5.17.1997

It’s three in the morning and my cock stinks.

I fucked Jennifer this afternoon before work, but I ate her out first. Man, her pussy was extra putrid smelling today. As I was going down on her I spotted some dandruff in her fur. Fucking revolting. I’m amazed I didn’t gag. I don’t like going down on Jennifer because she never really cleans herself all that great, and she tastes damn bad. Always has. There’s this local greasy spoon diner called Ingram’s Chili Bowl, and Jennifer’s snatch tastes like Ingram’s chili smells. That’s why I can never eat their chili. Makes me want to puke every time that scent hits my nose hairs. It’s okay though, I always order the same thing without chili, two scrambled eggs with hash browns and a hamburger patty fried to perfection. I wash it all down with Miller Genuine Draft in bottles.

Work was junk. Nobody was there except for me and this new guy. He’s Vietnamese and no fooling his name is Dung. I can’t hardly understand a damn thing he says to me because his English is really poor. So it’s like playing charades trying to figure out what he’s getting at. He got hired in as a technician and they put him in my area on swingshift. I don’t know what to think about this, yet.

I haven’t moved the Oldsmobile over here from my parent’s garage. Dad’s gonna kill me. Oh well, he will probably be dead soon enough anyway and then it won’t matter.

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~ by factorypeasant on June 4, 2005.

One Response to “5.17.1997”

  1. puss? Is that how you call the nooners? Sounds tasty. Chili is a fave

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