Joe, even though he was 20 and I was 16/17, hit it off immediately became great friends. I've always been an oddball (I know, I know...you'd never suspect it :D ) and into doing stupid shit and he was so fucking crazy that he made me seem normal.
He had a '66 Mustang that we used to drive all over the place in. It was a great car to cruise for Sacramento hotties (read: "3's") in and was a blast to ride in. Well, except for the night that Joe decided to take one of those 360 freeway on-ramps at about 60 MPH and saw one of his original 1966 hubcaps go rolling off into the waist high grass at 11-fucking-PM. Nothing like walking through sticker bushes in shorts for a full hour trying to find that damn thing when all you want to do is crash.
Usually after we were done cruising for fugly chicks, we'd drive back towards my hometown and wouldn't you know, Joe wants to stop at the Harbor Adult Book Store again. EVERY...FUCKING...TIME... God and G0D that shit used to annoy me. Get your fucking jerk on at home, like everybody else. But noooooooo...he had to go to one of those booths where you put in a quarter and a shield slides up revealing some revolting pock-marked disease-ridden whore high on meth with her legs spread, putting Legos in her pussy or some such. Uh, no thanks. I mean, I was 16/17...right in the middle of my sexual prime and there was no fucking way I was going to pay money, even just a fucking quarter, to see a disgusting piece of filth jimmy her quim with a flashlight.
Joe would give me $5 in quarters so that I'd leave him alone, so I'd either go into the booth that (for some reason) had a 35mm version of Star Wars Episode IV playing and watch a few bucks worth of that to kill the time, or go flip through some of the horrid fetish magazines that they had up front. Most of the magazines were crazy stuff like dudes laying on the ground and having chicks stand over them and try to drop turds in their mouth like a bomber trying to hit a target, or timeless pieces of art like "Knocked Up and Big Boobed"(Yeah, that was an actual title
)Of course, I was under 18, so if there was anyone sketchy up front, it was right to the Star Wars booth.One night we had taken my parents' '79 Volkswagen Bus to the Harbor Book Store instead of the Mustang. It was full of my older sister's stuff because she was moving at the time. When Joe finished jerking to (or as he liked to call it "just watching"
) some chick who "was just paying for her way through college", he came and got me at the Star Wars booth and we headed out. On our way to the door he stops by the case full of sex toys."No, you can't nail me in the shitter with the black sword dildo," I tell him.
He laughs and says, "Let's fuck with your sister. BWAHAHHA!" He pulls out his wallet and buys a double-headed dildo that's like 14" long. We head out to he Bus and he puts the dildo under some of her stuff and piles some more crap on top of it so it'll be a surprise. We drive back to the house and she storms out bitching at us because we're late. We head inside, while she says she's going to make sure none of her stuff got broken. She stomps back in and starts putting on a show in front of my parents about how her stuff has been shifted around and she's been disrespected blah blah blah. The whole time she's got her hand behind her back. At the end of her little tirade, she whips the rubber dong out from behind her back as the coup de grace and screams, " AND *THIS* IS DISGUSTING!!!" My Dad just completely loses it laughing and even my church-lady mom, who's trying to restrain herself, can't help doing the snort-chortle laugh.
Ahhh...good times...good times.
So we did lots of crazy shit, but most of the time it involved the Mustang. Lots of good memories in that thing. Like the time when he handed me an M-80, I lit it, threw it out the window and because we were doing about 95MPH at the time, it flew RIGHT BACK IN THE FUCKING WINDOW AND WENT UNDER MY SEAT FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!! And didn't go off...
I put in a big "thanks" to the big guy that night. Whew! We'd also take it out by the levee with his guns (a nickel-plated .357 magnum, SKS assault rifle and a pump 12-gauge) and targets that he'd painted up like Arabs. See, even in 1987, Joe was a visionary... We'd pretty much shoot the shit out of targets, trees and anything else not made out of rock until our wrists and shoulders were too sore to do it any more. <----I know there's a gay reference one of you (*cough*Paul*cough*)are dying to make out of that, but I'll just delete it. I'm a mod...I can do that. :D
Probably the most memorable day at the levee started back in Joe's bedroom. Wait, that even sounded gay to ME. Seriously though, that was where he had his gun cabinet, half-assembled pipe bombs, black powder, det cord, etc(remember, this was 15 years before 9/11...back then you could basically get that shit at a supply store if you had a "good reason".). So he shows me his most ambitious project to date...he's going to use a model rocket body and build an explosive warhead to go on the tip. He'd taken the shot out of a 12-gauge shell, filled it completely with black powder and sealed it back up. He saudered the slugs from six .357 shells together, which were used to provide weight so the rocket would hit straight down, saudered it to a 1/4 rod and saudered that to the activating pin on the 12-gauge shell. He then took that missing-limb-waiting-to-happen, loaded it into the rocket body and glued it all into place. We hopped in the Mustang and headed out for the levee.
After we arrived, we realized we were a couple of fucking retards for not bringing anything to use as a launch pad-type device and the only thing at the levee was, of course, dirt and rocks. We tried piling up some rocks to get it to stand straight up, but none of the rocks were big enough, so it kept falling over. We finally decided that it probably wasn't going to work anyway, so we might as well just lean it up on a small mound of dirt and launch it at a .45 degree angle. Joe then says, "Okay, I built the warhead, so you have to launch the rocket."
"No problem," I said like an idiot.
Joe pulls a roll of scotch tape, a cigarette lighter and a small container of black powder out of his pocket.
"Uh...what the fuck is that for?", I asked.
"Well, I didn't have any way of lighting off the rocket engine, so we're just going to have to MacGyver it."
"You mean, 'I'm going to have to MacGyver it.'"
"Yeah, pretty much."
He pulls out about two inches of the scotch tape, (<----again, kindly ignore the homosexual softball I just lobbed up there, TIA, fuckfaces) dusts it with black powder, leaving about 1/4 inch still sticky, and attaches it to the rocket engine.
I just shook my head. "This is so fucking stupid. There's no way this is going to work. We should just go buy a regular rocket launching set up and come back another day."
"Not a chance, my friend. That's not 'regular' gunpowder, it's black powder...trust me, it'll work."
He sets the rocket against the small hill and backs up about 15 feet, which made me veeeeeery comfortable. I hunched down, lit the lighter and angled it down towardst he powdered tape. The wind blew it out. Tried again...wind blew it out. Rinse/repeat about 15 fucking times and I was ready to go home.
"Just wait for the wind to die down and try it one more time," Joe yelled.
I waited a minute or so and the wind died down. I lit the lighter and touched it to the tape, knowing there was no way it was going to wo- F-SSSSSSssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhh-------------------------> HOLY SHIT, IT WORKED!!!!
The rocket took off like a...well, like a rocket, and headed off into the sky at a .45 angle, angling upwards. It looked like it was going to work perfectly, because as soon as the engine died, the weight from the slugs would make the nose dive and have the warhead pointing straight down.
The rocket turned up and up and over and its trajectory, which started out nice and friendly, suddenly looked like this:
/\
\______
[Cancer voice box]It's coming right for us![/cancer voice box]
FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!
Me and Joe both hit the dirt the moment the rocket turned our way and it's a good thing we did, because that fucker zipped right over our heads at what would have been waist height. I'm thinking that getting hit in the nuts with six .357 shells moving at 100+ MPH, whether the powder exploded or not, would feel well-below average.
The rocket struck the ground, skipped a few times and came to rest. No *BOOM!*, no nuthin.
"Well that fukkin sucks," Joe said. "Go check it."
"Fuck you, I lit it! You go check it."
After going back and forth about who had less nuts and who was the bigger puss, cooler heads prevailed and we decided that unexploded home-made ordinance that had slammed into the ground going MACH 7 should probably be left the fuck alone. Ah, I can't back that up. Joe went and got it and put it in the back of his car. He wanted to know why it didn't work, so he took it home to disassemble and diagnose...idiot.
Not only was Joe known for being a crazy motherfucker that liked to shoot assault rifles at targets like Tibetan monks using oil paints that he pilfered from his mom's stuff (and fairly skillfully, actually
), but he was known for being a 20 y/o guy who liked to fuck 14 and 15 y/o girls. Now, I was 16 at the time, so I still found girls that age to be attractive, so in my innocent mind there was no reason that Joe wouldn't also. Now I was no retard, so I knew he should be dating the 18+ crowd, but he was a weird dude and that was just another weird attribute that you could just chalk up as Joe being Joe.One day we're sitting around bullshitting and Joe says, "You know, I don't think I could ever be tied down to just one woman. I mean, all pussies essentially feel the same, but they all come with different faces. So when you fuck a new chick, it's like eating something different, but still being at your favorite restaurant, you know?"
"Uh, listen, you're no Tom Selleck. You pull younger chicks because they're flattered to be going out with an older guy with a cool car. And you ditch them after you fuck them a few times because they're too young, so you aren't into the same shit and they annoy the crap out of you."
"Yeah...they do. I wish I could find a hot chick, with no kids, a tight pussy and an inoperable voice box. That would be totally rad."
"Yeah..."
"Cause you know what I hate more than anything? Well, two things really..."
"What."
"I hate it when you've just finished having sex and chicks want to talk. I just want to enjoy the nut I just got and they start yammering about if I really like them or not and I usually just end up telling them to get the fuck out."
"Just like that?"
"Yeah, I know, it's kind of lame, but I have a low tolerance for that shit."
"What's the other thing."
"Oh yeah! The other thing I hate is that when you're just about to get your nut and they start complaining that it's hurting too much and they start struggling so you have to hold them down until you can finish."
"Uh, dude? That's called 'rape'."
"No it's not! How can it be rape if they agreed to have sex with me in the first place?"
"Yeah, you're right. Hey, listen, um...I gotta go..."
And that was the last time I hung out with him. I knew he was crazy, but I didn't know he was a sick twisted fuck like that.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>FAST-FORWARD 20 YEARS<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
My older sister goes to her whatever-fucking-year high school reunion and sees Joe there. He writes his e-mail address down on a piece of paper and gives it to my sister and asks her if she'd give it to me. About a month later she does so and I hang on to it for a week or so, remembering some of the sick shit he'd said. Then I figured, ah, what the heck, it's been 20 years, I'll see if he's any different. I send him a "What's up" e-mail with a brief update on me and he responds, "Wow, it's been so long since I gave your sister my e-mail address that I figured she was still pissed about the dildo-in-the-laundry gag and wasn't going to give it to you."
20 years later, same old Joe. Well, he was a bit different. The superficial guy who would only bone hot chicks was married to a 250 lb she-beast(he sent me a family pic), even though he himself was still in good shape. He was a probation officer of all things. A guy who spent his entire young life doing illegal shit had a job helping guys walk the straight-and-narrow...nice.I'd been communicating with him back and forth off and on for about the past six months, but never tried to hook up with him for a beer or anything. Even though he seemed like a more mature version of the "old" Joe, a tiger doesn't change his stripes.
We forward funny stuff back and forth now and then, so I sent him PSU's article about the oral surgeon who put his crank in all of those chicks' mouths. He responds that he used to work in a mental health facility (again, ironic considering his behavior) and that they treated a lot of patients who had caught "dick in the mouf" disease at a doctor or dentist's office.
He then said, "But what do you do if Alyssa Milano in helpless on a bed in your office? It’s a dilemma."
I responded:
"HAHAHAHA...what was especially creepy about that article to me, was that he did it with that 57 y/o and that 13 y/o. I mean, it's one thing to get your jollies with the 18-22 crowd, but quite another to be sticking your junk in the mouth of girls that young or Grandmas that old.
Now, as to your question... If a 20-something Alyssa Milano was in my office and passed out, I might take out my junk and rub it around on her lips a bit, but as soon as she started to stir and wake up, you can be damn sure that I'd be standing there zipped up when she became completely alert, so if nothing else I could pass off her recollections as a normal "dream" that occurs when people are anesthetized. The fact that this dude continued his perverted fantasies even after the patients woke up is just flat out baffling. I mean, what the hell was he thinking?"
At that point, I figured the exchange was pretty much over. But "Bad" Joe hadn't chimed in yet...I didn't know that I'd been talking to "Good" Joe up until that point.
"You’re in denial. You used the age 18, like that’s when women magically become attractive.
First of all, you are a human. Second, humans are animals.
Male animals consider a female to be mating material as soon as she is fertile. About twelve years old for us.
The only difference between us and the common house dog is language. When a human girl talks, she seems so stupid, it’s usually a turn off. That is the only reason you are not consciously attracted to thirteen year old girls. (That and the idea of being violated by men your own age in prison) Your sub-conscious is still with it.
But if you’re going to shag girls who are under anesthesia, it really doesn’t matter if the're 13. They can’t talk, and ruin the moment. If you’re perverted enough to screw someone who is out cold, then a young one would just add a little spice to your endeavor.
I’m not sure why he screwed the woman in her 50’s though. Maybe he’s just a freak."
20 fucking years later...same fucking Joe.
[right-click/delete]Joe's e-mail addy[/right-click/delete]
