The writings of Oddpoet » irreverant

~Adult~Reaming the Rectal Roadway

Eddie Mount — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 11:18:21 +0000

So I am in this Motel room and I have my Johnson poised to enter this chick’s ass. She says “I never engaged in this kind of thing before.” Well, I tell her, “nether have I.”

I use to operate under the assumption that Women were a gift of Aphrodite. An altar where I worshiped, a magical interlude, a punctuation of real, in an otherwise boring life, that was before…

I’m getting ahead of myself…

So I’ve been fucking this bitch for about two hours and I’m feeling good about myself, kind of like Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Corral and the bitch is one the Clanton’s. So I’m pounding away, my gun is primed; being a musician I’m pounding a whole slew of rhythms in that pussy. I am a jazzed ass cocksmith, I’m giving her long strokes, short strokes, varying rhythms, I am Thelonious Monk and the bitch is my keys.

All of a sudden she can not breathe, well, not my problem; she wanted to fuck, right?
And I realize my cock is a potential instrument of death and I play the scenario out.

“What happened here?”
“Officer we were fucking and she died.”
“You trying to say you fucked her to death?”
“I guess so Officer.”
“My MAN!”

High fives…

Of course I stopped. Why?

The story demands our attention…

Five hours earlier…

I knocked on her door, first looking left, then right, a paranoid thing. I have never been comfortable going into another man’s house for the purpose of fucking his old lady. I don’t respect myself, in fact I hate me, but pussy is pussy and my old lady is useless.

I wonder if the same scene is playing out at my crib, some Mandingo mother fucker who’s got my worthless wife slammed against the wall, and she’s repeating verbatim what’s going through my head. Shit! She’s not a Poet; fuck her and her Mandingo boy.

She answered. Her smile was predatory, she looked like she wanted more than I could ever give, anyone could give. She looked that hungry.

Her eighteen year old boy is on the couch eating a hot pocket, watching Nickelodeon and eyeing me. Now he has no dog in this fight his biological Dad is on his third ex-wife and his Mom is fucking me at the moment. His step Dad is in South Carolina at the loving suggestion of his never faithful wife.

Our eyes meet. I can’t read him…odd…
She grabs my hand,
“Let’s go in the bedroom.”

I look at the bitch like she has two heads. Her room is right behind the wall where the TV is playing Scooby Doo. And the thought of Scooby saying Rut Roo and Her Mom screaming Fuck me Jesus…Fuck me… Is even too much for scum like me to bear.
Besides don’t need her kid calling me Jesus.

She is insistent! Won’t let up. I know her kid hears her pleas, her need. I’m making a joke out of the whole thing. It’s like a fucking Kafka novel, here I am trying to protect her and her kid and she wants to kick my ass because I won’t fuck her with her kid in the house.

“I’m outta here.”
I walk to the door.
She follows me, grabs me and pushes me against the wall.
Now I’m not a big dude, I’m a bad mother fucker but I’m not big and I let her manhandle me.
I’m thinking about the kid…her…

I look at her and then her kid munching on a hot pocket pretending…the world is… Rut Roo…

She is a tangle of needs and wants…
I knew at that moment I could never be the answer to that thing that burned in her, her eyes…

“We’ll get a room”

I should have run away and never came back, but… pussy is pussy and I have not had any in a while, being married and all that…

So…

The middle was the beginning and the beginning is now…

I’m looking at her ass like Columbus looking at the new world. She never been ass fucked and I … what the fuck… My cock was sucked into her ass, it was like Lassie running into the arms of little Timmy, home sweet home.

It was a violent ass fuck, I slammed that mother Fucker and she bucked, lord did she buck. I was angry, I was fucking her lies, her Son, her husband, but most of all me. I should know better…

She shivered and shook and collapsed on the bed. I was amazed a woman could cum being ass fucked. She reached behind towards me and grasped my hand. I pulled away and ran to the bathroom. I started vomiting and wiping the brown sin off my dick. I knew it would never be clean again. No matter how long or how hard I scrubbed.

“You okay Babe?”

I couldn’t answer.

Another failed suicide attempt

Eddie Mount — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 18:31:49 +0000

My brothers hear the crash and break the door down… Absurdly, I mentally curse Home Depot and their cheap fucking doors. So there I am with a belt around my neck and the entire drop ceiling strewed about the room. I fucking hate failed suicide attempts. I mean what can you say, “Whoops?” It’s like getting caught by your future ex-wife with your sweat pants draped about your ankles waxing your carrot to the Fredrick’s of Hollywood web site. That has happened to you, right? Please say yes.

I briefly wonder how woman masturbate. Probably with environmentally friendly solar powered dildos. I hate Women.

So my older Bro says, “Dickweed, stick with drinking yourself to death, suits your style.” Gotta love my Brother.

So I decide to go outside, which is a feat in itself because I haven’t left my room in about three months. I find most people boring — I really hate rubbing elbows with the fuckers. I leave the belt around my neck; I figure maybe I can pass it off as some kind of new sartorial style.

I see the mailman and I was going to tell him to stop delivering me mail, I don’t open the fuckers– what’s the point. But, I figured he worked for the Post Office and therefore was in his own private hell.

So I make it to the overpass, beneath me is the New Jersey Turnpike. I read somewhere; it was one of the most traveled roads in the US. I watched the social insects whiz by. I dig the sound. The World is full of songs; you just have to know how to listen.

I notice the inward curving fence and it pisses me off. (I’m always pissed) I mean it’s not like I can’t get some C4 and blow a whole in the sucker.

I know they are trying to stop jumpers. Not because they care about human life, they don’t want you fucking with traffic. I once saw a jumper splattered like sea gull shit on the asphalt. People were getting out of their cars and kicking the dead fucker saying shit like:

“I got a massage in 30 minutes I’m late because of you dead shit”

“I have a two hour window to cheat on my husband and fuck Ted the insurance man”

And my personal favorite:

“Someone scrape this dead fucker off the road”

So I mosey down to the local Dot Head store. What’s his name is at the counter. Cool dude but he has far too many consonants in his name. Hence “What’s his name?” Now, he has this pet Anaconda who he loves, so I ask him if he has any new pictures and his eyes light up and says: “I’ll be right back.” He runs to the back room and I run to chest freezer whereupon I start stuffing frozen Ice cream sandwiches down by pants and in my pockets. I love stealing shit and I love Ice cream sandwiches.

So he comes back and starts showing me the pictures of his pet snake and in the meantime my balls are freezing from the frozen Ice Cream sandwiches stuffed in there and let’s face it, who needs frozen balls.

I give him a fake smile and I split and start eating my plunder. Oh yea, then I went home.

A Conversation with God

Eddie Mount — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 12:12:52 +0000

“To be or not to be” Any of you dudes out here truly know what question the Bard asks?
Well, not many people think about mortality. Don’t blame them.
Back to “The Bard” six words that defines the nature or essence of our existence.

I am the only jerk off, I think, who will call God a Dickweed! Just did it, not smited yet, (guess that comes later)

Anyway, I go to Heaven, and there is God, drooling and snoring on his recliner, remote on the floor, a Hustler mag on his lap.

So I wake the fucker up.

“God, wake the fuck up, your “Creation” is in dire need of your omnipotent services.”

Well, the fuck snores away, well on the 7th day he rested. I did not take that to mean a fucking permanent vacation. I am forced to slap his fucking noggin!

Well, I did and he finally wakes up, thunder, lightning the whole show!

The Archangels have blades drawn on my throat and even those faggot Cherubs are biting my ass. Cause I pissed him off.

“Poet”, he says, as he wipes the droll from his lips, “did I not kill you? Or, at the very least, it has to be on my things to do list.”

Well, that did not give me a warm and fuzzy.

“God, Ultimate Dude of Dudes, A little help is needed on earth.”

“Poet! Asshole, The only reason you exist is because you are a funny fuck!
Don’t push it BABE!” “And, being omnipotent, I bequeathed, free will upon ye. Which, ultimately means…You’re on your own.”

“God! Alpha and Omega, hear me out Dude. I understand the free will concept; but, maybe some guidance, a miracle here and there.”

“It’s a miracle you are still alive!”

“I know God, Emperor of all Creation, I am an asshole, freely given. But how bout some miracles! Maybe cure every child suffering from cancer under… say 12?”

Must have struck a chord, because I could see his Divinity thinking.

I took the time to surreptitiously kick one of those faggot biting Cherubs in the groin. I swear if God was not there I would have kicked all those little fuck’s asses

“Poet, I see your point. But I hesitate to interfere with Humanity. Free Will I have ordained”

“I dig it, Big Chief of the Universe, But Satan’s running rampant on earth, war, disease, famine and Republicans have been running the show!”

“REPUBLICANS!!!!!!” I could see the big guy was upset; however, he continued.

“I see your plight Poet, but free will rules the day. I can not interfere and that is final!”

“God, head honcho, think I can get in to see JC?”

“Poet, you are very close to being dead! get out of here. You are not coming here anyway!” “Nor can you expect an invitation in the future.”

Seeing that I was outnumbered, and the fact that he was right.…and.…. God did not give a fuck. I was ushered, not too kindly, I might add, from Heaven, And Poof I am here.

Gee, aren’t you lucky. Well, thinking of a way I can crucify myself. Got the wood, know I can nail my left hand to the cross, the problem is having, said, left hand nailed, I am unable to nail my right hand to the cross! Which requires me to plea for help!

Ring.….…..

“Hello” “Ehhh.….Don, I need a hand.“
“Poet…watts up, Dude!”
“Don, I need a hand.”

“What?“
“I am trying to crucify myself and I need a hand.”

“Christ, Poet are you into one of your to be or not to be moods?” “Fuck you!” Click.….

dial tone…

Well.…That IS the question

Conversation with God

Eddie Mount — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 23:32:52 +0000

“To be or not to be” Any of you Dudes out here truly know what question the Bard asks?
Well, not many people think about mortality. Don’t blame them.
Back to “The Bard” six words that defines the nature or essence of our existence.