Wow... okay, I wasn't sure if I was ever going to tell anyone about this, but it's late and I'm sleep deprived so i guess I'll just write it now and regret it in the morning :/
First of all, - just for some background: My mom died right when I was born, (she was actually really, really hot- but this isn't about her. I guess that's messed up to say, but whatever.) I actually grew up with my dad's family, because my dad has all sorts of emotional issues and he bailed before I was born. So you can see, my childhood was really kind of messed up.
Anyways, growing up I feel like there was always a lot of distance between me and my sister. When I was about 17 or 18 I first noticed that my sister was a hottie.
I don't want to go into to many details about it, but basically what happened is that I accidentally found a video that she made of herself. I knew she didn't make it for me- but I thought she was so fucking beautiful that I watched it twice. (probably would have watched it a hell of a lot more, except that like right around the time I found the video, all this crazy shit went down and I had to leave home. (My dad's family who I was staying with got in bad trouble with the law. I never talk about it).
Sooo... I was totally lusting after my sister at that point. She was also having bad trouble with the law. She was actually in custody when I left home.
My friend and I went to go pick her up. When I saw her that day, after seeing the video, I have to be honest, I just wanted to screw her brains out. Looking back on it now, it's pretty messed up- but I think she had feelings for me too. She actually kissed me right after we came to get her... and it wasn't a sisterly kiss, you know? I mean, it wasn't like ridiculously sexual or anything, but it definitely wasn't sisterly.
After we left, we all went to crash with my Sister's friends. On the trip there, my friend sort of implied that he wanted to get with my Sister, and I got a little jealous. He's a good looking guy- and even though she was my sister- I just felt like he was competition. Not much else happened between us for a while except some maybe-sexy hugging.
Pretty much everyone in my life at that point was wanted by the government, so we all moved around a lot. I'm not saying that I'm proud of it or anything, but it was kind of an awesome time.
My friend and my sister never hooked up I don't think- but I thought there was some serious sexual tension going on between them. It was around that time that I got really badly hurt in an accident. It was messed up. I almost died. But when I was in recovery my sister came to see me, and out of the clear blue sky she started gives me this awesome, slow, passionate kiss on the lips.
Sadly (although, I guess for the best) nothing ever came of it. We spent some time apart... and I started to get really religious, so I tried not to think of her that way. It was actually going well for a long time- like I was totally over her. But I have to say, like a year or so after all that stuff went down, we were out sailing (not like a date or anything romantic like that), and she was wearing like the hottest bikini I've EVER seen and it brought back all the old feelings. Sigh.
A little while later she actually wound up with my friend from before (the sexual tension guy). I can't say I was surprised.
But even after she was shacking up with my friend, there was one time we were at a party... my friend was inside, and my sister and I were outside alone. It was a really intimate moment. I think something might have happened, except that I killed the mood when I told her that Darth Vader was our father and that I had to go face him.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Where have I been?
Man, I don't know what got into me -- maybe it's Facebook, maybe it's laziness, but Uncle Damien has let his little blog go to absolute shit. Kinda like my garden. I don't really want to compare it to my garden, but it's an apt comparison.
Which also leads me to believe that I have no readers. I'm going to have to fix that. Whatever. UNCLE DAMIEN IS BACK!!
At any rate, real quickly: It's great to have a blog to go backwards in time to see that I called the fact that Obama was going to suck donkey balls for a while (not because he's black, he's a NOOB!). Maybe he'll get better, maybe he won't, but I think that I could've done a better job than him so far.
Two words: Motherfucking Afghanistan.
Which also leads me to believe that I have no readers. I'm going to have to fix that. Whatever. UNCLE DAMIEN IS BACK!!
At any rate, real quickly: It's great to have a blog to go backwards in time to see that I called the fact that Obama was going to suck donkey balls for a while (not because he's black, he's a NOOB!). Maybe he'll get better, maybe he won't, but I think that I could've done a better job than him so far.
Two words: Motherfucking Afghanistan.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Been Out of The Loop
What's up bitches? Uncle Damien has been lazy and not blogged in a while. So sue me, I reckon. Let's bring everyone up to date:
- Broke my big toe a few weeks ago, still hasn't healed all the way and I don't know if it's healing right or not
- We have a new president. He's black. That's supposed to be a good thing, but I don't think he's going to be a good president. Not because he's black, but because he's a noob. So was JFK, so I'll withold judgement.
- Went to Mexico. Before we got a new president, but after I broke my toe. Tried to rebreak my toe in the hot tub. Had to get a 'toe truck' to take me around...nah, forget it. Horrible joke.
- Made a very beautiful natural birdie on a par 3 the other day. Great 7 iron shot onto the green, then sank a 35 foot putt to drop it in for the bird. I immediately celebrated by getting too wasted to finish the round of golf in a satisfactory manner. Why do I mention this? Because it's important to ME, dammit!
And I think that's about it. Take a moment to hug a veteran. If you're a hot chick, take a moment to make out with a veteran or even to offer a veteran oral sex. Especially if you're a hot chick and the veteran is a hot chick, too.
RB
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
We Will Not Forget
At about this time of year, I start feeling meloncholy. I could go on and on about it, but I don't. Amanda knows full well how often this sits on my mind, and how I flog myself about it. Classic case of narcissim: I was too busy looking after my own interests at the time. I realize, on a logical level, that there was nothing my involvement, or further lack thereof, could've done to prevent the below, but yet, I find myself rationalizing through the 'what-if's', and I can count them over and over. And over again. I'm so sorry. I miss ya, bud.
McDOWELL, ROBERT "MATTHEW,"29, of Holiday, died Friday (Oct. 24, 2003) in Holiday. He moved to Oldsmar in 1988 from his native Wilmington, Del., then moved to Holiday. He attended Tarpon Springs High School and was employed by Talk America in Palm Harbor. Survivors include his mother, one sister, two brothers, four nephews and one niece. Foulk Funeral Home, West Grove, Pa.
I'm still grieving. I'll crack an Amber Bock open later this month, and you and I will have a chat. Love ya -- we will not forget.
Damien
McDOWELL, ROBERT "MATTHEW,"29, of Holiday, died Friday (Oct. 24, 2003) in Holiday. He moved to Oldsmar in 1988 from his native Wilmington, Del., then moved to Holiday. He attended Tarpon Springs High School and was employed by Talk America in Palm Harbor. Survivors include his mother, one sister, two brothers, four nephews and one niece. Foulk Funeral Home, West Grove, Pa.
I'm still grieving. I'll crack an Amber Bock open later this month, and you and I will have a chat. Love ya -- we will not forget.
Damien
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Good Job, Louisiana!
You know, in the most recent course of events, there are many things I could talk about:
- McCain and his GILF VP pick (roar!)
- Hottie McGilferson (wow!)
- Vice President Hot-a-licious
As you can see, there are several valid subjects that I'd like to blog about, but instead of being cynical or a lusting, sinful dog (in the best sense of the word), I'm going to give a compliment.
God bless you, Ray Nagin. You got it right. So did you Louisiana, so did you, FEMA.
After the last cycle of finger-pointing and laying the blame at everyone else's feet. Ya'll finally got it right.
Nagin: You kept abreast of the storm, alerted the city and still ordered an evacuation with plenty of time for everyone to get out (I-10 was a zoo, but whaddayagonnado?), set up a functional Emergency Operations Center, and only recently invited citizens back to the city with fair warning that repairing the power grid would take weeks to be completed.
Negroponte: You told local authorities what you had, where it was at, how long it would take to get there, and ensured you were ready to deliver everything promised, and more. Except for ice. That kind of sucks, but whaddayagonnado?
Bush: You immediately declared a state of emergency in about 18 Parrishes. I don't know how you could've messed this one up (though in your defense, that should really be your only job, so whaddayagonnado?).
Good job, everyone. I'm glad to know that your fair cities survived. There's some rebuilding left to do, sure, but at least ya'll had your act together.
See what you can do when you all work together?
RB
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
An Open Letter...
Dear Friend,
As you know, I have absolutely no shame in taking a poop at work. I figure I'm going to stink some place up, and it might as well be a public restroom -- especially at the office. It's clean, modern, and because there are plenty of stalls, it's virtually anonymous.
And that's where you come in, generous pooper. I ensured I sat in the familiar comforts of my end stall, which is a respite sometimes, especially during the days I can't seem to get anything done. I chose that stall for one specific reason: It's all the way on the end.
So imagine my confusion when you interrupted my poop reverie and sat down in the stall immediately next to mine. True, it's a free country, and I realize it's a public restroom, but didn't you have to walk past 6 other empty stalls to pick the one right next to me? Were any of those unappealing?
At any rate, I suppose there are worse things: When I was in the Army, for example, there were several times when I sat on a toilet next to another toilet with no stall. At least in that scenario we could share the newspaper, but I digress.
As if your continued presence coupled with the knowledge of what you were doing weren't enough, my dear Prince of Poop, you decide that that very instant is an appropriate time to conduct a launch test for NASA. With you as the test vehicle.
I mean seriously, did you have a seat belt fastened prior to unleashing 36 millions tons per square inch of pressure? There at least had to have been an inner voice telling you to put your hands and arms SOMEWHERE to keep from getting them ripped the fuck off when you go flying out of your stall like an errant Iranian missle due to the sheer energy being released from your stinking ass. I thought the frickin' stall was going to explode onto me (really, it would be an IMPLOSION from my point of view, but whatever...) and I'm sure the people on the first floor were a little perturbed when the lights started to vibrate from the pressure.
And the worst part of it is, I still had a little bit left to go. I was working on it. Coaxing it. Visualizing the last little piece of turd gently hitting the water, finding its way to a new residence. Just as I was about to be rewarded for my efforts, your earth-shattering dookie explosion broke my concentration. After one or two more pushes and grunts (in vain, I might add, since the last of my turtle head retreated in frightened desperation to the depths of my bowel), I begin to clean up.
And that, oh gentle Dauphin of Defecation, is when you finally put the finishing touches on my retreat. At first I was alarmed by the sound: A sound of a 320 pound man trying to clean and jerk a fucking 18-wheeler. A huffing and puffing so fierce and intense the big bad wolf had to retire. A breathing so heavy it sounded like you were giving birth to a 20 pound baby through your ass. And you were constipated at the time.
I seriously thought you were masturbating, BUT:
When I exited my stall, the absolute stench of your fecal fiasco greeted me like a 10 ton heavy....thing. A big, noxious, green, evil, oppressive, 10 ton THING that punched me in the nostrils and invited me to the floor. A smell of liverwurst, onions, chitterlings, and dog shit all rolled up, deep fried, and rendered into its base component of the nasty shit that lives in your ass!
As you can see, my experience has been less than pleasant. I can understand someone needing to excorsize the evil Bud Lite demons, but did you really have to sit next to me?!
So, in conclusion, Caruso of Crappers, I would respectfully request you keep your nuclear ambitions in a stall that doesn't sit adjacent to mine. Really, I would request you keep that shit to yourself while you're here, entirely, but then you might explode and take out other people.
Also, if you're going to request toilet paper after a cropdusting like the one you did, don't stick your hand under the stall. That's just creepy.
Sincerely yours,
Anonymous Work-Pooper
PS -- I just ate a WHOLE Publix sub with extra peppers and onions. I'll be leaving that waste in stall #8 tomorrow, so be forewarned that I'm prepared to fight....
As you know, I have absolutely no shame in taking a poop at work. I figure I'm going to stink some place up, and it might as well be a public restroom -- especially at the office. It's clean, modern, and because there are plenty of stalls, it's virtually anonymous.
And that's where you come in, generous pooper. I ensured I sat in the familiar comforts of my end stall, which is a respite sometimes, especially during the days I can't seem to get anything done. I chose that stall for one specific reason: It's all the way on the end.
So imagine my confusion when you interrupted my poop reverie and sat down in the stall immediately next to mine. True, it's a free country, and I realize it's a public restroom, but didn't you have to walk past 6 other empty stalls to pick the one right next to me? Were any of those unappealing?
At any rate, I suppose there are worse things: When I was in the Army, for example, there were several times when I sat on a toilet next to another toilet with no stall. At least in that scenario we could share the newspaper, but I digress.
As if your continued presence coupled with the knowledge of what you were doing weren't enough, my dear Prince of Poop, you decide that that very instant is an appropriate time to conduct a launch test for NASA. With you as the test vehicle.
I mean seriously, did you have a seat belt fastened prior to unleashing 36 millions tons per square inch of pressure? There at least had to have been an inner voice telling you to put your hands and arms SOMEWHERE to keep from getting them ripped the fuck off when you go flying out of your stall like an errant Iranian missle due to the sheer energy being released from your stinking ass. I thought the frickin' stall was going to explode onto me (really, it would be an IMPLOSION from my point of view, but whatever...) and I'm sure the people on the first floor were a little perturbed when the lights started to vibrate from the pressure.
And the worst part of it is, I still had a little bit left to go. I was working on it. Coaxing it. Visualizing the last little piece of turd gently hitting the water, finding its way to a new residence. Just as I was about to be rewarded for my efforts, your earth-shattering dookie explosion broke my concentration. After one or two more pushes and grunts (in vain, I might add, since the last of my turtle head retreated in frightened desperation to the depths of my bowel), I begin to clean up.
And that, oh gentle Dauphin of Defecation, is when you finally put the finishing touches on my retreat. At first I was alarmed by the sound: A sound of a 320 pound man trying to clean and jerk a fucking 18-wheeler. A huffing and puffing so fierce and intense the big bad wolf had to retire. A breathing so heavy it sounded like you were giving birth to a 20 pound baby through your ass. And you were constipated at the time.
I seriously thought you were masturbating, BUT:
When I exited my stall, the absolute stench of your fecal fiasco greeted me like a 10 ton heavy....thing. A big, noxious, green, evil, oppressive, 10 ton THING that punched me in the nostrils and invited me to the floor. A smell of liverwurst, onions, chitterlings, and dog shit all rolled up, deep fried, and rendered into its base component of the nasty shit that lives in your ass!
As you can see, my experience has been less than pleasant. I can understand someone needing to excorsize the evil Bud Lite demons, but did you really have to sit next to me?!
So, in conclusion, Caruso of Crappers, I would respectfully request you keep your nuclear ambitions in a stall that doesn't sit adjacent to mine. Really, I would request you keep that shit to yourself while you're here, entirely, but then you might explode and take out other people.
Also, if you're going to request toilet paper after a cropdusting like the one you did, don't stick your hand under the stall. That's just creepy.
Sincerely yours,
Anonymous Work-Pooper
PS -- I just ate a WHOLE Publix sub with extra peppers and onions. I'll be leaving that waste in stall #8 tomorrow, so be forewarned that I'm prepared to fight....
Friday, July 18, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)