Notes from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 8. Juniors Gothic Chasm.
This is Junior. Dark Brown Skin. Almost. Milado.
Creamy. Like a dark peanut butter. Great rack. Tits out to here with massive brown nipples like big chocolate cookies that turn into little hard rocks when she wants to get plowed.
Thin waste. Lollipop ass that started to spread just a little. Short, so not much in the legs department, which is kind of unfortunate because long slender legs are great constems. Dark hair.
No curls. Cock-gobber lips like the ones you see on some Spanish and Portuguese chicks. The Horing Twat. The dark skin was the source of a lot of jokes when I first found out how Black Corin Sr.
literally sucked Junior's white father out of his marriage. Are you sure you're not the Black Chicks daughter? Yuck yuck yuck. Yes, I said that at least once every two days for a month.
And then when I got it that she had a sense of humor about the irony of her dark skin and Corin Sr. I started saying, mighty white of me, all the time. The first time I said it was right after bawling her doggy style. Her.
I thought to pull my hair. It made my cut want to explode. Me. Mighty white of me.
She laughed her ass off. She even joined in a few times. Once I told her I'd let her have the seat in the sun on a cold day at an amusement park. And she said, mighty white of you.
I loved that back and forth. I could have done it for years. It could have been our signature banter as a couple. But Junior got tired of it pretty quick and right after the wedding she told me to shut the fuck up about it.
In spite of the fact that this book is about getting revenge on Junior for being a sadistic slut, I have to admit she's a pretty wild fuck. She has a great mouth when she's motivated. The mouth and I used to get along real well. Junior's cunt though.
Different story. The cunt and I have one of those polite awkward relationships. She used to make the cunt available but I haven't been on good terms with it since I made the mistake of seeing Sam get born. Boys, you boys out there.
Listen to me. Never do that. There are some things you can't unsee and you will want to unsee childbirth. I mean after the kid got out of her Junior worked her cunt back into great shape by flexing her snatch muscles on that little metal egg.
But I'm still at odds with her cunt. Way at odds. This gives Jessica and me one more thing to talk about. And the union health plan covers it so everyone is happy.
Except, you know, I have a social conscience too. So America's skyrocketing healthcare costs? Blah blah blah. You really want to unsee your son's birth?
She asked. Please. Don't make me. Don't you think it's important.
There is nothing beautiful. I really want therapists and chicks to understand this. There is no way I'm going to find that beautiful. Oh I'm not saying you should do that.
She said. Yeah, she's not saying I should do that. But if I don't do that she's going to stare at me all misty and pouty like I'm some sort of sad throwback who wants his wenches to pipe down and pogem up some eggs. I guess it's highly evolved to take some grotesque biological event called a miracle and mysterious and expect me to find something beautiful about seeing my wife's guts dragged out through the gothic chasm that used to be a sweet place to put in my dick.
Jessica tried to help cancel out that image by giving me a book filled with nothing but pictures of beautiful cunts to look at. It's therapy so what the heck right? Problem is none of the cunts in that book are juniors cunt. They are the gorgeous, round-mounted, usually shaved, sometimes and bushed, no doubt snug, no doubt sweet places to put one's dick of women who have not had their insides dragged out of them.
And see, I don't have a problem with any cunt I suspect may not have been stretched into a hanger door by some red slimy brad who has to get out now or else. I loved that book of uncasmed cunts. Ladies, I'm not saying don't give birth. I'm saying think twice before you insist on the man witnessing the miracle.
Unless you're trying to punish him. For life. I'm saying nature is not always beautiful. In fact, it almost never is.
Have you ever seen a praying mantis bite the head off a grasshopper? I grew up in rural Massachusetts. I saw that a few times. You get a grasshopper, toss it in a jar with a praying mantis and wait.
Wait for it. Chomp. Headless grasshopper. The head must be the tastiest plot.
My kid said once. The whole praying mantis grasshopper thing? Ladies, it's a beautiful miracle. You don't think so?
Well, what's wrong with you? But I rant. Meanwhile, you're thinking, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, your wife's got the chasm of a cunt. Whatever happened to that video from Chapter Two?
What about the little round Jewish hat story? See, I would have gotten to that story sooner, but in order for it to make any sense, you had to know some things. Like, my issues with parpe. Might need to be Lord of all tale, and the fact that juniors cunt and me are on and out.
And now you know. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side.
Copyright 2013 to 2014. By Dan Wrench.