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MOBY
VICK
Call me Ishmael, but I’ll fuck a fat girl every time.
I pick up women like most men hunt or fish; I go by size and
weight. I’m more than appreciative of the fact that
inside every fat girl, there’s a fine girl dying to
get fucked (not to mention several meals and between meal
snacks.) I’ll bang on shit that most men won’t
even sit next to at a bus stop. I once fucked a girl who had
more stomachs than a cow. Her fifth belly hung down to her
knees and looked like a trash bag full of abortions. This
didn’t bother me in the least. I got up behind her and
pounded her so hard that she slowly but surely became wedged
down between the headboard of her bed and her mattress and
box springs. In the end, her ass and legs were still up in
the bed, but her head and shoulders were flat on the floor
underneath. I left her stuck there like Winnie the Pooh.
Some of you may be disgusted by the preceding paragraph, but
I’m telling you all this for a very good reason. In
my last article, I mentioned the fact that I have errantly
found myself “in the company of men” on several
occasions when I thought I was with women. The backlash on
this topic was tremendous... like nothing I’ve ever
experienced from any of my articles. Seth, the bartender at
Room 710, won’t even look me in the eye anymore. Women
who used to love me are now disgusted by my touch. I can’t
even walk into a gay bar without having my dick sucked.
What
you people need to understand is this: If you fuck five or
six hundred women, some of them are going to turn out to be
men. It’s just a statistical fact, nothing more than
a matter of standard deviation from the mean. Some of them
will be men, some of them will be fat, some of them will be
fine, some of them will be married to your friends, and so
forth. It’s all just as random as any population sample...
nothing to be alarmed by, nothing to be ashamed of.
What I’ve always wondered is this... You know how guys
will fuck a fat girl, and it’s like a joke between them
and their buddies? Do women ever act like this? Do they ever
go hogging and pick up a fat guy just for the hell of it?
What about fags? Do fat fags pretty much have to stick together,
or do horny, healthy fags who just want to “lock the
hubs” often pick them up? Lastly, where can I get a
video of two fat fags having sex? These are the questions
that keep me up at night.
Oh hey, I just remembered something I’ve been meaning
to bring up for quite sometime. If Antonio Banderas has ever
taught me anything, it’s that two guys can fuck face-to-face,
just like a guy and a girl. Were you aware of this? I certainly
wasn’t, at least until I was well into my twenties and
saw Banderas do it in a foreign film. This was all before
Spy Kids, of course.
Until then, like most Americans (I’m assuming), I was
under the impression that you had to fuck a guy from behind.
I was sold on the stereotype as laid forth by America’s
favorite butt-fuckee, Ned Beatty, in Deliverance. When Banderas
got butt fucked in his movie, it was a consensual type of
deal done missionary style, complete with kissing and romance.
This is just another case of foreign cinema being much more
enlightening and honest than the tripe Hollywood has been
feeding us for years. The odd thing is, I must admit that
it’s been hard to take Antonio seriously in any of his
tough guy roles after seeing him get chicken hawked in such
a manner. Ned Beatty, on the other hand, I’ve never
had a problem with. Anyway, I’d like you to all do me
a favor and refer to Antonio Banderas as “Antonio Bend-o’er-ass”
from now on.
So anyways, I went down to Houston last weekend to The Mucky
Duck for my fantasy football league’s draft. Having
the 6th pick in a twelve man league, and knowing that everyone
was going to go running back early, I tried to get cute and
take Michael Vick with my first pick overall. Needless to
say, Michael Vick’s leg was broken before our draft
was even over, and he’s expected to miss at least four
games this year. Most people would panic at this point, thinking
that he’ll be out longer, but I’m not worried
in the least. Anyone who’s ever seen Michael Vick can
tell that he’s been bred from the finest stock. One
hundred and fifty years ago, and he wouldn’t have missed
a single day of work. I’m predicting that he’ll
be back on the field with a vengeance no later than week six,
when The Falcons face The Rams on Monday Night Football.
I realize that many of you don’t get the fantasy football
thing, and I’d like to address y’all for a moment
if I could: You are living in a world of shit, my friend.
Fantasy football combines hard-hitting, high scoring excitement
of football with the imagination and strategic maneuverings
of Dungeons and Dragons. Get it? Football and Dungeons and
Dragons all wrapped up into one fantastic game. That’s
what you’ve been missing.
If you’re a guy, you have no excuse. If you’re
a girl, I completely understand. Why, just this weekend, at
my second fantasy football draft, Scott Fondren answered the
age-old question: What would happen if a guy actually brought
his girlfriend to a fantasy football draft? Well, best-case
scenario: She’ll absolutely hate it and think you and
your friends are complete geeks, never sucking your dick again.
Worst-case scenario: She’ll get bulldogged to the ground
and choked half to death by one of your four hundred pound
high school buddies who is pissed off because Eddie George
got drafted on someone else’s team. I only wish this
hadn’t really happened, and I’m sure Anna does
too.
Fantasy football is larger than life. It reflects the way
we deal with situations in the real world. I have a friend
named Raj, he’s an insurance salesman. Some of my more
diligent readers may know him by his official title, The Shah
of Plano. Two weeks ago, immediately after our draft where
Vick broke his leg, Raj, comes up beside me at the bar offering
his condolences. “Chad, I’m so sorry man. These
things just happen, there’s no way to avoid them. You
know I’m looking out for you buddy. I have several good
quarterbacks on my team and I’ll be happy to work out
a trade with you.” About halfway through this dogshit,
I realize Raj thinks he’s trying to sell me a fucking
insurance policy. The guy comes up to me in my time of grief
and, acting as a friend, starts trying to strip-mine the rest
of my roster.
See, I was so convinced that Michael Vick was going to win
the league for me, I didn’t even draft any other quarterbacks
except Marc Bulger, who I’m sure you all know doesn’t
even start- he’s Kurt Warner’s back-up. Raj has
Kurt Warner on his team, and needs Marc Bulger, lest Warner
get hurt and put Raj in the same boat I’m in. Even though
it would make perfect sense for me to trade Bulger to Raj,
I’m a hardheaded, stupid, reckless son of a bitch, as
many of you are aware. So, I’m going to sit on Bulger
just to “spite” Raj, even though I know deep down
inside that I’m really cutting off my own nose.
But
wait, the excitement and complexities don’t stop there.
In my other league, Kurt Warner is my quarterback. I’m
actually sitting here praying to god that Kurt Warner gets
hurt while, at the same time, he’s on my other team.
Can you believe this shit??
What
I want America to be on the lookout for is the first official
fantasy football- related murder of an athlete. It’s
going to happen ladies and gentlemen, the question is just
when and where. I myself would have shot and killed Stacy
Mack if he had spent one more season in Jacksonville sucking
up Fred Taylor’s touchdowns. Ron Dayne also deserves
to die every time he takes a carry away from Tiki Barber in
New York. I’m sure most Rank and Revue readers would
agree that Ron Dayne probably should have been killed or seriously
maimed back during his senior year at Wisconsin, before he
could strip Ricky Williams of the NCAA rushing title. I am
also sure that most of you got to see Tiki Barber in action
many years back when he and his twin brother, Rhonde, came
to town with the Virginia Cavaliers in what was one of the
best Longhorn home games in the last decade.
That
reminds me of the two least-successful Super Bowl jokes I’ve
ever told, which I’ll close out with. There’s
this shitty commercial for a credit card company, starring
the twins, Rhonde and Tiki Barber. The plot is that they go
into this store to buy some shit, and the fine-ass petite
white cashier girl has all this trouble accepting their identification
because they are twins. I’m sure you’re familiar
with it. Well, last year I was watching the first half of
The Super Bowl over at Jason Lindsey’s house with a
bunch of rednecks. During the commercial break, many people
went outside to smoke and fill up their beers, leaving me
in the living room with a bunch of guys I didn’t go
to high school with. This commercial comes on, and Rhonde
and Tiki are sitting there with their handsome black asses,
talking to the cashier girl. I announce to the room, “I
don’t know about you guys, but I want to see those three
get it on.” It wasn’t so much the fact that nobody
laughed, as it was that everyone got up and left the room.
Tough crowd.
Then,
I go down to Bob and Nicole Ray’s house to watch the
second half of the game, which was played in San Diego last
year, as I’m sure most of you remember. Well, Simeon
“Simian” Rice was being spotlighted at one point
and I tell everyone that I had heard that Simian Rice had
reserved hundreds of Super Bowl tickets for family and friends
who lived in the area. After the appropriate pause, I went
on to say that they all lived at the San Diego Zoo.
The only person who would even comment on the joke was Joel
Svatek, who chuckled briefly, shook his head, and told me
it was the meanest shit he’d ever heard in his life.
Unfortunately, that probably remains the case to this day.
Super Bowl Sundays will of course never be the same since
last year, and I’m already wondering what the plans
will be with the Red River when it comes around in 2004.
- CHAD HOLT
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