BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
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I knew a guy many years back. He was a friend, but not? Anyway, he, too, was a Chad and was 24 years old. I met him through a relative that ran a suspicious company called Shady Business. However, my uncle insisted it was a pun because they sold window coverings or some shit like that. But my gut said they were up to no good. He also had an unusual name. The mom anointed him after his father's middle title. Ree.
Ree wasn't a bodybuilder but in adequate shape from his years in high school playing sports. So he was no fattie nor hard on the eyes—jet black hair, sky blue eyes at a mog height of five foot two. And he knew his worth of attraction.
There was no Facebook back then, so if you wanted social, Myspace was the place to be. And he had many friends on that network. Though most had never met him. But like with many social networks today, it didn't matter. He loved taking selfies and rubbing that shit in. Brutalizing his competition and ugh, the women flocked to his page. He also enjoyed private messaging and received a shitload from interested parties of all ages.
The girls would pack his inbox daily. Several would stalk, showing infatuation for the Chad. But he wasn't interested in any of them. Instead, his appeal was for a oneitis—Melinda. Ugh. She could suck paint dry. But he was too shy to smash that ass. Old fashion, you can say. Probably because of his father, Major. He was old school and ran a gentlemen's club. And Ree longed for his dad's approval. So he simped for a girl that was a whore. And he would post at least a message and picture of her daily. However, the images seem off as most were of the back of her head, and some were rough with windows and trees blocking her full view. Sometimes, he would share poems too:
Fepuary 34, 199,
Oh my dear, Melinda. How you ache my heart. I feel solinda. I don't know if that's even a word, though my love is four you.
When I watch you undress in your room as I stand outside behind the bushes, I know we were meant to be.
Oh my dear, Melinda. Please save yourself for me, cool?
Ugh. I don't think he knew how poems work. Nor even vocabulary. Or calendars. But he was devoted to that woman!
His Myspace orbiters became jealous of that girl who held the key to his heart. And they were pushy! They would comment on the pictures he shared. Rude comments such as, "Are you stalking this girl? Does anyone know who she is?? We need to tell her about this guy!" That angered and annoyed him. So he began insulting them—mocking their faces and weight, hoping that would chase them away.
Finally, one eager girl cried and said she would kill herself if he didn't talk to her on the phone without caller ID blocked. So he replied, "Don't forget to secure two cinderblocks to your ankles before you take that plunge off the bridge, you ugly fucking cunt!" Ouchie mouchie. That upset her to the point of trolling him. And she wasn't alone.
Several of his IOIs set up alternative accounts solely to troll and hurt him. And they were vicious! They made fun of his nose. Hair. Teeth. Neck. One of them was a law student and threatened his freedom. Ugh. Creepy.
It was too much for him to handle. So he distracted himself with porn. In which he should never have done. He found an amateur video clip of his oneitis getting slammed by yours truly—snapper crappers. And snapped, he did.
He hugged his mother and told her he loved her. Then hugged his father and apologized for being a failure. He went into his room and closed the door behind then locked it. He dragged a chair and rested it in front of that door. He retrieved a belt from his closet, affixed it to the top of the door, and climbed on the seat. He then fastened the belt around his neck and kicked the chair away.
He hung himself.
I would learn this truth from Melinda. She called and was hysterical. She told me what he had done. "Jim, serious, I had no idea who this guy was! His mother had my number and said it was all my fault. She also mentioned your name and if you could swing by the house." I was pissed off! I jumped in my pink Pinto and floored it! Yeah, back then, I needed others to appreciate my height and size. That's why I drove Pintos. It also misled women into believing I had a micropenis. Ugh, I longed for those facial shocks when they finally saw it. Priceless.
Anyway, I arrived at the Tard's residence and rushed to the door as it was already opening. Mrs. Tard was in tears. "He's gone, Jim!" She cried and expanded her arms wide, and we hugged. But oddly, she wouldn't let go during that awkward embrace. And for a second, I felt her bottom slightly grind me. Spooky.
I asked Mrs. Tard if I could buy his computer. But she was dealing with grief and replied, "He just died, Jim! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Ugh. I have Aspergers, Mrs. Tard. And I have a thing with viewing other people's hard drives. It's a hobby."
"Fine! You can have it! Anything else you'd like? Perhaps his vinyl records?"
"Mrs. Tard, this is the late 90s, not the 70s. We have CDs."
"Oh, right. My bad. Do you want his CDs too?"
"No. But I also collect federal reserve notes." I said with anticipation. But she shooked her head instead and led me to his bedroom. Ugh. I felt terrible when I noticed his messy bed. Fucking lazy bum, I assured myself. She directed me to the computer but accidentally touched my crotch in the process.
"Oops, sorry." She apologized.
"Where's Mr. Major Ree Tard? I didn't see him in the living room."
"I don't know, Jim. He didn't take this lightly. You know, he just lost his son a few hours ago?"
"Ugh. I know. This is really creeping me out, Mrs. Tard. I feel awkward and should leave." And as I was departing, she swiftly grabbed my hand and pulled me into an attempted kiss. I pushed her away and shuffled out of the house to my car with his computer at my side.
"Maybe not this time, but it will happen!" She yelled, standing in the front doorway.
Later that night, I would examine his hard drive and discover his Myspace inbox with all those messages. I would then learn what led to that suicide. On his desktop screen, he had two icons. One was to a browser—the other to an MP4. I opened the latter, and it was me pounding Melinda.
So the lesson I learn is some women can be heartless and only care about themselves. And if she can't have you, she'll make sure of living rent-free in your head unless you do what Ree Tard did and take the cowardly out. I condone violence of all forms, including self-harm. And killing yourself affects everyone except the woman or women that pushed you to that point. So if you lose a gf, and think that harming yourself will hurt her, think again! Some girls take that as trophies. "OMG! I am that special for a man to kill himself over!" While others see that as an accomplishment. "Boom! Another one bites the dust."
Ree wasn't a bodybuilder but in adequate shape from his years in high school playing sports. So he was no fattie nor hard on the eyes—jet black hair, sky blue eyes at a mog height of five foot two. And he knew his worth of attraction.
There was no Facebook back then, so if you wanted social, Myspace was the place to be. And he had many friends on that network. Though most had never met him. But like with many social networks today, it didn't matter. He loved taking selfies and rubbing that shit in. Brutalizing his competition and ugh, the women flocked to his page. He also enjoyed private messaging and received a shitload from interested parties of all ages.
The girls would pack his inbox daily. Several would stalk, showing infatuation for the Chad. But he wasn't interested in any of them. Instead, his appeal was for a oneitis—Melinda. Ugh. She could suck paint dry. But he was too shy to smash that ass. Old fashion, you can say. Probably because of his father, Major. He was old school and ran a gentlemen's club. And Ree longed for his dad's approval. So he simped for a girl that was a whore. And he would post at least a message and picture of her daily. However, the images seem off as most were of the back of her head, and some were rough with windows and trees blocking her full view. Sometimes, he would share poems too:
Fepuary 34, 199,
Oh my dear, Melinda. How you ache my heart. I feel solinda. I don't know if that's even a word, though my love is four you.
When I watch you undress in your room as I stand outside behind the bushes, I know we were meant to be.
Oh my dear, Melinda. Please save yourself for me, cool?
Ugh. I don't think he knew how poems work. Nor even vocabulary. Or calendars. But he was devoted to that woman!
His Myspace orbiters became jealous of that girl who held the key to his heart. And they were pushy! They would comment on the pictures he shared. Rude comments such as, "Are you stalking this girl? Does anyone know who she is?? We need to tell her about this guy!" That angered and annoyed him. So he began insulting them—mocking their faces and weight, hoping that would chase them away.
Finally, one eager girl cried and said she would kill herself if he didn't talk to her on the phone without caller ID blocked. So he replied, "Don't forget to secure two cinderblocks to your ankles before you take that plunge off the bridge, you ugly fucking cunt!" Ouchie mouchie. That upset her to the point of trolling him. And she wasn't alone.
Several of his IOIs set up alternative accounts solely to troll and hurt him. And they were vicious! They made fun of his nose. Hair. Teeth. Neck. One of them was a law student and threatened his freedom. Ugh. Creepy.
It was too much for him to handle. So he distracted himself with porn. In which he should never have done. He found an amateur video clip of his oneitis getting slammed by yours truly—snapper crappers. And snapped, he did.
He hugged his mother and told her he loved her. Then hugged his father and apologized for being a failure. He went into his room and closed the door behind then locked it. He dragged a chair and rested it in front of that door. He retrieved a belt from his closet, affixed it to the top of the door, and climbed on the seat. He then fastened the belt around his neck and kicked the chair away.
He hung himself.
I would learn this truth from Melinda. She called and was hysterical. She told me what he had done. "Jim, serious, I had no idea who this guy was! His mother had my number and said it was all my fault. She also mentioned your name and if you could swing by the house." I was pissed off! I jumped in my pink Pinto and floored it! Yeah, back then, I needed others to appreciate my height and size. That's why I drove Pintos. It also misled women into believing I had a micropenis. Ugh, I longed for those facial shocks when they finally saw it. Priceless.
Anyway, I arrived at the Tard's residence and rushed to the door as it was already opening. Mrs. Tard was in tears. "He's gone, Jim!" She cried and expanded her arms wide, and we hugged. But oddly, she wouldn't let go during that awkward embrace. And for a second, I felt her bottom slightly grind me. Spooky.
I asked Mrs. Tard if I could buy his computer. But she was dealing with grief and replied, "He just died, Jim! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Ugh. I have Aspergers, Mrs. Tard. And I have a thing with viewing other people's hard drives. It's a hobby."
"Fine! You can have it! Anything else you'd like? Perhaps his vinyl records?"
"Mrs. Tard, this is the late 90s, not the 70s. We have CDs."
"Oh, right. My bad. Do you want his CDs too?"
"No. But I also collect federal reserve notes." I said with anticipation. But she shooked her head instead and led me to his bedroom. Ugh. I felt terrible when I noticed his messy bed. Fucking lazy bum, I assured myself. She directed me to the computer but accidentally touched my crotch in the process.
"Oops, sorry." She apologized.
"Where's Mr. Major Ree Tard? I didn't see him in the living room."
"I don't know, Jim. He didn't take this lightly. You know, he just lost his son a few hours ago?"
"Ugh. I know. This is really creeping me out, Mrs. Tard. I feel awkward and should leave." And as I was departing, she swiftly grabbed my hand and pulled me into an attempted kiss. I pushed her away and shuffled out of the house to my car with his computer at my side.
"Maybe not this time, but it will happen!" She yelled, standing in the front doorway.
Later that night, I would examine his hard drive and discover his Myspace inbox with all those messages. I would then learn what led to that suicide. On his desktop screen, he had two icons. One was to a browser—the other to an MP4. I opened the latter, and it was me pounding Melinda.
So the lesson I learn is some women can be heartless and only care about themselves. And if she can't have you, she'll make sure of living rent-free in your head unless you do what Ree Tard did and take the cowardly out. I condone violence of all forms, including self-harm. And killing yourself affects everyone except the woman or women that pushed you to that point. So if you lose a gf, and think that harming yourself will hurt her, think again! Some girls take that as trophies. "OMG! I am that special for a man to kill himself over!" While others see that as an accomplishment. "Boom! Another one bites the dust."
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