once upon a time, there was this guy. he wrote stories every once in a while. rumor had it that his girlfriend would never let him play.
on the day of his 26th birthday...
on the day of his 26th birthday...
we should write a story for dirkphoenix
- Thread starter Thorn Bird
- Start date
Syrup Beaver
pants log
...Dirk woke up in a strange place, amidst a veritable sea of empty Jolt cans and Jolly Rancher wrappers...
...He found a lump. It wasn't a big lump, or even a very angry looking lump, it just sat there looking all lumpy. When you're young though, any lump is a bad lump, and must be checked out thoroughly. Fast forward through one trip to the doctor and we find our reluctant hero putting on his best face as he is poked, prodded, measured, drained, filled up and given a 6 month old magazine to read. His lump, having been quiescent so far, has begun to itch in such a way that can only be summarized metaphorically as feeling like a million fire ants burrowing their way to the surface through his skin. Peeling away his hospital gown he discovers that his previously normal lump has taken on some quite abnormal features. Lips, teeth tongue, things that are quite normal for your average face but really having no place on a lump of any kind. As he leans in to peer closer at his no longer ordinary lump the lips open and the lump says...
Syrup Beaver
pants log
"I've just finished the addition to the house with Mountain Dew cups and paper hotdog sleeves, thanks for your help" the 'nev excitedly blurted out while arranging the fur on his nerf
Dangit, how'd we get this far out of whack already...
It's what I get for actually typing I suppose...
It's what I get for actually typing I suppose...
Mean Mr. Mustard
Always shouts out something obscene
Drool-Boy said:
I think she has pretty much just turned them into an additional birthday for herself, he has to buy her presents and pay attention to only her for 24 hours instead of her buying him presents and letting him do something fun.
*cough*
Anyways,
The conversation that followed between Dirk and smiley was meager at best, interesting only to the clogged pores on smileynev’s face and to Dirk’s hair that had fallen out of his scalp and on to the floor. What WAS interesting to note was that smileynev’s wife's, Bitch One, facial features slightly reseambled Commander Keither, Commander and leader of the Voltron Force – and that Dirk’s fiancée, Super Whore, had a lacking posture similar to that of Lance Charles McClain.
“Form feet and legs! Form arms and torso! And, I'll form the head!”
“Activate interlock! Dynotherms connected! Infracells up! Mega thrusters are go! LET'S GO VOLTRON FORCE!”
The resemblences were not coincidiental – fuck the blazing sword.
Anyways,
The conversation that followed between Dirk and smiley was meager at best, interesting only to the clogged pores on smileynev’s face and to Dirk’s hair that had fallen out of his scalp and on to the floor. What WAS interesting to note was that smileynev’s wife's, Bitch One, facial features slightly reseambled Commander Keither, Commander and leader of the Voltron Force – and that Dirk’s fiancée, Super Whore, had a lacking posture similar to that of Lance Charles McClain.
“Form feet and legs! Form arms and torso! And, I'll form the head!”
“Activate interlock! Dynotherms connected! Infracells up! Mega thrusters are go! LET'S GO VOLTRON FORCE!”
The resemblences were not coincidiental – fuck the blazing sword.
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there once was a texan named dirk
with stories that made people smirk
his balls had been clipped, the fucker was whipped
his wife really drove him berserk
with stories that made people smirk
his balls had been clipped, the fucker was whipped
his wife really drove him berserk
DirkPhoenix
Flaccid Member
It was 6am. Dirk's fiancee's morning sickness had frightened the dog, which promptly shit on the carpet. Rolling himself out of bed, and silently cursing God that a meteor hadn't killed him in his sleep, Dirk went into the kitchen to gather up a towel. It had all happened so fast...the Espresso Wedding (which would end up costing them almost 10 grand), moving into her apartment, the massive sell-off of his computer, XBox360, and all associated games and toys, the pregnancy. What seemed like a good idea had turned south.
Dirk reached into the cabinet to pull out the 409 as his wife screamed, "Don't forget to pick up the Chunky Monkey! Oooh, and I need to go pick up some new clothes since you destroyed mine...oh god...." and then more vomiting. In fact, Dirk hadn't "destroyed" her clothes. When she gained 30 pounds, she had blamed him for her clothes not fitting.
He glanced toward the place where he had his only remaining toy: a Glock 19. He had begged to keep it, saying that he needed to protect his new family. She consented on the condition that she allow her parents to move in while they were looking for a house nearby. He ran his hand over the pristine weapon, admiring the craftsmanship, the newly cleaned barrel's dull sheen. Nearby, a single hollow-point bullet with the word "Freedom" scrawled on it...a reminder of when she came home drunk again, spewing vomit and insults at him for not being there. Sure, so she could vomit in his car, not the other two guys she "may or may not have" been flirting with. At least they were nice enough to not stay after she took off her clothes and vomited on the dog. He wrote the word on the bullet as he stayed up the entire night, nursing her back to health while she still cursed Dirk in her sleep.
Dirk glanced at his phone: no calls. His family had stopped talking to him after he didn't invite them to his Puerto Rico wedding. In fact, the wife had demanded this. Dirk silently hoped that they would understand, that they would look past what he had done and still want to be around. But they were people, and you can't treat people like that and expect them to be around...well...except Dirk.
He sighed as he cleaned up the dog shit. One day, when he gathered up what courage and self-respect he had left, he would do it. He would finally take the plunge that had been on his mind for so long.
He would taste Freedom.
edit:// We called of the engagement. I'm moving back into my place.
edit2:// I called it off.
Dirk reached into the cabinet to pull out the 409 as his wife screamed, "Don't forget to pick up the Chunky Monkey! Oooh, and I need to go pick up some new clothes since you destroyed mine...oh god...." and then more vomiting. In fact, Dirk hadn't "destroyed" her clothes. When she gained 30 pounds, she had blamed him for her clothes not fitting.
He glanced toward the place where he had his only remaining toy: a Glock 19. He had begged to keep it, saying that he needed to protect his new family. She consented on the condition that she allow her parents to move in while they were looking for a house nearby. He ran his hand over the pristine weapon, admiring the craftsmanship, the newly cleaned barrel's dull sheen. Nearby, a single hollow-point bullet with the word "Freedom" scrawled on it...a reminder of when she came home drunk again, spewing vomit and insults at him for not being there. Sure, so she could vomit in his car, not the other two guys she "may or may not have" been flirting with. At least they were nice enough to not stay after she took off her clothes and vomited on the dog. He wrote the word on the bullet as he stayed up the entire night, nursing her back to health while she still cursed Dirk in her sleep.
Dirk glanced at his phone: no calls. His family had stopped talking to him after he didn't invite them to his Puerto Rico wedding. In fact, the wife had demanded this. Dirk silently hoped that they would understand, that they would look past what he had done and still want to be around. But they were people, and you can't treat people like that and expect them to be around...well...except Dirk.
He sighed as he cleaned up the dog shit. One day, when he gathered up what courage and self-respect he had left, he would do it. He would finally take the plunge that had been on his mind for so long.
He would taste Freedom.
edit:// We called of the engagement. I'm moving back into my place.
edit2:// I called it off.
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Mean Mr. Mustard
Always shouts out something obscene
Let this be a lesson to all women, even if you're dating a softy that'll take a beating like Dirk, gaining 30 lbs. means YOU'RE ON YOUR FUCKING OWN FATTIE.
Just kidding. I love you, Dirk. You did the right thing. Now take "Freedom" off the bullet and write it on your front door.
Just kidding. I love you, Dirk. You did the right thing. Now take "Freedom" off the bullet and write it on your front door.
Mean Mr. Mustard
Always shouts out something obscene
Ya know, ya coulda just scared her away by rubbing "freedom" off the bullet and putting her name on there instead.
DirkPhoenix
Flaccid Member
Drool-Boy said:
Nah, she would have just used it as another excuse to get drunk. Sadly, that's both the only true part of the story and the reason we called it off. I was at my grandfather's side (he had a heart attack) and she was upset that she couldn't come over. So she went out with a bunch of guys from work, got horribly drunk. A couple of them drove her home. When I got there, she was naked in the bathtub, trying to "get warm". Of course, the water had long since became cold. I cleaned up the vomit, cleaned the dog, apologized to her work buddies, and spent the rest of the night getting her better. When I said that I don't want my fiancee and soon-to-be-wife getting drunk around a bunch of people I don't know without me around, she said that she maybe kinda wanted to postpone the wedding, seeing that I was trying to be too "grown-up". After all, getting drunk with a bunch of strangers is the right of an engaged 26-year-old woman.
So I said that we should just put it off completely.
Weird life I lead.