small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: sweatin the small stuff

Friday, February 9

sweatin the small stuff

Whenever I saw Anna on the TV she always reminded me of some of the women I use to run with. So in honor of Anna Nichole Smith, and with all the many inside sources being in mourning. Instead of my usual Friday shit, I’m throwing up an old story from back in the day.

Every man has a vision of his perfect women, the one that when he’s all cozy and warm she wiggles into his dreams. She might be short or tall, chunky or thin, it doesn’t matter, because in his head she’s perfect, and only he knows why.

Back in the day I knew this cat that played in a metal band. He always had the groupies trying to run him down, so as a result he had his pick of any women he wanted. But he had a secret, he loved the big chicks, he dreamed about the big chicks. If a woman had an ass so big she could scratch it by reaching over her shoulder, he turned into a drooling freak

I out’ed him out one night when I dropped into this small bar to see some old friends. I walked in and there was Mr. Heavy Metal trying his damnedest to start a friction fire with this eight ball chick.

I know, what’s an eight ball chick? Well, I’ll tell ya. In the metal bars back in the day you had women who insisted on wearing black spandex all the time. No big deal, except that these girls were big, so big and round that the spandex never fit right and they always had this big strip of pale white tummy showing. So from a distance they looked like big ole eight balls, get it?

He ended up swearing me to silence. I tried to tell the boy he didn’t need to worry, hell it was his gig not mine. But it was funny hearing him talk about it. It’s like owning a Harley he’d say, but you love riding Mopeds because they’re too shittin fun. You just don’t want anybody to know about it.

Well, one night it came my turn where I got to meet my wet dream. I was working the bar and watching the crowd when thru the door walked the dream. All I could do was suck in a deep breath and stare, damn she was beautiful.

She stood just shy of six feet with these huge green eyes, jet black hair that fell to her hips and had to be the most buffed out women I had every seen. And sitting on top of all that was what looked to be a legitimate set of Oh My God forty-four DD’s.

The whole package was wrapped in a black cat suit and a pair of come fuck me at midnight stiletto heels. As she sauntered into the bar I could see that she was looking for someone and I couldn’t help but wonder who that lucky bastard might be,

She walked those green eyes past me then stopped. Shit, was she staring at me? As she walked my way I looked around to see who she was grinning at. Suddenly she’s standing in front of me so close those 44’s are pushing me into the wall.

She wants to know if I’m the one nicknamed Death. All I can do is nod cause I still hadn’t started breathing yet. Her next words fucked me up me. I’m new in town and I’m told you’re the man to hang out with. By now I’m looking around to see who’s laughing, cause I just knew this had to be someone’s idea of a joke. I was to find out soon enough that she was the real deal.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"


Blogger Bane said...

Is that a picture of her? Damn.

12:37 PM  
Blogger curmudgeon said...

8-ball chick...BWAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

2:58 PM  
Blogger The Old Man said...

DAMN bro, that photo was enough to immediately re-route most of my blood. If she'd have been red-headed, I'd have dropped like a pole-axed ox.

Redheads w/lamps are my moped....

2:15 PM  

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