“Oh no, the bitch got a fatal disease,
she can’t keep dick out her ovaries.”
Esham – “2 Dollahoe”


For some reason fate, life, and the universe seems to find me fucking hilarious. Either that or the universe really does want me to recreate a Jackson Pollack painting with my brain fragments on the ceilling and walls. I tend to attract two types of women. The first, and the type I have the most experience with, being the emotionally unavailable attention whore and the second being the whacked out nutjob that doesn’t actually know she’s a whacked out nutjob variety. I usually blog about the former but this post is about one of the latter.

Time Frame: July 23, 2001.

I’ve been a night owl roughly since about the 8th grade. Most of my friends don’t work nights and never could hang with me in the staying up late department. Of course, this doesn’t leave you with a lot of options when it’s late, you’re bored, and all the people you like are chilling in dreamland with the Sandman. My boy D. gave me the number of a local chat line awhile ago so I figured now would be as good a time as any to use it. For those of you not familiar with chat lines. You record a greeting that others on the line can hear and if they’re interested they can send you a message to you or they can connect with you in a private chat room and talk to you in real time and one on one.

There’s usually a good and weird mix of people to talk to on the line. Calling the line I’ve learned a few things, most of them I seemed to have confirmed or corroborated elsewhere. Young chicks dig me, older chicks dig me, gay guys and transsexuals apparently think I have a sexy voice, I sound younger than my age, I also sound sweet and innocent, women my age generally don’t feel me, and I attract emotionally unavailable attention whores, whacked out nutjobs, and reformed hoes.

Dude: Hey, you sound sexy. I’m looking to suck some dick tonight, no strings attached. I lick balls, toes, and assholes.
Me: [thinking] Right idea, wrong gender. [/thinking] Thanks for the compliment, I guess, but um, I’m straight. Seriously, I’m straight. You wouldn’t happen to have a little sister would you?
Dude: No.
Me: Hope you find what you’re looking for but it ain’t me.

Chick with dick: Hey baby, have you ever been with a transsexual? I’m the best of both worlds and I can suck dick better than any bitch you ever met or ever will meet.
Me: For real?
Chick with dick: Hell yeah! My ass feels better than any pussy you’ve ever been in.
Me: Holla at me after the operation.

Girl: My pussy is wet and you sound good as fuck.
Dick: (BOING) Hello! [In Joey voice] How you doing? [/Joey voice] Me: For real? How old are you?
Dick: How old are you? What the fuck?! Ask her what she’s doing to that wet pussy! Ask her if she wants us to get it wetter and fuck that hot little pussy until it’s cold! Who the fuck cares about how old she is? Pussy ain’t got no face or age! Quit thinking of reasons not to fuck her Freaky, damn!
Girl: I don’t want to tell you.
Me: (The theme to Cops starts playing in my head.) Why not?
Dick: Don’t listen to him baby talk to me! Spit or swallow? That’s all we need to know.
Girl: Because if I tell you my age you might not want to talk to me.
Dick: Talk? Shit, who needs to talk? The only thing I’m trying to hear is you slobbing on me or deez nuts slapping against your ass. Besides, didn’t your mama tell you it’s rude to talk with your mouth full of me?
Me: Shut up Dick! How old are you?
Dick: You have the right to remain silent girl! Don’t say shit! Plea the fifth! Don’t tell him anything!
Girl: I’m 17.
Dick: Hey, 16 is legal in Michigan so we good to go! Don’t stop get it, get it! Don’t stop!
Me: Call me next year.
Dick: Next year?! Do you know how many dicks will be up in that cute little pussy waiting around for next year?
Me: One less than if we fucked her.
Dick: Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?
Me: Every girlfriend I’ve ever had and the majority of the women I’ve dated. Why?
Dick: You need to stop that shit, for real!

Things weren’t going so well that night so I was about to get off of the phone and call it a night. Then I got a message from Ms. Montana. She was grown, a woman, and she didn’t sound boring as hell so I decided to take a chance. She gave me her number and I called her up.

My first impressions of Ms. Montana is that she’s kind of weird. Weird isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact I kind of like people who aren’t caught up in being trendy, cool, and like everybody else (a.k.a sheep). Why do you think she’s weird Freaky, you ask? Well, first her name, she’s named after a state. I can’t remember her middle name but that was even weirder. During our conversation she breaks out into song randomly and repeatedly for no fucking reason whatsoever like she’s living in a musical. Even though some of my favorite movies are technically musicals, I hate musicals in principle only slightly less than I hate people who love musicals. I can’t remember if she was a gemini (I think she was) or not but this girl had a bunch of different personalities and each and every one of them were crazy and fucking liars! One minute she’s laughing, the next minute she’s crying, and the next she’s telling me how she prefers to be naked every chance she gets. Okay.

Ms. Montana was interesting (yeah, I know I generally consider the word interesting as an insincere word when used by most people but damn it she was) with her loony tunes ass and that’s why I stayed on the phone with her. Talking to her was like watching a train wreck. You know you shouldn’t do it but damn it, you just can’t help it. For years, people have been telling me that crazy pussy is some of the best pussy you can ever fuck, as good as and possibly even better than pregnant pussy. She was a nutjob and my job was trying to nut in her.

She was straight up entertaining. She was trying to set up a threesome with me, her, and another guy. That so wasn’t going to happen. The only guy I’d trust enough to even consider a MFM threesome is my male best friend, D. She called the guy up on three way. Apparently, he had been trying to run up in her for a minute and she thought she had two thirsty niggas on the phone. Homeboy cussed her out and I had to mute the phone because I was laughing so hard tears were coming out of my eyes. You stayed on the phone Freaky? I sure did. It was entertainment and I was bored. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this on my blog before but spying on people is something I enjoy doing and I’m okay at it. I so wanted to be a spy or private investigator at one time. Even now, I wouldn’t mind having access to some of their equipment and databases. Just thinking about all of the dirt and info I’d be able to get on people makes my dick hard. Anyway, the guy basically calls Ms. Montana a crazy bitch and she gets offended. She asked me if I was going to let him talk to her like that? The shoe did kind of fit her crazy ass and she wasn’t family, a friend, or even someone I had ever fucked let alone fucked on the regular so basically…yeah. As long as he doesn’t try to spit any venom at me he can talk to you any way he pleases. That’s between you and him, I don’t have shit to do with it. He finally hung up on her.

She spent quite a bit of time yapping about how she’s looking to find a good man of her own who would be her homey, lover, and friend, a serious and monogamous relationship, and marriage. I’m thinking you may or may not be nice but all I was looking for was to make some knuckle babies, have you swallow my babies or bust in your face, or fuck. Friends first doesn’t work for me and probably never will. Little did I know that the longer I talked to her the less I wanted to do any of the above with her.

Moments later she tells me about wanting a good man and marriage, Ms. Montana is talking freaky as hell to me. Then she tells me about how she fucked some guy that she didn’t know from the chat line minutes after giving him her number. She pretty much ran down a list of people she’s fucked, how good they were, and what they did. Most of them she claimed she met off the chat line and didn’t know either. She asked if that made her an old whore. Well, you’re only 35 so you’re not that old and as long as no money or gifts were exchanged than technically you’re not a whore. A slut maybe but definitely not a whore. Ok, I kept that line of thought to myself. Why do women think I want to hear about their former lovers. Unless I show an interest and ask you about it or it’s something I need to know (like something that would possibly make me not want to fuck you or deal with you at all) then keep that shit to yourself! Why tell me stuff about what you did and who you did it with if you’re not trying to add me to the list?

Ms. Montana then tells me, “I have to be honest with you.” Aw shit! Whenever a woman has something to say, tell, confess and she starts it with “I have something to tell you…”, “I need to be honest with you…” etc., it’s almost always something bad. She tells me that she has a boyfriend and he lives with her off and on. She claims that she isn’t happy with him and that she’s about ready to leave him. She claimed her man was shiftless and abusive (physically and mentally). Damn, I don’t wear a cape and you’ll never catch me in spandex so why the fuck is she confusing me for Captain Save-A-Hoe or for some dumb nigga that fell off the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down? Don’t try to lay that sorry ass game on me. I can respect you in spite of a lot of things but I don’t and can’t respect someone trying to play me like a fool. Silly rabbit hoe! Tricks are for kids, magicians, and hoes!

We talked a couple of times after that night. Well actually she called trying to get me to come over and do that stuff your mama calls smut. I turned her down. Turns out the dude that called her a crazy bitch on the 3way conversation called her back that night trying to sweet talk her, come over, and get some one-on-one time. I guess he was jealous or something. You can have her dude. Her phone boning was wack as fuck anyway.