Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part nine, "My Shit's Fucked Up."
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2aUJF3gdog
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You're standing at a gas station pay phone a few blocks from the hospital. You're barefoot and wearing a hospital gown, skinny ass flapping in the wind for all to see, and your dick is swollen painfully from where you ripped out the catheter. You need help, but you realize you don't have a friend in this world, except maybe for that fat piece of shit Chickenwing. After a moment of indecision you dial his number, collect of course.
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Twenty minutes later his beat up Nissan Sentra pulls into the gas station and you jump in the passenger seat. "Wanna go back to my house? I just got a really big bag of some killer shit!" Killer shit is right, you think. You almost fucking died and all this douchebag cares about is getting home to his pipe and his porn. This guy is your best fucking friend!
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"No, you're taking me to get my car." you say, in a tone that leaves no room for argument or discussion. The last thing you need is another crystal meth binge at Chickenwing's Porn Palace, not now, no way are you coming back from another one of those grand adventures. You figure you'll go to your favorite bar and grill, or at least your favorite where you don't owe a huge tab, nurse a few beers and hopefully get someone to buy you some food. Ronnie's Roadhouse is just the place to figure out where you go from here.
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You arrive at the police impound lot about thirty minutes before closing time. You don't have the piece of paper the dickhead detective gave you, and the guy working the desk is an asshole and tries to charge you six hundred dollars to get your car back. You tell him that you highly doubt your car is even worth six hundred bucks, and ask him to call Detective Blake at the station. He tells you to go fuck yourself, and you lose it. You push his desk over on it's side towards him, then slap him four or five times in quick succession. "Now do as I say and call the fucking cops already!" you tell him. He calls. "Alright Fuckhead, they said you can have your piece of shit car!"
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Five minutes to closing time, and you are finally allowed out on the lot. There's a rather unpleasant surprise waiting for you. The windows on both sides of your car have been smashed. All of the tires have been flattened. There's dents all around it, and there is trash all over the inside. Also, sort of the coup de grace if you will, someone (you suspect Detective Blake himself), has taken an extremely large shit right in the middle of the back seat. Sighing, you remove your Miles Davis CD from the player that was remarkably left untouched, and get back into Chickenwing's car.
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"Where's your ride?" he asks. He's been snorting lines of crystal off his dashboard while he waited for you. "Chickenwing, I don't have a car anymore" you say, "take me to Ronnie's Roadhouse and let me borrow twenty bucks you fat tweaker, or I'll never fucking talk to you again."
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Ronnie's is a two story redneck biker bar with a small cafe upstairs. The place is fairly crowded for the middle of the week, but apparently they're all here to drink and dance, because the cafe is deserted. You sit down at a table in your hospital gown, and you have the entire upstairs to yourself for almost half an hour before a bored looking waitress shows up to take your order. It's Wal-Mart girl. Somehow, you are not surprised.
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You order a burger and fries and a pitcher of beer, and when she comes back from putting your order in, you tell her about how you escaped from the hospital, including how you stupidly ripped out your catheter like you did, and how your car was completely destroyed.
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"You poor baby!" she exclaims. "Your shit's fucked up!" she says, lifting up your gown to take a peek. "Let me make you feel better." She gets down on her knees under your table and goes to work. At first you're afraid getting sucked off will hurt too much, but it's only slightly painful, and feeling better every second. Soon, you're at full mast, and you decide there's a better place to put your cock than down this bitch's throat.
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You bend her over the balcony and take her from behind. You can see the people downstairs, at the bar and on the dance floor, and they can see you, but only from the waist up. It looks like the two of you are up there dancing to the music, instead of fucking like a couple of Jackrabbits.
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You start to feel like you're about to cum, so you decide to pull out and bust your nut on her back. But as soon as she feels that you're no longer inside her she turns around. "Put in back in!" she moans, right as you climax. It hurts like hell when you blow your load, and it shoots out, up and over the railing of the balcony, landing on the crowd below.
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Most of your jizz hits the face of a really large biker dude who was dancing with his old lady. "What the fuck?!?" he yells, glaring up at you with murder in his eyes, and suddenly everyone is looking up at you.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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