Ole Quint's a tired soul, mateys. This posting is the direct result of 96 hours of rapid-fire neuron activity, none of which even closely resembled sleep - unless you'd consider the brief moment I zoned out after whacking my prefrontal lobe against Tress' station wagon windshield.
How did I end up banging me noggin' on her windshield, you ask? Well, I felt that the least she could do for an old friend such as meself was to overlook my borrowing of her vehicle for at least a few days worth of my journey to the Keys of West. And so, just like that, I tacked a note to the back of her mother's ass before I left informing Tress of the favor she'd be grantin' me.
At least, I had all intentions of leaving a note, but it may have escaped me memory as my concentration was otherwise engaged at the time - let me just say that her mother has a superb derriere! And now that I think of it, my failure to leave written notification of my plan might explain why Ole Quint ended up in a high speed chase on I-95 in a last-ditch effort to evade the several state troopers that were tailing me, and also why he ended up driving off a particularly steep embankment in the first place! Surely Tress believed her wagon was stolen!
I'm actually quite embarassed that it hadn't actually dawned on me until now why the cops were tailing me! I just made a run for it because, well, given me spotty background, I figured it would be in me best interests to avoid any interactions with the authorities.
But either way, now all ye know what happened to me noggin', and the way I see it, a bump on the skull is a fair trade for avoiding what quite possibly could have been a lenghty prison vacation. And avoid it I did! Ya think the cops in Florida are gonna risk death chasing some drifter like meself down an embankment that's steeper than Gwen Stefani's chest(pre-surgery)? Hell no! I'd wager my vas deferens those lazy bastards didn't even want to catch me. That would mean they'd actually have to get out of their air-conditioned cruisers and work up a sweat!
So as he writes these words, yer ole pal Quint is enjoying a particularly strong libation in a drab establishment located somewhere in a lovely town called Miami. Have you ever heard of such a name before? Ridiculous! I'd personally call it "Titville" because titties are all I've been seeing since I got here, but Governor Bush is something of a coward when it comes to embracing such name changes. My letter to his secretary suggesting that they modify "Tallahassee" to the much more approachable and easier to spell "Watchthatgirlpee" has of yet gone unanswered.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Monday, June 06, 2005
Near Death in Tallahassee
I spent last evening lighting firecrackers in the ass of a young lady who called herself Tress. The sparks caused serious damage to the fleshy cheeks of her milky white buttocks, but she begged Ole Quint to continue. The entire ordeal went on for several hours; I believe her to be a masochist.
After the light spectacle, I bedded Tress on the back lawn of her house. It was a bizarre scene even by my standards, and her family did not seem at all pleased to witness these strange events unfold. Her father attempted to castrate me with a steak knife, which I thought was rude.
All in all I enjoyed myself at Tress' annual family barbecue. Ole Quint was most grateful for having been invited in the first place, though I probably wouldn't have been if Tress hadn't nearly killed me with her car several hours before the party. She was running last minute errands in a vain attempt to sculpt an evening of bliss for her parents, and she was half-blinded by stress and cooking sherry. Fearing she would fail a breathalyzer and be convicted of drunk driving or worse, she begged me not to report the incident, and offered sex in exchange for my silence.
Never being one to take advantage of a woman in distress, and noticing a recently purchased bucket of potato salad in the backseat of Tress' station wagon, I suggested a different solution to our dilemma. A look of horror spread across her face as she imagined how events might unfold at a family party with yours truly as the guest of honor, but a police cruiser passed by shortly after my suggestion and Tress hurriedly motioned for me to get in her car.
We returned to her quaint, one-story house with the charming backyard patio and she spoke of her recent divorce while I helped her retrieve decorative lawn furniture from the shed. Tress' manic behavior irritated me, so I suggested she gobble down a few blue pills that I had bartered my shoes for the previous evening in hopes that they would quell her anxiety.
And just like that, ole Quint created a monster. Her parents showed up around five with their criticism unchecked at the door, expecting a few minor flaws that they could exploit like immigrant landscapers, and what they got was a daughter dancing around the house, half-naked and fully drugged, entertaining what appeared to them to be a middle-aged bum who reeked like a sumo wrestler's taint.
It was Tress' decision to put on the fireworks display with her ass. We had already eaten and several of her family members were growing antsy, asking to play games like charades and pictionary. Tress would have none of it, and insisted on something more exciting.
I was merely her assistant in the debacle...holding the stick as I lit the fuse of the rocket that was perched a mere 3 inches above her backside. Her parents, though useless to stop the insanity of the situation (as everyone learned when her father tried to castrate me and I knuckle-punched him in the solar plexus), refused to leave because they were fearful that the escalating severity of their daughter's antics would result in her demise.
Sometime in the twilight hour I sobered up enough to realize that I was growing bored (and not to mention chaffed) with the repeated sessions of rough intercourse, and the realization that Tress' parents had witnessed the entire night's events had finally struck me as odd. I unlocked Tress' legs from around my neck and spread the massive tree trunks that are my legs to pry her arms apart; then I stood up in all of my naked glory and winked at Tress' mother and father.
The mother fainted - probably in awe of the magnificence of my genitalia - and surprisingly enough the father issued a subtle, but mischievious grin. Though Quint has sailed the rough waters for most of his life, often sacrificing female companionship for several months at a time, he has never been one to resort to the affections of a man, and a quick shake of the head made that clear to the old man, who promptly bowed his head in tears.
I gathered the few articles of clothing I had that were strewn about the patio like evidence at a crime scene and slipped around the front of the house to make a swift and necessary departure, pleased to leave behind the mingled aroma of burnt ass, sex, and cold burgers. I have to say that even though Tress is a woman, she paid her dues like a man.
After the light spectacle, I bedded Tress on the back lawn of her house. It was a bizarre scene even by my standards, and her family did not seem at all pleased to witness these strange events unfold. Her father attempted to castrate me with a steak knife, which I thought was rude.
All in all I enjoyed myself at Tress' annual family barbecue. Ole Quint was most grateful for having been invited in the first place, though I probably wouldn't have been if Tress hadn't nearly killed me with her car several hours before the party. She was running last minute errands in a vain attempt to sculpt an evening of bliss for her parents, and she was half-blinded by stress and cooking sherry. Fearing she would fail a breathalyzer and be convicted of drunk driving or worse, she begged me not to report the incident, and offered sex in exchange for my silence.
Never being one to take advantage of a woman in distress, and noticing a recently purchased bucket of potato salad in the backseat of Tress' station wagon, I suggested a different solution to our dilemma. A look of horror spread across her face as she imagined how events might unfold at a family party with yours truly as the guest of honor, but a police cruiser passed by shortly after my suggestion and Tress hurriedly motioned for me to get in her car.
We returned to her quaint, one-story house with the charming backyard patio and she spoke of her recent divorce while I helped her retrieve decorative lawn furniture from the shed. Tress' manic behavior irritated me, so I suggested she gobble down a few blue pills that I had bartered my shoes for the previous evening in hopes that they would quell her anxiety.
And just like that, ole Quint created a monster. Her parents showed up around five with their criticism unchecked at the door, expecting a few minor flaws that they could exploit like immigrant landscapers, and what they got was a daughter dancing around the house, half-naked and fully drugged, entertaining what appeared to them to be a middle-aged bum who reeked like a sumo wrestler's taint.
It was Tress' decision to put on the fireworks display with her ass. We had already eaten and several of her family members were growing antsy, asking to play games like charades and pictionary. Tress would have none of it, and insisted on something more exciting.
I was merely her assistant in the debacle...holding the stick as I lit the fuse of the rocket that was perched a mere 3 inches above her backside. Her parents, though useless to stop the insanity of the situation (as everyone learned when her father tried to castrate me and I knuckle-punched him in the solar plexus), refused to leave because they were fearful that the escalating severity of their daughter's antics would result in her demise.
Sometime in the twilight hour I sobered up enough to realize that I was growing bored (and not to mention chaffed) with the repeated sessions of rough intercourse, and the realization that Tress' parents had witnessed the entire night's events had finally struck me as odd. I unlocked Tress' legs from around my neck and spread the massive tree trunks that are my legs to pry her arms apart; then I stood up in all of my naked glory and winked at Tress' mother and father.
The mother fainted - probably in awe of the magnificence of my genitalia - and surprisingly enough the father issued a subtle, but mischievious grin. Though Quint has sailed the rough waters for most of his life, often sacrificing female companionship for several months at a time, he has never been one to resort to the affections of a man, and a quick shake of the head made that clear to the old man, who promptly bowed his head in tears.
I gathered the few articles of clothing I had that were strewn about the patio like evidence at a crime scene and slipped around the front of the house to make a swift and necessary departure, pleased to leave behind the mingled aroma of burnt ass, sex, and cold burgers. I have to say that even though Tress is a woman, she paid her dues like a man.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Truckin'
Tis me, lovelies! Ole Quint has returned to ye. And despite your worries for the safety of yours truly, I can assure you that they are completely unwarranted. Sure my skin is soft and pleasing to the eye, but I assure you it possesses the fortitude of Achilles' ballbag!
Allow me to bring you up to speed since me last entry...
After spending about a week in the vice-like grip of a particularly strong sheet of LSD, I commandeered a 14-year-old boy's bicycle as he delivered newspapers on the streets of West Virginy. Then I headed South, continuing on my path of enlightenment with my eyes staring in the direction of my ultimate destination...the docks of the lovely Key West. I set off about two weeks ago and presently I stand just shy of the border between Georgia and Florida.
The weather is hot and I reek like the greenish yellow liquid that rises in between the plastic trash bags in the backs of waste collecting vehicles before spilling onto the sun-beaten asphalt during the humid summer days. I'm sure you've smelled it. Surprisingly, it doesn't taste half bad. It's quite deceiving.
Before you judge me, why don't you tell me how one should survive when travelling several hundred miles on his own with no money and very little possessions. I tried eating grass! Sure it looks pretty, but it's not that appetizing! Come to think of it...it's not unlike a Mexican prostitute.
Allow me to bring you up to speed since me last entry...
After spending about a week in the vice-like grip of a particularly strong sheet of LSD, I commandeered a 14-year-old boy's bicycle as he delivered newspapers on the streets of West Virginy. Then I headed South, continuing on my path of enlightenment with my eyes staring in the direction of my ultimate destination...the docks of the lovely Key West. I set off about two weeks ago and presently I stand just shy of the border between Georgia and Florida.
The weather is hot and I reek like the greenish yellow liquid that rises in between the plastic trash bags in the backs of waste collecting vehicles before spilling onto the sun-beaten asphalt during the humid summer days. I'm sure you've smelled it. Surprisingly, it doesn't taste half bad. It's quite deceiving.
Before you judge me, why don't you tell me how one should survive when travelling several hundred miles on his own with no money and very little possessions. I tried eating grass! Sure it looks pretty, but it's not that appetizing! Come to think of it...it's not unlike a Mexican prostitute.
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