Time for another episode of Fast Fiction Friday. This one is kinda wrong, sorry. My apologies to JJ from www.purgatorian.blogspot.com, who invented FFF and is a genius in the fields of blogging and alliteration. This week, the participants have to tell a story beginning with "You thought I forgot, didn't you? The quote is open, so we can add to it if so inclined.
The Great Rebate Revenge of 2001
"You thought I forgot, didn't you?" I said to Jenna Bush as I pulled a sixer of her favorite beer, Pabst Blue Ribbon, out of a paper sack.
"Oh, Frank, you're the best," she squealed.
Jenna's fraternal twin sister, Barbara, gave me the withering stare made famous by her matriarchal namesake.
"Don't worry, I remembered you, too," I said and handed Barbara a half-gallon jug of Blueberry Blast Mad Dog 20/20.
I then stood back and admired the awe-inspiring and almost inexplicable sight of the "First Twins", Jenna and Barbara Bush, daughters of the fraudulently elected leader of the free world, licking caramel sauce off each other, becoming an incestuous, lesbianic human sundae. They then took turns smacking one another across the face with the business end of a 12-inch rubber dildo. That's when the Secret Service broke down the door of our hotel.
How did this happen to me? How did I, a humble bartender from Evansville, Indiana, score a three-way with the president's then-nineteen-year-old daughters? It all started a few days prior, on an oppressive summer afternoon in August, 2001, when I opened my mailbox and discovered a tax rebate check for $300. I won't discuss my political views in detail, but I decided to express my distaste for the president's domestic policies by punishing him the only way I knew how: By grudge-fucking the fruits of his loins.
Less than forty-eight hours later I was in Houston with a gross of condoms and a list of bars frequented by the Bush twins. As luck would have it, they were in the second place on my list, a seedy frat bar called Tequilla River. The bar was semi-crowded but the girls were easy to spot because everyone gave them space. No one had the guts to approach them except me. I walked up to them like I owned the place, introduced myself, bathed them in the soothing wash of my abundant charms, and drowned them in Long Island Teas.
Three hours later I was in a hotel room having sex with Jenna Bush doggie-style. As I fucked her I made it a point to pepper my bedroom talk with left wing slogans, such as "Do you like it rough? ABORTION ON DEMAND!" and "Oh, god, I'm coming. SAVE THE WHALES!" Oddly, this turned them on even more, so Barbara, who liked to be on top and rode me like an untamed mustang, got "That's the spot. SUPPLY-SIDE ECONOMICS IS A SHAM THAT REWARDS THE RICH AND PUNISHES THE POOR!"
After that first round of sex, I filmed Barbara, wearing only a mask meant to resemble her own father and a glow-in-the-dark strap on, as she plowed Jenna, who was wearing an Al Gore mask. Not only was this sweet revenge for the 2000 election, it made me hornier than R. Kelly at a Middle School.
Alas, when the Secret Service made their uninvited entrance, that precious tape, along with about two hundred polaroids, was confiscated. I had thought I was being followed on my way back from the liquor store, but I dismissed it as paranoia. I've never since dismissed anything as paranoia.
They could have arrested me for supplying minors with alcohol, but since the sex was consensual the White House didn't want any publicity. The Secret Service was going to shoot me in the face and bury me under the Lincoln Memorial, but the twins talked them out of it. Instead, I get audited by the IRS every year. Each and every April 15th they rain their vengence down on me. I wept like a baby when Bush was reelected, and it had nothing to do with the war in Iraq and everything to do with being the only bartender on earth expected to report all of his tips.
Yes, but was it worth it? No. No it wasn't. The IRS sucks.
The Great Rebate Revenge of 2001
"You thought I forgot, didn't you?" I said to Jenna Bush as I pulled a sixer of her favorite beer, Pabst Blue Ribbon, out of a paper sack.
"Oh, Frank, you're the best," she squealed.
Jenna's fraternal twin sister, Barbara, gave me the withering stare made famous by her matriarchal namesake.
"Don't worry, I remembered you, too," I said and handed Barbara a half-gallon jug of Blueberry Blast Mad Dog 20/20.
I then stood back and admired the awe-inspiring and almost inexplicable sight of the "First Twins", Jenna and Barbara Bush, daughters of the fraudulently elected leader of the free world, licking caramel sauce off each other, becoming an incestuous, lesbianic human sundae. They then took turns smacking one another across the face with the business end of a 12-inch rubber dildo. That's when the Secret Service broke down the door of our hotel.
How did this happen to me? How did I, a humble bartender from Evansville, Indiana, score a three-way with the president's then-nineteen-year-old daughters? It all started a few days prior, on an oppressive summer afternoon in August, 2001, when I opened my mailbox and discovered a tax rebate check for $300. I won't discuss my political views in detail, but I decided to express my distaste for the president's domestic policies by punishing him the only way I knew how: By grudge-fucking the fruits of his loins.
Less than forty-eight hours later I was in Houston with a gross of condoms and a list of bars frequented by the Bush twins. As luck would have it, they were in the second place on my list, a seedy frat bar called Tequilla River. The bar was semi-crowded but the girls were easy to spot because everyone gave them space. No one had the guts to approach them except me. I walked up to them like I owned the place, introduced myself, bathed them in the soothing wash of my abundant charms, and drowned them in Long Island Teas.
Three hours later I was in a hotel room having sex with Jenna Bush doggie-style. As I fucked her I made it a point to pepper my bedroom talk with left wing slogans, such as "Do you like it rough? ABORTION ON DEMAND!" and "Oh, god, I'm coming. SAVE THE WHALES!" Oddly, this turned them on even more, so Barbara, who liked to be on top and rode me like an untamed mustang, got "That's the spot. SUPPLY-SIDE ECONOMICS IS A SHAM THAT REWARDS THE RICH AND PUNISHES THE POOR!"
After that first round of sex, I filmed Barbara, wearing only a mask meant to resemble her own father and a glow-in-the-dark strap on, as she plowed Jenna, who was wearing an Al Gore mask. Not only was this sweet revenge for the 2000 election, it made me hornier than R. Kelly at a Middle School.
Alas, when the Secret Service made their uninvited entrance, that precious tape, along with about two hundred polaroids, was confiscated. I had thought I was being followed on my way back from the liquor store, but I dismissed it as paranoia. I've never since dismissed anything as paranoia.
They could have arrested me for supplying minors with alcohol, but since the sex was consensual the White House didn't want any publicity. The Secret Service was going to shoot me in the face and bury me under the Lincoln Memorial, but the twins talked them out of it. Instead, I get audited by the IRS every year. Each and every April 15th they rain their vengence down on me. I wept like a baby when Bush was reelected, and it had nothing to do with the war in Iraq and everything to do with being the only bartender on earth expected to report all of his tips.
Yes, but was it worth it? No. No it wasn't. The IRS sucks.
6 Comments:
Todd is godd.
Hilarious! Love the Evansville, Indiana reference.
I'm so dingy - I was linking to your archived blog... all this time I had no idea there were new posts. I've been so bummed.. glad I found you again. :-)
YNH - your title is honest, your writing is brilliant, and your mind is twisted. Proud to know ya.
lol, that was great!
That was near perfect.
If the SS is reading this, I don't know him, wasn't here, didn't read this.
I just wish I was at home reading this cause right now I'm practically in tears trying to hold my laughter in! Dude, you rule!!
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