- Drunk Nerds
- Jan 25, 2011
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Just close your eyes
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Fun Shoe
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Dug a hole in my monitor where the vote 5 button is and fingerblasted that little turd
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Jan 20, 2016 04:09
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- Adbot
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ADBOT LOVES YOU
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May 5, 2024 07:08
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- Edmund Sparkler
- Jul 4, 2003
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For twelve years, you have been asking: Who is John Galt? This is John Galt speaking. I am the man who loves his life. I am the man who does not sacrifice his love or his values. I am the man who has deprived you of victims and thus has destroyed your world, and if you wish to know why you are peris
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I appreciate threads like this where you know something good happened because it's rated gold but the OP provides no clue as to why.
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Jan 20, 2016 04:20
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- coolskull
- Nov 11, 2007
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please take five seconds to think about how your day has been improved by this thread.
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 09:26
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- Pick
- Jul 19, 2009
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Nap Ghost
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please take five seconds to think about how your day has been improved by this thread.
 seconds
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 09:29
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- cock hero flux
- Apr 17, 2011
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When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
holy gently caress
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 09:52
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- Robo Reagan
- Feb 12, 2012
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by Fluffdaddy
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I'd come out to watch that freakshow you're putting on, too...
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 09:57
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- Robo Reagan
- Feb 12, 2012
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by Fluffdaddy
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When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
lmao you finger banged his fucktoy
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 09:59
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- Hogge Wild
- Aug 21, 2012
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by FactsAreUseless
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Pillbug
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When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
posting from the goldmne
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 13:12
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- the great deceiver
- Sep 23, 2003
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why the feds worried bout me clockin on this corner/
when there's politicians out here gettin popped in arizona
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my ex-cop neighbor across the street somehow noticed i was smoking a joint on the side of my house and somehow got my probation officers number and narcd me out. my PO really didnt give a gently caress. wish that angry old korean man had just asked me to fist his toy monkey
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 14:36
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- Pannus
- Mar 14, 2004
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GBS: "F-fingerblast this little turd."
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 14:49
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- ScRoTo TuRbOtUrD
- Jan 21, 2007
-
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When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 15:49
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- BigBadSteve
- Apr 29, 2009
-
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"Esquire the monkey" hunh, sounds more like He's Queer the monkey, amIright? Actually, I find that story too funny to be true.
Getting to your case, OP, from the sounds of it your neighbour is one of the following:
- Kind of lonely and signalling his openness to a little chat, if you stop in the hallway for long enough.
- A pervert, in which case he's scuttling down to the laundry room to sniff your underwear while you do laundry. And when you're off the premises, putting a little stool in front of your front door, standing on the stool with his back to your door, and assfucking the knob. (Don't ask me how I know perverts do this.)
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 16:52
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- jBrereton
- May 30, 2013
-
-
Grimey Drawer
|
When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 16:56
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- Boko Haram
- Dec 22, 2008
-
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Really going over in my head how it's not gonna be like that, thinking it will though
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 17:34
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- staberind
- Feb 20, 2008
-
but i dont wanna be a spaceship
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Fun Shoe
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Really going over in my head how it's not gonna be like that, thinking it will though
Just take lube, like a couple of those packs.
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 18:20
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- Robo Reagan
- Feb 12, 2012
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by Fluffdaddy
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i recommend a concealed carry license
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 18:21
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- Robo Reagan
- Feb 12, 2012
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by Fluffdaddy
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gently caress you i read some of the first page and then a few of the lasts posts of the thread you cant blame me for not knowin geveryone was quoting it
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 18:46
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- Last Chance
- Dec 31, 2004
-
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LETS QUOTE THE HUGE POST AGAIN TO CONTRIBUTE 'LOL.'
'get out'
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 18:48
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- Ramrod Hotshot
- May 30, 2003
-
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Good thread. Voted 4.
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#
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Jan 20, 2016 19:23
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- Smash it Smash hit
- Dec 30, 2009
-
prettay, prettay
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LETS QUOTE THE HUGE POST AGAIN TO CONTRIBUTE 'LOL.'
my finger hurts from all the scrollin :'[
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 19:38
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- SilvergunSuperman
- Aug 7, 2010
-
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my finger hurts from all the scrollin :'[
Vertical mouse, bro.
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 19:41
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- Smash it Smash hit
- Dec 30, 2009
-
prettay, prettay
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didnt knwo what this was so i looked it up, looks like a dong
i liek it
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 19:43
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- CRIP EATIN BREAD
- Jun 24, 2002
-
Hey stop worrying bout my acting bitch, and worry about your WACK ass music. In the mean time... Eat a hot bowl of Dicks! Ice T
-
Soiled Meat
|
When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
i swear i read this somewhere else but i'm 5'ing anyways
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 19:51
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- Smash it Smash hit
- Dec 30, 2009
-
prettay, prettay
|
i swear i read this somewhere else but i'm 5'ing anyways
do you read alot of sock monkey fanfics?
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 19:58
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- Commie NedFlanders
- Mar 8, 2014
-
|
When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
Muncie, Indiana?
Almost had me on this one nice effort tho
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 20:04
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- mbt
- Aug 13, 2012
-
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that's what you get when you go to a university that sounds like "balls taint"
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 21:25
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- Microwaves Mom
- Nov 8, 2015
-
by zen death robot
|
Goldmine!
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#
?
Jan 20, 2016 22:31
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- TK-42-1
- Oct 30, 2013
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looks like we have a bad transmitter
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When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
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Jan 20, 2016 22:34
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- coolskull
- Nov 11, 2007
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mods, please goldmine soon. the thread is spoiling.
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Jan 21, 2016 01:27
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- revmoo
- May 25, 2006
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#basta
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Make gbs great again
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Jan 21, 2016 01:49
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- Plexiwatt
- Sep 6, 2002
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by exmarx
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i miss skrewloose
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Jan 21, 2016 01:57
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- bees everywhere
- Nov 19, 2002
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When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
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Jan 21, 2016 02:37
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- White Phosphorus
- Sep 12, 2000
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Very good story. Glad to see SA going back to its roots.
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Jan 21, 2016 02:52
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- Adbot
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ADBOT LOVES YOU
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May 5, 2024 07:08
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- Doghouse
- Oct 22, 2004
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I was playing Harvest Moon 64 with this kid who lived on my street and my cows were not doing well and I got so raged up and frustrated that my eyes welled up with tears and my friend was like are you crying dude. Are you crying because of the cows. I didn't understand the feeding mechanic.
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Please goldmine
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Jan 21, 2016 03:57
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Jan 20, 2016 04:09
