Useless Junk of the Day

I had my most embarrassing sexual experience while I had a head full of acid.

Shortly after taking a few too many squares on the tongue, I found myself alone in the living room of a house which several of my friends rented. A space-themed porn was on the TV; a late-70’s or early 80’s porn, in which the porn stars and starlets floated about in some type of spaceship.*

I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my left hand, made from roughly one jar of peanut butter, and one jar of grape jelly. I decided that my best bet would be to kill two birds with one stone and masturbate while I ate this sloppy sandwich, a good third of which had already found its way to the floor.

Because everything had to be done quickly, quickly, I began masturbating at a faster pace than I usually take, my head swimming with LSD. I was alternately biting into the filthy sandwich, peanut butter and jelly covering most of my face, then quickly attempting to concentrate on masturbating. The space porn was not helping much, and neither were the taxidermied crows and other random animals hanging from the walls in the room.

After a few minutes, I became very concerned with getting caught in this “not-so-fresh” state, and somehow finished masturbating. Then I finished eating my sandwich. I pulled up my pants, painted with baby batter, peanut butter, and jelly, and waited for my friends to return. I was not caught.

Do you need to be caught to be embarrassed by something you’ve done? Absolutely not. If you think otherwise, what do you think the jelly was?

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A hoax is an attempt to trick an audience into believing that something false is real. We came up with a selection of the Top 10 Greatest Hoaxes of all time:

The Surgeon’s Photo of the Loch Ness Monster

Ancient Scottish legends spoke of a giant sea monster that lived in the waters of Loch Ness. In 1934, Colonel Robert Wilson, a highly respectable British surgeon, said that he noticed something moving in the water and took a picture of it. The resulting image showed the slender neck of a serpent rising out of the Loch. The photo came to be known simply as “The Surgeon’s Photo” and for decades it was considered to be the best evidence of the monster.

It wasn’t until 1994, when Christian Spurling, before his death at the age of 90, confessed his involvement in a plot, that included Wetherell and Colonel Wilson, to create the famous photo. Apparently Wetherell’s motive was revenge, since he was humiliated years earlier when the supposed monster’s footprints he found were nothing but dried hippo’s footsteps.

Hitler’s $6 million-dollar diary

On April 22, 1983 the German magazine Der Stern announced that it had made the greatest Nazi memorabilia find of all time: a diary kept by Adolf Hitler himself. And this was not just one thin journal.

The magazine had paid 10 million German marks ($6 million at that time) for the sixty small books as well as two “special issues” about Rudolf Hess’ flight to the United Kingdom, covering the period from 1932 to 1945.

However, within two weeks, the Hitler Diaries were revealed as being “grotesquely plump fakes” made on modern paper using modern ink and full of historical inaccuracies, the most obvious of which might have been the fact that the monogram on the title page read ‘FH’ instead of ‘AH’ (for Adolf Hitler). The diaries were actually written by Konrad Kujau, a notorious Stuttgart forger of Hitler’s works, who was sentenced to 42 months in prison.

The Jewish master plan to dominate the World

The Protocols of the Elders of Zion is a text purporting to describe a plan to achieve global domination by Jews. Following its first publication in 1903 in the Russian Empire, numerous independent investigations have demonstrated that the document is a hoax; notably, a series of articles printed in The Times of London in 1921 revealed that much of the material was directly plagiarized from earlier works of political satire unrelated to Jews.

In Russia, it helped to the idea that the Bolshevik movement was a Jewish conspiracy for world domination. On WWII, The Protocols became a part of the Nazi propaganda effort to justify persecution of the Jews. It was made required reading for German students.

Today, many Arab governments funded new printings of the Protocols, and taught them in their schools as historical fact. In Syria, The Protocols is currently a best-seller, and government-controlled television channels occasionally broadcast mini-series concerning the Protocols.

Idaho, the US state with a made-up name

Idaho it’s perhaps the only state to be named as the result of a hoax. When a name was being selected for new territory, eccentric lobbyist George M. Willing suggested “Idaho,” which he claimed was a Native American term meaning “gem of the mountains”.

It was later revealed Willing had made up the name himself, and the original Idaho territory was re-named Colorado because of it. Eventually the controversy was forgotten, and modern-day Idaho was given the made-up name when the Idaho Territory was formally created in 1863.

The Alien Autopsy footage from Roswell UFO crash

On 5 May 1995, Ray Santilli, a London-based film producer, presented for the first time his alleged “Alien Autopsy” footage to media representatives and UFO researchers. The body was suggested to belong to one of the aliens picked from the supposed Roswell UFO crash site in 1947. The footage became world-known inmediatly.

he debate on whether the autopsied body is a very realistic mannequin, a girl with a genetic disorder (such as progeria or Turner’s syndrome), or a real alien is still going on. Pathologists have also questioned the techniques being used in the supposed autopsy. Ironically, the best evidence against the film comes from one of the background details. On one wall of the autopsy room, there is a type of warning sign that was not produced until 1967, two decades after the alleged event.

Fox TV produced a programme debunking the video as a hoax a couple of years later and, in 2006, a British comedy movie called “Alien Autopsy” was released, on the subject of Santilli faking the autopsy footage, who was apparently involved in the movie’s production, which if so would suggest that the autopsy footage was indeed faked.

The fossil that embarrassed British Paleontology

The so-called Piltdown Man was fragments of a skull and jaw bone found in 1912 from a gravel pit at Piltdown in the English county of Sussex. The fragments were claimed by experts of the day to be the fossilised remains of a hitherto unknown form of early man.

From the British Museum’s reconstruction of the skull, it was proposed that Piltdown man represented an evolutionary missing link between ape and man, since the combination of a human-like cranium with an ape-like jaw tended to support the notion then prevailing in England that human evolution was brain-led.

In 1953, 41 years later, the Piltdown man was finally exposed as a composite forgery: it consisted of a human skull of medieval age, the 500-year-old lower jaw of a Sarawak orangutan and chimpanzee fossil teeth. The identity of the Piltdown forger remains unknown.

The Catholic Pope that turned out to be a woman

John Anglicus, a ninth century Englishman, travelled to Rome, became a Cardinal, and when Pope Leo IV died in 853 A.D., he was unanimously elected pope. As Pope John VIII, he ruled for two years, until 855 A.D. However, while riding one day from St. Peter’s to the Lateran, he had to stop by the side of the road and, to the astonishment of everyone, gave birth to a child. It turned out that Pope John VIII was really a woman. In other words, Pope John was really Pope Joan.

According to legend, upon discovering the Pope’s true gender, the people of Rome tied her feet together and dragged her behind a horse while stoning her, until she died. Another legend has it that she was sent to a faraway convent to repent her sins and that the child she bore grew up to become the Bishop of Ostia. It is not known whether the story of Pope Joan is true.

The “Chess Machine” that fooled Napoleon

The Turk was a famous hoax which purported to be a chess-playing automaton first constructed and unveiled in 1769 by Wolfgang von Kempelen. He first exhibited the Turk at the court of Austrian Empress Maria Theresa in 1770, and later took it on a tour of Europe for several years during the 1780s. The Turk defeated prominent world-figures, such as Napoleon Bonaparte and Benjamin Franklin.

The cabinet had doors that opened to reveal internal clockwork mechanisms, and when activated the mechanism appeared to be able to play a strong game of chess against a human opponent. However, the cabinet was a cleverly constructed illusion that allowed a chess master to hide inside and operate the mannequin. Consequently, it won most games.

The buying of the Catholic Church by Microsoft

In 1994 a press release began circulating around the internet claiming that Microsoft had bought the Catholic church. The release quoted Bill Gates saying that he considered religion to be a growth market and that, “The combined resources of Microsoft and the Catholic Church will allow us to make religion easier and more fun for a broader range of people.” Under the terms of the deal, Microsoft would acquire exclusive electronic rights to the Bible and would make the sacraments available online.

Microsoft had to issue a formal denial of the release on December 16, 1994. This was the first internet hoax to reach a mass audience using the internet. The authors of these hoaxes remain unknown.

The Martian invasion that frightened the World

The War of the Worlds, is a radio adaptation by Orson Welles based upon H. G. Wells’ classic novel, was performed by Mercury Theatre on the Air as a Halloween special on October 30, 1938. The live broadcast reportedly frightened many listeners into believing that an actual Martian invasion was in progress. It has been called the “single greatest media hoax of all time“, although it was not intended to be one.

Contemporary newspapers reported panic ensued, with people fleeing the area, and others thinking they could smell the poison gas or could see the flashes of the fighting in the distance. Several people reportedly rushed to the “scene” of the events in New Jersey to see if they could catch a glimpse of the unfolding events, including a few astronomers from Princeton University who went looking for the “meteorite” that had supposedly fallen near their school.

It is sometimes said that the news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor was first received in skepticism as a consequence of the radio performance. Amazingly enough, the drama has been rewritten to apply to other locations and rebroadcast, with similar results:
- A 1944 broadcast in Santiago, Chile caused panic, including mobilization of troops by the governor.
- A February 12, 1949 broadcast in Quito, Ecuador panicked tens of thousands. Some listeners, enraged at the deception, set fire to the radio station and the offices of El Comercio, the capital’s leading newspaper, killing twenty people.

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If you’re a man aged anywhere from  21  to  35,   I’ve got some sobering news for you. Your Grandmother is a better drinker than you  are.

Let me be more specific, your Grandmother is a manlier drinker than you are. Now, I’m not talking quantity, (I don’t think she’ll be beating you at a keg stand anytime soon) I’m talking about quality. I’m talking about the fact that she probably drinks bourbon or gin while you’re drinking a vodka and cranberry. Let’s face it, when it comes to drinking like men, our generation is a disgrace.

But there is hope. The cocktail is currently enjoying a renaissance. The sun has set on the era of the wine cooler and the decade of peach schnapps. Real drinks are back. This is our golden opportunity to pick up the torch we dropped and learn to drink like men, so that one day we might pass that knowledge to our sons.

But if we are to carry on the tradition of masculine drinking, we will need guidance. To that end, a widely read publication recently printed a list of “Ten Manly Drinks.” It spoke with authority on what you could proudly hold in your hand in public. A noble goal to be sure, but one that the list fell short of. Sure, the Manhattan was there, and the Martini, but so was the Sidecar.

Really? The Sidecar? Sure it’s a classic cocktail and it tastes great, but most bars serve it with a sugarcoated rim. It’s a close cousin to the Lemon Drop, for God’s sake. I knew then that it was time for a real man to step forward to properly instruct the masses on the finer points of manly drinks. And until that man is found, I will do my best in his place.

You see, I’m not a manly drinker. But I aspire to be one. I want to drink like my father drank. And like his father before him. I want to proudly shout my order to the bartender and see the nods of respect out of the corner of my eye. I want to trade my straw for a swizzle and my pink vodka slurry for something brown and congener-laced. But it won’t be easy.

I have a confession to make. I don’t love the taste of booze. I know that some of you will now scoff and turn the page, but I know that there are others like me, and that they will keep reading. Together we can find a way to drink like men.

I know that I am not alone because the American palate has changed. We have turned away from gin and bourbon and embraced vodka, the safe, colorless, tasteless friend of the amateur drinker. But we are not fulfilled. We drink a Sour Appletini with shame as the man next to us polishes off a scotch. We pray that the bartender won’t garnish our glass with an orange slice while the girls are watching. We look across the sea of bottles behind the bar and wonder “What will taste good and not leave me emasculated?” Join with me then, as we put down the hooter shooter and go in search of a manly drink.

First, we must define our terms. What exactly is a manly drink? The definition is situation and location dependent. Think a martini is always manly? Try ordering one in a blue collar Rust Belt bar. See what kind of looks you get from the locals. The hard truth is that in some establishments, the only thing a man drinks is a shot or a beer. Or both in quick succession. So yes, you can always look like a man if you drink a beer, but a bottle of suds will never have the gentlemanly charm of a Manhattan.

So let’s assume that you’re in bar where you can drink from stemware and still be a man. What now? Well, our definition still needs work. After all, there are two groups that you want to look like a man in front of, and they don’t have the same conceptions. I’m speaking of course of men and women. Think about it this way, a woman might be excited by a sports car with smooth European styling and not give a damn what’s under the hood. But a man will give more respect when you rev up an old Dodge Charger with two primered doors and a quarter panel missing. He respects that big block V8. So, by the same token, there are drinks that a woman thinks are manly, and those that will give you standing among other men, and they only partly overlap.

The first factor is the drink’s appearance. Color and container. This will determine how your drink looks from across the room. A rocks glass looks great. So can a martini glass. But unless you’re in a Tiki bar, you don’t want to be the guy drinking out of a novelty glass with a kooky straw. And the color of your drink is perhaps even more important. There are really only two acceptable colors. Clear and brown. Clear could be vodka or gin. Brown could be bourbon or whiskey. Green and blue are probably colors you don’t want to run up the flagpole. Here’s a simple little rhyme that may help: If it’s brown, suck it down, if it’s pink, don’t you drink.

The second factor to take into consideration is the drink’s name. Because inevitably, someone is going to hear you order it, even if it’s just the bartender. I don’t care if your drink is a mixture of bourbon, bitters and Tabasco sauce; if it’s called a Fuzzy Slipper it’s not manly and you don’t want to order it. You want a tough, classic, simple name. A Bronx. A Rusty Nail. A Boiler Maker. But just remember to steer clear of novelty names that are associated with frat boy drinks. A Scud Missile might sound tough, but it also sounds like you do your drinking at a place with a lot of crazy crap on the wall and waiters that wear striped shirts. Sure, it will get you messed up (it’s Bacardi 151 and cinnamon schnapps for any curious frat boys out there) but so will huffing paint. A name shouldn’t be too trendy, clever, or have sex references in it. It’s a cocktail, not a punch line.

So we know what we’re trying to avoid, now let’s put it into practice with an example. You’re out at a bar and your girlfriend is drinking a Cosmopolitan. You sneak a sip and it tastes pretty good. You contemplate having her stealthily order one on your behalf, but then you’d still have that pink martini glass to deal with. Thinking on your feet, you step up to the bar prepared to order a Kamikaze. After all, it’s just like a Cosmo without the splash of cranberry to pinkify it. But just before the word escapes your lips you realize you’ll sound like a frat boy. They might even ask for your ID (which your little brother happens to be “borrowing” at the moment). Just as the bartender is about to give you the hairy eyeball (which isn’t a drink, but should be) you say, “I’ll have a vodka and triple sec. Rocks. And can I get a lime with that?” You’ve just ordered a basic version of a Kamikaze (the only difference is that most bars would put Rose’s lime juice in a Kamikaze so yours will be a bit drier). It’ll taste pretty similar to a Cosmo, be served in a rocks glass and looks just like a gin and tonic or any other such clear drink. What’s more, you asked for something simple and specific, which makes you look like a man who knows how to drink. Granted, the triple sec is not the most manly of ingredients, but you’re still a lot better off than you were ordering a Cosmo or Kamikaze.

The previous example leads me to one final point — the special order. To have a manly drink that agrees with your palate, you may have to create it yourself. This is actually a good thing, as long as you do it right. For example, you ask the bartender, “Have you got any rye whiskey?” He says, “We’ve got Jim Beam Rye.” You answer “Great, I’ll have a rye and Coke.” Now you’ve got something the right color and in the right glass, but you just basically ordered a Jim Beam and Coke. Brother to the Jack and Coke. Cousin to the rum and Coke, favored drink of teen boys nationwide. But you’ll probably get away with still looking like a man. Why? Because you asked about rye whiskey. Something only real men drink. And that’s what will stick in their minds.

Even better is to ask for a specific brand of liquor. After all, our parents and grandparents didn’t just drink their drink, they drank it with their brand. For my mom, it was (and still is) a Dewars and water. For my grandfather it was an Old Crow and soda. But don’t let it all go wrong. Take this exchange for example: a soon to be shunned fellow yells “Can I get an Electric Razzle Frazzle?” After getting a blank stare from the barkeep he decides to teach him a little something. “It’s Sour Puss raspberry liqueur with root beer schnapps and a float of cream.”

Now, there are a lot of things that went wrong there, but let’s just hit the highlights. (To save time, we’ll ignore the spurious contents of this hopefully fictional drink). Don’t order a drink that you’re pretty sure the bartender has never heard of, especially if there is anyone one else waiting for a drink. (Not to mention that it’s probably a made-up drink that you got off of some chain restaurant’s table placard). And chances are, the bartender doesn’t care what it’s called anyway. Just tell him or her how to make it. And keep it simple. I’ll have an X with Y please (and maybe a dash of Z). The special order. Use it right and you’re the drinking man you’ve always aspired to be. Use it wrong and become the bane of every bartender’s existence.

Now that I’ve cautioned you on all the things that can go wrong, get out there and do something right. Drink. Keep drinking. Make it your goal to find that one drink that fits you like a glove. And, uh, makes you look like a man that doesn’t wear gloves. As for me, I’m still looking. Still looking for the drink with the right color, container, contents and character to set me apart as a real drinking man. I started with the Black Russian. Decent sounding name, good color and glass, but too sweet — even for me. I’ve moved on to Meyer’s rum and ginger ale (a poor man’s Dark ‘n Stormy, since most bars don’t stock ginger beer or Gosling’s Black Seal). It still has the shame of a sweet soda in it, but I’m getting closer.

Some day, maybe I’ll finally cultivate a taste for the Manhattan. And if all else fails, give me a beer. A domestic macrobrew straight-up, no chaser, please.

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I ran up stairs and took a quick shower then came back down and there were about 5 dames in the pool 3 new england chicks and two dominican chicas….. the new england chicks were from hampton and they were pale as the white whalls on a 70’s pimp tires…. but for sme reason I found their new england accent and proper use of english to be sexy ( dont ask why )

but …………. those dominican chicks were looking like graceful super models swimming around a warm pool that seemed to be built for the sole purpose of complimenting their youthful bodies

I decided to ignore the new england chicks and concentrate on the chicas, besides I knew those hampton borads were there looking for sankies ( more on this later) and I was not even close to being ready for playing that role in some sorta production for underachievers who overeat

I ordered a brugal and a presidente… the sun beaming its hot and pussy is floating all around this pool in front of me plus

…. “im americano”

….. I asked myself what the fuck happened to my plans of a culture trip and research etc etc… ? I guess I was caught off guard by the sheer beauty of these dominican objects and this pretty much fucked up my whole game plan

……I took a sip from my presidente…. this trip was now officialy about gettin laid

and this is where things start to get Interesting

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Now that the situation was clear I decided to play the game like I was in the states and show these people why they say you cant play a playa, the girl was really digging me ( for real ) and had this been chicago or vegas that pimp’s stable would have been -1 in strength. I feeling this chick up all kinda ways and tryna figure out how the hell a chick so beautiful working in a whore house….. or shit im thinking this cant be a whore house all the dames are dimes…. so whats the fuckin deal

I decided to test my instinct and looked right at the DJ and said how much… I was more interested in his facial exspression then his words because this would tell me more of what was reall going on

he paused and said ” no caprendae” but his facial expression told me he was full of shit and was playing the role for profit…. no conprendae with his facial expression confirmed to me that hell yeah this was a whore house and that this chick I was holding on to like she was the last supper was a island prostitute. A Prostitute that looked better then any chick I had ever seen back home……….

qaunto? in spanish this means how much

1500 pesos later we arrive back at the plaza real and im in anguish because I was kinda feelin like a trick paying 1500 pesos for this broad to spend the night with me I kept tellin myself I didnt do it to have sex with her because that would be trickin … but instead I did it to save her from the evil club owner / pimp motherfuckers who counted my pesos and laughed as I walked her out the door. When she looked at me her eyes had a quiet shy way of saying thank you pussyserver thank you with all my soul… but I know we could never be

Truth be told, I am the kinda guy who dont care what anybody think about me so I have to be honest here….. she was so beautiful that in the states she would have had a boy alley do backflips off parked cars and eat raw squid out of her hands

As we walked up to my room im still thinking to myself ” does this make me a trick?” and how the hell could this chick be a prostitute? im tellin you she nor any of the girls in that place looked anything close to a prostitute, they look like a group of prep broads walking thru an upscale mall

We sat on the bed and She gave me her story of hardship and told me her husband had forced her to work at illusions the previos week. she didnt have any kids and had just had her sida ( aids) test come back negative…. I dont play with my cock so regardless of what kinda test she had come back… I reached for the magnums

the light….. ( to be continued )

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lack of information can be misinformation in a foreign land where a man cannot understand the local dialect

we pull up in front of illusions and right away the first thing you notice is about 4 dime pieces sitting at the outside table chillin and hanging out 2 red bones and two carmel honies all with perfect skin beautiful long hair and roughly 18- 22 years old as we walked up they said hola and although I could have said hola back I said “hello” this shit set of a frenzy of chicas to gain my attention while by swarming around me and smiling and giving me that innocent take me away come hither or just plain fuck me look…. at this exact moment I felt like a king

im hangin at the bar having a brugal slowy fading into drunkedness when this female comes and stand in front of the other ones vying for my attention and hits me with a smile so beautiful I fucked up my boxers… TMI , I know but really thats how pretty she was. since she did not speak any english her friend had to translate for me… she said she liked me and that she was married but the relationship wasnt going to well and that she had a fetish for american men she had seen on TV but had never been with one…… I was thinking about what a shame it would be to not bless her with the pleasure, the more we talked the more the other chicks started to fall back as if to show her respect because it was obvious I was feeling this young chica… im buzzed, shorty all over me smelling like spring flowers and love and the music is mid level with a medium light in the place…..if a black man could ever be on cloud 9 then shit im guessin this is where I was

………but wait……

body language is universal and thers something about the conversation her titties are having with my eyes that has me slightly on the defensive

then it hit me

this was a whore house

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………the plaza real…………

for 45 bucks a night I had a two room apartment with tile floors and a full kitchen ( mini fridge and hot plate) ceiling fans in each room with a view of the beach across the street.

I put my bag down picked my cigs and condoms up and headed out the door.

the plaza real is like an apartment complex / hotel / resort all built into place. with a poolside bar and a resturant in the back. I had decided mentally that we would only spend 1 day here and keep it movin back toward santo domingo

but……….

while I was down in the front lobby knocking down some work on the computer …. my friend was in the pool and had already started flirting with the chick who owned the poolside bar so when I walked out the hotel office all I heard was Draeeeeeee yo come jump in man the waters great… I look toward the pool and the he in that biotch chillin with two chicas one a short red bone and the other a honey brown….. theses were the chicks that owned / worked at the swim up pool bar.

up to this point its been moving constant since we got off the plane and truth be told I was somewhat tired…… then I saw her shake her ass… I ordered a presidente and started what would turn out to be the first of at least 30

we sat at the poolside bar and kicked it with these chicks and drank and listened to their music from around 1 PM until 9 PM these chicks seemed to be crazy about us so for the most part we just chilled out and fed off the attention ( this was like some reverse sex role type stuff where the man is the object of a bunch of chicks attention… amazin mane amazin)

at about 9:30 the broads was ready to close their bar down. they said they were gonna go home and change then come back and spend the night partying with us……..so we waited

hhahahaha at 11:30 PM the hotel security told us that they had called and said they wasnt gonna be able to make it because of the rain and that they were real sorry etc etc and that they would make it up to us…

I wasnt nad because being stood up in the states can happen anytime plus it really was raining and they were riding 2 deep on a motor scooter

so now we think what the fuck we gone do….. in the DR there are two things that are for sale no matter what time of day or where you are…. taxi’s and pussy

we walked out onto the strip that rides the shore all the way down ( imagine A1A in daytona with aprox 1/5 the hotels and shops, the first car that drive by we flag them down and tell them ” mi americano” CHICAS?

we jump in the car with this guy and he starts tellin us about the diffrent spots all around the place he speaks of this club illusions that isnt far… he says the place is always packed with girls and that they will go crazy when the see americano….so lets go

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I had planned to rent a car but after hearing all the horror stories about driving in the DR I changed my mind and decided I would just cab it around the country. I had planned to spend most of my time in santo domingo but the previous day in boca chica went so fast I forgot all about santo domingo and took the cabbies advice when he told me to check out juan dolio. Driving along the the main highway road that goes east to west and connect santo domingo and boca chica and I think the other place was called san jose or san pedro you see nothing but ran down battered houses and beach all the way

upon ariving in juan dolio the cabbie stopped to holler at some cats on bikes and ask them where should we stay if we were looking to party away from the regular tourist and that we were street savvy enough to hold our own

………the plaza real…………

for 45 bucks a night I had a two room bungalow apartment with tile floors and a full kitchen ( mini fridge and hot plate) ceiling fans in each room with a view of the beach across the street.

I put my bag down picked my cigs and condoms up and headed out the door.

………….next : The Concept of Sankie and its effects on mongers like me visiting the DR as well as how me and the homie reversed sanki some chicks … also club illusions , the street fest in san pedro … the american from boston creepin and dominican ghetto + german tourist = a shank, brugal and cocaine = us stranded in the hood at 5 am about 30 minutes from our hotel ,,, almost watched a murder , club illusions, the casino, martel or some shi† like that andstreet fest day 2

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so we go to bed and after sleeping with one eye open I realized that she wasnt gonna pull no stuff and that most likely she was just all over a me because I was from the sates and I was handing out pesos like free milk

Its 10AM and I awake forgeting where I am and what had happened the day before the first thing that hit my mind was who was this chick sleepin on my chest and while I laid there looking at the ceiling trying to gather my thoughts like a teen coming down off extasy . I remeber that im in the DR and that this chick a dime …. and that her cousin a shady dude on a dirtbike with no headlights

with no other option…. I tap that ass again

She wanted to cook me a big dominican dinner and let me meet the rest of her family etc etc so I told her ok but that I had to make a run and would be back later… I told her we would go to the movies and hangout etc etc and that I would spent the rest of my days in the DR fallin in love with her…..I then proceeded to pack my stuff and haul ass outta boca chica

next stop

jaun dolio and the plaza real hotel

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the chick I was with started getting super clingy… wanting to hold my hand all up under me and shit pretty much how I might have been on her if we had been in the states… but man… I felt like a king here…

so we in the party and im dissing fuckin dime piece chicks left and right like its a line for me to diss them

im gone skip ahead a little here

so we back in the room this chick in love ( think usa visa) and im still paranoid about her cousin

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