I LOVE LIVING IN THE CITY / PWN3D III

Roadhouse likes to fuck children. No, not real children (as far as I know), I mean he likes to fuck girls who were children when he graduated highschool. Okay, when he graduated college. Split hairs with me, motherfucker... Anyway, this Valentine's Day past Roadhouse invited two such children - strippers, obviously - to his torture chamber apartment for a night of fantastical fuck-frolic. Roadhouse must have some super sweet man-meat because these plow hounds, Kojak and Kums-a-Lot...

...drove all the way from Vegas and even dropped ecstasy 30 minutes before arrival. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. First of all, Roadhouse didn't get to have the threesome he wanted because Plug crashed the party and was balls deep in Kums-a-Lot's "government housing" quicker than you can say child support. But Roadhouse lives by a simple credo - "What's mine is yours" - so like the gentleman he is, Roadhouse merely slipped itching powder into Plug's condom* and carried Kojak into his bedroom for some vanilla two-way action. Too bad Kojak ate the brown ecstasy (you make your own scat joke, I don't have the energy) because she got whacked out of her mind on crazy sauce and tried to bite his cock off, then spent the rest of the night discussing her abandoment issues whilst tripping billy balls. ¡Muy divertido! Afterward, Kojak couldn’t understand why Roadhouse didn’t want to see her anymore. She's spent the remainder of February and the beginning of March leaving Roadhouse five minute voice messages and emails longer than my dick. Desperate to stop her from making contact, Roadhouse forwarded me all such missives and commissioned me to lay the smack down with a cyanide-laced email pwning of whey s00peri0r v3rb4lz. Unfortunately, the letter I wrote on his behalf was deemed too 'core to send. Roadhouse feared that she might take the picture below he jokingly sent her to heart.

Retardless, I would never deny you, my faithful flock, the pleasure of reading such hilarious bon mots. So without further ado, I present my unsent, unpublished genius in all its hate/love-filled glory.

Dear Kojak,

When dealing with future mental patients, I find it most beneficial to use their own words against them. That way they know beyond a shadow of a doubt how round the bend they are. Having said that, let the session begin…

On Friday, February 17, 2006 6:53 PM, Kojak@aol.com writes:

“Sorry about the long message thing… From now on... I won't call you at all.”

This you say before launching into War and Peace sized missives. Maybe you should call me. I’d rather wade through 5 minutes of your verbal feces in my voicemail box than 3000 lines of excerpts from your Hello Kitty diary in my email inbox.

On Friday, February 17, 2006 8:23 PM, Kojak@aol.com also writes:

“I am a extremely strange woman and I DO have a very large imagination.”

You’ve got a large cooter, too. Fucking you is like driving a Mini Cooper through the Grand Canyon. By the way, you’re supposed to write “an” when the word following starts with a vowel. Show some respect for the written word, psycho.

On Friday, February 17, 2006 8:23 PM, Kojak@aol.com keeps the crazy train rolling with:

“If you want anything to do with me, then you have to realize that. But along with the downside of some occasional drama, there are many benefits. I'm spontaneous, creative, and a lot of fun.”

1) I want nothing to do with you.

2) You have to realize that and stop sending me a 10 page doctorate thesis on crazy every other day.

3) “Spontaneous” if you mean psychotic.

4) “Creative” if you mean drug addict.

5) “A lot of fun” in the sense that getting your penis run over by a wheat thresher is a lot of fun.

On Saturday, February 18, 2006 3:04 AM, Kojak@aol.com points out the obvious with:

“I wish I hadn't been on X that night.”

Well that makes two of us. You were such an annoying twat, I’m sure God Himself smote the guy that invented ecstasy down with a bolt of lightning and sent him straight to child molester hell. A place I’m sure someone in your past will no doubt end up one day.

On Sunday, February 19, 2006 2:21 PM, Kojak@aol.com makes a plea for more sex (surprise, surprise as it’s the only currency she has in this world):

“Maybe we can try [oral sex] again in the future.”

Or maybe I’ll let a grizzly bear attempt a blow job on me. Probably safer.

On Sunday, February 19, 2006 2:21 PM, Kojak@aol.com makes a waffling statement that (insert your least favorite politician's name here) would be proud of:

“As for things between us... I don't know what you want from me and I don't really know what I want either.”

If you can’t figure it out after reading this email, you should probably start seeing your therapist 5 times a week instead of just 3.

On Thursday, February 23, 2006 6:56 PM, Kojak@aol.com says the stupidest fucking thing ever in the history of man:

“I think if we actually spent some real time together, we would have a lot of fun.”

I think if we actually spent some real time together, I’d take a swan dive off the roof of Capitol Records onto a school bus full of special needs kids.

On Thursday, February 23, 2006 6:56 PM, Kojak@aol.com reveals that she’s never had good sex in her life:

“We have many things in common and in the past have had really hot sex.”

Your pussy never gets wet when we fuck. I might be alone here, but I think most guys would agree with me that a wet pussy is an essential ingredient for a round of “hot sex.”

On Monday, February 27, 2006 3:48 AM, Kojak@aol.com spouts more psychobabble that could only have come from one of her nine therapists:

“That way we can set up some boundaries.”

I’ve got an idea for boundaries – you don’t get to leave your padded cell anymore on holidays.

On Monday, February 27, 2006 3:48 AM, Kojak@aol.com says the stupidest fucking thing in the history of man (yes, she even tops herself from previously in these emails):

“I plan to move back out to LA in the next couple of months once my hair grows out a bit, therefore starting something real is a possibility if you're open to that.”

First of all, I don’t give a fuck what nonsense you spout about shaving your head because beautiful women look beautiful no matter what. That’s fucking bullshit, and you look like dogshit. So does Sinead O’Connor, that bitch from the first Star Trek and every female chemotherapy patient ever. You cut your hair off for the same reason you plan to cut those perfect breasts of yours up with a breast augmentation: because you hate yourself. Bet that’s some shit you never heard at any of your self help groups. You can make all the exterior changes you want and lie to yourself all you want, but when you look in the mirror and when you lie awake at night looking in at yourself, you hate what you see. So I guess to answer your request – no. I’m not open to starting something “real.”

On Wednesday, March 1, 2006 5:27 AM, Kojak@aol.com pads her own ego:

“I am a complete paradox.”

I lost my dictionary. Does paradox mean “retard?”

On Thursday, March 2, 2006 5:59 PM, Kojak@aol.com does that paradox thing again she’s so proud of:

“No one could ever hope for someone who is more honest, open, kind, generous, or loyal as I am... but I'm not going to spend this time talking myself up.”

If you’re not going to spend all that time talking yourself up, then why didn’t you hit the delete button after you typed those pompous lies, dummy?

On Thursday, March 2, 2006 5:59 PM, Kojak@aol.com shows how generous she is:

“If you want to get to know me, I will give you the opportunity.”

If I want AIDS, will you give me the opportunity to catch it from your rancid hatchet wound too?

On Saturday, March 4, 2006 5:27 AM, Kojak@aol.com equivocates:

“I'm seeing a few people right now, but nothing is serious yet (I haven't even slept with any of them).”

I’m sure you haven’t slept with any of them. I always kick whores out of my bed after I’ve fucked them and say, “You ain’t gotta go home but you can’t sleep here.” Though sometimes I mix it up and say, "Don't let the doorknob hit you where the good Lord split you," cause you gots to keep it phresh.

On Sunday, March 5, 2006 12:51 PM, Kojak@aol.com again rapes my privacy:

“It would be nice to have dinner. And maybe afterwards I could crash at your place??”

I bet it would be nice for you to eat a meal I paid for. Almost as nice as it would be to stay the night somewhere for free afterwards. Well, free in the sense that you’d probably feel obligated to offer me some more sex with that wonderfully dry pussy of yours.

On Sunday, March 5, 2006 3:43 PM, Kojak@aol.com again misconstrues my radio silence as a plea for another 100 page email:

“Kums-a-Lot and I… over-analyzed every little thing that was said the night before; and ended up truly believing that you were gay. Which probably wouldn't have happened in the first place if you would have just talked to me or responded to the extremely intimate message that I had left you prior to that.”

The messages you've left me were intimate in the same way that watching a room full of Chicano convicts fist rape my mother would be intimate. I think “shithouse nuts” is a more accurate description of what these messages are. And I love how you justify your ridiculous conclusion that I’m gay with another escape hatch by blaming it on my non-response to you. I haven’t remained silent because I'm angry – I’m not. I don’t love you or hate you; I don’t think about you at all. That’s why I don’t respond. That, and the simple fact that I hoped if I just shut up you’d go away because one thing I do know is this: if you water crazy, it’ll grow. You’re a textbook study in that theory. So figure it out. I’m done with you. Stop sending
me emails. They’re clogging up my inbox and keeping me from giving attention to
important emails like spam for gay chat sites and pills that make your wang bigger. (And fuck you for blatantly misusing that semicolon, most holy of all Crom’s punctuation marks.)

The lesson here's that there are a lot of beautiful women in the naked city, but most of those women have more screws loose than a Soviet satellite. Roadhouse always says, "Crazy pussy is the best pussy." But methinks the lesson here specifically for Roadhouse is that crazy pussy is also the craziest pussy.

The other lesson is for our little ladies in the skindustry. If you're going to get all hopped up on crazy pills, don't let people take naked pictures of your titties. People might make fun of you on the internet. Shitfire, but I love the classics.

* The joke was on Roadhouse - everyone knows Plug won't use condoms.