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+--- Thread: Butter (/showthread.php?tid=9823)
- The Jays - 12-31-2004
I woke up from my early afternoon nap at around 11:28pm on a Saturday, to the sound of DJ Vibes' "Sing It Loud" blaring from the sports bar/sushi restuarant downstairs from my apartment. I had left the door to the balcony open since my heat is broken and my apartment had reached a seasonal high of 87 degrees when I came home earlier in the day. As I sat up on my bed, I rolled my tongue around my mouth, trying to wash away the taste that's always left in my mouth whenever I take a nap; it tastes sorta like a combo of earl grey tea and a bunch of pennies. I figure it would be a good time to have one of the refreshing generic orange sodas from the 12 pack that I had bought for 99 cents at the Aldi's down the block, and smoke a bowl of some haze that I had left over from the night before.
As I walked into the kitchen, I took note of my butter dish on the kitchen table, where all of my lovely Land O Lakes lightly salted butter had melted into a small puddle. I certainly couldn't use it for spreading purposes now, and I did not wish to part ways with the butter, since I didn't quite know when I would remember to buy butter again. I found that I had been having that problem as of late; using up necessary groceries like milk and bread, and forgetting to buy them at the store, instead choosing to purchase such things as my new fondu pot, and assorted cheeses. I tried writing down what I needed in lists, but either I would stump myself as to what I really needed and then go back to watching tv, or I would actually make the list, and then proceed to shove it into my wallet with the 57 ATM reciepts that I had collected over the past three weeks. Whenever I would clean out my wallet, I would find the list, and then throw it out after noting that I had bought a winning majority of the items at some point during that period.
This time, the butter had stumped me as to what would be the proper course of action. It was too bad that I still didn't have those two live lobsters that I bought off my next door neighbor a week ago, and who died in my bathtub shortly thereafter. It was also unfortunate that I took all of my microwave popcorn and used it to make garland for my Christmas tree, just before I ate them later that evening. Perhaps that one cookbook that my mother had bought for me just after I had moved into my apartment had some ideas for what to do with dishes of melted butter, but that was all the way across the kitchen, and I had just gotten so comfortable in my folding chair. Simply getting up to get a cookbook would have been a waste of valuable energy.
But to also get up for a couple cans of Spaghetti Os, that would be like clutch. So, I made my way to the cabinet, and removed both the book, from the top shelf, and two cans of canned pasta from the middle, toppling over some cans of corn and condensed soup in the process. On my trip back I grabbed the can opener and proceeded to empty the contents of the two cans into a plastic dish, then grabbed the Kraft Parmesan cheese and poured a nice heap onto the top. I set the dish in the microwave and set it for 2 minutes. I returned to my seat, cookbook at the edge of the table, and proceeded to stare at the microwave, listening for any particular pop or boom that might occur from the mini meatballs.
As I held my gaze on the orange glow radiating from the kitchen applicance, my thoughts turned toward an episode that I had with a lovely young femlae named Noelle. She was a nubile 19 year old from the south shore; dark haired Indian girl, with a fat ass and a big ol rack o titties. She worked behind the counter at the Video Game Arena, where my friend Billy and myself had driven to, in seperate cars, after a blunt of haze on the beach and throwing rocks at seagulls for an hour, and we quietly admired her ass when she bent down to load the XBox on the big screen television as I reclined back in a leather recliner and stared at the various strings that were riding up the crack of her ass. When she got back up, she walked away with a wink of an eye and an "Enjoy your game, boys," and dimmed the lights as we began a game of Halo 2.
Half past the hour, Billy received a phone call. Apparently, his pitbull puppy had decided to begin chewing on a couple of Brillo pads that she had found lying on the bathroom floor, and was now watering from her eyes, and making sharp barking noises while jumping around like a nigger with a basketball. He excused himself, suggesting that I at least finish my hour and then we'd meet up to go smoke again. I concurred, and went back to the game, now, only in one player mode, but still online, and still getting my ass handed to me by all sorts of nerds who know all the boards by heart, and can even guess correctly the exact location of where a player will respawn, all the while, attempting to talk various trash and be tough and cool and shit while talking through their noses. I sat alone, in my recliner, with a half hour left of me getting shot, sniped, assassinated, and stuck every 7 seconds.
The lights were still dim, and I hadn't even noticed that she had walked back into the room, and come up close to me. I had been jumping, and squirming about in my chair, unconsciously mimicking the body movemnets of my avatar as I got the shit kicked out of me, no matter how many times I shot. She watched for a second, and then said "You need to relax, honey. You're shooting all over the place."
"How can I relax? There's like twenty expert Halo players stabbing and shooting me every ten seconds."
She then got down on her knees and showed me how to relax.
Amazingly, I saw my accuracy increase substatially, as I would let out several quick bursts from my battle rifle, instead of just tossing grenades and shooting at anything that appeared to move. I became more cautious, and relied on my cunning and quick side to side movements of the analogs, gently circling around, and pushing down to zoom in for a snipe. As I played, I upgraded weapons quickly, eventually carrying a rocket launcher, and stalking my prey, ready to launch some hot shit into someone. I perched upon a catwalk, and looked for the opportune moment.
Ready.
Aim.
Fire.
She gave a "mmmmmmmmm" in affirmation, confirming that the package was delivered. One second later, some fuck sniped me and ended my killing spree. As she knelt in between my legs, holding my controller in her hand, she whispered,
"Do you have any pot?"
Now, just before Billy and I had arrived at the video game arena, I drove over toward the neighborhood of my dealer, Filo, to get at least a quarter ounce of something for the rest of the weekend. It being New Year's Eve tomorrow and all, I would be the one required to drive, thus, I would not be able to partake in the beverage consumption, and besides, it is such a joy to drive around a gaggle of drunken lushes whilsts being totally, mind-numbingly stoned and listening to Biggie's "Born Again" album.
Once I had clicked over my order to him, Filo was quick on the delivery, driving up in his Altima with tinted windows, smoke pouring out of the opening as he engaged the power windows to make the transaction. My car, of course, was totally standard, so i had to lunge over the passenger side and roll down the window and the and off the money, which I had folded down into a small 1/4" square while I had been sitting parked for the minute before hand. With a "Peace out", he slowly pulled down to the end of the street, and then his tires squealed as he sped off to his next destination. I, on the other hand, with a quarter ounce of haze, returned to my neighborhood and proceeded to meet up with Billy to smoke the blunt of haze he had already rolled.
"Do you have any pot?"
I eased back into my chair, and pulled a cigarette out of my pocket. Upon lighting it and inhaling, I responded.
"It's possible, very possible. What you have in mind, sugarlips?"
"How much?"
"Quarter."
She leaned into me, and put her lips next to one of my tremendously large ears. She then whispered,
"I wanna smoke some pot and fuck your brains out." She then took a large bite into my ear. Obviously, some strange biting ritual of the Indian people.
Seconds later, we were in my Saturn Ion, on our way back to my apartment. At no point had the thought crossed my mind that I perhaps should call her off and save my stuff for tomorrow night, because if I did that, I would have ended up smoking the same amount anyway, and jerking off over the toliet, which would totally blow given the simplicity and relative good fortune of this encounter with this dark haired Indian skank. I'm telling you, her ass was so fine, I wouldn't have cared if the crack of her ass smelt like curry, I woulda licked it up like it was Fun Dip.
Once we reached my apartment, we sat down upon my blue couch, and I got up to get us some blue lemonade Kool Aid, served out of my blue pitcher, in my blue cups. I opened up my freezer, where I had several blunt wraps all ready to go, having removed them from their phillie guts earlier that day. I then took the bag out from my pocket, and As I hastily gather up the supplies in the kitchen, I gave a silent prayer to the one true God that this bitch wouldn't make my balls cooridinate with the rest of the furniture and dishware in my apartment.
It was a quick roll of the L, a puffy puff and shcmokey schmoke, and minutes later, we started to engage in the actual of sexual intercourse. I had pulled off her jeans and that lil piece of floss that stuggled to cover her luscious Indian lips, no doubt this bitch was blessed by Shiva, Kali, and whatever other gods from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. She looked like the type of bitch who could rip a heart out of a man's chest, and let him see it held before his eyes, just before he collapses onto the ground in a pool of his own blood, while she laughs and urinates on the body. Yeah, I definatly needed to keep an eye on her.
But in the mean time, she pushed he sweet ass against my thighs, begging to receive me. I won't get into the details here, but let's just say this was one night where I would not be using my condoms to make balloon animals, you know what I'm saying?
Now, Noelle was definatly a pothead. In fact, in the middle of our lil coital session, She insisted that we take a break to smoke some more before we came. Then an hour later, we finished, and as I stood up, in full glory, and put my Yankee cap on backwards, she eyed the bag that I had placed on the endtable. But me, having just had sex, was not in a very observant mindset, instead, removing the condom from Mr. Dickles and having my fun with smacking against the dot on her forehead and squeezing the rest of the juice out onto her face. She loved every minute of it, as she took tokes from a small joint I had rolled for her. She then came up with a simply brilliant idea.
"Yo, you should get some bagels. I'm mad hungry."
"Yeah? What bagel store is open?"
"What bout the stire down the block? They got egg bagels?"
"Yo, I fucking love egg bagels, they taste so much better than plain."
"Well, anthing fucking tatses better than plain bagels."
"Oh no, you get a nice plain bagel, smear that shit with some salted butter and pop it in the microwave, my god, it's like having an orgasm in your mouth, except it comes with a bagel too."
"Yo, you should get some. Get like three for me."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up, bitch. I'm walking by myself to get you some bagels? "
"I fucking blew you while you played Halo sitting in a leather recliner."
A couple minutes later, I walked down to the corner, wearing nothing but a wife beater, a pair of blue plaid pajamas bottoms with a Yankee emblem on the upper left of the pants, and a pair of Sonic the Hedghog slippers. In my pocket were my keys, my wallet, and thankfully my pack of Marlboro Menthols. I hadn't even the time to light one up after my session with Noelle, with the focus so heavily on purchasing these egg bagels. I took a cigarette out of the pack and lit it up, letting the nicotine do its thing and weaken my heart a lil bit more. As I exhaled, I started questioning why exactly right now was the best time for bagels. It was 2:30 in the morning on a Wedsday, surely no store has fresh egg bagels at this hour. If so, I might as well get a nice bacon, egg, and cheese on one of them, for surely if someone is up making bagels this early, they must have some other dude sitting around not doing anything who can cook up my early breakfast for me. And if anything, I could always buy the bagels, then buy a Swanson Great Starts Egg, Canadian Bacon, and cheese, and just remove the crappy english muffin and slap the protein and dairy products onto my egg bagel. Shit, I'd be in fucking heaven. I took another drag from my cigarette, and then put it out, due to poor timing on my part of the distance to walk to the store and smoke a cigarette. If I had lit it up just before I walked down the stairs , I might have gotten it down to the line, but, alas, my fear of invoking the wrath of my neighbors and their lobsters was too much for me to tempt. I walked into the store and went to the counter to order six egg bagels. As the clerk went off to the rack to fill my order, I turned around and observed their frozen food and refrigeated section. I quickly found my egg sandwich, listed for 3 dollars. I paused briefly to ponder the contents of my wallet, then proceeded to remove the breakfast sandwich package from the freezer. As I began to walk back to the counter, I took a passing glance at the lightly salted Land O Lakes butter that was inside the refrigerator. I walked over, grabbed a package, and walked to the counter, cheerful, knowing that I had the major ingredients of a very nice munchie meal well in my grasp. The clerk rang up my order, and I made my way back to the apartment as quickly as possible, unlocking my door quick, dashing up the steps, inserting the key into my door, turning the knob, walking over to the kitchen table, emptying the contents of the bag, and getting to work on my soon to be culinary masterpiece of egg bagel and Swanson's egg, Canadian bacon, and cheese. I just might throw in a regular slice of American, just for authentic taste. I opened up the butter package, took out a stick and placed it into my butter dish, and then grabbed a knife from the drying rack and swabbed a couple dabs of butter onto the porous bread surface of the bagel that I had just cut in half only seconds earlier. I repeated the sequence with another bagel, except adding in the breakfast-like products from the frozen sandwich, getting butter on my fingers in the process. I then put them both on a plate, turned it on for 2 minutes, and then ran back into the bedroom for a quick feel of Noelle's titties with my buttery hands, only to find she had fled the scene, along with my quarter of haze. She even made the bed and everything. I stood there a bit befuddled at the situation, as Mr. Dickles proceeded to grow tired of standing, and drooped back down to his warm spot along the side of my right leg. I slowly turned back to the kitchen, taking a quick look inside the bathroom to make sure she wasn't lying in a pool of her own blood, piss, shit, or vomit, and continued back to the kitchen a bit dissappointed. Once there, I sat down in my folding chair, and awaited for the remaining :43 seconds till the orange glow stopped radiating from the kitchen appliance.
The cheesehad not quite melted on the top of the pasta, so, bored as I was, I picked up an empty box on the kitchen table.
It was for a Swanson's Great Starts breakfast sandwich.
I glanced back at my dish of melted butter, and slowly began to crush the empty container with a gentle squeeze of my fist. I understood what I needed to do, and so I picked up the dish, slipped on my Sonic the Hedgehog slippers, and walked toward the bathroom door.
Edited By The Jays on 1104524142
- Mad - 12-31-2004
The only dot on her forehead should be from a bullet hole.
- Arpikarhu - 12-31-2004
i read the first 3 lines and drifted off. can someone summarize?
- Gooch - 12-31-2004
jay is the posting version of 'Verbal' Kint
- fbd - 12-31-2004
wouldnt somebody else on the board technically be verbal?
- Kid Afrika - 01-01-2005
I can't believe it's POT butter!
- fbd - 01-01-2005
you used to be above jokes that bad...how the mighty have fallen
- Arpikarhu - 01-01-2005
when was the "mighty" part?