Original post date - Friday, July 22, 2005
Fiction From The Mind Of Woody (Am I high right now? Dammit...I think I'm high)
It was a dark and stormy night, not unlike this one. Wait, no one's here with me to witness how dark and stormy it is...crap. Oh well, just take my word for it...it's pretty dark and pretty stromy. I had just gotten home from a long night at work and I stunk to high heaven...like a bull's ass. Then again, I had been having sex with bulls all day long, so that may have had something to do with it. It was a pretty rough week. I started a new job on Monday as a door-to-door beef salesman. Don't let anyone tell you they make a good living selling beef in South Florida. That's a load of malarkey. Now Montana...that's a beef state! I could run the door-to-door beef racket there and live like a king. (hmm. Note to self: Move to Montana. Run the door-to-door beef racket. Live like a king.) But I don't live in Montana, I live in South Florida...where everyone knows someone in New York with a better something than in Florida. Why is it that when you're in another country, America is the best place in the world, but when you're in America, every state is shit except for the one you're from?
Anyway, like I said, it was dark and stormy, I had been humping bulls all day and I was tired. Oh yeah, I quit the beef job on Tuesday and needed some fast cash, so Wednesday morning I responded to an ad for a bull rider. I must have misunderstood it because when I began humping bovines, they fired me. Lucky for me someone had seen me in action and appreciated my technique, so they offered me a job. There's a lot of sicko's out there who will pay big bucks to see you balls deep in a bull's brown growler. You may be thiunking "Isn't it tough having sex with bulls?" You bet your sweet ass it's tough. Satisfying the bull is easy. It's convincing them to come home with you in the first place, that's the problem. I figured out that if you get them a little drunk, it's much easier. Ironically enough, they like Red Bull and vodka. Get it? Red Bull? Oh, go to hell, all of you.
Well, when I got home, I had about 37 threatening messages on my machine. Apparently the good folks at PETA got wind of the situation and they frown on my line of work. That, and seeing as beastiality was a violation of my parole, I was forced to quit. Oh well, guess it's back to the unemployment line on Monday. If anyone has a job for an out of work bull-humper with sales experience, call me.
As for tonight, I'm fresh out of the shower and feeling good. I plan on curling up with a good Julia Roberts movie and my cat, Mr. Fluffytail. Oh, and I have a hooker coming over in about 20 minutes to spank my bottom raw with a spatula while I masturbate with a cheese grater, so I have to be going. Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow.
Until next time, this has been a tale of fiction from the mind of Woody.
None of the events mentioned actually took place. Any resemblance to persons, places or things, either living or deceased, real or fictitiious is purely coincidental. No animals were actually humped during the creation of this story.