Homicidal Cosmic Plush

I was chilling in my pad watching some war documentary on the tube; mildly stoned, and quite content, when I first became aware of the attack. All of a sudden strange furry things started climbing over my balcony, which was quite a feat as my apartment was on the seventh floor.

Fucking Teddy Bears man; they were Teddy Bears, with blood around their mouths and half eaten bones in their hands. As they got closer I could see that their eyes were jet black, as if I were looking right into the abyss itself.

The door and windows were shut but I was highly doubtful I could rely on that as a stronghold. What the fuck was going on and how do I handle it? There’s no Scout badge that prepared me for dealing with homicidal Teddy Bears.

I gathered as many knives; sticks, coffee mugs, cans of beans and soup, and everything that could make fire, which in retrospect was probably a very uneducated and reckless idea, seeing as how I’d more than likely burn myself up as well, no Scout badge for that either.

They were at the windows now which were starting to crack under the super-human strength they were yielding. Mindless; homicidal, born of some crazy childlike nightmare dimension, I hadn’t a clue what the hell to do, the blood stained and broken windows looked like they came right out of a horror show.

I could hear my front door start to splinter; they were coming at me from all sides, I could hear a rumbling coming from inside the walls as the drywall started to burst open, I was fucked from everywhere and I was shitting myself having the realization that I was about to be eaten by an army of Teddy Bears.

As I was standing facing the blood soaked windows; coffee mug in one hand and a cast iron frying pan in the other, weeping like a little girl, an explosion of glass, blood and a thousand Teddy Bears came shooting into the apartment, followed by a person swinging in on a rope, dressed like a navy seal or some shit like that.

This hero slash warrior was dressed in black and had a ghostbusters like nuclear back pack with all the bells and whistles; it was attached to a hose, which was attached to a big ass kicking gun which they immediately started firing out oceans of blue glowing slimy shit all over the Bears.

The Teddy Bears disintegrated in seconds; as did most of my apartment, which is in no way a complaint, as only moments ago I was preparing to become the horrifically gruesome lunch of a mob of children’s toys.

Once the show of a lifetime was over and the two of us were standing in the middle of a wrath of god type scene, this mega hero removed their head gear I was surprised to see that my savior was a chick, a super-hot chick at that, a stunningly beautiful warrior goddess. After my male ape-like evolutionary driven distraction, I did eventually get over myself and got to the situation at hand.

She explained that she was with T. A.T.H.T.B. (The Agency for the Termination of Homicidal Teddy Bears) and there had been scattered incidents with all sorts of stuffed animals for the last five years, it was only recently that they discovered the Teddy Bears were the kingpins.

Still slightly stunned and stupefied; I asked her why in the fuck they came after me? She started taking off my shirt, I thought we were going to get funky but she was looking for something particular that she found on my back, it was a tattoo that I never remembered getting, and it was in the shape of a Teddy Bear. She said I had the mark, and that I’ve been chosen; only one in a thousand had this mark, and the destiny that lay before me was to rid the world of homicidal Teddy Bears.

She explained that I would have to come back with her to headquarters and begin my training, some people might have reservations about this whole thing but when I found out the girl was single and I’d be wearing one of those nuclear reactors on my back, I was all in. 

Red Hot Pussy

Porterhouse was adopted along with a little blonde girl named Summer. She was younger than Porterhouse and they didn’t get along. Summer wanted to be the star attraction, but their adopted parents treated them equally. As they grew older, they’d hear the moans of pleasure and take turns spying through the keyhole of their parent’s room. It wasn’t long before they were playing doctor and pleasuring each other. At first with manual stimulation. Porterhouse liked for Summer to masturbate him and he’d always promise not to shoot his load in her hand. He tried to hit her in her face or young budding breasts. Summer loved for Porterhouse to rub her pussy, it had some peach fuzz on it. Porterhouse learn how to coax her clitoris erect and suck on it, then jam two fingers up her pussy and one up her ass, as she came to an orgasm. Summer became adept at sucking Porterhouse’s dick. She’d deep throat, candy cane, barber pole, siphon sperm, cupping his nuts just right. As he came, she’d finger fuck his asshole like crazy. Soon it wasn’t enough, it never is. They figured since they weren’t really brother and sister by blood, fucking wouldn’t be incest. They fucked every chance they could. Summer liked heroin, Porterhouse preferred cocaine and they both loved weed. Soon their parents suspected their children were up to no good. They sprung a trap for them and caught them fucking in a room full of marijuana smoke. That’s when they discovered that they were one hundred percent blood siblings. They tried everything to break off their romantic relationship. They were hopelessly in love. Finally, they accepted their fate and said fuck it. They got into Porterhouse’s Thunderbird. Summer buried a needle in her arm. Porterhouse buried the needle on the speedometer. The moonlight blue Thunderbird hit a pothole, sparks flew into the inky black sky.

Florsheim On My Mind

What kind of diagnosis is this for a psychologist to tell a client? It’s not like I don’t already have enough shit to deal with. Now I’ll have this to think about on top of it all. Here is what she told me:

“You don’t use drugs to kill the pain, Santiago, you use drugs to feel the pain. It’s a self-destructive mechanism that you employ to suppress traumatic experiences from your past. Your addiction isn’t to drugs themselves, they are simply your way of punishing yourself.”

I wanted to tell her the diagnosis was a complete and total fable, fabricated by her own imagination.

I use (at times maybe abuse) drugs because I like getting high. There’s no underlying cause to what she considers as deviant behavior. And the money I’m paying for this psychological evaluation could be applied toward more enjoyable activities, such as the aforementioned drugs. It was causing me to experience the trauma of client remorse.

“Santiago, have you heard anything I’ve said? Do you have any comments or questions?”

“I do have a question. Where do you think a one-legged person goes shopping for shoes? I mean, are there shoe stores that sell a single shoe? Or do they have to purchase a pair and then they’re stuck with a shoe that is useless? Possibly there’s a support group that introduces them to another one-legged person missing the opposite leg, and they shop for shoes together. Which brings me to another question concerning their taste in fashion. They would have to…”

“Santiago, please, stop this nonsense! Do you think this is humorous? We’re dealing with a serious situation here, and I need you to participate and accept responsibility for your addiction. Do you understand? Have you enrolled in the court-ordered anger management class?”

“I went to register for the class, but they informed me that I’d have to pay $250 to enroll. And that pissed me off and I became angry. And on top of that bullshit, the classes were scheduled on Saturday nights for eight weeks and were four hours long. That just added to my anger, and I figured that if just registering for the class caused me to become angry, they would ultimately prove to be ineffective. So I said forget it and left before I turned into the Incredible Hulk. And besides, don’t you think it would constitute a conflict of interest for me to receive counseling from someone else? It could possibly result in a complete anxiety disorder on top of all my anger issues.”

“You completely exhaust me, drain my energy. Have you always been a vampire, sucking the life out of everyone who attempts to assist and support you? So, I’m afraid to ask, but are you attending your NA and AA meetings? And they’re free, so don’t use cost as an excuse.”

“That’s not very professional to degrade me by referring to me as a vampire. If I wanted that kind of abuse, I’d call my ex-wife. She calls me names that are far much worse. And she doesn’t charge me $75 an hour, it’s free!”

“Your meetings, Santiago?”

“I’ve been going to meetings, but I’ve been asked not return to my NA meetings, and AA doesn’t appeal to me. I’m just unable to identify with drunks, simply because I enjoy drinking and don’t consider it a problem. Plus, I always have to go and have a beer after each meeting. I’ve been labeled as a bad influence, you see, because I always invite the other members to join me.”

I didn’t divulge that NA meetings are one of the best places to score dope. Whenever I was in a new or unfamiliar city, I would attend a meeting and was always able to buy drugs or get hooked up with member’s dealers.

“That’s enough for today, Santiago. This session is over. Let’s schedule our next meeting for next Wednesday at 2:00, and I’ll expect you to participate. Does that sound feasible to you? It’s not on Saturday, and it’s only for an hour. Let me write you a prescription for some more Klonopin and Depakote. Remember to go to the lab for your blood work. Take care of yourself, Santiago. Looking forward to seeing you again next week.”

I’ll admit, I wasn’t totally convinced of her sincerity.

When, I reached my car in the parking lot, I immediately did a large line of cocaine.

Ahhh… now everything was back to normal.