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During the summer last year, I worked as a sales rep for a small time narcotics dealer who moved here from Philly back in ’87. It was a pretty cushy job – I’d wake up at about 9am, roll over and start the car to get the A/C going and put on my Def Leppard mix tape to get me amped for the day. I’d then park in front of the elementary school down on 2nd Ave until the fuzz started giving me awkward looks.

My actual job consisted of driving around a few specific neigborhoods and giving people the in-the-know double head nod. If they responded with a similar double head nod, or in some cases an inverted peace sign, I’d run my sales pitch. I accepted cash mainly, but occasionally I’d get an offer too crazy to turn down. Poor people often use the barter system.

Then I’d go back to the elementary school until the parents started arriving to pick up their kids.

This one particularly balmy day, I was doing donuts in the cemetery while waiting for a client, AJ Jazzymitts, to return with his “fly ass trick” whom he planned to use as payment for a good ball of cakey pearl. I’d seen the women J took back to his mamma’s house, so I was pretty excited. So excited, in fact, I almost flipped my Trans Am when I hit a smaller gravestone (Sorry ?????????y McArthur – I shattered half the stone, so I couldn’t get the whole name). I was also railed to the point that my nose was running through my eyes instead of my nostrils.

AJ Jazzymitts rolls up on his questionably aquired blue Vespa, with his payment in tow. He introduced the whore as Bubbles. It’s worth mentioning that Bubbles was a 6’6″ tall black man dressed as a circus clown. He had one eye, which was strangely arousing. I thought about killing him.

Bubbles got in the back of my car, and I did a few more donuts to get him in the mood. He mentioned he plans to be buried in that graveyard. I jokingly said “how about right next to something-the-fuck McArthur!”. Bubbles didn’t laugh. I didn’t either.

The kinkiness begins as I parked my Trans Am behind the recently closed for business Jiffy Lube on Montague Drive, back by the Taco Bell and K-Mart complex. I ask Bubbles if he’s comfortable being used as payment for a small coke deal, and he says he doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on, so do whatever I want. It turns out he was midly retarded and had been eating vicodin all day.

I sensually remove his red foam nose and use the nose like a powder puff, pretending to apply makeup to my face, as if I myself am becoming a clown. He laughs when I tickle his neck with a Milky Way I found in the parking lot. I then undo the frilly muffler around his neck with my teeth, and throw it in the trashcan outside the broken rear window. He wants it bad.

I’d never had sex with a man, a clown, or a retard before, so I was growing quite anxious. This would undoubtedly be different than the hookers I used to pick up after cashing forged checks at the Check and Go.

But as I whispered sweet words in his hear, I noticed a tear fall from his only functional eye. Bubbles was crying. I had been kneeling on his genitals due to the diminutive size of the rear seat. His speech impediment made it impossible for him to juggle the feeling of pain and the act of speaking simultaneously. I’m used to my sexual partners crying after the act, not before. I was confused.

It was at this point my raging hard on had pushed through the fly of my borrowed BVDs. I had lost my jeans in a bar fight the night before, so it was difficult to hide. I realized it would be impossible to maintain this fantastic feat of engorgement for much longer if Bubbles the mildly retarded clown continued to cry, so I opted to take care of myself elsewhere. I pulled the red curly wig from his head, put it on mine, and licked him on the forehead before wriggling out the window. I then opened my zippo, which I kept in my sock, lit it and threw it in the car. My erection pulsed.

I ran directly to the Denny’s on Second, hoping to find the woman I had been in love with for the last fifteen years. I walked in, hid behind the pick-up-a-toy-with-the-little-crane machine, and watched for her. A family walked in and saw me, and threatened to call the police. I kicked the father in the upper thigh, although I was aiming for his crotch, and ran out the emergency exit. Luckily for me, my love Nell was having a cigarette and a tall can out back. I walked right up to her and said “I think you know what to do with this”.

She told me the restraining order was still valid, and she pulled out her mace, as usual. But I looked her in the eyes and said “baby, I killed a clown for you tonight, can you please consider giving this man a hand job?”. Those golden words sealed the deal. I ended up fucking her in a dumpster.

I went back to get my car, but it was gone. I never saw Bubbles again, but I assume he survived, since I threw the lighter into an unupholstered area of the floor, where it was, in retrospect, unlikely to cause a fire.

That was probably the second kinkiest sexual experience of my life.

Hello! This is my first post here, and I’ve been invited by panda6 to be a guest writer this week.

I would like to discuss parenting a bit. I never really knew my father, which I think made me into the person I am today. That includes the immortality, fear of rejection, and addiction to prescription drugs. I also have known a lot of people who were raised by abusive parents, and they turned out pretty effed up as well.

For my first guest column here at panda6.net, I will be guiding new and not-so-new parents through some of the more common stressful situations that arise in the home.

How to Be a Better Parent – Part 1: Discipline

Leslie has just returned home after surviving a horrible car accident. The accident cost her 2 pints of blood and her emotional stability, and has cost her father one 1998 Ford Taurus in its entirety.

Leslie: Daddy, I’m so sorry about your car!

Father: Leslie *raises hand*

Leslie: *instinctively cowers to protect her face and neck* What happened to your hand daddy?

Father: Oh, I’ve been out in the garage punching my bare fist through drywall and bricks to get it out of my system.

Leslie: Oh daddy I love you! Thanks for not beating me again!

Father: *shaking from the pain of bone shards breaking the skin* I’m glad you’re unharmed, child.

Take the High Road

On of the most important lessons to be learned about parenting is that you are a role model to your children. While the majority of their life lessons will come from reruns of Law and Order, you play an important role in your child’s development. They will learn from your actions and strive to become someone genetically similar to you. It is always in your best interest to take a bad situation and take the moral or physical high road when it comes to resolving it.

The most common way to react to a child destroying a 1998 Ford Taurus is to hit or kick the child at fault. However, recent studies have shown that this method can dramatically affect a child well into their mid teens. It can be difficult to think of a better alternative during a moment of heated and uncontrollable rage, so be sure to write down any ideas you may have during your short bouts of sobriety and lucidity. Consider posting them on the refridgerator or next to your gun!

The above scenario illustrates one healthy alternative to beating your child. Taking out your anger on inanimate objects is a good way to release your feelings while sparing your beloved child’s health. You may also consider hitting your wife, as she’s at least 50% responsible for your daughter’s bad driving skills in this case.

By taking the high road, you have taught your daughter that self-inflicted-pain is a healthy way to relieve oneself of stress or anger. She also will feel even more guilty when she wakes up in the middle of the night haunted by the image of your mangled hand. Double play.

There is Always a Better Solution

I’m sure you’re thinking “Jesus, that’s a great solution for a hypothetical car accident, but what about all those other things or whatever wait a second I don’t even have any kids”. Well, there are many ways to react to the horrible things your children do, and they can be classified as somewhat appropriate or pretty messed up. Below is a short questionairre to help you categorize your reactions.

A. Your son is gay or acts kinda gay at least. How would you confront him?

1. Paint “no homos allowed” on their bedroom door and board it shut.
2. Sit them down and ask them if they’d like to talk about it
3. Dress up in a giant inflatable penis costume and wear a t-shirt that says “I LOVE YOU TOO”
4. Completely redesign their room to be suitable for a little girl and call them by girls’ names

B. Your daughter is pregnant. What would you say to her?

1. “I guess I can’t hit you because I might kill that kid and end up on trial for murder”
2. “I’ll love you twice as much since there are two of you occupying the same space now”
3. “Let’s go take care of this RIGHT NOW”
4. Nothing at all for 6 or 7 years.

C. While playing a game in the house, your children broke an expensive vase. How do you react?

1. Tell them to clean it up. That vase was ugly anyway and your wife won’t throw it out because “it’s from Aunt Sally and she bought it on a trip to blah blah” and now it’s finally gone.
2. Act really mad but do the same as option 1.
3. Tell them to leave it there so she can see how much better it looks shattered on the floor.

D. Your son failed math class and is now dangerously close to failing out of middle school. What is the best punishment?

1. Three days in the toolshed. No food. No water. Fifty rats.
2. Six days in the toolshed. No food. One glass of water. One hundred rats.
3. Tutor him on the side and don’t allow him to play with his friends until his homework is done and verified.
4. Make him wear a shirt that says “Normal Human + 8 chromosomes = me” for a month.

Now we’ll see how your answers compared to what a team of scientists have determined to be the best answers.

A. Gay Kid – Response: The penis costume. While subtly making fun of your son’s lust for cocks, you are also introducing a sense of compassion by using the word “love”. Also, you get to use that penis costume, which is great because it was expensive.

If you chose the option to talk to your child, then you’re probably not the best parent. What are you going to talk about, the multitude of fabric options for full length drapes? What does that even mean?

B. Whore daughter – Response: Tell her you can’t hit her because you don’t want to go to jail for accidentally killing that fetus. This lets her know that you want to hit her, but aren’t going to because you care about things. You get to send a message while not being forced to explain to the cops at 2 in the morning that your clumsy daughter tripped and fell through the dining room table and out the window again.

Don’t tell her you love her twice as much, because then she’ll be tempted to just pack babies in there until you can’t love her anymore. This is not only dangerous, but potentially annoying come birthing time. Breaking all communications makes you a bit of a dick, and hinting at abortion will haunt you when you’re trying to buy presents for the kid’s first birthday, causing you to drastically overspend.

C. Broken Vase – Response: That vase was such a ridiculous piece of crap, it doesn’t matter what you answered. All that counts is that you didn’t break it yourself, on purpose. Nice self restraint.

D. Dumb Kid – Response: You should have gone with the shirt option. As seen in example A, the penis costume, a t-shirt with a proper slogan is a potential solution to nearly any problem. Your child will be asked what the shirt means many, many times a day, and eventually they will realize that having too many chromosomes makes you retarded. They’ll then realize how important math is, or something along those lines. Most certainly, however, they won’t be failing another class for fear of what terrible slogan you’ll make them wear in public.

The toolshed options aren’t safe. While surviving on rats is entirely possible, the rats will have an easier time surviving on your child. That might be just a little too legally risky in this situation.

Now What?

Did you get at least one of the questions correct? If so, congratulations, you’re doing great as a parent. Your instincts are good enough to keep you in reach of the moral high road. Remember, if there’s a physical high road, also take that. You can see better from up there and are under less pressure of an ambush.

If you were unable to answer even one question correctly, then you should read and understand the correct answers listed above. You will need to adapt your thinking to keep you from going down a dangerous path that will cause your children to put you in a home when you’re old and smelly.

So get out there and start parenting to the best of your ability. When it comes to disciplining your children, remember: discipline yourself in the process and always consider the t-shirt option.

Sit here and watch it

As the people drive by.

I’m sure there are a thousand

Different stories to tell,

Each one just a boring as the next.

One day there will be someone

Who drives by and yells “To hell with you!”

As they plow through the police station.

It was their dog that made them so mad.

Crapped on their favorite burkenstocks.

“Damn you, dog.

You never did like Jerry Garcia!”

And of course someone would find

Some journal they kept under their matress.

It tells about the time they spent in Vietnam,

On vacation.

Hard to read the portions written in crayon.

Strange oragami shapes fall out as you shake it.

Looks like a greek myth acted out on the living room floor.

What fun times sleeping on the floor next to those oragami shapes

In the middle of summer,

Staring out at the traffic light

Listening

For another story.