Average American Male by Chad Kultgen
"The third brunette is Asian and semi-hot from what I can see, until the candle flicker at our table bounces off a nasty fucking hairelip. I think she gives her name as Amy, but I immediately give her the name Scarface in my head.
After they're done telling us whatever their stories are, Scarface says with a lisp that isn't altogether unattractive, "Do you guys have girlfriends?"
It's a weird question. Todd says, "No." I don't say anything. Scarface says, "Cool."
I'm strangely attracted to her weird lip. I wonder if she's had to develop some super cocksucking technique to compensate for her deformity. I wonder if she can even suck cock at all. Maybe she can't suck cock so she's had to expand her sexual repertoire to keep men interested. I pictured myself fucking her in the ass and her genuinely enjoying it because she has to, because she knows that her openness to things other women aren't is the most and only attractive quality she has."
I can't help thinking that at some point in each of these two-year-old kids' lives, they're going to be fucking somebody. That two-year-old girl whose mom dressed her up in a little pink dress to take her to Topz after Sunday church is going to suck cock, take it up the ass, have load after load of semen shot in her face, and eventually have another little girl who's eventually going to do all the same shit. And that two-year-old boy whose mom dressed him in his Spider-Man T-shirt to take him to eat lunch after his favorite morning cartoons is going to fuck a girl, eat pussy, get twat hairs stuck in his throat, get his dick sucked, and someday have kids who will do all the same shit."
"And I'm so sick of Casey begging, and her mom being a cunt, and my imaginary car crash scnarios that I decide to just come out and say it. "Okay, you know what I want?"
She says, "Yes," truly believing that whatever it is I'm about to say is going to show her the way to keep me forever.
I say, "Okay, I want to fuck twice a day minimum or at least have my dick sucked. I want you to swallow. I want to butt-fuck you every once in a while and I want you to like it..."
By this point I'm sure her mom is having an aneurysm, but I can't stop. I feel like every word I say should have been said a million times before over the course of our relationship. I feel like every word I say should come as no shock to Casey, but I know they do. I feel like every word I say makes up for every load I should have shot in our relationship.
For those reasons, I keep saying, "...I never want you to tell me a stupid fucking story about shit I couldn't care less about again. I want you to get rid of your cats. I want you to lose about fifteen pounds off your ass. I want you to never want to get married or have kids. I want you to like video games. I want you to think retards are funny. I want you to not care if I say 'fuck' in front of your mom. I want you to wish Marie Osmond was dead."
The Marie Osmond line is too much for Casey's mom. She says, "Why would you ever want Marie Osmond dead? She's one of the most courageous women of our time."
I remember a line from some shitty movie Casey made me watch a month or two ago because it was one of her favorites. I decide to use the line on her. "I guess I just want you to be something you're not."
"As the guy keeps talking about the cost of what possible damages I might have done to his car, I see the woman who caused this whole thing waiting for her crosswalk sign to turn green. She's worse than I originally thought. She is hideously ugly and her body is absolutely repulsive. I smashed into a car for her.
The guy's still talking about something as I try to think about all the times I've been in near wrecks because I was trying to see if some bitch walking down the street was hot. There are a lot, and in most instances the bitch is not worth the possibility of a wreck.
The guy says, "Here." He's waving something in my face. It's his insurance information. I take his, give him mine, and wish that old hag would have at least been a hot college bitch wearing tight pants."
"As we drive, I make sure to hit the brakes a little harder than I need to at each stop in the hopes of jarring the fetus loose and causing an instant miscarriage. As I come on the fourth or fifth abrupt stop, it doesn't seem to be working. Nonetheless, I stomp the brakes whenever traffic allows, reasoning that it only takes one good one to bust the fetus loose.
We pull into the valet at Lawry's and it doesn't seem like the fetus is detached. I walk into the place behind Casey and kick her back foot so she trips on herself going up the stairs, still hoping to jar the fetus loose. She shoots me a pissed-off look that I explain away by saying, "Sorry, it was an accident," but the unborn life-ender in her gut seems to be doing fine."
After they're done telling us whatever their stories are, Scarface says with a lisp that isn't altogether unattractive, "Do you guys have girlfriends?"
It's a weird question. Todd says, "No." I don't say anything. Scarface says, "Cool."
I'm strangely attracted to her weird lip. I wonder if she's had to develop some super cocksucking technique to compensate for her deformity. I wonder if she can even suck cock at all. Maybe she can't suck cock so she's had to expand her sexual repertoire to keep men interested. I pictured myself fucking her in the ass and her genuinely enjoying it because she has to, because she knows that her openness to things other women aren't is the most and only attractive quality she has."
I can't help thinking that at some point in each of these two-year-old kids' lives, they're going to be fucking somebody. That two-year-old girl whose mom dressed her up in a little pink dress to take her to Topz after Sunday church is going to suck cock, take it up the ass, have load after load of semen shot in her face, and eventually have another little girl who's eventually going to do all the same shit. And that two-year-old boy whose mom dressed him in his Spider-Man T-shirt to take him to eat lunch after his favorite morning cartoons is going to fuck a girl, eat pussy, get twat hairs stuck in his throat, get his dick sucked, and someday have kids who will do all the same shit."
"And I'm so sick of Casey begging, and her mom being a cunt, and my imaginary car crash scnarios that I decide to just come out and say it. "Okay, you know what I want?"
She says, "Yes," truly believing that whatever it is I'm about to say is going to show her the way to keep me forever.
I say, "Okay, I want to fuck twice a day minimum or at least have my dick sucked. I want you to swallow. I want to butt-fuck you every once in a while and I want you to like it..."
By this point I'm sure her mom is having an aneurysm, but I can't stop. I feel like every word I say should have been said a million times before over the course of our relationship. I feel like every word I say should come as no shock to Casey, but I know they do. I feel like every word I say makes up for every load I should have shot in our relationship.
For those reasons, I keep saying, "...I never want you to tell me a stupid fucking story about shit I couldn't care less about again. I want you to get rid of your cats. I want you to lose about fifteen pounds off your ass. I want you to never want to get married or have kids. I want you to like video games. I want you to think retards are funny. I want you to not care if I say 'fuck' in front of your mom. I want you to wish Marie Osmond was dead."
The Marie Osmond line is too much for Casey's mom. She says, "Why would you ever want Marie Osmond dead? She's one of the most courageous women of our time."
I remember a line from some shitty movie Casey made me watch a month or two ago because it was one of her favorites. I decide to use the line on her. "I guess I just want you to be something you're not."
"As the guy keeps talking about the cost of what possible damages I might have done to his car, I see the woman who caused this whole thing waiting for her crosswalk sign to turn green. She's worse than I originally thought. She is hideously ugly and her body is absolutely repulsive. I smashed into a car for her.
The guy's still talking about something as I try to think about all the times I've been in near wrecks because I was trying to see if some bitch walking down the street was hot. There are a lot, and in most instances the bitch is not worth the possibility of a wreck.
The guy says, "Here." He's waving something in my face. It's his insurance information. I take his, give him mine, and wish that old hag would have at least been a hot college bitch wearing tight pants."
"As we drive, I make sure to hit the brakes a little harder than I need to at each stop in the hopes of jarring the fetus loose and causing an instant miscarriage. As I come on the fourth or fifth abrupt stop, it doesn't seem to be working. Nonetheless, I stomp the brakes whenever traffic allows, reasoning that it only takes one good one to bust the fetus loose.
We pull into the valet at Lawry's and it doesn't seem like the fetus is detached. I walk into the place behind Casey and kick her back foot so she trips on herself going up the stairs, still hoping to jar the fetus loose. She shoots me a pissed-off look that I explain away by saying, "Sorry, it was an accident," but the unborn life-ender in her gut seems to be doing fine."