Meat Coma

Talk about a hot beef injection. No, not the kind they make men get before they're allowed to do straight porn. (I still refuse to believe Peter North ever took it). But the kind of beef injection that a guy named Bucky, who grew up in Texas, and curses like a crippled sailor can give you. A guy that gets a hard on making 7 racks of ribs, briscuit, and a huge platter of BBQ'd chicken on a tuesday evening. And for what? For who? Just a few of the guys.
To give you an idea of the BBQ prowess of this guy, (I won't even mention the smoker attached to the grill) the meat was literally falling of the ribs onto the plate. There was no way of getting around it, fingers, hands, face, all covered in BBQ. Not just BBQ sauce mind you. Any schmuck can make a somewhat decent piece of meat and drown it in BBQ sauce. Creating a mess and hiding the true flavor of the meat. No no, Bucky don't play that game. When I got home it was meat I smelled like, with a strong hickory smoke about me. I smelled like BBQ, not BBQ sauce. The goal of the true BBQ cook is to bring out the best flavor of the meat. And don't think for a second that Bucky leaves his responsibilities there. About 6 minutes into my gorging I'm gettin' quite a thirst going, my hands is grimy, full Corona sittin' in front of me. I didn't say a word, I never even saw Bucky look my way. Next thing I know he's popping the top on my beer and slapping my back.
I made it through a chicken breast, several slices of briscuit, and I don't know how many ribs. On top of cornbread, some beans (the woman made the beans and bread). When I got home I was as close as I've ever been to hallucinating, besides all of those times I took shrooms and acid and hallucinated. It even affected my breathing, which was shallow and raspy until about midnight. I am a fat man trapped in an athletic, incredibly handsome man's body.

No Sleep For You

It's tuesday morning. It's going to be a long week. I average about 5 hours of sleep a night. I would like to increase this number. How many hours of sleep a night do other people get? Am I alone on this here? Do other people wander around with dark half moons peeking out from underneath their eyes? How does one begin going to sleep at say, 10:30? It just doesn't seem feasible to me, Aqua Teen Hunger Force always starts at 12, there's no getting around that.

Catch Up

I finally pieced together saturday night.
- Pregame at Keith's.
- Walk to Wanker's Corner (bar in Wilsonville, not nearly as slummy as we were hoping, actually not really slummy at all) .
- Start putting down pitchers of PBR with Pat, Keith and Cale.
- Shots of Jack.
- Pitchers of PBR.
- Keith and Pat go to win the pool table.
- Shots of jager.
- Pitchers of PBR.
- Jager girls make first visit with keychains, we send them away to find us jager t-shirts.
- Shots of jager.
- Jager girls come back with hats, we take them and send them off for jager t-shirts.
- Keith and Pat are unsuccessful at winning the pool table, one of them hits the 8ball in.
- Pitcher of PBR.
- Run into guy I know from PCC, shake his hand in the bathroom before I have a chance to wash mine, apologize under my breath.
- Jager girls come back with two t-shirts, Pat snags one immediately, they start asking trivia for the other shirt. Did you know that there are 56 spices in jager? Keith did. Son of a bitch.
- Waitress stands up on our booth and starts dancing, WTF?
- Shots of jager .
- Once again waitress is up dancing above us, this time my head is a prop, once again, WTF?
- Pitcher of Terminal Gravity.
- I see Pat dancing, I laugh.
- I'm chugging beer, I don't know what it is.
- Back at Keith's.
- Climb over fence to hot tub.
- Sausage fest in hot tub.
- Climb over fence out of hot tub.
- Blackness.
- Wake up at somepoint soaking wet in my underwear on Keith's couch.
- Wonder if I peed myself, too early to think about that.
- Stumble into Keith's room to wake him up, adapt plan, pass out next to him in my wet underwear.
- Wake up at 8am.
- Did I leave my clothes at the hot tub? No, they are right there on the floor, get dressed.
- Notice something strange on my hand, blood?
- Ketchup, dried ketchup.
- Remember I don't eat ketchup, in fact, I loathe ketchup
- Am informed that I was the target of kethcup covered tater-tots while I was passed out on the couch, fuckers. I hate ketchup.
- Am dropped off at home at 8:30
- Pass out face down on my bed for 6 hours, some people call this a full nights sleep.
- Wake up at 2:30.
- Remove my shirt to shower.
- Look in mirror, what the hell is all over my chest, blood?
- Ketchup, dried ketchup.
- I hate ketchup.

An Introduction

I have a friend, for the sake of anonymity let us call him 'Jeff,' because that's his real name. A quick aside here, have you ever fucked a sheep before? Well neither have I. But Jeff has. Ok, not a real sheep. It was an inflatable sheep. It really wasn't his fault. I blame myself and genetics. No, not because I guided it in for him. Well I suppose in a way, I did. NO! Not that way. I was one of the group of friends who bought it for him. This was back in high school. We all chipped in and got Jeff some things for his birthday. One of them was the notorious sheep. We picked it up from the Erotic Bakery in Seattle. I think we may have also gotten him a penis cake, but I'm not sure, and it's not relevent, we're talking about sheep fucking here people, stay focused. If you know Jeff, which we did, you would know that any gift like that, he will eventually try out, at least once. I would actually wager that if the gift had been given to me, he would have borrowed and penetrated my inflatable sheep. Which would be sick and disgusting because he knows he'd been getting my seconds...what?
I do not know all of the details of his encounter with the sheep. But I know the important ones, which is what's...important.

After enjoying a pleasant dinner with his family Jeff feels an emptiness in his heart. Sure, it was a great day, school was good, homework was done, but there was just something...missing. Sighing, Jeff shrugs it off and wanders upstairs to his room for some video games... About 5 minutes into an enthralling game of Final Fantasy, something cathes Jeff's eye in the corner. Ahh, it's the inflatable sheep his friends got him for his birthday. What a great group of guys. Especially Joe, good ol' Joe, so smart and witty. But it wasn't Joe who caught Jeff's eye on this cool Seattle evening. It was that sheep...that beautiful...sweet...sexy sheep. The sheep beckoned him "come to me Jeff, come to me..." Jeff felt a tingle between his legs, his pulse quickened, he obliged the sheep's command. Hand trembling Jeff reached out to touch the sheep...to stroke the sheep. It was so wrong, but it felt so...so, right. Tucking the sheep under his arm Jeff stood and walked to the end of his bed. His pants were growing tight...why not take them off? Sliding his pants around his ankles Jeff knew where this was heading. The touching and kissing were nice, but he needed more, and the sheep would give it to him, well, take it from him. Pants around his ankles, standing nude in all his glory, Jeff took the sheep in his hands and held it in front of him...admiring it's smooth black plastic, it's beautifully rounded backside. "Be gentle," said the sheep. Jeff's awkwardly thin pubescent body tensed, the time was nigh. And suddenly he was whole. Soaring in exstacy his grip tightened on the sheep as he thrusted his aloneness away. "I love you sheepy" he whispered breathlessly. Then a knock, and the door swung open. "Jeff I wanted to..." His mother trailed off mid-sentence. Jeff froze, mouth agape, standing ass naked, half inside a plastic sheep. The silence that ensued was brutal. What does one do when their mom walks in on them fucking an inflatable sheep? You have two options, remove the sheep and allow your mother to see the man her son has grown into. Or you leave the sheep where it is, maintaining the minuscule amount of dignity you have left, but at the same time removing any doubt your mother may have had in her mind about the attrocious act you were committing. Jeff chose the latter. His mother waited for a moment, shocked, appaled, probably thinking a condom would have been a good idea all those years ago. And then she was gone, door closed, Jeff still standing, still naked, still balls deep in an inflatable sheep. What the fuck does one do now? Well, I don't know what the appropriate action would have been. But I can tell you what Jeff did. He finished.