DEATH OF MATILDA PART II
There was no way in hell that I would ever engage with a chick again. I needed to concentrate on getting the Fuck out of FuckNo, which left No.
Sadly, the only member of my club would fuck me up again, at the restaurant, you know.
Sometimes, you can not rise above shit until you can’t get any lower and there is no other direction left for you to go.
It was about to get much lower.
A find from my son Gabriel. "I’ve Got A Cat." By Stephane Pompougnac
Stacy trained at her station, practicing handling money and taking orders. She would have gotten great tips as a table server, or waitress, as they were called back then. Her amazing rack caught everyone’s eyes: men, women and children alike.
She was Jispanish: part Japanese, part Hispanish. I did not know how she got those prodigious boobs, but I would find out that they were the real deals.
Everyone paid their dues at the cashier station if they wanted to go on to serving. This was for two reasons, which are these:
1. You have to learn the value of good customer interaction, also known as “People Skills,” and the easiest time to learn this is during a simple transaction.
2. When you become a server, you are on the low end of the deal. The customer looks to you to deliver to their expectations. Your wages, unlike that of the cashier who gets paid by the hour, are dependent upon how well you deliver the goods. By the time you graduate from cashier to server, you will have heard from the dining guests everything that can make a meal go wrong.
I wanted to interact with her. It was a form of mental escape. OK, no. It was yet another form of sexual escape. Ya know. Sexcapade.
“Hi, and welcome to Fucky Chucky’s! You are our guest here. What can I do to make your dining experience the absolute best?”
“Hi there, uh, Stacy. Nice name tag. Yes, I would like to have what is underneath it plus the biggest pile of fries with cheese sauce all over them.”
“Excuse me? “
“I said I would like to have the one pounder. Plus fries.”
“OK, so that would be two half-pound patties?”
“I’d guess that they weigh about five pounds apiece…”
“I’m sorry Stacy. My name’s Will. I’m just coming in to work today. How are you? Was that too weird?”
“Oh my God! You got me! That was totally messed up! Hahaha!”
"I apologize. I had you at a disadvantage there, You being on the clock and all."
She just smiled.
And so it went on, flirting in the awkward way that teenagers do, or did back then. Perhaps teens these days have improved upon the age-old flirting methodology, but one would suspect not.
I had some plans for her. I’d learned quite a lot about the female form lately, and had a good idea about the various nooks and crannies and bumps they held and what their purposes were.
Sean greeted me with a smile and a whispery chuckle. He sat there in the wheel chair, sunlight making his eyes squint; his hollow, pale face drinking in the warmth.
“Sean. Didn’t you get outside at all? Out here, you look like you haven’t seen any sun at all!”
“No, Will. The antibiotic they had me on made it bad for me to get too much sun. Hey, there’s my lady!”
Minacca strolled up the sidewalk in a short, light summer dress, her brown hair on fire with red highlights. Minacca was actually a red head I guess. Deep, dark, down and dirty red hair. Dayam. She bent over and kissed him, and I stole a peek at her milky perkies as she did so. Pink aureoles. Cute.
Sean crept up out of the wheel chair and motioned for me to bring it back to the front doors of the hostibal. He stalked over to my Celica and then slid into it. Minacca kissed him again, and then turned around to face me as I returned.
“How have you been, Will?”
“Hi Minacca. I’ve been better. But so has Sean, huh.”
“That’s for sure. Have you spoken to Joey lately? How’s he and Nolei?”
“Oh, Nolei went back to Germany. So did that asshole Ivan.”
Minacca studied me for a moment, then she nodded. “I guess that’s for the best, isn’t it? Or would you have something other than that for him?”
Man. She was one smart chick. Sean wanted to eat some non-hostibal food, something really good and tasty. He wanted lots of fat in it too. The best burger joint in town had opened up while he lied there healing, unable to go out into the sunshine.
He’d heard about Fucky Chucky’s, seen the adverts on the telly, and knew that he would need reservations to get in. Unless, of course, he knew someone who worked there. So that is where we went.
He was about to get an eyeful or two of Stacy. So would Minacca. And she was, indeed, one smart chick.
Next time, my friend.
Max Winston’s short. I Live In The Woods.
Need to get back home out of the woods. 1,200 miles away. And, you’re a dog. Hah?
Antidote: Sunday cartoon. Chaotic Neutral.
25 places to check out. If you are still alive after the next round of the End Of The World thing in October.
Un-Museum site. It’s full of …stuff...
The Butterfly Circus. Huh. Cute. Got 20 minutes to watch? Hell, it’s Sunday. Why not?
Another Sunday comic page, if you are not going to church today. Or if you are the illustrious Jambo of TDC.
Maybe you need a clue if a chick is pissed at you? Please tell me you are not a dumbass and need this info.
Abu Dhabi, baby. In time lapse. You’re welcome.
Or this. Gif of some racing spreads.
Or, huge NSFW pic of a nice booty.
Heck, if we gonna go NSFW, let’s do it.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
One more for ya.
What are you listening to…… in Melbourne?