like Fay Wray atop empire high heels.
Sinfully satanic rock-n-roll, Joan Jett face.
Satin bustier, attitude and black panties, bunched perfectly between round ass cheeks.
Brief trembles of doubt chills me. This is not a crowd of strangers.
No this is in front of the old Vincent Price ghoul of a tyrant, himself.
But no. No turning back. Not now. Tossing my leather jacket, to wake him.
His bleary eyes shocked to see this hot curly haired chick.
Clicking high heeled, half naked through his living room.
My seductive ecstasy buzz excites me all the more.
This is my moment of unruly disorder. My turn to let him know, you don't rule me.
He's off the couch and meeting me half way. Knocking the plate and bottle of mustard across the floor.
I pause licking my lips. Giving him a pouty come-hither look.
"You and mom didn't go out?" I expect him to be frozen in place. While I parade past him upstairs.
Yes, my sassy-sexy moment of triumph.
Take that you old corpse! He's getting an eye full.
I'm not about to back down now. It's a thrill rush, being in front of him this brazen.
To my surprise, he walks toward me and asks "Did you come here with Glynn?"
He thinks I'm one of my girlfriends!
My small curvy body compared to him must seem very girly.
This throws me off for a second. I don't know what to say.
I glance at the stairs, back at the jacket lying on the floor.
My daze broken by his strong grip on my arm. "You don't need to be here"
At that point I can smell the liquor on his breath.
He's drunk. He shouts upstairs. "Hey boy..Glynn wake up! Get down here!"
Dragging me to the stairs. Still calling out.
"Glynn get down here" My eyes wide, a dozen thoughts at once.
He doesn't know it's me. I feel relived, scared, disappointed and confused at the same time.
His grip increases, sparking a momentary domination fantasy.
So, with each playful step, I'm flirting, teasing him.
Playing with my hair and leaning into his body.
I kick the mustard bottle splattering against the stairs.
Lips open, I'm casting him spooky naughty girl eyes.
Taking his drink, licking the rim and downing straight scotch.
I'm on the verge of saying; It's me you idiot. Saying goodnight and running upstairs.
Until he squeezes and slaps my butt. "You think you're pretty don't you, you look like a whore.
Lucky his mothers not here....lucky for me that is." Moms not here. We are alone, just me and him!
His hands fingering between my cheeks.
I try to climb the stairs faster and trip on the high heels.
Stupidly, falling right into his open arms. He catches me.
Grinning, laughing, and drunkenly feeling me up. I try to push him away.
That only put my butt in his hands.
His powerful grip scares me. I try to shake him off.
But my play-thing naughty self, is caught in her charade.
"Be careful, don't break anything" He said looking upstairs and listening, of course hearing nothing.
"His mother won't be back until I go get her. And that boy could sleep through his own funeral"
I stared at him stunned. He leans in close, my wrist locked in his grip.
"You want him to know you're down here whoring around for me?"
Before I can answer he squeezes my arms painfully, pushing me against the wall.
The drunk smell intoxicates me all the more. I try to turn my head.
He slaps my face and covered my mouth with his own.
My eyes wide, my legs weaken with panic.
Stunned for that moment frozen, being forcefully kissed.
I break away, pulling my mouth from his. Only for have him slap me, to face the wall.
Pawing my ass, and thighs. Oh my God, is he doing this to me?
His mouth hot on my neck. Kicking my feet apart, his strength takes me down. "You on the pill or something?"
I shake my head no, confused. "Fuck it then, you can take it up the ass, bet it's not your first time"
He pulls the belt from his pants. "Stupid painted up whore!"
Whipping me. For all my bad boy bravado, all I could muster is a crying "no, no."
"We can start with these" Pulling the long braided wrap of beads from my neck.
My gypsy medallion chain and pendant falling to the floor.
Sharp leather stings, drive me to my hands and knees.
He inserts bead after bead, into my ass. The strand long as I am tall.
I lifted it from moms jewelry, to put back before it's missed.
Each time rough fingertips tucks more into me, I feel more violated.
Her necklace taken from me, without a fight.
Now he's filling me with it. Laughing and taunting.
"Looks better in you than it did on you!"
His belt answers when I try to resist. The old man pauses to view his work of me.
Kneeling, crying scared to move. Ass full of her bead necklace.
Enough hanging out for him play with, degrading me more.
Then the raw ugly feeling, his mouth to my ear. "Try not to piss yourself"
Slowly pulling the long strand out. Dozens of grape sized balls inch by inch.
Each one sending shivers through my body. Lash of the belt and stimulation of the beads.
Back and forth, pleasure and pain. His new pathetic plaything.
Never I have known such gross humiliation. The very knowledge it was "HIM" doing this to me.
My mouth bitter with the taste of copper pennies. Bringing me to whimper in shame.
I hate this idiot. The way he rules us. Since the day mom married him.
She was never the same. That constant beaten look.
On her knees in the rose garden looking up at him. Being more docile everyday.
He scolds us, what to do, when to come home.
His house, his rules. She never says a word.
The sounds that come from that room. Slaps, moans, crying.
Whatever he did to her, she has that Stepford Wife look.
She never complains, running about. Getting his drink, his paper.
When he raises his voice, she jumps. I hate him.
His persistent crude remarks. I vow, I will get even.
Oh, how I wanted to show where he could get off.
Now he is about to get off, with me.
My boy muscles only serve to look kinky. The old pervert treated to my girlishly smooth butt.
Splattered with yellow mustard.
Fingers lubricating me for entry, the spicy sauce burning.
I elbow at his face, striking his jaw. Kicking, pushing.
Trying to stand. Another belt lash. Fight him, turn back, fight him, my determination shouting at me.
Then all my defiance, easily overcome with the rude insertion of his long middle finger into my butt.
My knees pinch together. Toes pointed. Scared, angry, confused.
Painted red lips form a candy-o, kissing at empty air. My own fingers flexing at nothing.
Ending up clutched tight. Sucking air through clenched teeth,
I wriggle vainly at the intrusion. He presses deeper without hesitation, to the knuckle.
Challenges, probes, preparing me. In and out, finger fucking me.
Watching my downward spiral, nails lightly brushing my skin.
Sensing my will near giving in, he releases me.
Save for that one trespassing finger, violating my ass.
Only holding me in place with a single finger. I can bolt for the top of the stairs.
He's just a drunk old man. I'm young and fast. I can get away.
My hands grips the rail post. My goal, top of the stairs. Legs poised to....
"Where do you think you're going sweet cheeks?
You're not going anywhere. What you want is down here. Glynns just a boy.
You need a man." His finger straightens and hooks inside me, in a come back here motion.
I squeal, quivering to his manipulation. The momentary attempt at escape gone, betrayed by my exposed surrender.
His hand slams loudly, next to my face. My eyes shut tightly. "Daddy has what you want...You going somewhere?"
Now the captured vixen, with my useless magic tricks. I plead in defeat "mmm, mmm, no, no, please no."
Teasing me with the tip, watching every flinch, clinch and shudder.
Entering with short punches and finally a long driving thrust.
Curling me into a ball. Paralyzed from crippling ache, powerful hands need not hold me in place.
Violent, raw entry, cramping my thighs. I'm helpless.
Biting down hard swallowing the torture, my eyes fill with tears.
Fight him, fight back damn it. Climb, try to crawl upward.
Swaying of my slippery hot butt, enticing even him more.
Only confirming, that I am now his fuck toy. My hurting cries echo the stairwell.
Impaled on his stake, slut vampira meets her master-slayer.
Witchy-girl made up face, pressed to the hard wood.
I weep, why did I tempt this monster? The Sexy Witch, found guilty. Answering to Cotton Mathers anal assault.
"Please, please, stop, stop...It hurts, it's too big!"
Disoriented sedation beckons me. Balls tightly full. Veins plump with blood.
Breathing harder with each stroke, chest heaving. Thighs quiver, I want to fight back. I want this to stop.
One more hard long driving stake fills me to the hilt. I'm screaming.
"Stop! No! Pleaseeeee! Please!" How can an old man be that hard?
How can he have that much dick?
"That what little slut girls get for trick or treat. Ain't it?"
I'm lost in the nightmare. My mind might even snap, if I don't get out of this place.
"Answer me, damn it!" Obeying with words beyond my control.
"Yes, yes that's what little slut girls get......That's what little slut girl wants"
I'm becoming his smutty play toy. The curse that seduction had created, I had become.
Nothing more than a release for his tension. No longer teasing flirty anti-ci-pation.
My participation is now demanded. His unrelenting cruel will.
Physically forced to my knees, and now my body betraying me.
Lewd animal gyrations, meeting the bogeymans forbidden thrusts.
Dizzy, in denial of being a chosen intimate apprentice.
My last attempt to fight lost, choked away by the old bastards were-wolf hairy hands.
Tingling sensations replace pain. My head flung back, my eyes hypnotically dazed.
Oh, my sweet Linda Ragan Blair! What have I become?
Urgently graping the stairs. Butt swirling vertigo grinds to receive of all this demonic seed.
Spike heels search for traction. Unworldly yelps and barks fill dark shadows of the stairwell.
Transforming me into his fuck toy-creature of the night.
Stalwart old fashioned values, defeat young liberal decadence.
My trashy in your face eroticism, only gave the hangman rope to punish me.
His salt of the earth, fire and brimstone resoluteness.
The righteous upper hand to my pretentious sinful lifestyle.
Writhing to his commands, a marionette on strings. This is an exorcism, pure and simple.
The old testament biblical casting out of demons.
My charlatan spells flung aside. As easily, as he rips off my torn panties. I'm now his.
Wet mascara, stains down my face. Sweaty, hot ass cheeks filled with masculine meat. I'm owned, used.
No match for his strength. Rebellious wails giving way to moans.
I try to be strong. Don't give in to him. "No, no. Don't, don't please don't....don't......stop.
Oh, Please don't stop fucking me"
Now I'm begging for more, more, more. The bastard wins.
I've given in, given myself over to absolute pleasure.
Drowning in dark waters. Ohhh, the sins of the flesh!
No hot cars, no cool friends. Only an evil old man, unforgiving control and his stiff cock.
Any trace of the defiant smart mouth boy is now vanished. What remains, only a horny little fuck girl.
Crawling at nightmares doorway, for more of his hard candy.
Pleading with the evil tyrant. The wicked step-father that I swore, I'd never call my father!
Now begging him. "Oh, daddy. Please, I want to cum.
Please let me cum!" Fearful of self-pleasure without his blessing.
"Finger yourself whore" His words vile, spit at me, in ass pounding hate. I seize even more pleasure.
Stroking madly in cursed self gratification.
Now I know how he controls her. Bone yard fucking that drives her from lady of the house.
To the whore of his dungeon.
But, the witch of the manor is gone. I'm the new queen of bitch mountain.
Servicing my masters needs. Squirming, bewitched on deliciously rigid manly dick.
Unloading a boiling cauldron potion, pumped up my slut ass.
"Oh daddy, yes, yes. Fuck me, fuck me. Defeated and impassioned.
Silver bullet ejaculation fills me, I wet the stairs with hot milk.
Hard hands dig into my shoulders, holding me in place.
His whiskey mouth seeks and conquers my lips in ownership.
The rush of his cumming clears his head. His lust cringed into the shadows at the sight of my penis.
He breaks away from me in disgust, in shock.
Pulling out rudely, popping cork squishy from my butt.
Thick semen, running out yellow with mustard.
His abrupt withdraw stinging.
Leaving me empty, hungry and needing more.
Pain only hastens me to new lows. Rolled on my back. The picture of a vile, possessed harlot.
One leg hooked around the railing, the other perched on the wall.
Fingers wrapped around hard dripping penis. Squeezing, moaning, cumming in obscene abandon.
The Boy Jekyll given into Ms Hyde.
Brutal fucking did not exorcise the demon bitch, it only releases her.
Vicious she-wolf, whoring loudly. Sexy face, now wicked grin of base desires.
"Toucha, toucha, toucha touch me.
I want to be dirty!...Oh daddy, don't run away. Don't you love me anymore?"
The old man stumbles down the stairs. Grabbing at the railing.
Tripping falling, smashing to the hardwood floor. Face bloody, racked in pain.
Falling to a badly twisted ankle.
I'm hypnotic with gushing cum between my fingers. "Mmm, ahh, oh daddy, uhh, come to me.
I want more" Slinking down the stairs on all fours.
Back swayed, ass in the air, trailing cum behind me.
My oppressor knocks over the end table to the hallway.
He's seeking the safety of any locked door. I'm heady from the intoxicated fucking, in a zombie stare.
Figure outlined black and white, in the harsh light.
Cat stalking prey.
I pause over the old man. Watching his angry fear. "You freak son of a bitch, I'll..."
Silenced from my kicking him in the balls.
Shrieking, falling to the floor, grasping his crotch.
Crawling away, flailing at me, trying to escape.
I follow amused, dragging long red fingernails along the wall.
Scary, loud chalkboard SCREECHES. Over his shoulder, he can see sparks, hear the crackle.
Lightning illuminates my path. The only way out, is past me.
Running eerie fingers through my hair. The other sweet with vanilla body extractions.
"Oh daddy what a big dick you have, the better for me to EAT IT!"
Brash spike heels tap skeleton staccato. I rush him, heel kicking him in the heart.
Cornered, trapped against to the window, rain, wind pounding to his back.
Coughing, trying to draw a breath.
"You nothing but a queer..." Words cut short with a heel grinding into rib cage.
Blood spreading in dark sticky stain. I stand over him.
Fingers still juicing hot cum, moaning my words. "mmm, You'll do what daddy?...
Lie there with my spike heel in your chest?"
I spasm, overcome by another ejaculation. Milky semen shooting, splashing on the old mans face.
"Ahh, mmm" My head rolled on my shoulders.
Over come by the need, dropping to my knees.
Clawing at his naked crotch. He fights back weakly, strength sapped from orgasm and blood lost.
"Get away from me, get away from me!"
Face pressed to the window, trying to block out the nightmare.
I bite into him, drinking deep the last of his cum.
Blood and semen pouring down my face I offer: "You're looking very pale daddy"
"Stop calling me that! I'm not your father! You're sick!"
My brows raise, finger digging in new hole in his chest.
"Sick daddy? You want sick? Wait until I tell how you fucked me!"
Grinding his teeth. "Nobody will believe you! Look at yourself. You're a freak."
Looking down as if seeing my self for the first time.
Licking blood and cum from my fingers. Blinking, looking about the hallway.
"I see myself daddy, just like you...just like that security camera"
His eyes bulge, Hitchcock terror and irony draw his mouth into a twisted mask.
Paranoid that he is, video cameras record each house entry.
Unless the code is entered.
He set the entry and slept on the couch. I came in from my all night party.
Followed by the horrible beating and assault.
I did not key a code. Everything that happened, recorded.
His eyes flash to the library. His twisted ankle in my hands.
I wring it with pleasure. He vomits from pain. "What will it be?
You used me, you hurt me. I cried, I begged, I pleaded.
And you had to me!" Hands clutching his stomach, gagging in pain and defeat.
"Oh no, oh my God. Anything but that, don't tell, don't tell."
He begs for option, pleads for another out. "Very well daddy, it will be like this...."
And I lay down the new rules of the house.
He wretches, spits. Shoulders slump, head hanging to his chest.
Grown mans sobs of lament fill the hallway.
TODAY....he treats mom like the queen of the world.
He's Gomez Adams, catering to her needs.
Listening, attentive, hugging, always kissing her hands.
She rolls her eyes and looks to me for explanation.
I sit silent as the black cat on the fence, under the full moon.
He never as much gives me a mean look. Spending money?
Yes, whenever I want it. Borrow the car?
He gave me, my own.
When I dress to go out for the night.
I take a moment to tease the old man, before leaving.
Dolled up, micro mini-skirt, high heels, trashy make-up.
A cold look, then kiss him goodnight before going out.
"Don't wait up daddy dearest" He sits there, like a crypt keeper.
Teeth grinding, knowing better than to say anything to anger me.
Knowing my discovered taste for blood and cum, warm body or cold.
Himself to blame. The pendant broken that awakened my need.
Somewhere, my real father is looking down, or up at us.
Laughing with this "creature daughter" he never knew he had.
Pray for the dead, All Hallows Day.
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Jane Seymour
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Publié :3/10/2007 17h50
Dernière mise à jour :15/8/2009 18h58 3538 vues
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Jane Seymour still resilient. First her mother Mieke Frankenberg passed away in England, at the age of ninety-two. When Jane returns to the United States, she finds the wild fires in California threaten the home she shares with husband James Keach. After days of touch and go, the fires shift away from her home. She attempts her return to "Dancing With The Stars" only to be stricken with food poisoning. Tuesday November 5th, she looked very elegant, very sharp. Our thoughts and prayers are still with her. She is having a very tough go of it. Please call in and vote for her....UPDATE: FOR THE GOOD IT DID. JANE WAS VOTED OFF THE SHOW NOVEMBER 6, 2007. HER OUTFIT LOST HER THE CONTEST. AFTER DEATH IN THE FAMILY, FIRE, FOOD POISONING AND SERVERE BACK PAIN. SHE WAS NOT NAKED ENOUGH FOR THE PHONE IN VOTERS.
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Put in my place, by a trailer park wife.
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Publié :16/9/2007 3h37
Dernière mise à jour :2/6/2013 19h10 3701 vues
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Torn stockings hang over the top of my cowgirl boots,
cold sweat trickling down naked ass cheeks.
Backed against the bar, I'm shaking in fear.
How could this happen to me....?
Tonight I put together my best "fuck me girl" look.
I always giggle at the scent of Nair.
Guys have a brand that costs more, in a bland gray bottle.
I like the pink bottle, to keep my weekend body hair free.
Making for a very smooth and fresh feeling.
I've gotten away from wigs, letting my hair grow out.
These days I mix weaves and extensions.
Let's me feel his fingers when he is gentle.
Or controlling, when he yanks a handful, fucking me.
My tan evened out well. No tan lines, excellent.
Carefully shape the brows high with a sarcastic arc, really darken the lashes.
Dark rose lipstick and a touch of bronze. Put in the honey gold contact lens.
Long glamor length nails with sprinkle diamonds.
I'll wear a short silk bolero blouse with long western fringe from the arms.
The snug fit plays up my pseudo-boobs, that glue to skin and sit perfect inside a lacy bra.
The silk blouse feels so good when we embrace.
The denim mini-mini skirt, shows off my ass cheeks, when a man pulls me close.
Thigh high stockings peek from the top of knee high cowgirl boots.
Exaggerated western boots that rise above my knees, with five inch heels.
Sparkly earrings match my choker. A splash of body spray and I'm on my way.
It's country western dance night, with those hot cowboys.
There's always guys spending every dime on drinks and me.
By midnight a tongue's in my mouth with strong hands squeezing my butt on the dance floor.
On the way to me sucking a delicious cock and getting ass fucked.
I'm dancing seductive for that one hot boy, that watches me.
We had gotten it on before, sucking him off in his tricked out truck.
He cuts into the dance and puts his hand in the small of my back.
Pushing his long neck beer to my lips. Taking me in his arms, we dance all the next dances.
I'm feeling him out, he doesn't know I'm a guy..yet.
Will he eventually be fucking me? Yes, if I take my time and break him in slow.
He smells good, feels good and has hands that wander.
Sliding his fingers under my mini skirt, gripping my cheeks.
My face is against his chest.
I know most eyes are on my curvy hot ass.
That makes me feel so slutty and fuckable. I just itch with horniness.
I can feel his cock swelling. We dance every song. When he goes to get drinks,
I'm grinding and putting on a show just for him. We stay hot and heavy.
His mouth warm at my neck. I'm biting at buttons on his shirt.
He tilts my face up to his. Our lips lock, he's owning me.
It's warm and safe in his arms. That's when his
girlfriend walks in. She looks like any other jealous wall flower. I grin my big, he's with me smile.
I lick my lips and lick his neck. It's all hot and good.
Her hands on her hips with body language,
another Homely Jane just lost her Billy Bob. She walks right in between us, I stop her cold.
"Go back to the trailer park" He tries to speak up. But a hard slap across his mouth silences him.
Pulling us apart, she's on us just like that. Me, I'm not taking this from the likes of her.
"Are you deaf or stupid? Go away!" I shoved her away from us. It's then that I see her small plain wedding band.
"That's my husband, bitch!"
"Screw you, I'll send him home when I'm done."
She's a angry Wynonna Judd from hell.
The big country cow pulls me to her, by
hand full of tiny mini skirt. I see the punch coming and don't realize until my butt bounces on the saw dust covered floor.
I try to get to my feet. But the high heeled fuck me/cowgirl boots are now a disadvantage.
One of the country barflies throws an arm around my waist, stopping me.
That doesn't help, the idiot yanks my tiny skirt down. I struggle to get free, and he rips the buttons.
It's comes completely off. I'm standing there in a short blouse, high heels and panties.
He's twirling the prize over his head. "Whooo, that naked fine ass girl!"
Her eyes go down to my muscular ass and thighs. She blinks and hesitates a second.
"Yeah honey, you're built. But you just fucked with the wrong house!"
The stupid cowboy shoves me back into the fight. I swing at her face.
Just knock her silly and get to my car. My high heels slide in the saw dust.
She grabs me in bear hug, squeezing my ribs painfully.
Lifted off the floor, kicking at air, pounding her shoulders with my fists. She's bouncing me up and down.
I can't break free, she's so damn strong! I try to head butt her,
only to smash my nose on her hard head.
My eyes blur, I'm totally helpless.
We look like an x-rated barbie doll, being dominated by a mad heavyweight Wal-Mart cashier.
Her hand go between my thighs lifting me for a body slam.
"No, no, no don't!" I'm frantic.
She suddenly lets go and drops me to the floor, her eyes wide.
"Oh, good god. You're cheatin' on me with this?
Can't you even tell a woman when you see one?"
Shaking my head crawling and slipping on saw dust.
She grabs my long hair. Yanking me upright, to my knees.
Following with mean stinging slaps across my face.
I can't get away from her.
Trailer Park Wynonna leans in punching me.
I'm flailing with both arms. She's calling me every name in the book, whipping me across the floor.
Kicking me and tearing, ripping my pretty blouse to shreds, exposing my lacy bra and fleshy boobs. I'm frantic
crawling on hands and knees trying to hide under tables trying to get away from her. She grabs one of my boots and drags me from under the table. Across the dance floor to the bar.
Clinging at every chair and table in sight, I'm
looking for help only to hear women shouting for her. "Fight
for your man girl, kick her ass" "Whooo, cat fight,
cat fight!" She twists my ankle in her hands, I'm screaming in pain.
Flinging me like a rag doll. I can't get to my feet in time. Looking up at her, on hands and knees.
Standing over me, she looks like every demented fat, over worked cheated on wife, I've ever seen.
She dumps a pitcher of beer on my face, drenching me.
Grabbing the silk bikini into a painful wedgie.
My cock and balls spill out, she lifts me to my feet.
Now anyone watching that didn't know, does now. The bartender leans over wide eyed: "Holy hell,
that's a boy!" She howls in laughter obvious of her anger.
Slamming me against the bar tearing what's left of my blouse off my body.
Everyone around the bar is confused, cheering or both.
At the sight of this hot chick with boobs and a cock.
She makes her husband take off his belt and give it to her.
"Give me your belt" "Don't look stupid at me, give me that fuckin' belt!"
I raise my hands to fend her off, she twists my wrist painfully behind my back. I'm now bent over the
bar, a victim to degrading belt lashes.
Sexy panties bunched between naked ass cheeks, offer no protection.
I'm squalling and begging her to stop. Long black streaks of mascara stream down my face.
I'm surrounded by whooping, beer swilling rednecks. She twists my arm and scolds me to stay away from her man.
The crazy bitch, commands her husband to watch.
"Get over here and look at your sweetie"
Yanking me upright by my hair she pushes me backward.
Torn stockings hang over the top of my cowgirl boots, cold sweat trickling down naked ass cheeks.
Backed against the bar, I'm shaking in fear.
How could this happen to me?
She slaps me, grabs my balls and stands face to face with me.
"Cum for him. That what you think you want? Do it right now.
You don't, I'll rip these off and shove em UP YOUR ASS."
I'm too scared and in pain to resist.
I'm shaking in terror of her.
My bikini clenched in her other hand, she yanks me off my feet.
I scream. My panties, now a fancy silk cattle rope.
Brutal between my cheeks. I'm on my toes, vulnerable sexy ass stuck out, thighs spread.
My teeth clenched in shame and rage. I'm forced to stroke my cock to the jeers of the crowd.
She holds me there. I'm trapped, hands trembling, crying, praying he will stop her.
"Make her stop, make her stop, please, please!"
But, my hot boyfriend is gone back to being her husband again.
He stares at me like I'm a circus sideshow.
Men calling me names. "Fuckin' Fag" "Fuck that bitch up!"
Some women stare speechless, others laugh and squeal. I beg her
"Please, please let me go. I"ll stay away from him, I promise" She yanks my tiny bikini tighter.
"Should have thought of that, fore you got all over the wrong fella"
The pain, the humiliation are more than I can take. Crying and shaking. "Please, please, let me go, just let me go"
She scolds me "Show him what he was bout to sneak off with. Do it, cum. I said cum for him, you home wrecking skank!"
Her bitch slapping rage, brings out submissive girl instincts.
My muscular curvy body, is now just for show.
No match for her, a real woman fighting for her man.
Sweat drains down my back, my hearts pounding.
Hot breath comes in short gasps.
Captured in the lights from the stage.
My fist sliding, pumping. Lost in domination. I cum in a long gush, amid my anguished sobs. "Ahhhh,
hhhmmm" "Ooooohhhh nooooo, please don't do this to me!"
Phone cameras catch everything. I'm weeping, sobbing. I look pathetic.
I can't help myself now, stroking harder, needing more.
Moaning to the disgusted onlookers. Shame feeding my horny need. She lets go of me. Turning and laughing at her husband.
"You still want your girlfriend?"
He shakes his head no, backing away in disgust. She looks back on me, throwing my torn ragged blouse and purse at me.
"Now, get out of here slut!" I make no effort to run. Looking from the husband and wife, to the many faces mocking me.
My feet hooked around the bar stool, legs open. Gripping the bar, my mouth making a candy O of red lipstick.
Bucking and grinding my own hot bull ride.
I cum again squealing out to him, to her, to anyone.
"Ah, ah, ohhh, mmmmm, ooohhh baby! Help me, baby. Help meeee!"
Staining her jeans with wet squirts.
My hands are sticky with juices.
My hair, a wet sweaty mess hanging in my face.
I'm dizzy, legs weak.
Now horrified at my degrading act.
I stumble off the bar stool grabbing at my purse. My blouse gets jerked from my hands as someones trophy.
People slap at my spanked red butt.
They whistle, making cat calls at me.
She chases me as far as the door, lashing me with the belt.
"You fucking' whore" Until the door man restrains her.
I make it out the door. Running into more people coming in.
More shocked faces and ugly jokes.
My eyes blur with tears trying to see the street.
Cock dangling from wet twisted panties, cum still running down my thighs.
All the cars look the same, I'm desperately searching for mine.
Trying to block out the whoops and laughter.
The winter night air chills my naked wet body, cold sweat tickles my back.
The sensation she's outside gaining on me.
In fright that she will catch and torture me there in the street.
Dropping the keys, I can barely open the car door, my hands are trembling so badly.
I fall behind the wheel, the cold leather makes me squirt more cum.
My face on the steering wheel, I'm turning the key. His face in my thoughts.
"Oh honey, why didn't you stop her? Why didn't you save me?"
Her horrible demeaning treatment burned into my mind. I speed away, crying my way home.
Another hot sexy, city girl put in her place by a trailer park wife.
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Swallowing is easy. Keeping it down is different.
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Publié :6/1/2010 16h38
Dernière mise à jour :9/1/2010 9h24 3236 vues
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ran a list of the top ten cooking shows.
There were some hits and some very obvious misses.
10. "Good Eats"
Alton Brown has a dry sense of humor.
He talks in a pace you can follow.
If you are cooking along with him.
9. "America's Test Kitchen"
The Public Broadcasting Show is about actual cooking.
Not trying to be overly cute or sexy.
You can really learn something.
That's why it's on PBS.
8. "Bizarre Foods"
Have Rolaids, Will Travel.
Andrew Zimmern offers exotic locations to acquire food poisoning.
And teaches you to throw up in different languages.
7. "The Naked Chef"
The chef is not naked. False advertising aside.
Jamie Oliver makes cooking look simple and cool.
Kind of like MTV, when it was still fun to watch.
You WANTED to watch mini-movies set to music.
Now you WANT to cook something. Even naked.
6. "Emeril Live"
Emeril the corner stone of entertainment culinary art.
Leno and Letterman lived in fear celebrity guests would join.
5. "Martha Stewart Living"
The strained accent, the need to over-compensate.
A book and DVD on prison survival skill never came.
Yet people still attempt to keep up with her staff.
Like Stephen King and his team of ghost writers.
Wait...you thought she was actually doing all that herself?
4. "Yan Can Cook"
Martin Yan removed mystery and saved us from frozen egg rolls.
Americans with confidence and a Ginsu, attempted adventure.
And told the stories in hospital emergency rooms.
Not for ptomaine, but from trying fancy knife moves.
3. "The Galloping Gourmet"
Graham Kerr was funny, to me comically pretentious.
A throw back to when men were gentlemen.
Capable, while lite hearted and masterful. That was sexy.
2. "The French Chef"
Yes, I know Julia Child invented cooking shows.
And I know there's a movie about her making the rounds.
And yes she was a secret agent. Bravo. Applause. Applause.
But she will always be Dan Ackroyd, doing that voice.
Bleeding out from a knife wound. On Saturday Night Live.
1. The Original "Iron Chef"
We waited all month for this show.
To see the world best chefs, performing live.
Theatrical blade work, preparing exotic dishes.
Flames and slight of hand with customers in harms way.
Instead it was seeing how many ways to make,
fish head soup and eel on white rice. Week after week.
Who did they leave out?
"Cooking With Paula Deen"
The You Might Be A Red-Neck to clogged arteries.
She needs Ron White as her assistant.
Then they could blame it on being intoxicated.
"Nigella Bites"
Nigella Lawson knows her craft and she's sensual as chocolate.
If I could afford her, she would be my pastry chef.
For desserts only! Nigella is the English version of Paula Deen.
Her dishes everyday, will find you inside the food groups pyramid.
"Justin Wilson"
The country gentlemen. Easy to listen to him. Fun to watch.
Food you could eat and enjoy without insulin pump therapy.
Like Emeril, perfection requires little explanation.
"Rachel Ray 30 Minute Meals"
Don't clear your throat, Rachel.
It like Rod Stewart and Bonnie Tyler had a daughter.
Whether she's walking back and forth in Europe or to the refrigerator.
It's the best thirty minutes spent talking about food.
Of all cooks, she cook take her spatula to me anytime.
"Sandra Lee Semi-Homemade"
She took what Martha Stewart was doing.
And made it pleasant to listen to, and watch.
That and without fifty other people doing the actual work.
Wins hands down as far as presentation.
Sandra does not need a spatula to intimidate
She looks at you and says lick this bowl clean.
And you do it.
If I left out your favorite chef.
Or yanked on their apron too hard, let me know.
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King or Queen of New York ?
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Publié :13/3/2008 15h37
Dernière mise à jour :15/8/2009 19h09 2840 vues
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My turn with the governor of new york. No, not like that. I have to say it or explode. With all the security, the red tape, the privacy and the closed doors
He can't be very good at this. $80,000? Anyone in Manhattan could have gotten him a better rate than that. He's not in the NBA. He's the governor. He doesn't pay cash. He gives favors, perks, makes your life easy. Tells someone giving you heat, to look the other way.
President Bill Clinton had the secret service. It's their job to keep secrets. What does he do? He brings the most reasonably unattractive girl, he can find into the white house to ease his oral needs. They can keep nuclear secrets, but he can't go out for a rendezvous. He had Air Force One. He's on a plane thirty-thousand feet in the air. The most protected member of the mile high club in the world. But, no he has to sneak a midnight quickie into the oval office.
All this seems too close to home. Eliot Spitzer, super-delegate. Democrat. Crusader. Stepper-on-of-toes. Maker of enemies. Nowhere to go but down. Did he give his full support to Senator Clinton? Was he less then inspirational to her cause? Was he more trouble than he was worth? Senator Clinton has her new york fan base. A stack of complaints about getting Governor Spitzer off this back or that back. And her future to consider.
Suppose the main White House job doesn't come through. And Hillary has to face the prospect of standing next to the commander-in-chief again. Providing President Obama throws her the bone.
She might be better off, taking that support and good press back to New York. She leaves the big apple as Senator Clinton. Almost becomes President Clinton. And fate bring her back, Governor Clinton. A few more years and another run at Washington D.C.
Where would she get such an idea that the governor could be so stupid as to make calls on a monitored line for sex. Why would he leave behind such a obvious trail? It's as insane as President Clintons closely guarded yearly physical. His personal physician, leaving bodily fluid specimens unattended. DNA, that could be stained on the dress of a white house intern. Great men make great mistakes. When they trust the wrong people.
Mayor Rudolph Giuliani tucked new yorkers in each night, with his 9/11 monster under the bed stories. It made him Americas' Mayor. David Letterman wanted to have his child. Senator Hillary Clinton has made it clear that Senator Obama is soft on terror. And she was on a war-footing since day one. This plays well, as sound bites for her return to New York State. Any move President Obama might make could be criticized as not tough enough, from the gubernatorial hopeful.
Equally, a President McCain could be called out for not securing the nation. By opting to remain in Iraq. Our forces stretched too thin for homeland defense. A campaigning for governor Clinton would re-write her defense proposals to fit the Guard and Reserve of New York. Promising resources for a state in the shadow of another sure attack. Fear got us into Iraq. Why can't fear get her into the state capitol?
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Good Night Jane.
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Publié :7/11/2007 11h07
Dernière mise à jour :15/8/2009 19h11 3348 vues
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It has long been a guideline, that sex sells. Now it sells out. The philistines had their way. Jane Seymour was voted off "Dancing With The Stars" The general public could not be that dense. But when called upon to reach a new low, they succeeded.
Speaking as a preternatural torchbearer of trash. I look to the Jane Seymours of society to balance the scales of elegant beauty to my own sense of involuntary fashion. Which is based mostly on scandalous social interaction, impulse buying and comic book characters. Now the line has blurred.
Since the start, the winner has been the guy with the highest Q-Rating and the girl that shows the most skin. Q-Ratings are used in movies and television. To gauge a certain buyers/viewers market, in a selected age group. Since it is taboo for a man to show too much flesh on prime time television. The girl with the skimpy, barely there outfit wins, regardless. There is no need to use a rating system for her. Skin wins.
Next year maybe "Dancing With The Stars" will have hot, tanned boys in thongs and somberos to dance with NFL Cheerleaders. I'm back to watching the National Ballroom Dance Championships on PBS.
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The Big Five-O and no Steve McGarrett.
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Publié :2/8/2012 17h24
Dernière mise à jour :5/2/2013 18h14 4862 vues
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Oh my God. I'm Fifty
Until reading the birthday post about his turning 49 years old, from gardenboy321 I was not in a good mood.
This morning I was awake watching the numbers tick off the clock.
I knew August 2nd would arrive. I was going to let it come and go.
No big deal.
Look Barrack Obama, Tom Cruise, and Jon Bonjovi are fifty.
But then, they are Barrack Obama, Tom Cruise and Jon Bonjovi!
Yes, I know the exact time I was born. And that today was also the same day of the week as on that date.
But it's just a number...It's just a big number.
At work, boy-me was thinking have I achieved enough fiscally?
While girl-me was thinking am I still o.k. physically?
When the clock hit 1:16PM, I was standing outside waiting for a bolt of lightning and a message from the clouds.
YOU HAVE NOT MEASURED UP! TURN IN YOUR WIGS AND HIGH HEELS!
Then a few people I work with, walking out, asked if they could take me to birthday lunch?
Guess where we went? Yep! Chick-Fil-A!
Today the line was out the door, not as bad as August 1st,
but the same pain in the ass wing-nut crowd.
Thankfully we went to Papa Johns.
I'm sitting there, listening to accolades, and birthday talk, when out came the birthday pizza.
And it hit me all at once, OH MY GOD I'M 50!!!
Well boy-me was cool, enjoyed the lunch and went back to work.
Girl-Me was on needles and pins about my 9PM date.
Do I sound different? Should I go from 5" heels to 4"heels? Should I stop with the dangly ear rings?
This is half time. The part where the coach leaving the field is asked what he has planned for the second half?
I'll let you know as I go along.
As for gardenboy321 he looks damn good at 49! Keep doing what you are doing. No need to fear 50.
Still Alex O'Loughlin from FIVE-O might show up at my front door, fly me out to the big island.
And give me special "Take Out and Hot Delivery"
I mean a girl can dream....can't she?
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IRA, NRA...TSA, NSA...WTF!
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Publié :22/7/2012 17h41
Dernière mise à jour :23/7/2012 17h39 3820 vues
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"If I had one wish, I wish I were Wonder Woman"....Trisha Ann Glynn
1970s Ireland was a dangerous place to be, with the IRA trying to remove British influence.
1980s Colombia mixed drug lords and President Reagans secret jungle wars making for memorable politics and profit.
1990s Africa was diamond mines, child soldiers and apartheid offering variety to being killed as a civilian.
2000s era brought a bloody nose to the United States.
I thought with the World Trade Center airline attacks, we would wise up. Increase our security and be more aware.
Instead Tea Party a**holes crying about TSA airport security watered down scanning efforts.
Making it easy again for the domestic terror branch to move freely about the country.
A profit driven NRA, armed hate inspired, paranoid wing-nuts with easy avenues to weapons.
Most recent result: the Copper Top Bar shooting in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
And the Century 16 Theater shooting in Aurora, Colorado.
I've seen increased police patrol at theaters in Florida and Alabama.
This will go on until the public is interested in the next shiny object.
Meanwhile crowds continue to gather at baseball games, racing events, malls, beaches and churches.
The NRA is happy with the general public buying millions of dollars worth of guns and ammo.
Because the NRA is a business.
The magazines are now catalogs that boost gun sales.
The gun safety courses take a backseat to membership drives.
The profit goes toward political candidates, supporting their agenda.
The Constitution protects my right to own firearms.
Not the political fund raising group called the National Rifle Association.
I own a rifle for deer season, a shotgun for ducks, and a handgun.
There is no reason for one person to order 6,000 rounds of ammo.
Having a full tactical uniform with CS gas canisters is pure terrorism aimed at the public.
This latest shooting will increase gun sales, as did the 2008 election scare nonsense of democrats coming to take your guns and bibles.
As November 2012 draws close, red state hysteria will prompt more revenue from firearm sales.
Carrying more guns does not make you bulletproof.
Extra ammo is useless if you have no target.
Guy in a bar, said in Texas and Florida, the "stand your ground" law would have saved the victims.....Really? How?
Think about the number of people dead or injured, had everyone in the Century 16 Theater started firing at where they thought the attack was coming from.
They would be shooting at a small target protected by kevlar, in the dark.
Yeah, that sums up the bullets with no brains, mentality.
Now think about if the shooter had not been able to buy that much ammo, that kind of riot gear, CS Gas, or AK 47 rifles.
If security was actually taken serious in this country.
Theater exit doors don't open from the outside, they have to be wedged open earlier.
People dressed as Batman and Catwoman on opening movie night, I understand.
But a wacko in full assault gear with a rifle? HELL NO!
We still have summer, labor day, olympic crowds gathered at bars, football season, and the end of year holidays.
Wake up! Look around, be careful, and stop sleep walking through your day.
Some of you I have met, had sex with, or just drinks.
Some of you, we chat, e-mail, or talk on the phone.
I never had contact with the Holmes guy on this site.
Maybe I could have talked him down. Maybe not.
The rest of you, I want you to be around alive and well.
To say I'm right or just to call me bitch.
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They called this BAD dating advice?
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Publié :20/5/2012 15h17
Dernière mise à jour :15/8/2013 23h39 4682 vues
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The popular website, will go un-named.
Released an article as "Dating Advice To Avoid"
Well, it also takes away everything from my date nights!!!
According to them YOU DON'T do these five things.
1. “Wear something hot!”
If you dress too “hot” he may get the wrong impression.
He’ll imagine that your entire dating wardrobe consists of four-inch skirts and five-inch heels.
Nothing says bend me over and spank me like a four-inch skirt.
Everything in my girl wardrobe is four inch skirts and five inch heels.
The point is to get bent over and spanked...damn it.
2. “Girlfriend, order something expensive!”
Why order something you never normally eat, like filet mignon?
You’ll look like Wilma Flintstone tackling a brontosaurus burger, not to mention you’ll probably get sick.
Eat something normal and not so expensive.
O.k. first of all: Define Normal.
Next I'm a boy, beneath all this. I like steak.
I need the protein. And good steak is expensive.
3. “Just be yourself.”
What they really mean is, be someone you think he will like.
If “just being” was all that was required of dating, most single men would be home on the couch with girly magazines and a blowup doll.
And if you’re the type of girl who normally curses like a sailor, you may not make it to date number two.
Everyone puts on their best face while dating.
I am being myself...This one.
I am being the girly magazine/blow up doll. That can curse like a sailor.
That's hot to some men, if not I don't curse. I let him do it.
4. “Let the man lead the conversation.”
Okay, when he’s spouting off about auto races and the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, you’re supposed to smile?
Unless you’re Danica Patrick, don’t encourage it.
Bring up another topic you can agree on.
Great thing about being a boy underneath all this, is I get sports.
Not that biological females don't, but I can relate to male thinking.
The conversation goes easier. However, I draw the line at "guy talk"
Anything about Hunting, Bodily Function Jokes, or The Three Stooges:
The date is officially over. I get up and leave.
5. “Don’t be available when he calls.”
If he gets last-minute tickets to a Lakers game and you’re free, by all means say yes.
You don’t want to be readily available all of the time, but you also don’t want to be someone who can’t be spontaneous.
It depends on what he looks like, what the event is, and how hot he has made me.
I have gone across town on a cold, rainy, late night.
In make-up, leather knee boots, thong and a trench coat.
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NFL from good to bad...again.
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Publié :22/3/2012 15h09
Dernière mise à jour :23/5/2024 9h51 2809 vues
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John Elway made a practical move trading Tim Tebow for Peyton Manning.
The Denver Broncos ride last years play-off enthusiasm into 2013.
Manning hangs on for one possible more Superbowl ride.
The New York Jets gain Tim Tebow, as back up to Mark Sanchez.
Rex Ryan will continue the quarterback education of Tim Tebow.
Undoing the harm of Urban Meyers anti-forward pass spread offense.
New York fans are brutal, ask Patrick Ewing and Jim Kelly.
But it hard to hate Tim Tebow when he's on your team.
Mark Sanchez can compete, but he fails to win over the crowd.
In fourth quarter losing situations, you want the fans with you.
This move that can work, if Tim's used to grow with the team.
Not just to sell novelty tickets, on his personality.
Mike Tannenbaum could be on to something.
Remember Buffalo had Cam Newton and gave him to Carolina.
Newton went on a rookie year, NFL passing offensive assault.
Falling short due to the non-existent Panther secondary.
Tebow was supposed to fail and made it to the play-offs.
Ironically with great help from Denvers kicking and defense.
Roger Goodell is revising history that Sean Payton operated for years, as pope of NFL Bounty Hunting.
The Saints Head Coach is made example of, by one-year suspension, along with multiple punishments of the Saints.
Former Saint Staffer Gregg Williams was suspended at St Louis.
Goodell plays up concerns of locker room pools run by players.
Pools that pay thousands of dollars to eliminate other players.
The excessive penalties, push into the background, the long time practice of contract hits.
Owners and/or coaches, pay hundreds of thousands of dollars.
To eliminate upcoming key players from certain teams.
All to avoid a unchecked rival in an upcoming game.
At the level of ownership, players are not people anymore.
They are commodities to be bought, traded, or eliminated.
If my team does not play your team, we can help each other.
You remove a team from my path, I'll return the favor later.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars is nothing compared to millions.
This continues and Roger Goodell will pretend it started in 2009.
The long term benefit for the NFL Money Machine is safe.
Retired players suffering injuries of such hits, can't sue the NFL.
Because the short term memory of the public and the NFL lawyers will say:
This did not start until 2009 with Payton and Williams.
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Found: Unicorn and Pegasus
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Publié :7/3/2012 19h19
Dernière mise à jour :19/3/2012 12h43 3308 vues
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Couples looking for sexy women, coined a term: unicorns.
Supposedly, because unicorns don't exist......WRONG.
They are looking in the wrong parties and wrong social circles.
And they are calling these women by the wrong name!
A unicorn is a horse with a horn on it's forehead.
The horn represents a phallic symbol, as in a penis.
The sexy women wanted for three-ways, have no penis.
The term unicorn does not fit. It does not apply.
A Pegasus is a hard to find animal with wings.
Wings that will open for certain and special riders.
Taking them to greater and greater heights of ecstasy.
That describes a desirable woman having sex with a couple.
You seldom find her on-line, she does better out in the world.
Then what of the unicorn?
The Unicorn can be found only on-line.....Pay attention.
Senators, and athletes send scandalous photos over phones.
Photos that go on to destroy their careers.
So, it's reasonable, the smart ones don't show their faces.
He will hide behind a shadow photo or a cock photo.
Clean, smart, adult women view the entire package.
They want to see his face, body and profile.
Only desperate skanks with frightening STDs chase cock photos.
THE SEARCH
A male that lacks confidence can use a shadow photo.
But, five kinds of males only post cock photos.
(1) Looking for women that have nothing to lose.
(2) Gay, deep in the closet, afraid to show his face.
(3) Juvenile Jerk Mentality
(4) Claims his identity is so important that blah, blah, blah, blah.
(5) The Unicorn. The A-List Celebrity that really can't show his face.
Both the Unicorn and the Pegasus exist.
Good Luck and Good Hunting.
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Four Step Sexual Political Perversion.
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Publié :23/2/2012 14h05
Dernière mise à jour :29/2/2012 10h46 3751 vues
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The following is a real life event of what young people are learning from the poor examples of adults.
As disciplinary action, two students from Gainesville High School that posted a 14-minute racist rant,
are no longer students at the school, WCJB-TV reports.
Last week, eight police officers were brought to campus in light of death threats the girls were receiving in response to their videos.
Gainesville High School principal David Shelnutt told WCJB that their comments were not welcome at the school.
"There's no place for comments like that video here at GHS"
"There's no place for that in the Alachua County Public School System, and my opinion, no place for that in society in general."
Since the video went public last week, the girls say they have been harassed and said they fear for their safety.
According to one report by the Gainesville Sun, one of the students involved was hiding out at a relatives house while her mother was at work.
The girls and parents issued a formal apology in the newspaper Monday:
"I am one of the girls who were in the racist video that got posted.
I’m writing this so that I can tell people how truly sorry I am. I could never, in a million years, have pictured this happening with me involved.
I wasn’t raised to hate people for their race, and I still don’t. I made a horrible decision in being a part of this video ... "
"While we can never take back the words and actions that these two children have said, we have to start to heal and forgive IMMEDIATELY.
Stop the violent threats to our homes and our children, stop the anger, because this will solve absolutely nothing,
and most importantly, look at yourself for change and love."
In the full length apology, the second girl's mother says her daughter has gone into a depression following the backlash of the video,
and hopes that the community will forgive her and end the harassment:
According to the Gainesville Sun, the high school will wear orange, the color of racial tolerance, this week as a sign of solidarity.
ORANGE is also the color of state prison inmate uniforms, most of the sports uniforms and every tourist t-shirt in Florida.
What the frack does that have to do with the problem? Nothing!
IT'S A FORMULA! IT'S A FOUR STEP POLITICAL PLAN TAUGHT TO THEM.
THESE GIRLS ARE FOLLOWING AN ADULTS EXAMPLE AND INSTRUCTION.
(1) Make a public insult by way of video, speech or written word.
Being fully aware it will anger another person or group.
This will gain attention locally and/or nationwide.
(2) Pretend to be surprised at negative reactions.
This gains you support from others that voice the same hate.
(3) Make a public apology by way of video, speech or written word.
This allows you to repeat the insult for the unaware.
And continue to entertain those who support you.
(4) Play the victim, with claims of depression and threats to your personal safety.
This gains you even more support to champion your cause.
As if, you are the one who was hurt, attacked or insulted.
That encourages the next person to say or do something to rival your comment or action.
THE ANSWER:
Let them go back to school. They can apologize to each person, with each confrontation.
This is high school, next step college, these are young adults.
They are being shaped into future leaders and parents.
The level of maturity would never allow the situation to escalate into a richly deserved ass whipping.
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Spineless No Fault Break Up Lines
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Publié :2/2/2012 10h13
Dernière mise à jour :10/2/2012 15h42 2826 vues
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Welcome to Mardi Gras. The season of carnival.
Wine, song, dancing, parades, costumes, masks, rich food, tourists, dangerous liaisons, late nights.
In all this frivolity, we have St Valentines Day.
For the true romantic and purist, the best of both worlds.
Not for the fly-by-night, no last name lothario or lotharioette.
Who might find themselves in a horror or horrors...relationship!
Solution: A semi-lame reason to break up, without incurring the running of keys down the side of ones car,
or a barrage of internet virus attacks on your I-Phone.
Listed are excuses to back out of a commitment.
And their real world english translations.
There are only 18, no one with a soul should need a top 20.
1. “Something about us doesn’t feel right, and I have to act on that.”
Yes, me being with you a day longer, feels like a year on the Lost island.
2. “I don’t know what I want, and as long as I feel this way, it’s not fair to you.”
I'm can't continue drinking this heavy, to tolerate us being in the same room.
3. “I need something more.”
With deeper pockets, a longer family history and better social connections.
4. “We’ve really tried to make this work, now it’s time to let it go.”
I've given you all the attention I care to, you are too damn needy, now go away!
5. “I have a lot more growing to do before I’m ready for something like this.”
My parents are coming back to town, you should leave.
Because it's their house. I live with them.
6. “I love you but I’m not in love with you.”
Please, I don't want my name on the note, if you take this really, really badly.
7. “I wish I’d met you five years from now. I’m just not ready for this yet.”
I can't keep this act up. My credit cards are maxed out.
8. “Someone out there is perfect for you, I promise. It’s just not me.”
The key here is punctuation and vocal inflection.
Insert period after "you" Follow "promise" with the comma.
small "i" for It's.
9. “We are not each other’s one.”
You're not O.K. with me seeing other people, we can't continue.
10. “We’ve both changed and grown apart.”
You're not exciting anymore and I actually live in another state.
11. “You’re my best friend, which is so much more important to me than a lover.”
We can be seen together as long as my important friends don't think we are actually together.
12. “I just don’t see this working.”
I don't see this beyond this lunch date.
13. “Love shouldn’t be this hard.”
Meaning the talks, your friends, your family...everything that goes along with having sex with you a few times a week
14. “I love you enough to want something better for you than what I can give.”
Go find someone else. I'm tired of being with these homeless drifters pretending to occupy something.
Talking about nothing and not getting a shower or seeing Fox News.
15. “I think we need to work on ourselves before we can ever share a life together.”
All that king cake and moon pies have caught up with you.
Look into salads, a treadmill, get rid of that damn cat...hey, just become someone else, someone that I like.
16. “You deserve to find your perfect match. It’s just not me.”
If another person like you exists, it's better to have you both in the same place. Somewhere, very far from me.
17. “I’m not in a place to date someone right now, but I still love you.”
A divorce will hit me harder than I thought, I need to end this and go back to playing married.
18. “I need to figure out myself before I can share my life with someone.”
This is good. But I need to look at how to avoid these break-up excuses, by getting away from victims like you earlier.
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