Hey Guys,

Things are going great here. I've made some new friends who really understand me. I just feel so comfortable around them, I can finally be myself. They don't judge me like you guys. Toodles.

-Teddy

The Student

John Turner sat at his desk slowly drifting into the land of nod when the sudden SMACK of a ruler brought him back to reality.

"Mr. Turner, please share with the rest of the class the answer to the problem," his teacher Mr. Peterson said, annoyed with the lack of interest surrounding him.

"There is no answer. It's impossible," John quickly blurted out. The class erupted in laughter.

"Quiet down now, young Mr. Turner may be on to something."

"It's impossible i tell you. Impossible. Ya know why? Cause Grammy Gram told me so. I sweared it."

Despite young Turner's cherubic tone and horrifically dubious grammar, the classroom laughter suddenly came to a halt. Because everyone knew that old Grammy Turner was a huge bitch.

No one wanted little cry baby Turner to go sobbin' to his Mumu. No thank you. Not with the Halloween disaster still fresh in their minds.

There was no fucking way were those little brats gonna stand up the queen bee of the bitch factory.

Fuck man, you could cut the tension in that room with a rusty butter knife, you know the kind you mother gives you for your first apartment. It's so bullshit. You know the only reason she gave it to you is because she didn't want it. So typical mom. Can you just stay out of my goddamn buisiness.

Boy I tell you, that tension, it was as thick as the locker room stench of a couple hockey hunks getting ready to take a steam bath. But still nothing weird had happened. Even old teach was getting a little hot under the collar, in more ways than one.. But for what?

"Alright kids why don't we finish class out in the courtyard, to get a little fresh air."

The puzzled students have no idea what the fuck has gotten into teach. It's the middle of winter.

Very awkwardly and defiantly one boy stood up. It was very apparent the boy had shit his husky white undy pants, and old teachy teach wasn't gonna be the one to wipe his ass.

"Timmy why don't you go to the nurses office before i call your mother."

"That won't be happening on my watch," said a voice from the far doorway.

Looking up in horror teachy-poo's face went pale as the snows of Kilimanjaro. It was his worst nightmare en persona.

I could see the face of Grandma Turner from his eyes. She was an ugly sack of potatoes. Not literally. But a real beast. Her ta-ta's stretched down below her knees. Softly swinging to the rhythm of the oscillating fan.

"You will let this boy decide for himself. Just as the good lord taught us."

(Should this be continued?)

The Stranger, Part 2

(Continued from The Stranger, Part 1)

I waded through the sea of decadence that was my hotel room, searching for all my belongings. I needed to get home, I needed to explain to Rhonda, my voluptuous black soul mate, why I left our baby at the supermarket.

But I couldn't leave this dive of a motel until I found my wedding ring. As I fished through piles of beer cans, unused condoms, pencil shavings and satin wigs, small glimmers of memory returned to my oatmeal raisin brain. I remember not leaving on good terms with the French-Canadian nor with any of the hookers. I do recall being thrown out into the back ally and beaten with a pair of particularly sharp high-heeled shoes though.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ that felt good," I said to myself still yearning for another smack across the face.

A-ha!. I was quickly jolted back to reality by that divine gold band. "Well that's one less thing I have to worry about," I thought to myself as I held up the golden ring.

But before I could even slip it back on my finger, somebody came bursting through the hotel room door. As I turned, to look, my face was met rudely by the business end of a 2x4.

I began to lose consciousness as I fell to the ground. The last thing I remember seeing before the lights went out as my head lay on the floor was those damn high-heeled shoes. I never forget those cruel, beautiful givers of pain.

I woke up alone once again. The cold white walls that surrounded my bed reminded me of a UFO novel I used to read as a kid. It was the examination room, yeah that was it. That was the place the aliens studied the humans. Poked em and prodded them, not a pretty picture I tell you.

Click-clack, Click-clack....I could hear the distinct sound of high-heeled shoes walking toward my room. Could I really be on a Martian vessel awaiting an orgy of proportions the earth had never seen? It would be entertainment for the Martians and pure pleasure for us captors.

No, it was only a homely nurse, come to think of it she was pretty cute for a homely nurse, and what do you know, she's wearing those cruel, beautiful givers of pain.

Why I could really......Wait stop these perverse thoughts Jim, they are what got you into trouble in the first place. Think about Rhonda and the baby and try to keep your damn flagpole down for ten minutes of your fucking pathetic life.

"I have to think about Rhonda and the baby and try to keep my damn flagpole down for ten minutes of my fucking pathetic life" I told myself as I began to fondle my now erect penis.

"What are you doing", the nurse, now annoyed, stated.

"Oh shit, I recognize that voice" My realization came to late though because before I knew the wig was off and my french Canadian counterpart was towering over my humble hospital bed . It was too late he had found me before I had even found myself.

"Let go of your penis and get dressed," he whispered softly into my ear. His familiar smell filled my nose and the memories of the night before came roaring back into my head like a freight train.

My wife is gonna fucking kill me.

The Stranger

"How is the weather down there", whispered the French-Canadian stranger as he slowly sniffed the larger of the two asses.

"I have a cold," I replied with a whimsical look on my eager, endearing eyes.

I couldn't resist any longer. "See you in China" I yelled as I buried my face into the Asian woman's ass.

The rest of the night was a complete blur. I awoke alone in my bed surrounded by empty bags of drugs and used condoms. I had never felt that awful in all my life. It was ten o'clock in the morning and I needed a drink. Stumbling out of the cheap motel I realized I had to call my wife. Jesus. My wife.

I picked up my phone. It was covered in god knows what. And saw that she had just left me a message.

"JIIIIIIIIIIM, where the fuck are you. You left the baby at the supermarket, fuck you. Your sniffing some whore's ass with that French Canadian slime-ball again, she screamed."

Oh fuck. The baby. The room started spinning, my bowels got heavy. And....and....and...and...Oh sweet release.

"Jim, wake up, get your act together," I said to myself.

"You can't let your body be your master. Not this time. Not again," I also said to myself.

"Hows the weather down there," kept running through my mind, I just couldn't shake it. I couldn't get his French Canadian smell out of my nostrils. He reeked of cottage cheese and french fried potatoes doused in gravy.

What did he mean? Was that some way of telling me something about the asses in front of us? Or was it deeper? Could an ass crack really tell a persons story, the way it had told me his earlier?

"Sniff an ass, save a flower," was all he kept saying as we walked into that shady Montreal whorehouse. And I believed him. More so, I believed IN him. And that's how it all started....

(To Be Continued)

(Continue on to The Stranger, Part 2)

Vice Cab Stories...Part 2

(Continued from Vice Cab Stories...Part 1)

There are no more than four nasty girls in the bar and everyone is hitting on them and they just basically run a drunken lottery of who they will go home with, leaving the men frantic and frazzled. That's when the hard drugs and fights start. Having a girlfriend is no better because everyone cheats on each other. My cabbie buddy one time actually picked up his girlfriend at some dudes house because his chick was so stupid she forgot to tell him not to call that cab company.

A lot of cab drivers sell coke. So driving a cab has has this weird aura surrounding it. Don't get me wrong, cab drivers here are still dirt bags just like everywhere else, but on Nantucket, they get a lot of respect.

Someone doing something shady in this small town really has to tip your ass and treat you right. So when the Russian whore house is involved, you get serious tips.

On top of that, people are always inviting you into these ridiculous mansions for a drink or a line. I can't imagine what these people do for a living but they make movie stars seem like the middle class.

Cougars are probably the the most ass your gonna get as a cabbie, but the occasional drunk chick without money can be pretty hot. There is this really hot chick that is always giving handies to the cabbies instead of money. She even tugs off the really unattractive drivers, it's crazy....

(To be continued)