Stray Thoughts: 6/1/2016

The name “Free Writing” is being replaced by “Stray Thoughts” 

I swear that coffee and beer are cousins. Not
because they are a stimulant or a depressant. I still see alcohol as more of a
stimulant, outside of the jar of homemade moonshine that a grandparent might
give you a spoonful of; when you are under the weather. That is 100% a
depressant. You sleep really good after that.

I’m talking more about how at times that they
both hit the spot and others not so much.
Some mornings that jar of coffee perks me up, makes me alert, and others
that same jar of coffee, made the same exact way, just doesn’t take. The same
can be said for a cold beer. There are times that it tastes so perfect, that it
tastes like watching Phoebe Cates get out of that pool all over again, and
other times it’s more of Jack Nicholson getting out of the hot tub. No offense

At times you have a burger grilled up, or some
hot dogs and you open that beer and it just hits the spot. Same thing with
Chinese food, or tacos. It can be the perfect complement, or just comes up
short.  If it hit that spot constantly I
could begin to understand why some people have drinking problems.  It’s just not that consistent, or maybe it’s
me that is not consistent since sometimes after swallowing down that jar of
coffee, I’m still sluggish, lack of energy and simply wanting to crawl back
into bed. I guess it’s like sleeping and dreams. I’ll never fully comprehend
any of them.  


Free Writing 5/25/2016

Jake & Pam (He Grabbed Her) NSFW

  • Chapter 1
  • Chapter 2
  • Chapter 3

Chapter 4

He licked it up, he licked her up, truth be told,
he might have licked every inch of her. Twice.
Her hands dug into his hair, directing traffic, turning him by his head
where she wanted attention. She eventually pulled on his hair, pulling him up. He
kissed up her stomach, licking her navel, licking up and nibbling up her
stomach. Kissing, nibbling at her breast and nipple before finally attacking
her neck. Her hands had slid down scratching and digging into his back and
grabbing his ass, pulling him into her. All the way into her.  Kissing passionately, she tasted herself on
his mouth.

He kept thrusting, she kept scratching, they both
were making sounds, that were reserved for this primal state. He got up on his
knees, motioned for her to move around on all fours and he slid back in.
Grabbing her hip he worked her body harder, faster, deeper. She reached down
between her legs and grabbed his balls as they both exploded and collapsed into
a mess of limbs and sweat.

Two o’clock in the morning, he crawled out of
bed, went to the bathroom, fed Coco a scoop of her food and some fresh water.
He walked back down the hall to the bedroom, as he left the bed, she must have
moved and was now more sprawled out taking up more than her share, the sheet
covering on a portion of her hip. He picked up his phone, turned on the camera
and focused in on the beautiful site. He snapped the picture, the fake shutter
noise stirred her. She smiled, said “come here” reached out to grab him and
took him in her mouth. He snapped a few more pictures.  

Times up.

Free Writing: 5/22/2016

Bull The Pug 

Bone #5

Bull and Miss Tweedy were snuggled up in bed,
when the house shook due to the thunder storm that was moving through the
area.  He had rolled over pulled the
cover up over his woman and heard rumbling coming down the hallway. They were
being invaded by their three little boys, who woke up with the crack of
thunder.  Each one took a couple of
tries to hop up on the king sized bed, but they got there. Bull opened the
covers and the all three crawled inside rooting in between Mom and Dad. Bull propped
himself up and tucked the cover under his rear and snuggled back up to Miss
Tweety with three little boys in between.

The fattest little boy, Porkchop, started to
snore so Bull grabbed the remote and cut on the TV. The Cartoon Netork showed Scooby
Doo in four hour blocks in the middle of the night, and the noise helped muffle out his little freight train.
Porkchop had a habit of getting stuck on his back, and if he couldn’t roll
enough in one direction to help gain enough momentum to flip over on his side,
he was simply stuck.  His brothers would laugh and giggle at him, and eventually help move him
on to his feet so they could continue playing. Maybe one day he will outgrow some of
that puppy fat.  Porkchop was also named
Bull Jr, but they wanted to prevent the nickname “BJ”, so they went with
Porkchop, since he came out with a bit of a gut on him. The other two boys are
named Darrell and Daryl. Miss Tweety just loved reruns of Newhart and thought
it would be cute for Porkchop to say “this is my brother Darrell and my other
brother Daryl”.  Of course it didn’t hurt
that Miss Tweety’s papa was named Darrell either.  

Bull was falling asleep when the thunder rattled the house again, waking up each and every one of them. Porkchop rolled
over putting an arm across each of his brothers. He looked like a little tiny,
but fat 747.

Till Next Time.

Free Writing 5/18/16

I saw someone’s comment on Twitter about “The
Longest Yard”, being their favorite football movie. I’m not sure if they were
talking the 70’s version, or Adam Sandler’s remake. It got me thinking about my
favorite football movie.

When it comes to baseball, it’s “Bull Durham”, it
has a bit of everything. Baseball, comedy, comradery, and is laced with sex and
some eroticism. I’m also quite fond of “Major League” and a couple of the other
Kevin Costner Baseball movies, and “Cobb”, will always be in a top 5/10 list.

When it comes to football, nothing jumps out like
a “Bull Durham”, or even a “Major League”. There are some good ones. I haven’t
watched Sandler’s “The Longest Yard”, and haven’t watched the original since I
was about 15. “Rudy” was a good movie, but it doesn’t pop at me like a “Bull
Durham” does. I liked the theatrical version of “Friday Night Lights”, but the
television show of the same name was exponentially better it makes the movie
seem somewhat bad. “Brian’s Song” and “We are Marshall”, are both great movies,
but simply too sad to watch all that often. “Necessary Roughness” and “The
Waterboy” were funny. “Everybody’s All American” is another solid movie from
top to bottom. There are others that I haven’t mentioned that I like. Some that
have “football” as a theme or a minor character, but I wouldn’t call a football

I’d likely have to go with one of the movies
listed below, and on any given night, it might be either one that gets the vote.
“Varsity Blues”, small town high school football, asshole coach, it’s relatable
and of course there isn’t one damn thing wrong with cool whip bikinis.  “The Program”, it was likely as honest of a
look into college football as you will see. A lot of truths in that one. I
still can’t really say that either of those begin to approach “Bull Durham”, or
“Major League”.  I guess they are close,
and might be in my top 10 “sports” movies, but I guess “Bull Durham” just
stands that far out ahead of any of the others.

Free Writing 5/17/2016

Stray memory time. 16/17 years old, leaving
school during study hall. Half the time in the warmer months it was spent at a friend’s
house that was really close to the school. Fortunately, he had a pool and study
hall was 7th period. Yeah, we had those fun seven 50-minute class

One day a couple of us found ourselves on Main
Street in an old pool hall that I don’t believe is there any more. A small
place, two maybe three tables. Benches around the back wall. A long bar that
stretched from the door to the table area, that might have sat 30.  The only people in the place were a few old
drunks, mostly drinking beer long before 5 o’clock and not even shooting pool. In
one story I called a guy Bank,
or Banks he was there, Barber
 (from another story) was there too along with another guy let’s just call him Cobra(he drove an old
Mustang II Cobra, it would fly, butt ugly, but it would fly oh and eat gas).

I’ve never been one for finesse.  It’s always been balls to the wall, bull in a
China shop type deal, whether I was playing a team sport, shooting pool,
throwing darts, bowling, the gokart track at Myrtle Beach(why even put a brake
on it), just full speed. Shooting pool, it was like I was trying to destroy the
ball with the cue. It’s not a great strategy, but it’s also one reason I wouldn’t
play for money. I did it for the enjoyment of hitting the ball hard. With
Bowling I would try to throw the ball through the back of the building. With
darts, it was like I was Nuke Laloosh, whether pitching or fucking, I was sorta
all over the place. It was a lot like hitting balls at a driving range. Grip it
and Rip it. I don’t play golf, but when I did, I was decent in the “Captain’s
Choice, best ball format”.  My drives
were 50/50, but was better with a wedge, which doesn’t make sense, since I
would finesse those shots. I might as well be putting with a boat ore or a pair
of chopsticks, I never mastered it, but not many do.

Well anyway, we are down there shooting pool and
about every 4th shot of mine a ball would leave the table. It’s just
how it was. There was an older black man sitting up in one of the benches along
the wall. He was asleep, might have been drunk. He had one of those Navy hats
on. WWII, Korean War, I can’t recall, we was much too old for it to be Vietman.
It was my turn to break. He was off to
the side. I reached back into the next county on the break and the balls went
flying. The cue ball went air born and hit wall behind the table. It startled
this old man and he was ready to fight. He whips out this pocket knife and starts
saying “boy I’ll cut you”. He might have said gut, couldn’t tell, neither one
is a pleasant thought.

Banks, Cobra and Barber Shop were all standing
around wondering what was about to go down. Barber Shop was trying to talk him
down. The more he spoke, the drunker he seemed. He was obviously sleeping one
hangover off while waiting on the next to begin.

Now, I had no intentions of beating his old ass,
but I wasn’t going to let him cut, gut or nut me, so I dropped the cue on the
table. Took off my watch, put it my pocket(a ritual if hands were going to be
thrown) and was ready to drop him if he got close.  Banks Sr. had been sitting at the bar for about
20 minutes without us knowing it getting an early afternoon drink.  He and the owner were walking back trying to
get old “Cleve” to settle down.  “umagonna
cut him” is all he would say. He finally put the pocket knife back in his pants
the walked him down to the bar and he sat down.

The manger ran us out of there since he didn’t
quite know we were 16/17 years old. Banks Sr. was shaking his head knowing he
couldn’t say a word since some of the stories about his youth were still being
told. I’m fairly sure we were tame from what has been shared.

I wasn’t mad at the old guy, but when you get a
knife pulled on you, you can’t help but get riled up a bit. It’s the adrenaline.
We were walking out the door and he was sitting at the end of the bar and I
could tell he was still cursing me under his breath.  I said, “I’m sorry for waking you up in a
Pool Hall at 2:30 in the afternoon.” Yes, sarcasm came with the territory. Cobra
and I went back to the high school for baseball practice. Banks Jr. & Sr.
walked back to the bank (a literal bank) across the street and Barber Shop went
off riding the roads.

That was the last time we went to that pool hall
and like I said, and it’s just proof that you don’t have to be looking for
trouble to find it. Sometimes it just whips in like Mother Nature.

Free Writing 5/15/2016

This one will likely be short, but I had a
strange thought. I was looking for an image to edit of Elvis and Priscilla
Presley to add some lyrics of “Love Me Tender” to, and I saw an image of a
couple that I would assume was the couple dressing up as Elvis and Priscilla
for Halloween or some form of costume party.

It made me wonder what type of reaction Priscilla
had when she saw an Elvis impersonator. Some look more like him than others and
I’m sure the reactions and emotions have dulled over the years. Just an odd
thought that popped into my head. Maybe she has an interview out there
somewhere, where she was asked a similar question, but it has to be quite odd
for her, and her daughter as well.

I guess some instances can capture her a bit more
than others, simply depending on where her own emotions are at any given day. I
think it would have to be a bit of an eerie feeling, but again, I’m sure that
it has dulled over the years.  I’m sure
all the rumors of him still being alive can’t help with the topic.  I doubt the reaction she has today is the same
that she had in say 1985, or 2000, but I’m sure there could still be times she
feels like she sees a ghost.  Yeah I’m
warped. I know it.

Free Writing 5/14/2016

Buckeye (Mountain Getaway on a Dark Stormy Night)

  • Chapter 1
  • Chapter 2

Chapter 3

They cleared the table, the steaks, veggies and
salad hit the spot, and the Krispy Kreme doughnuts would be a perfect simple
dessert.  He put the television on ESPN
but put it on mute, simply waiting for the game to start. He was standing at
the bookshelf, “hey hon, what do you want to listen to until the game starts?”
he asked as he was flipping through some cd’s. Half were studio releases; the
other half were burnt discs. He preferred live music to studio music, even if
it had some idiot singing along a bit too loud so he had quite a range. He
opened a laptop, hooked up the external hard drive and started digging into his
music folder, which would then feed through the sound system with the right
song rattling the windows. She responded that “whatever you come up with works”.

He brought up a media program and sprinkled in
some Robert Earl Keen, the kind of songs where you can visualize the story
telling turning in to, in the very least, a movie of the week. He put 15 songs
into the playlist, but had some that were slightly repetitive, but with it
being live music, the 15 songs could be 15 versions of the same song and there
would be some variation to them.  Keen’s nasally
voice opened up, “Sherry was a waitress”

He sat down in his chair, a big comfy chair and a
half. Perfect for two, with Alyssa sitting somewhat on top of him.   She came
over and sat down on his knee. He playfully sniffed at the C. Jones and #10 on
the back of the jersey and said  “Ewww.. you’d still look better in your Eli Manning
jersey with it being the same #10 and all”. She laughed and said “you know you
love the Braves”, he looked at her, shook his head and said, “nope, no love for
the Braves at all”. “In fact, if I had a son, and I was coaching his youth
league baseball team and we were assigned the Braves, I’d be buying new hats
and jerseys so that we weren’t the Braves”.  She asked, “That bad?”, He nodded and said “Yes,
that bad; everyone in town loved them, being the “local” team and all.”  She confessed, “well, I liked Chipper (he interrupted
with a “LARRY WAYNE”), more than the Braves and with him retired, I really don’t
care as much. He smiled, squeezed her thigh and said “that’s always good to
hear, the Braves are my baseball version of the Patriots & Colts, if they win a single game, it’s a game too many.”