I realize I’ve told you this before, but I have absolutely nothing to say to you people. The next couple of pages of text I type are going to be quite excruciating to you and I both, as I desperately scrounge for anything at all worth writing about. Not that nothing has happened this week, oh no. Plenty happened indeed. Problem is, I’m not allowed to write about any of it. Look for details in my up and coming book titled “All That Shit I Wasn’t Allowed to Write About”, set for release sometime in 2009. In the meantime, allow me to entertain you with some shit that was never worth printing before, but now seems perfectly acceptable.

Ok, first let me tell you about The Cheese Lady. I met The Cheese Lady at Emo’s sometime back in 1992. Although I was probably only about 19 or 20 years old at the time, my new neighbors, Bob Ray and Jerry “Toe” Clark were masters of identity theft and had altered all of my state documents accordingly. I’m sure they will both vehemently deny this, but I witnessed the crime and will gladly turn state’s evidence against them if it will help me in any way whatsoever. (Turning state’s evidence isn’t just for Gumby and Fat Sam these days, it has actually become quite popular.)

Anyway, back then I wasn’t anything near the seasoned club hound that I am now, I assure you. I was more like a typical UT asshole trying to slum it with the alternative crowd. It took me years to develop into an authentic loser I am today, but all the hard work has finally paid off, with dividends. To give you an idea of what a greenhorn I was, I only have to describe to you my typical drink order. I would order a Guinness (but of course) and a Jagermeister at the same time, drink some of the Guinness, and then pour the Jager into the Guinness and drink the mixture. I was the epitome of cool, believe me. (Jesus, I couldn’t drink that today if you put a gun up my ass.) I also remember once I needed change for a dollar, but was having trouble getting the Emo’s bartenders’ attention. I thought it would be perfectly acceptable to dig through the tip jar and pull out my own change, replacing it with my dollar bill. Needless to say, this got the bartenders’ attention almost immediately. To make matters worse, this was back when everybody working at Emo’s was an absolute fucking prick, nothing at all like the wonderful staff they have now.

So Bob, Toe, numerous other unmentionables, and I were out on the back porch of Emo’s and I pick up The Cheese Lady. I don’t remember how I wooed her exactly, I just remember she was completely fucked up and giving me a massage. (Even back then, I was able to recognize that when a drunken stranger gives you a massage in a bar, it’s almost certainly a come-on.) One thing leads to another, and we’re all back at the apartment after hours.

Ok, I didn’t know it at the time, but Toe and several others are watching everything I’m about to relate to you through my window as it is happening. (It was Toe, in fact, who dubbed our friend “The Cheese Lady.”) I was messing around with homegirl on the couch, and we were both down to our undergarments. I began to sense some hesitation on her part in regards to the removal of the panties. In order to persuade her, I employed a very selfish, yet effective technique that you have full permission to use as you see fit. Kissing her on the chest and then downwards to her bellybutton, I feigned interest in going down on her. With a couple of smooches on the inner thigh, I removed her panties with no objections, and then pulled down my own undies and immediately returned to fucking position, dick in hand. Although this had worked in the past, The Cheese Lady was having none of it. She scurried up on the couch until her crotch was back in my face. I backed away, and she came after me, thrusting her pelvis menacingly. I got down on the floor, and she followed. I kept trying to roll away, but she had gotten up on her palms and feet, doing the Boston Crab, and chased me around the room with her pussy. It was like something out of the director’s edition re-release of The Exorcist.

Eventually, I managed to wrestle her down and consummate our relationship. I remember nothing about the sex, except that it almost certainly ended in an unwanted pregnancy. Afterwards, she gets up, puts on her clothes, heads to the fridge, pulls out an entire brand-new block of cheese, and starts eating it. Then she stumbles out the front door into the carport, cheese in hand, looking for her ride. By this point, I had followed her out on to the porch and was joined by Toe and company, who were still watching our every move. Upon reaching her car, The Cheese Lady stopped, turned towards us, put the cheese in her mouth, spread her legs as far apart as she could, reached up under her skirt, pulled aside her panties and pissed. She just stood there defiantly with a block of cheese in her mouth, staring at us while pissing on the concrete without removing a single article of clothing. I seem to recall that she had the craziest look in her eye. Thinking back, I don’t know why I didn’t just eat her out to begin with; I usually love to, especially when I first meet a girl. Something about her must have struck me as gross.

Kevin Fowler
Kevin Fowler
Feature by Tammy Moore
Room 710
RnR Benefit
Red Eyed Fly
Matt Mastrud Art
Rock 101
Chopping Block
Wendy's WWAD
Grub - Guide
Alamo Drafthouse Cinema
Usual Crew
Chump Change
Off the Street


Now that that little bit of unpleasantness is behind us, allow me to think of something equally as unimportant. Ok, I just returned from The Crazy Lady. I was there on official Rank and Revue business of course, looking to open a new market as well as checking on the rumors that they are about to have live music on Mondays. While I was there, a dancer sat next to me and started up a conversation, as they are prone to do. She asked me if I liked her clothes, and I told her sure. She then went on to tell me that sometimes she hears “voices or something” and they make her “cut up all her clothes and throw them away.” She went on to add, “I’m pretty sure it’s the diet pills I’ve been taking.” The weird thing was, she didn’t look like she needed diet pills at all.

Fuck, that story didn’t take near as long as I thought it would. Ok, here’s one you won’t soon forget. I picked up this black hooker one time, over on about East 11th. I drove around talking to her for a while, playing a little cat and mouse game of not wanting to come out and overtly ask for anything illegal. I have decided that as I tell this hooker story, I will go ahead and lay out a couple of “rules of thumb” for you, should you decide to ever pick up a hooker yourself. First rule of thumb, never overtly ask for anything illegal, lest the hooker be a cop. In fact, only offer a ride, or to “hang out” or something very non-specific, and don’t talk shop at all until she is in the car with you and the car is moving. I am confident that no police force in the country would allow a female officer to enter a vehicle and leave with a criminal in order to secure a simple vice bust. So anyway, I’m driving around with the missus, and at some point, my hand brushes up against her leg and I notice that it’s all stubbly. I think to myself well, she’s a crack whore, doesn’t really have a place to call home, doubt she freshens up much, probably hasn’t had a chance to shave. I managed to look past it. Later on in the conversation, I reached over and rubbed her cheek, and noticed that it too was all stubbly. I think to myself well ,she’s a crack whore, doesn’t really have a place to call home, doubt she freshens up much, probably hasn’t had a chance to shave. However, I was a bit suspicious by now, so I reach over and grab her tit.

You remember the floats you used to make in your hometown for the little league or homecoming parades? You remember those? Remember how the team moms would make those big carnation flowers out of tissue paper to decorate the floats with? Remember how if you crushed one of those flowers, it would make this distinct kushing sound? Well, that’s what I heard when I grabbed the tit, a definite kush.
Dude gets all defensive and is like What? What you doing? I, of course was like pardon me, but what are you doing? He’s tells me No, no, I’m female! I’m female! I just have to use tissues because I..I..I..I’m thirteen years old. I go “Whew! That’s a relief! For a minute there, I thought I was in a really uncomfortable situation!”

Second rule of thumb: If you see a street walking whore, and she appears to be really skinny and unhealthy for a girl her age, then everything is on the up and up. If you see a street walking whore, and she appears to be in perfect shape for a woman her age, then she is a skinny and unhealthy man. Either that or she’s a cop. Overall, my advice to you would be to go to the Asian-whorehouse-which-will-remain-unnamed over on 6th street, where prostitution has been allowed to exist openly under the aegis of the powers that be for over a decade. (Hey, have you ever seen that move, Midnight Cowboy? Wonderful movie, some of Jon Voight’s best work. If you haven’t ever seen it, or if you want to get beat off for 60-80$, I suggest you watch it. Once again, it’s titled Midnight Cowboy.) Consider this to be my last rule of thumb regarding prostitution.

Incidentally, I’m completely and hopelessly in love with Kimarie Lynn, of Chapman Motor fame. I’m not even trying to be nasty, because I can tell that Kimarie Lynn, Michelle, and Kacie all come from a very good family. I’m dead serious, I fucking love Kimarie Lynn. I also think she’s a really good singer, and wonder if she ever performs publicly. Singing, I mean. Michelle is fine too, and Kacie has potential to be the best singer of the trio, but I’m telling you now, Kimarie Lynn is the one for me. Next time I have an orgasm with a woman, whoever she may be, I’m going to tell her that Kimarie Lynn sent me.

Ok, some quick Longhorn stuff. I hear that Mack Brown is planning to start calling offensive plays from the sidelines this year. Um, Mack, does this mean that you won’t be firing Greg Davis anytime soon? Because I think that it does. Is that man blackmailing you or something? If he is, there are laws and agencies that can help you. If you are afraid to go to the authorities for help, everyone knows that Chad Holt isn’t afraid to get in the sewer. As far as UT basketball goes, it is now officially the only sport going in America, with all football over, and baseball barely starting. I protest the retirement of TJ Ford’s number by the way. Hey TJ, where the fuck did you go buddy? You still had two years left here at UT. And don’t give me that “I accomplished everything that I could” shit, you fucking lost, ok? That was Carmelo Anthony’s line you laid on us. You accomplished “a lot” and even “most” but you can put your “everything” in a fucking sack mister, and take it up to Milwaukee with you. I loved TJ Ford, and watched him in High School and in College, but I officially protest his decision to leave last year, as well as the retirement of his number. What next? Is UT going to start retiring numbers of athletes who come here for one year? What about guys who would have played here, but went straight to the pros instead? And yes, I realize that his two years here led to and will continue to lead to an unprecedented era in recruiting for the University. I can’t wait to see all the bad-ass players who come play here for a season or two.


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