Wendi Bear's Blog, page 7

A Wolf in Woman’s Clothing

…And Rosie’s Ranch Dressing!!

It all started two summers ago on a muggy mid-June evening.

“Put on your nice button-down shirt, Franklin,” I instructed my nine-year-old son. “And for the love of God, brush your teeth. They are orange!”

Franklin gave me the “death stare” before heading into his room to adhere to my demands. I opened my closet and pulled out a black dress I was hoping to squeeze my overly curvy rump into. Lately I had preferred a few glasses of wine and a bag of Cheetos over my nightly run and it was showing. I hoped a pair of control top tights would help, but after stuffing my beer, uh, wine belly into them, I didn’t think I had much hope.

Honestly, I was just praying the seams around my derrière wouldn’t rip out. Grabbing a small bottle of clear nail polish for good measure, I secured it into the side pocket of my purse.

“Franklin!” I shouted.

“I’m right here mommy!”

His tiny voice startled me and I jumped. I put my hand over my chest, “Oh honey, don’t sneak up on me like that.” I was recently diagnosed with high blood pressure and rapid pulse. The last thing I needed was an adrenaline kick to set my heart into atrial fibrillation.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right, let’s go.”

Tonight I would expose my spawn to the wonderful world of art. The two of us loaded into my tiny, outdated car. It was a short drive, only about fifteen miles into the neighboring city. As we drove down the coastal highway, I located an empty parking spot on the street with a view of the Pacific Ocean. Once parked, we headed inside and did a beeline to a narrow bar in the far corner of the room. I ordered myself a tall glass of rosé along with a miniature bottle of water for Franklin. We both took sips from our refreshments as we made our way across the gallery floor.

The first exhibit was a collection of old black and white photographs of ancient automobiles. “Check out that one Franklin? That’s what automobiles used to look like a hundred years ago!” I said, trying to drum up interest in my little dude. After all, boys were supposed to love cars, right? “It’s called a ‘Model T.'” He wasn’t having any of it. Franklin took a quick glance at the photo but seemed more interested in the group of children playing on a bench in the center of the room.

“Come on Franklin. Let’s see what’s on the other side of this wall.” My son followed as I made my way to view pieces from the next artist. Once again I tried to gain his attention to no avail. An echo of laughter flooded the spacious building. We both watched as a group of kids around Franklin’s age bounded down a small set of stairs leading to a lower level exhibit.

“I want to go down there!” Franklin said enthusiastically.

Happy that my kid was interested in something, I obliged. Following the laughter, we inched our way down the tiny staircase and within seconds, Franklin saw it.

I watched him near the painting ever so cautiously, it almost seemed like he was floating to it. Actually, he reminded me of one of those old cartoons where the character smells something delicious and is dragged by its nose to the pie. Only in this case the pie was a nude portrait of a large-breasted woman.

Or was it?

Suddenly I realized why there had been so much laughter from the children. This wasn’t a regular nude painting you would expect to have seen from Michelangelo or another “one of the greats.” Nope. This model had a little something extra…

That’s right, she had a penis.

Noting my son’s obvious obsession over this controversial centerpiece, I softly inched him a wee bit away from it. “Stand here,” I urged, while pointing to a small table facing the artwork from only a few feet behind. I left him there to gawk and went back to the bar for another glass of wine. Hey, I needed a little something to take the edge off. The entire situation freaked me out.

A few minutes later, I returned to the tiny table. Franklin hadn’t moved a muscle. “Wow, you are really into this painting, aren’t you?”

Franklin nodded his head without batting an eye.

“Why do you like it so much?” I gently questioned.

“I didn’t know girls could have penises.”

Pondering his reaction for a few moments, I asked him, “Do you want to be a girl?”

The question led him to break his gaze. He turned and looked me straight in the eyes.

“Yes.”

unsure of how to respond to his confession, I spat out, “Well, what should your name be?”

Franklin searched the table and spotted my glass of pink wine. “Rosé, I mean Rosie.”

There was no looking back. That night, on our way home from the art show, I took a detour to our local Target and let Rosie pick out her new female wardrobe.

She’s been Rosie ever since.

 

You just read the introduction to my 5th full-length novel, “A Wolf in Woman’s Clothing,” inspired by my own transgender daughter. It will be released within the next few months.
In the meantime, I have just started my own non-profit to help benefit the transgender community through what else but… RANCH DRESSING!!! Not that crappy bottled shit either, I’m talking the stuff you get in over sized Pepsi cups from the pizzerias in New York. You know, the kind you want to swim in, and gargle with but then hate yourself for eating after? Yaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

So go on, get cracking and donate to my start-up so I can be serving this heavenly creation to you very soon!!!

CHECK IT OUT HERE

Girl Rilla’s Revenge

“THUD!”

I heard a door slam and felt the window in my tiny motel room shake. I peeked out through an ancient pair of ripped curtains to see a man pacing around an old beat up SUV. Dangling between a pair of cracked lips was a lit cigarette. As he inhaled, the flame danced around his face revealing holes from a lifetime of picking. Ragged clothes covered a seemingly malnourished yet sturdy body. From a distance I could easily notice his eyes were bulging out like those of a car crash victim’s. He looked oddly familiar and it suddenly occurred to me, he was the spitting image of my ex boyfriend Pepe.

“RAWRRRRRRRR!!!” he screeched out of frustration.

I watched as he picked up a large piece of broken concrete. Holding it between his hands he swung back and forth rocking his entire body with it. Then with the might of Kenny Powers he pitched the slab into the windshield of the SUV.

It sounded like an airplane crashing through the Crystal Cathedral!

I watched the derelict turn in my direction and for a split second I swear we made eye contact. A cold shiver shot up my spine.

“What did you do? You Asshole! What did you do to my car?” a woman’s voice rang out. I watched as a dark shadow emerged from the room next door.

“Where is my dope bitch? You did all my shit!” the man insinuated.

“Ronnie! YOU DID ALL YOUR SHIT! You did it all! I told you we needed to score days ago! How fucked up are you man?”

Ronnie began violently kicking the side of the SUV. I guessed the windshield hadn’t been revenge enough.

“Stop it!” the woman pleaded.

Ronnie didn’t seem like he had plans to calm his shit any time soon and continued to mercilessly beat on the poor beater.

“Ronnie, stop!” the woman tried again.

It was all too much for such an early morning and I decided couldn’t watch anymore of this Jerry Springer shit. Then just as I was pulling away from the curtain I saw it.

On the sidewalk was a small boy about the same age as my own son. He had his legs pulled up to his chest and he was hugging a filthy teddy bear.

I needed to get the hell out of this place. I needed a plan.

I had been hotel hopping for about 3 weeks and it was already starting to weigh on me. My first book had just been published in print and it came back with a slew of editing mistakes. I was in between jobs, short on cash, and desperate to find an apartment.

So I did what any deranged and desperate dick head would do in a situation like this, that’s right! I called up one of the random unattractive men who had been cyber stalking me on the internet that month and told him it was his lucky night.

No assholes! I didn’t call him up to bang him, I’m not that easy! Pffft!

There was no way that primate was getting into my girl-rilla. I just needed a night out and someone else to pay for it.

And maybe a little side dish of revenge…

Goliath wasn’t chosen entirely at random. I’ll admit it might have been just a little premeditated. You see Goliath worked as a bouncer in Hollywood and this month he happened to be working for one of Donut’s favorite bands, The Danglers.

Goliath said he was a native american but I’m pretty sure he was Mexican. He had greasy hair that hung down to the bottom of his flat obese ass. I want you to know that I use “flat” as an understatement. Go ahead, picture a 9000 inch flat screen TV with two baseball bats attached to either side. He was shaped kinda like that, only with a sweaty plumbers crack hanging out the middle.

It looked like he had swallowed his tepee.

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Or maybe he looked more like this chicken.

Whatever.

Goliath arrived that night in what I can only describe as a refurbished farm vehicle. Maybe “refurbished” is to kind of a word. The frame was rusted blue, the bed some kind of termite infested wood, and I swear to God, there was blood and bird feathers attached to it.

But I’m not one to judge.

His ass took up most of the bench seat. Lucky for me I was still a size 2. Otherwise there was no way I would have fit in there next to him. I was scared to get too close and my body pretty much hugged the door.

Hey man, I have heard those stories about fat people losing their small pets only to find them months later, half decomposed in one of their rolls!

The filling of an Oreo skin sandwich was not going to be my fate!

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As he drove, Goliath started talking about himself and he didn’t stop to take a breath the entire trip. He told me about how wonderful he was and how “famous people” thought he was cool. He boasted that he was as strong as three men and could tip a car with his bare hands. Already that week he had beaten up “2 drunk dudes.”

I didn’t really care. I was loaded down with “It’s not my fault” paraphernalia and ready to shamelessly self promote the streets of Los Angeles!

Once to the venue, Goliath oozed himself out of his truck and gave the keys to a valet. The poor guy looked to me for an explanation as he unhinged my door. I just shrugged.

I followed my date inside. As he walked I could see his body rock side to side as he tried to balance on his little peg legs. His hair swayed back and forth occasionally getting stuck in the sweat of his ass crack.

Just then it hit me…

He reminded me of Tic Toc!

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You know from that 80’s version of The Wizard of Oz, starring a child Fairuza Balk, before her big screen debut in The Craft? You DO know what I’m talking about right? If not get off my blog and go watch it now! It’s creepy as shit.

Anyway, quit getting me side tracked… back to my story.

“Can I get you a beer?” he asked.

“YES!”

That was the first thing Runs With Butter had said that interested me all night. I followed him into the band’s dressing room and to a full fridge of Corona Light, my favorite! I pounded that baby with more desperation than the last bitch Goliath banged.

“Hey, slow down,” he warned, we have a long night ahead of us. Pffft! That was only more reason for me to continue on.

Douche.

Other VIPs began trickling in a few at a time and Goliath introduced me to each of them. I guess they were part of The Danglers, whatever. I didn’t really care but pretended to act interested anyway. I hated Los Angeles and everything about it. I just needed a good place to stash my shit where it might have gotten some attention.

Plus maybe someone in the band would read my stories about Donut and laugh at him! I knew my books would probably just end up in the trash. But I didn’t care, I was on an important revenge mission.

“Wanna see the tour bus?” Goliath finally asked.

I nodded.

Once inside the monstrosity, I caught a glimpse of a cabinet that had a sticker of the bands famous skull logo on it. That was perfect! I decided it would be the first place I added one of my own stickers to. It wasn’t hard to sneak it on there. All I had to do was ask Goliath any question about himself and he would lean his head back, close his eyes and start chanting his bullshit. Why he looked like a mountain of mud having an orgasm. It didn’t take long until the bus was slyly filled with my slutty propaganda.

Goliath received a text message, ushered us off the bus and to the back stage of the venue. There he handed me a lit joint and pointed to a curtain in front of me.

“The lights will go off in a second, the curtain will open and you will be able to watch the show right here. I have to get down into the crowd to keep things from getting rough, will you be okay? I’ll be back at intermission to check on you.”

Well holy hibernating huevos! Maybe Goliath wasn’t so bad after all.

The lights went out and the band came on stage. I must admit it was pretty incredible. My teenage self was pinching her own arm. Why, it was even more exciting than that time I met Trent Reznor!

My mind wandered and I must admit to have had a few personal fleeting memories. They were of watching the same band in concert a few years prior but in the nose bleed seats, with Donut. He let me wear his skeleton gloves and then told the bartender I was a cheap slut. You at least remember that story, right?

Eh, fuck him.

I finished my joint while the band played and Goliath kept his word at intermission. When it was all over he took me out to cheap Mexican food. There’s nothing quite like watching a chile relleno roll around a four hundred pound man’s mouth as he continued to talk obsessively about himself. I’ll spare you the details just this once.

I didn’t talk to Goliath much after that, even though he messaged me on facebook a few times. “Hey, you want to go see a show? You are pretty cool when you aren’t doing that dumb book shit.”

When I ignored him, he posted some rant about me being a cunt on my friends wall. I didn’t even know they were friends! Imagine that. It’s now been like 6 years and he keeps trying.

Hey douche bag! A word of advice. If you like a girl, you really should at least feign a little interest in her passions. Too bad you won’t ever read this. Ha!

Loser.

QUICK! Go buy my books so you can tell everyone you knew about me before I became famous. *Don’t be a lying hipster.

Dreaded Hand Puppet

I looked at the clock on my car radio. 8:47 pm.

Grrr!

I had been sitting parked near a curb for over an hour waiting to meet my acne scarred boyfriend Guardian who thought he was a rock star. Pretty much like all the men I dated back then, he was a flake.

*If by fake I mean a total psychopath .

We had been seeing each other for a few months and everything always had to be in his terms. I was roughly a decade younger than he was at 21, though who knows, it could have been more. He was always lying.

For instance, I still didn’t know his real name, or last name for that matter. I knew he worked at a tech company but he wouldn’t tell me where. He hinted that it had to do with the porn industry.

Still, I didn’t care! I had low self-esteem and would put up with just about anything to get a little male attention.

After all, Guardian and I did just have one of the most memorable dates of all time. I told you about that, remember? If not you can go read about it here.

Guardian lived in Hollywood and was probably the only person in the world without a phone.

I drove in from the suburbs an hour earlier expectant of hot a date. Shamefully, this wasn’t the first time he had stood me up.

I stared out the car window for a little while, wondering if I should give up. It was Halloween and my veins were flowing with both disappointment and jealousy as I watched cute costumed couples cross the street in front of me. I should had made plans to go out with my friends that night, but instead here I was.

I’m a sucker.

https://electrikkiss.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/ukxhkr8.mp4

I let out a sigh, then started searching my car for a pen and paper. I found an old receipt and a green crayon. Good enough for me!

“Thanks for nothing, Asshole!” I wrote.

I got out of my car and walked to the front of Guardians apartment one more time. I tried a final knock then left the note shoved into the crack of his door.

Back in my car, I drove to the 101 freeway entrance and made the long journey home.

When I arrived to my house I was relieved to find the lights off and the door locked. At least no one was there to question me about why I was back so early.

So embarrassing.

Giving up on Halloween night, I slipped into my pajamas and turned on my computer. Almost instantly an email appeared. It was from Guardian.

“I’m sorry I missed you. Work ran late, they are sending us to San Diego for the night to do some filming. I was hoping you would go with me. Pack a bag and come over. I’ll wait for you.”

Pack a bag and come over? Who did this douche think he was anyway? Trent Reznor? Pffft! I was done for the night. Besides, Hollywood was in the opposite direction of San Diego from my place. I was not going back up there.

I wasn’t his bitch.

“Fuck you Guardian. I just got home. No way in hell I’m driving out that way again,” I emailed back.

Guardian responded seconds later, “Please, Babe? I was really looking forward to seeing you. Don’t be angry, I couldn’t help what happened tonight. Just come up. I’ll be here.”

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Well you know what happened next.

That’s right, I was Guardians bitch after all.

An hour later I pulled up in front of his tiny studio apartment only this time he had kept his word. He was on the curb holding a duffel bag.

He stood there with a smug look on his face in place of a smile. His half balding head was covered in long synthetic dreadlocks and individual braids in an attempt to conceal it. I wondered how only 3 strands of his fine little hairs could hold such a weight. Guardian was a natural red-head but tried to hide it by dying his hair and skinny goatee black. The eyebrows totally gave it away though.

“Can you pop the trunk?” he asked.

“I thought you were driving?” I was taken aback. I had been on the road for hours and was hoping for a “roadie” of liquor to get me through the next few hours.

“Nah, my tags are expired. I mean I would have taken my car if I had to but why risk it, you know?”

I was beginning to feel used.

Guardian climbed into my passenger seat and pulled out a doobie. “Mind if I spark this?” he asked.

Already annoyed, I obliged. “Go ahead.”

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He took a hit and then tried to pass it to me.

“No thanks.”

He shrugged.

“How are you on gas?”

“I’m OK. Just filled up before I left. But I’m broke until work tomorrow. ”

“Good, I’ll fill your tank on the way back. What time do you have to be to work?” he asked.

“3:00 pm.”

“We will leave fairly early in the morning, you will have plenty of time,” he assured me.

We merged onto the freeway and I popped a tape cassette into the player.

Go, on. Laugh all you want. Please get it out of your system. It was 2002! Sheesh people.

Now, back to my story.

“Oh I love this album so much! It’s one of my all time favorites!” Guardian informed me, just before launching into his own rendition.

He sounded like monkey with acute laryngitis.

“Hey, Guardian…” I interrupted him.

“Yeah?”

“Who sings this?”

“Stabbing Westward.”

“Why don’t you keep it that way?” I asked.

Well that was probably the wrong thing to say because faster than the burn from a fart gone awry, Guardian’s mood changed.

He flipped off the radio, threw the rest of his joint out the window and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Awww, what’s the matter, I was just joking.”

“Your ‘joking’ isn’t funny Asterisk. Singing is more than my passion, the band is my dream! By saying something as horrible as that to me, you might as well be stomping on my soul with steel toe boots!”

Well, well, well…

Guardian was quite the little bitch.

Here I was trying to be funny with a third grader’s joke and he has a melt down. I figured if I was going to be in the car with him a while I better try to appease the situation.

Even if it was stupid.

“Honestly Guardian, I was wrong. I respect your music, I think you are an excellent singer and I’m sorry,” I apologized.

“THEN YOU WOULDN’T HAVE SAID THAT!”

Jesus Christ.

This guy was the biggest pussy I’d ever seen, and I’ve gone down on women!

I shut my trap in hopes he would get over it.

About 40 miles later he did. At least I think he was over it because out of the blue he pummeled himself into my backseat like a hound dog in heat!

Before I had any clue what was going on, he had both arms wrapped around my waist from behind and his hands were up my skirt.

He pushed my panties to the side and slipped two fingers inside me. The other was rubbing on my clit.

When I said I had wanted a “roadie” earlier, this is not what I had in mind.

Startled, I swerved to the left and almost hit the car next to us.

“Guardian! No! Stop! You are going to get us killed!”

“Shhhh! Just relax and enjoy it!”

He slid his hand further inside me.

“Seriously Guardian… I can’t get off like this, I need to watch the road!”

Guardian didn’t give a shit what I wanted and refused to stop until came. So I waited a few minutes and faked it. Whatever.

When he finally returned to his seat, he used his tongue to clean his fingers.

Ewww.

We arrived at the motel sometime after 1:00 am. Guardian checked us in, dropped his bag inside the room and then left for work. I climbed into the old musty bed and easily fell asleep.

Around 5:00 am Guardian returned to the room. He stripped off everything but his infamous zebra striped man panties before crawling into bed. Once under the covers, he spooned my back and gave me a tight hug. That was enough to get my fluids flowing.

Why I was feeling frisky!

I tried to turn around and face him but he had too secure of a hold on me. So instead I reached down and tickled his toes.

Bad idea.

One would have thought that I snuck something into his angry anus by the way he reacted!

“DON’T EVER FUCKING TICKLE ME AGAIN!”

He grabbed the sheet and rolled himself into the entirety of it, resting to one side of the bed. I was starting to think something large must have been trapped up his asshole the entire trip.

Defeated, I fell back to sleep on the opposite side of the bed.

We had both forgotten to set an alarm and the curtousy call from the front desk woke us with a startle. We only had 30 minutes to check out and I only had 4 hours until my work shift started. I pulled off my night-gown and was about to jump until the shower when it happened.

Guardian snuck up from behind me, pushed the front of my body into the counter adjacent the sink and rammed his manhood hard inside me. He pounded me with the force of hurricane Katrina. The windows rattled, the walls shook and then he pulled out and released his massive flood all over my back.

When it was all over I looked to the clock in horror!

“We have to go!” I pleaded. Guardian was not very empathetic to my situation and took his sweet ass time getting ready.

Once in the car we stopped to get gas. Guardian went inside to pay as promised while I pumped. When the meter stopped at $9 I thought there was a mistake. “Don’t worry, that will get us back to Hollywood, Asterisk. It’s all I had.” Guardian tried to assure me.

Asshole.

There was no way that would get me all the way to work! Still we continued on. Traffic was bumper to bumper the entire way to Hollywood. Guardian never spoke a word and I was too pissed off to give a shit. Every ten minutes I peeked down at my gas gauge in fear. We eventually made it back to Guardian’s. He grabbed his duffel bag, climbed out of my car and shut the door. He didn’t so much as wave goodbye.

I peered down at my gas light again, this time to see the warning light blinking. “Please let me make it to work,” I mumbled. “Please! Please! Please!” I prayed to the gas gods. Thankfully, they didn’t let me down.

I never did see Guardian again. A few years later I heard a story about him on the news. He was involved in the rape and murder of an under age girl.

Douche.

BTW Here’s that link again to the last Guardian post! You know you want to read it!

*Like what you just read? Good! Hit the like button on the bottom of the page and then share this story with all your friends, especially if they are literary agents.

Don’t forget to buy the books! They are cheap like me!

Boot Scootin’ Screamer

TAP TAP TAP!

I slowly began to fade into consciousness.

TAP! TAP!

“Honey, aren’t you supposed to be to the airport by now?”

“What?” I asked, releasing a small cough.

My throat felt like I had swallowed a Joshua tree. The night before was my 21st birthday and even though I had been using a fake ID for a year already, I wasn’t going to let the date go to waste.

“Your grandfather is already waiting in the car to take you. Get up now!” my grandma ordered.

I shot out of bed faster than a homeless man trying to release his load on the subway tracks.

“My suit cases?”

“They are already in the trunk honey. You better put some makeup on in the car. You don’t want to frighten anyone.”

I ran into the bathroom and took a glance at myself. I hated to admit it, but that bitch was right. I looked like Sylvester Stallone after losing a fight to a tranny.

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Still, I was determined to make that flight. You see, I was off to see my tall, lean piece of long-haired man meat.

Well, okay, “meat” is a bit of a stretch. I was on my way to see Clif, and as you may remember me telling you all those years ago, Clif was what I liked to call a “clit fucker.” That’s right, Clif had the smallest penis I had ever seen. Actually it’s still the smallest penis I’ve ever seen and I’ve changed baby diapers.

Back to my story.

I grabbed my purse, brushed my teeth and threw on a tiny black dress. Even though I was heading out to the Midwest in December, I still needed to be fashionable.

*If by fashionable I mean look like a giant skank.

Within seconds I was down the stairs and buckled in my grandpa’s car.

“Looks like someone’s been burning the candle at both ends. I hope this boy shows up to get you. He wasn’t very reliable when he lived here. Remember the time he stood you up in Los Angeles? That was only a half an hour away, you are flying clear across the country this time.”

I let out a huff, “I talked to him last night. He’ll be there.”

“You know it’s only 3° where you are landing today, you are going to be sorry you didn’t dress warmer when you get off that plane.”

I folded my arms and stared straight ahead. I had only been awake about twenty minutes and in all honesty, I was so hung over I wasn’t even sure I was awake. Who did this old fart think he was, lecturing me like this?

I needed a drink.

“Now don’t get drunk on the plane,” he continued, “You have a long flight ahead of you and it’s a huge airport. It would be a big mess if you couldn’t find your luggage and worse yet if that boy doesn’t show up.”

Grrrr!

“I know how navigate an airport! This isn’t my first time on a plane you know?” I countered.

“Oh you don’t have to get nasty, I’m just trying to help,” my grandpa spat out with a change in his tone.

I noticed his face turning red, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to be talked down to. “You are being condensing. I’m just trying to go on vacation and enjoy myself. I don’t need your negativity.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s your funeral.”

We pulled up to the front of the airport. My grandfather got out of the car to help me with my luggage. I had a giant suitcase full of clothes, a second containing half my shoe collection and a medium-sized carry on, you know for all of my cosmetics.

“These are sure heavy, do you really need all of that stuff?” My grandpa asked.

I gave him the death stare.

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“I’m fine!”

As quickly as I could, I piled all my junk together and headed inside. Who did this walking corpse think he was giving me shit this early in the morning?

…ok, afternoon. Whatever.

Once inside, I checked my luggage, then headed to the security gate.

Crap.

The line was longer than a porn star’s penis, stretching from one hall to the next. It twisted and turned more than my stomach after eating at an Indian buffet.

By the time it was my turn to be strip searched by the acne ridden, power tripped rent-a-cop, my feet were blistered from my whore heels and my bowels were about to explode.

*Hangover diarrhea is no joke.

Finally, I was in the terminal. I could excavate my anus and hit the bar. Just as I was about to stand in line for the woman’s room, my flight number was called. I didn’t know if I could keep my cheeks together long enough to board the flight but I didn’t want to risk missing it either.

God damn it.

They were boarding by number and when I looked down at my ticket I knew I would be one of the last to get on, still I waited.

Once my number was called, I hurried onto the plane, found my seat and began trying to shove my carry-on bag into the compartment above. As I reached up, I let out a tiny fart. The smell hit me almost immediately.

“Please don’t let anyone know it was me!” I quietly prayed to the butt gods.

I gave the bag a second shove, this time while doing an anal kegal for safe measure.

It fit!

Hooray!

I rushed over to the tiny bathroom in the middle of the plane and finally had sweet release. It was like a fireworks show of smelly mud.

Even though I firmly practice the “courtesy flush” method, the smell was so horrendous, it made me gag and before I knew what hit me, I could feel another type of explosion bubbling forth from the opposite end.

Thank God the bathroom was tiny and the sink was practically just above my knees. I leaned over and projectile vomited into it.

After I was sure my guts were empty, I cleaned myself off as best as I could and opened the tiny door to return to my seat. Once the door was open I came face to face with a line of people also waiting to use the facilities.

Crap! Pun intended.

I watched in horror as passengers began to pinch their noses, others began to cough. One woman even shouted, “Oh Lord, the smell!”

I was mortified.

Cowardly, I looked to my feet as I began the walk of shit-shame back to my isle.

Now I REALLY needed a fucking drink. I sat down and prepared for take off. I wanted that damn flight attendant to come around with her cart asap. I put my head back, closed my eyes and waited.

I was rudely interrupted by a bump to the knees, “Sorry about that.”

I opened my eyes to stare up into one of the ugliest faces I’d ever seen. It was man probably in his early thirties, but he looked like he could have easily been in his 50’s. A terrible hair cut long since grown out stuck to his head in an abundance of oil. He was wearing a dirty, ripped, tie dyed t-shirt he probably made himself in the 10th grade. Around his neck was the oddest looking shell necklace I had ever seen. I glanced downwards to see a faded pair of blue jeans that had more holes in them than a pair of fishnet stockings. His feet were covered in white stained tubes socks inside a pair of brown Birkenstocks sandals.

Ewwww!

I quickly stood up to let the grease hippie get to his seat.

He took the middle one.

Great!

I was going to have to spend the next five hours arm in arm with this dill hole. I began hoping that the plane served more than just beer and wine.

Eventually the plane took off and we hit an altitude high enough for drink service.

“Do you have tequila?” I asked the flight attendant when it was finally my turn to order.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, we usually do but I haven’t had a chance to refill my cart all day. We had been behind schedule my entire shift up until this fight.”

WTF? Seriously?

“The captain thought it was more important we get you all to your destinations on time than…”

“Well do you have ANY alcohol?” I spat out.

Who did this bitch think she was trying to deny me my life juice? There was no way I could endure the next 5 hours sober.

“Yes Ma’am, we have both Bobweiser and Bob Lite,” she offered.

God damn it!

It was going to take me like 6 of those stupid fuckers to even catch a buzz. At least I hadn’t eaten breakfast and barfed out most of last nights dinner. I was hoping that would help.

“Fine, give me a Bob Lite,” I ordered, rolling my eyes and handing her my debit card.

“We only take cash on board.”

“What? They didn’t tell me that when I booked my flight! I need that beer!” I screamed.

“Ma’am please, you will have to calm down. We are in a flight and…”

“That’s why I need the beer lady, to calm down!”

“I’ll take a Bob Lite too. One for each of us, please.” I looked over to the freak sitting next to me holding a $20 bill. Suddenly, my feelings for him changed. Maybe I didn’t hate him after all.

The flight attendant opened two cans and started pouring into little plastic cups.

“Wow! Thank you! That’s so nice of you,” I said to my new buddy.

“Yeah, no problem. He replied with a smile. My name is Bubba.”

I let out a chuckle. Yup, that suited him all right!

“I’m Asterisk. So Bubba, what brings you out to the ole Midwest?”

“I’m going home. I was in Los Angeles for a farm convention. I’m a pig farmer!”

Oh Jesus Christ.

“Have you ever been to a pig farm before?” he asked.

Suddenly I was beginning to wonder if the free beer was going to be worth the impending conversation. I picked up my cup and guzzled down half of it in a single swallow.

“Nope.”

“I raise all kinds of breeds of pigs for slaughter.”

I picked up my beer and finished it.

“But I do it humanely… by hand. I don’t believe in none of them fancy machines. The meat always tastes better if the animal is calm when it dies. There’s a chemical reaction.”

“Wow, interesting.” I lied.

“Did you know pigs scream like babies when you put the knife to their throats?”

HOLY SHIT!

“How about a second round of beers, Bubba?”

“Huh? Oh, sure!”

I figured I could let him keep talking if it meant free beer. We caught the flight attendant on her way back down the other side of the aisle and loaded up.

“From every kill I keep a souvenir. I take a tooth from each pig. I have a giant collection.”

“Wow,” I attempted to humor my new friend even though I was pretty grossed out by him.

“Pigs are intelligent animals. Smarter than dogs. Some of them even think they are dogs. Every once in a while one will become my pet. After I slaughter one of my pet pigs, I do something a little special with their teeth. I drill a hole through them and string them into my necklace to always keep ’em close to my heart. See!” he said, removing the weird piece of jewelry from around his neck. “You can hold it if ya want.”

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“Uh, no that’s ok Bubba. You better put it back on if it’s so special, you wouldn’t want to lose it.”

I was suddenly horrified as I looked around the plane for other empty seats. The cloud car seemed unusually full and I didn’t spot any. It was back to my original plan.

“Hey, looks like you could use a refill!” I suggested.

“Oh, that was the last of my cash.”

Great. Just great.

I closed my eyes, leaned my seat back the allotted 2 inches and pretended to sleep the rest of the trip.

It took FOREVER!

When we finally landed, I jumped up, grabbed my carry on and slowly scuddled out with the rest of the weary passengers. After hunting down my luggage I went outside to look for Clif.

The cold hit me like a suicidal elephant hitting the concrete after jumping from a 50 story high-rise.

Damn it. Grandpa was right. There was no way I would ever tell him though. I reached into one of my over sized pieces of luggage and pulled out a giant fur coat.

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I pulled a cigarette out of a half empty pack and lit it. My hand shook horribly and I couldn’t tell if what I was breathing out was smoke or steam. I took a few puffs and then decided to go back inside to text Clif.

“I’m here! Where are you?”

About 5 minutes later he responded.

“Sorry, just leaving work. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Fine, but text me when you get here, it’s too cold to wait outside.”

With that, I took my ass to the airport bar! It was about God damned time I’d caught a buzz, and catch a buzz I did since clif didn’t show up until 2 hours later!

Pfft I didn’t care!

I was feeling grand and sultry. Why I had even grown a genuine Merlot mustache.

Classy.

Lucky for me, Clif arrived in an old rusted van. Plenty of room to store all of my luggage. I stumbled into the front seat while he loaded my baggage.

Speaking of baggage…

“Hey, would you mind if we stopped off and picked up Opal on the way to club?” Clif asked after a short hello.

“Opal? Who the fuck is Opal and why would I care? And what club? I thought we would just be going back to your place.”

I had spent most of my day on a plane hung over with a pig murderer. The time zone was 3 hours ahead and it was already dark out. I just wanted to snuggle up in a warm cabin with my shrunken head of a man. I pictured a warm fire and being naked on a bear skin rug.

“Opal is my girlfriend,” he admitted.

WTF?!

“But don’t worry, she knows all about you and she’s cool with it. We have to hit the club. It’s my night to DJ.”

*Now I hope you all remember my advice from before, NEVER EVER go out with a DJ. All DJ’s are man whore losers with small penises. Trust me. I’ve banged my fair share. Also in case you forgot, never ever, ever let one go down on you. They have horrible dental hygiene and you will end with some bizarre form of V.D.

Got it?

Great because that’s my last public service announcement today. You are welcome.

Back to my story…

So what could I do but just go along with it? I didn’t fly home for almost 2 weeks and I wasn’t about to spend my hard-earned vacation in some domestic dispute.

Plus I was drunk.

Still, I had to hold my ground. “Uhhh, I’m not into chicks Clif, so don’t even think about it!”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” he promised.

Douche.

I decided to stay positive. The club would have a full bar. All I had to do was keep my whistle wet for a while and I’d have a swell time I probably wouldn’t remember anyway. Maybe there I could meet some hot, horse hung hunk that wouldn’t mind hosting me for a few days.

Why, I’ve always been an optimist!

Within a few minutes we pulled up to an old paint chipped house and a skinny hippie girl with green dreadlocks and a septum piercing hopped into the back of the van.

She introduced herself and started a conversation about her college life or maybe it was about her job.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

Who cares?

It all sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher to me.

We couldn’t get to the cub fast enough!

Clif parked his van in front of an ancient wooden building resembling a barn. Intrigued, I opened the door and took a step out.

That’s when it happened.

Like a paraplegic competing in the winter olympics, I slipped and fell flat on my back, sliding in a circle. My legs were stretched out, spread like a lady of the night as I tried to stop myself.

My plane had only touched down a few hours prior but already, I hated the midwest.

Clif and his bitch pretended to be humble as they lifted me from the grey slush but I knew deep down they were both laughing.

Once inside we were greeted not by the sound of a heavy base beat, but instead the incessant hollering of a hick down on his luck.

There were deer heads and antlers mounted to the walls.

I looked around to see a bunch of homos in cowboy hats and chaps grinding each other on a dusty dance floor.

Now, I had just hit my head after all so I decided to give Clif the benefit of the doubt by blinking my eyes a few thousand times.

It didn’t help.

“Uhhh, Clif. I thought you DJ’d industrial music?”

“Oh yes, I still do! The Bare-Back lets us have 6 hours a week as a goth club!”

I guess it made sense. I mean the only thing more queer than a gay cowboy was Clif.

Who was I to judge?

I walked over to the bar half moping as I realized I wouldn’t be meeting my dream prince there. At last, all was not lost. There were still shots to be had!

I don’t remember much after that.

The next morning I awoke in a tiny stale bed in an ever tinier room. My suit cases covered the majority of the wall space. I looked out a cracked window to see a blanket of white.

I cracked open the door and tiptoed down a narrow stair case.

“Good morning sunshine!” a familiar voice rang out.

Clif and Opal were sitting next to each other on a small love seat.

More like a hate seat but whatever!

“Would you like some coffee? I can add some Baileys!” Clif offered.

“Can I just have the Baileys?” I asked.

They both laughed.

“Sure! Or I’ve got some Vodka if you prefer.”

“O.J.?” I asked hopefully.

Once my 80 proof mimosa had been concocted and I was sipping away happily, the assholes began.

“Here ya go Asterisk!” Opal said, handing me a pathetically rusty license plate.

“What the fuck Opal? I don’t want that!”

Both idiots started laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” I asked, obviously not getting the joke.

“You sure wanted it last night!”

What the fuck were they talking about? I squinted my eyes really hard as if that could jog my memory. It kinda did, maybe a little.

Ok, it didn’t. Fuck you.

“Shut up! The Midwest is boring! I had to drink!” I said in an attempt to excuse myself.

“You haven’t even been here 24 hours yet,” Opal pointed out.

I didn’t get her point.

“Opal was trying to get you in the car last night after the club. You promised you would get in, but only after you peed…” Clif began.

“So I made yellow snow, so what?”

Both laughed like perverted Santa’s with twins on their laps.

“Ha! Ha! I wish! You made yellow icicles!” Clif continued, “You pulled your dress up, climbed onto the hood of my van and stuck your bare ass against my windshield! That part was kind of hot.”

“No I didn’t!”

“And then you pissed down the front of my car! You used my license plate as a foot stool until it fell off. Lets go outside, I’ll show you the icicles! They are still there!”

“That’s scientifically impossible! Urine is warm!” I attempted to school them.

“Not in zero degree weather!”

Opal interrupted, “The best part was when she held the license plate to her ass and was running in circles like a retarded chicken screaming, ‘Wanna go for a ride? I’m street legal!'”

“You guys are jerks!”

“Oh come on Asterisk, it was funny,” Clif attempted to console me.

I wish I could say the trip got better after that but really it only got worse. Opal stayed for several days leaving me without any alone time with Clif. When she finally did leave, Clif was back to his 12 hour work schedule, leaving me without a vehicle in his isolated cabin. He didn’t have a TV. The internet was pretty much useless. I was so bored I called my grandparents daily.

I couldn’t wait for the week to pass and I’ve spent time in prison!

Finally, it was my last night.

Yippie!

Around 5:00 pm there was a knock on the door. It was Opal. With her was some dweeb she introduced as her brother. He had a giant bottle of vodka in his hand so I figured he was OK. After all, the cabin had ran out of liquor days before and I was eager to finally treat my alcohol withdrawals! Both headed to the kitchen and a few minutes later returned with 4 large glasses.

The dweeb handed one to me. “I’m Gilbert.”

“Uhhh, ok?”

I couldn’t care less what his name was. All I cared about was the free hooch.

“How long have you known Clif?”

I rolled my eyes. Great, now I was going to have to entertain small chat?

“I don’t know, maybe a couple of years.”

“I just met him a few weeks ago. Seems like a pretty cool guy!”

Yeah right. This nerd wouldn’t know cool if he stuck his dick in Elsa!

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Once my buzz kicked in, I decided to have a little fun with Gilbert. “So Gilbert, what’s the craziest thing you have done sexually?”

Opal started cracking up, “Gilbert is a virgin!”

“I am not! Susan and I had sex 4 times!”

The room rolled in laughter.

“Have you ever tried anal?” I asked.

Gilberts face turned red. “No, but it is on my bucket list.”

Letting out an evil chuckle, I stood up and grabbed Gilbert by the hand. Yeah he was a dork, but I was so damned bored I probably would have humped a goat at this point. “How about I help you cross it off?”

Gilbert’s eyes bulged in excitement as he followed me up the narrow stairway. Opal watched us disappear with their jaw agape. Clif just shook his head.

Once inside the tiny room I removed Gilbert’s pants exposing the tiniest pair of tidy whities I had ever seen!

Luckily what was trapped underneath wasn’t so tiny. I bent down on my knees and inserted the tip of Gilbert’s girthy general into my mouth. He let out a small squeal as I slowly began to deep throat him. After a few minutes of foreplay, I decided it was time we went into combat. I motioned Gilbert over to the bed where I sprawled on all fours. My ass was positioned high in the air as I instructed him to send his troops to battle.

Gilbert began to thrust himself inside my anus. It didn’t take more than a few pumps for him to release his soldiers.

When it was all over, I rolled onto my back and lit a cigarette. I watched Gilbert put his tidy whities back on. Once my cigarette was out I slipped on a nightie and Gilbert followed me back down stairs.

“I did it!” he yelled. “I crossed anal off my bucket list!”

“Stop it!” Opal begged. I could tell discussing sex with her brother was making her pretty damn uncomfortable. Good. Bitch deserved it after ruining what was supposed to be my sexy vacation with Clif.

“Go put your pants on, we have to get out of here,” she ordered Gilbert. Luckily for me they both had school early the next day which meant I finally was going to have some alone time with Clif, even if it was my last night. After all that was why I made the stupid trip to begin with.

Once they were gone we retreated to his bedroom. “I sleep naked,” he said.

Oh goodie!

Both of us took off our clothes and slid under the covers together. Clif spooned me and that’s where it stopped. We fell asleep like that, he never even touched a nipple!

The next morning we awoke to the ringing of my alarm clock. Even though I was a bit hung over and more than sore from last night’s civil war with Gilbert, I was OK because Clif promised to stop at an ATM on the way to the airport. That’s right, this time I would be prepared to buy my own in flight spirits!

Just as Clif finished putting the last piece of my luggage into his van we saw it.

Sliding along the icy dirt road was a small red car covered in dents.

“Who is that?” I asked Clif.

“I think its Gilbert!”

“No way! What does he want?”

Sure as shit, Clif was right. The car skidded to a stop and Opal’s idiot brother emerged with an arm full of roses.

“For you my love!”

“Uh, I don’t think I can take those on the plane, but thanks. We have to get going now,” I tried blowing the nerd off.

“I will take you myself Asterisk! I left school early hoping I’d be able to catch you before you headed out!”

“Uh, no. Clif better take me. We were going to stop off at an ATM and…”

“I can do that too!”

I looked over at Clif with a look that begged for his rescue.

“Get in the car,” he whispered. “Sorry Gilbert we were just heading out. We’ll have to catch you next time.”

Clif climbed onto the driver’s seat and turned over the engine. I locked my door as the vehicle started to move.

Gilbert took off our direction. He was running behind the van, the stupid flowers were still in his hand. “Asterisk! Wait! I love you! I promise, I will write you every day! I will fly down to visit! I will make you a good husband one day. Asterisk I…”

His words trailed off as we made it a safe distance from the cottage.

Jesus Christ that was scary!

I made a second trip to see Clif a decade later but that’s another story!

*Like what you just read? Good! Hit the like button on the bottom of the page and then share this story with all your friends!

Don’t forget to buy the books! They are cheap like me!

Sorry Charlie

I pulled into my local hardware store this morning to grab a few last minute things needed for work. I parked my car, unhooked the seatbelt and hopped out. I walked to the front of the building and pulled the door to the entrance.

It was locked.

Fuck!

I glanced at the window and saw a sign hanging.

STORE HOURS

Crap, it didn’t open for another 15 minutes. I still had a good half an hour until I had to be at work so I decided I would wait it out.

I hopped back into my car and pulled out my phone. I figured I could kill some time that way.

“Come on Charlie! Let’s go!”

I peered out my window to see a middle aged couple walking a beautiful retriever on a leash.

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Now as you may recall, I’ve never been a big fan of dogs. But this one caught my eye.

She was young looking and and bouncy. Her coat was shiny and almost pure white. But what I remember the most about her, was her presence. She took my breath away. I had never seen a dog so happy sniffing grass. She took her time shaking her entire butt as she happily wagged her tail. I could even swear she had a smile on her face.

“Oh my God! You are so cute! I want to take you home and snuggle you,” I said more to myself than the dog, since I was in the car and the dog couldn’t hear me.

I watched as the couple slowly lead Charlie into the veterinary office next door. They weren’t paying much attention to the dog as they were deep in conversation.

I looked back to my phone.

In what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes later (it felt like seconds), I glanced up from my phone to see the same couple standing next to my car.

Only this time the man was shaking, tears were running down his cheeks, and I noticed he looked a bit ragged. Probably from a life time of drug use.

I could see the concerned expression on the face of the woman he was with. She was trying to console him.

“You know it had to be done,” she said. “There was no other way.”

“No, I know but…” I couldn’t make out the rest of his words, they were too muffled from the sobs.

“Honey it will be alright,” the woman continued.

Unpredictably, the man took off in a sprint into the busy parking lot. I could see Charlie’s leash swaying in the hand of the woman as she began to chase him, but the dog wasn’t in site. Both dodged an SUV before escaping my view.

What the hell had I just witnessed? Surly they couldn’t have put the dog to sleep that quickly? It didn’t look sick. In fact I’d never seen a dog with a personality quite like that.

I pondered for a second, wondering if I should go into the vet’s office to see what happened. Maybe Charlie hadn’t been put down yet, maybe that’s why the couple came out so fast, but I couldn’t do that. She wasn’t my pet, it wasn’t my business. I doubted the clerk would give me any information.

I stared blankly out my window for a while, then I checked the clock on my phone. Still five more minutes until the hardware store opened.

I looked up and as if magic, the couple had reappeared and were standing just feet from my windshield.

The man was still in distress, only this time his pain seemed less genuine.

“You still want to go to Las Vegas, baby?” the woman asked him, Charlie’s leash was now rolled up in her hand. “Will that make you feel better?”

The man nodded, “Uh-huh.” I could see his tears fading.

“Alright, let’s go pack. We can go right now,” the woman promised.

The man’s expression transformed into a look of satisfaction. I watched as they both entered the car next to mine.

I could see a sly smile form in the corner of the man’s mouth as he calmly drove away.

© Wendi Bear 2018

Sorry for the downer! Want a dog story that will make you laugh so hard you will shit yourself? Go HERE!

Buy the books ! They are CHEAP like me.

Double Standard Sleeper

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Today I’m going to tell you guys about the last time I saw my friend Gonzo. It was more than a few years back. I had recently finalized my divorce from Dumb Beans and was in the best shape of my life. Why I had just posed for Playboy and was currently awaiting my big call back rejection from Hugh Hefner.

My good friend Sheila had decided she was no longer a lesbian and getting married to an actual man. So of course I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see that! Err ok, to have an excuse to spend a weekend in Las Vegas!

Whatever.

There was only one problem, I didn’t have a date.

So I did what any newly skinny, single skank in desperate need for a vacation would do in a situation like this. That’s right!

I called up the first person I could think of with a gambling addiction.

It didn’t take much for me to convince Gonzo to go. “I’ll pick you up Friday afternoon, the hotel is already paid for!” 

“You don’t have to ask me twice. I’ll even cover gas. Give me a day or two to come up with an excuse to tell my girlfriend,” he begged.

Now I don’t know how many of you read It’s not my fault.: MICROBOOK (One)[image error] and remember what fucking Gonzo did to me last time we went to Vegas, but if you did you probably have a good idea of what’s to come.

No pun intended.

Anyway, back to my story.

That night I packed a suitcase full of little cocktail dresses that covered my body (not much more than a towel would have), along with several pairs of glittery stiletto heels, that when on my feet, put me over six feet tall.

I thought it would be fun to tower over Gonzo in the casino. I began to imagine myself taking his wallet away from him (should he get too far out of line at the poker table) and holding it in the air as he jumped up and down begging me to give it back. I’d swat at him like he was a disobedient child or a dumb dog. “No Gonzo, bad boy! Bad!” I would scold.

I’m a bitch.

The next day I piled my crap into the back of my car and headed out to get my friend. Forty minutes later I pulled up in front of his house.

“Man, until a half hour ago I wasn’t even sure I could go,” Gonzo admitted while climbing into my car. His face looked flushed.

“What do you mean?” I asked my little mexi-friend. I was taken aback  by his confession and slightly pissed off. Was this some kind of joke? I couldn’t show up to a wedding alone! He should have been more sensitive to my needs.

“No, I’m serious! Tonight is Jessica’s dad’s birthday party. The whole family is going and I promised I would too, like weeks ago. I totally forgot about it!”

“Oh shit, well how did you manage to escape that?” Now I was curious.

“If anyone asks, your brother was in a motorcycle accident yesterday and is now in a coma and you desperately needed someone to drive you out because you are too upset to drive yourself.”

“She actually believed that shit?”

With a grin Gonzo replied, “I told you already, I’m a master manipulator.”

“You are one evil son of a bitch. But you are right, you are good,” I laughed.

Gonzo put his hand onto my thigh and began to move it up my skirt.

“God damn it Gonzo!” I shouted. “How many times do I have to tell you? NO FUNNY BUSINESS!”

“Ok, ok,” he lied, throwing both his hands up in defeat, “I promise, no funny business.”

The sun was still shining when we arrived to our hotel several hours later, and as fast as we could we got our asses checked in, changed and to the casino floor. Gonzo hit the poker table and I immediately found the slot machine with the closest proximity to a cocktail waitresses.

Hey, Gonzo had the gambling problem after all, not me. I had other demons to contend with.

That’s right, I was in it for the free hooch!

A few hours and several rounds of cocktails later Gonzo took a seat next to my slot machine. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m up by $20 bucks,” I slurred.

“Good, can you lend me some? I’m all out.”

I let out a sigh, reached into my purse and handed Gonzo a $20.

“Thanks,” he said while pervertedly grabbing a handful of my bountiful bosom.

I slapped Stud-uardo’s hands off me and returned to my game.

A few more hours went by and I was having trouble focusing on the machine due to double vision. I stood up on my sparkly stilts and faster than a busted drug dealer could shove a balloon of heroin up his ass, I toppled face first to the casino floor. My margarita glass flew five feet into the air and landed with a “thud” against the side of an oxygen machine connected to an elderly woman with a lit cigarette dangling from her lips like she waiting to explode. 

The contents of my purse scattered all around me. My dress was now a belt exposing both of my saggy white butt cheeks. As I tried to pull myself up, I noticed both of my breasts were exposed as well.

“FUCK!” I screamed after noticing the crowd that had gathered around me. I heard a distinct chuckle as a hand came to my rescue.

“You alright?” Gonzo asked. “Come on, let’s get you back to the room.”

Gonzo helped me put my purse together and the good friend he was, even took me to the bar to grab one last drink to take up stairs with us.

“You looked hot laying on your stomach like that,” he said to me once we entered the room.

“Shut up. You have a girlfriend!”  I reminded Juli-ho.

“Right but we have an ‘understanding,'” he lied.

“Uh huh. Whatever Gonzo. I said no funny business!”

Gonzo put his hand on my shoulder,  “Shhh… It’s just me,” he said with a twinkle in his little brown sociopathic eyes. Then he turned me around facing the bed and gently pushed me onto it. I gave just a little resistance as he pulled up my skirt and began massaging my ass with his dirty paws.

I was shit faced, exhausted and I already knew from experience it would be over fast. So, I let the little brown Muppet do his thing.

Uh huh.

Gonzo pulled my panties off and inserted all 3 millimeters of his little peter into my rectum. He thrusted that thing with all his might for a good five minutes before releasing his load inside me. The best part about sex with Gonzo was I didn’t have to pretend to have an orgasm.

He didn’t even care.

I got off the bed and went to clean myself off in the bath, stopping only to grab what was left of my margarita of course!

The water was warm and soothing. I relaxed for a good half hour, until my fingers and toes became all pruney and the bathroom mirror was covered in steam. After getting out I wrapped myself in a big fluffy towel. I was ready to crawl under the covers and pass out. I was sure Gonzo was already asleep and I was grateful the room had two standard sized beds.

I stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

That’s when I saw it.

In the same place I had been just a half an hour before was another woman! Her bulbous black butt cheeks were in the air and Gonzo had his mediocre member stuffed between them. She let out a soulful moan that reminded me of a gospel singer. I didn’t know anyone could sound so angelic during sex.

She was definitely faking it.

“Oh heeeey Asterisk! This is my friend Rhonda, I met her down at the poker table. I invited her up to meet you, I think you two will like each other.”

“Hi!” Rhonda managed to squeeze out in between moans.

“What the fuck Gonzo?” I shouted.

Pfft. I was definitely happy there were two beds now.

I was pissed off but more so I was in shock. Who knew that little guy had a motor like that in his lil pecker? I’m not gonna lie, even though I was disgusted, I was impressed. Also, I was pretty glad I wasn’t his girlfriend.

Seeing me catch him must have been what he wanted because I unwillingly watched him pull out his dinger and release his load of icing all over his second piece of cake.

Thoroughly disgusted, I crawled into bed and hid my face under a pillow. Luckily it didn’t take me long to pass out.

When I awoke the next morning Rhonda was gone and Gonzo was in the shower. I reluctantly got up in search of some water. I found a bottle in the mini fridge and chugged it like a beer at a frat party. I had just finished my life juice when Gonzo opened the bathroom door. He was dressed, shaven and his hair was combed. He even smelled like cologne.

How do men do that?

“Hey Asterisk, I’m gonna head down to the poker table for a bit before we leave for the wedding. What do you think you need to get ready? About an hour?”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

Dick.

About an hour and fifteen minutes later I was finally ready. I grabbed the wedding invitation and made my way down to the casino to find Gonzo. He was still at the poker table with a mountain of $5 chips in front of him.

“You ready?” I asked him a bit annoyed.

“No, not yet, I’m up!”

“That’s great Gonzo, but we have to leave now,” I scolded.

“Hey, you know you are never supposed to tell someone to leave when they winning! Go get a drink, we will leave soon!” he promised.

A drink did sound like a good idea so I did what I always did and found the best cocktail waitress in the casino to sit by. I threw a $20 in the machine and placed my order.

When I finally checked the time on my phone it was 1:30 pm, the wedding had already started.  

Whatever.  I didn’t care anymore. 

I was drunk.

Still, I hefted my boozy ass up and went in search of my friend. Luckily he was down to his last chip and ready to go.

“You drive,” I slurred, handing him the keys.

Because we were so late we decided to skip the ceremony and head straight to the reception hall. We arrived an hour before the wedding party. Lucky for us, the reception was being held at a winery!

“Gonzo, want to do some wine tasting while we wait?” I asked, batting my drooping eyelashes.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Together we sat and we drank until the rest of the wedding party and the guests arrived. To be honest, I can’t remember any details of the reception at all, I can just remember what happened afterwards.

It was dark when we said our good byes to the new bride and groom. We got in my car to head back to the casino and once again Gonzo was in the driver’s seat. He made a quick stop to fill up for gas and that’s when I did it.

While Gonzo was inside paying the cashier I moved into the driver’s seat. Gonzo didn’t notice me until he was done pumping.

“I’m driving!” I drunkenly announced. Even though Gonzo had been drinking a lot too, he still felt he was better suited to be in control of a vehicle. He was probably right, or maybe we should have just called a cab.

At any rate, he was not pleased.

“You are not driving Asterisk, move over,” he ordered.

“I will not!” I announced.

“I’m not playing with you asterisk. Move the fuck over.” Gonzo’s face had begun to turn red. Still I was insistent.

“I said,  I. Will. Not… Dick.”

Gonzo began to shout, “MOVE THE FUCK OVER NOW!”

I found his anger amusing and started to laugh. Gonzo did not like that. I know because before I even saw it coming he shoved me with all his might into the passenger seat. I grabbed the keys out of his hand.

Gonzo’s face became twisted, his eyes began to bulge and out came a rage I hadn’t seen on a man since my ex boyfriend Pepe a decade earlier.

Gonzo swung at me, the rest gets a bit blurry but at some point he grabbed me by the neck and put me into a sleeper hold.

I awoke in my car the next morning. I was in the parking lot of the hotel and Gonzo was gone. Almost immediately I could feel the massive pain. I looked down to find I barely had movement in my neck. My arms and legs were covered in bruises and cuts. I grabbed my purse and limped back to our room.

Once to the door I began frantically searching for the room key. While searching I noticed that all my cash along with my debit card were missing.

I eventually found the Key.

Shyly, I entered expecting to find Gonzo, but the room was empty. I walked into the bathroom and gazed in the mirror. I was shocked to see my face. My nose was swollen, one of my eyes were black and I had a cut across my left cheek. I scanned downward to see the majority of my body was black and blue.

What the hell had happened to me?

I ran into the bedroom and dumped out my purse to no avail. I had not a cent nor a card to get home on. I scurried back out of the casino.

“It must be in the car,” I told myself, but after a long search all I could find was Gonzo’s overnight bag. I had no choice but to call him.

I picked up my phone and dialed his number, the phone was off.

Hesitantly, I called Sheila.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he did that to you, that bastard!” she wailed.

“I’m sorry to put you through this on the day after your wedding but can I borrow some money to get home?”

“Of course, I’ll drop it by in an hour.”

I made it home that night but it took several weeks for my body to heal. I finally talked to Gonzo a few days later. He told me that he had made his girlfriend drive out Nevada to pick him up that night but denied having taken my money or card. Then he went on a rant about how I made him hurt me.

I hung up the phone and never talked to him again. Though, I know he has been reading my blog.

I threw his bag in the dumpster a month later.

Hi Gonzo. Fuck off.

 

Free Willy and the Hillbillies

It’s not my fault.: Sacrifice & Survival [image error]

I awoke to the sound of the TV blaring and my bed shaking. Hesitantly, I opened my eyes to see my son, PJ, bouncing up and down on the bed with his butt. He was playing some sort of tug-o-war with Willy, our little white foster dog.

Willy was an appropriate name for this hound because he had what appeared to be a lightsaber between his legs. I’m not even exaggerating. His lipstick could make Chanel jealous. Although the dog’s manhood was semi-pornographic and definitely less than appropriate, my kid didn’t even seem to notice.

“Good morning Mommy!” he greeted me in a chipper little tone.

Voices from an infomercial blasted out of the TV behind him.

“Shhh!” I begged, remembering it was Sunday. “Mommy is so tired PJ. Turn down the TV and play quietly.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“Make yourself a bowl of cereal,” I instructed.

“OK.”

PJ hopped off my bed and stomped into the tiny attached kitchen to make himself a bowl of kiddie cocaine. The fur ball followed, hoping for a hand out or perhaps a dropped morsel. He wasn’t having much luck because little PJ hoarded food like a toddler in Somalia.

I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket over my head but I knew it was already too late. I had to pee. That was it, I was up for good.

God damn it.

I rolled my albino-sausage legs to the edge of the bed and made an attempt to sit up.  The fruit of my loins returned with his bowl of fruit loops and his fuzzy white shadow in tow.

The TV blared on.

“Mommy! Mommy! We need to buy a Copper Chef!” PJ excitedly informed me.

“A Wha..?”

“It’s a great deal!” he continued. “Guess how much it is! It’s not $129.99!”

“I don’t know? How much?”

“It’s not $99.99!”

I began to giggle.

“It’s not $69.99.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s just three easy payments of $19.99 if we order today. Plus we will get a second one at NO CHARGE!”

I was impressed. Maybe’s PJ’s adult life wouldn’t be too terrible after all. I figured even if I messed him up there was now hope for my little dude landing a gig on the home shopping network.

It was clear PJ needed to get out of the house for a while and away from the TV.

Plus, I needed a mimosa.

“Come on mom!” PJ continued while handing me my cell phone, “If we act now they will throw in Eric’s cook book at NO CHARGE!”

“PJ! LISTEN TO ME! Get dressed, let’s walk to Whale Beach and get brunch!” I figured that was something we would both enjoy, plus I was hoping to get Willy some exposure and a possible home as soon as possible.

Well, PJ was obviously my kid because faster than an exploding pimple hits a mirror, his pajamas were off and he was fumbling through a drawer.

I called Willy over to me and attached an “Adopt Me” scarf around his neck in an attempt to attract potential dog adopters. Glancing under him, I considered using it as a diaper instead.

PJ must have been really excited to go because before I could blink, he had the front door open. Like a flash of lightning, I watched in horror as Willy took his one shot at freedom!

That’s right! That little overly erect cotton ball bounded out the front door.

With my nightgown still on, I headed to the door and began to shout, “Willy! Willy! Come here boy!” but it was too late.

I looked down the hall to see Willy dash down the adjacent stairs, across the hallway and through a courtyard.

“SHIT!” I screamed. “PJ, STAY here!”

There wasn’t a second to lose.

Shoe-less and bra-less, I ran with stealth speed down the staircase. My mammoth mammeries began pounding me in the face full force, like two under filled water balloons on a trampoline. Unsuccessfully, I tried to squeeze both under my left arm as I continued after the dog.

When I reached the courtyard, I could see Willy had gained speed and was headed towards the highway. Willy had seen his one chance at freedom and he was taking it. I felt a gust of wind and helplessly watched as Willy’s scarf caught air. It resembled the cape of a super hero and I could almost swear it was giving him momentum.

Still, I would not give up!

“Willy! Willy! Good boy! You want a treat?” I called out.

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Willy stopped and he turned around to face me.

Thank God! The chase was over…

Willy looked me in the eye and gave me a smug little smile. I think it might have been dog for the middle finger because he turned right back around and headed full speed for the intersection.

I picked up my pace, after all I would not be held accountable for losing my foster dog! Willy was my responsibility and I could not let down the rescue. I refused be known as the woman who turned her foster into road kill!

I was still twenty feet behind Willy and watched in horror as he began running through the rows of moving cars. This was it, the end. I could hear screeching tires and women screaming. At any second there would be a bloody mess, I just knew it. Willy’s remains would soon resemble Mama June’s used tampon.

Despite Willy’s impending automobile doom, I idiotically continued to follow pursuit.

Thankfully, Willy made it onto the curb. He stopped and gave me another one of his smiles before bolting through a crowded parking lot. I continued not far behind. Some people were shouting obscenities, others were cat calling me. I had just put my bare foot onto the sidewalk when I noticed them.

That’s right.

My jiggling juggalos had escaped!

Uh huh.

Both my breasts had bounced out of my pajama top and were resting exposed on my rib cage. OK, it was more like my stomach.

Whatever.

I did my best to tuck them back into my top and continued the chase. I was a few yards down, virtually out of breath and panting like a birthing hyena, when I saw Willy next.

To my delight a teen-aged girl reached down and picked him up.

“Is this your dog?” she asked as I approached.

“Yes, well my foster dog,” I managed to cough out, still out of breath.

“Why were you chasing him? He just came right up to me!”

I gave that damn juvenile delinquent the death stare. “He needs a forever home, maybe you should adopt him,” I sarcastically suggested.

“I already have a dog,” she said with her nose up as she handed him back to me.

I grabbed Willy and held him tight against me as I made the hike back to our apartment. I verbally scolded him as I walked. “Bad Willy! Bad dog!”

“Willy!” PJ screamed as we made our way through the front door. “Mommy you were gone a long time!”

“Willy is a BAD dog!” I asserted. “He almost got us both killed! He’s going into the crate today!”

My son just shook his head sensing that it probably wasn’t the best time to argue with me.

Once Willy had begun his sentence in doggy time out, I put on some real clothes, secured my breasts and slapped on a little face paint.

It didn’t help.

PJ and I were off. The sun hit my face and I hoped the day might turn out OK after all. Soon I would be sipping on a mimosa and listening to the relaxing sounds of the ocean waves crashing onto the sandy shore.

We were about halfway through our journey to brunch when PJ spotted it.

“Mommy look, some kid lost their snuggly teddy bear!”

What I looked down to see was anything but snuggly. Some perv had dressed a damn bear up as a woman in real woman’s underwear! I bet he probably had sex with it too before dicarding her lifeless body into the ocean.

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We were now witnesses to some sort of sick teddy bear bondage murder case.

What the hell is wrong with you people?

Sheesh!

Well, I wasn’t gonna try to explain THAT to my kid so I just agreed with him and then pointed out a large sea-bird, anxious to leave the furry critter crime scene.

After breakfast I was feeling pretty giddy from my pitcher of orange juice infused hooch. PJ wanted to walk the main street and check out the shell shop. I was fine with that, but first a little stop at the corner store for a sixer. I had to keep my noon time buzz afloat after all. I grabbed the beer, paid for it and then stuck five inside my beach bag. Number six went into a plastic cup so I could sip while we walked.

We had just turned the corner facing the shell shop when we saw it.

Parked right there in front of our destination was the biggest piece of shit automobile I had ever seen. It was an old truck covered in so much rust I was amazed it was still in one piece!

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Sitting in the bed of the truck was the skeleton of what must have once been a grand piano. It was tied down with ropes and held together with duct tape.

It even came with its own hillbillies!

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I’m not joking!

Right there in the middle of the little beach town, a man obviously down on his luck sat on a plastic crate in the bed of his decaying vehicle and played what was left of his piano. From his lips came the lyrics of a song his granny must have played for him back in the deep south. Or maybe it was just some song they sang over the fire at the hobo camp.

Whatever.

Back to my story.

The hootenannying hillbilly was not alone. Another yokel wearing a torn up hat and the remains of a flannel shirt stood playing a tambourine. As he thumped his foot I noticed three dirty toes sticking out the front of his boot. He began belting the words to a song I didn’t recognize.

Why, it was the Moron Tattered-Knuckle Choir!

Both men smiled at PJ and me revealing jig saw puzzles in lieu of teeth. Black goo sat near their gum lines and little yellow dangling nubs encompassed the ends. They reminded me of bits of half chewed corn. Well, at least in the few spots the teeth actually remained. I wondered how those suckers were still intact. Maybe they used some kind of magic hillbilly super glue.

Suddenly the music stopped.

“Hey little man!” one of the harmonic hobos greeted PJ. “Would you like to come aboard our truck and play something?”

PJ smiled and looked up to me to see if it was alright. “Yeah, go!” I encouraged him.

Even though it was not the cleanest place to be and these men were total strangers, I had a hard time believing their truck could gain a speed faster than that which I could run. So, I figured it must have been safe enough.

Plus I was drunk.

This was one the funniest things I had ever seen and I wanted to see how far it could go.

PJ got up there and played probably the worst piano I had ever heard. Still the gathering crowd cheered and clapped for my little Mozz-Fart.

The other hobo limped over to me, “Your son is a natural!” he lied.

I just laughed. Then I reached into my bag and produced a bottle of beer. I handed it to hobo number one. “I don’t have any cash, but I can tip you in beer!”

“Thank ya ma’am!” he excitedly exclaimed while accepting my gracious gift.

“Do you have a cup?” I asked.  The man looked at me a little confused. I showed him what I had in my hand. “I poured mine into a cup so I wouldn’t get a ticket!” I proudly confessed.

“Well, in that case,” he said, “I want yours!”

Faster than I could have released a beer belch, that hound dog grabbed my cup, put it to his decaying mouth and took a sip. He handed it back to me.

I looked inside to see if he had left a tooth behind.

Nope. It was all clear.

So, I did what any inebriated imbecile would do in a situation like this.

That’s right!

I took a drink. I guzzled down vagrant backwash.

Shut up!

Alcohol is supposed to kill germs. Even hillbilly germs.

PJ finished his 5 minutes of fame and I tipped the other clodhopper a beer. I decided not to tell that one about my cup idea.

After pouring myself a second beer, we headed to the shell shop.

A little while later, when the sun was starting to get low, and PJ had his pockets full of dried star fish and shark teeth, we began the long journey home.

When we finally neared our building I let out a sigh of relief. I was ready for a hot bath and a nap. Once we made it to our door step, I slipped the key into the lock, pulled it open and then…

WOOSH!

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Willy bolted out right in front of us. He had made yet another escape. I looked to the crate to see the door wide open.

That fluffy little mother fucker.

But that’s another story.

Lucky Raptor

Tonight I’m gonna tell you about the first time Sam and I had sex. We had been hanging out for about a month and that particular night I was to tend bar at an event for my hairy marshmallow man in his electronic cigarette store.

“You’ll make some tips,” he promised, right after having informed me that he didn’t plan on actually paying me a wage.

I didn’t really care much. My grandfather who I had lived with after my divorce from Dumb Beans had recently passed away and my shitty remaining family threw my kids and I out on the street the day he was buried. I had been out of work and living in an extended stay hotel for months.

Needless to say, I was lonely, depressed and in desperate need of a night out minus children.

Plus there would be free booze!

You see, Sam is what you could call a bottom feeder. No way would he have ever scored a catch like me in a million years had I not just hit rock bottom.

I was still a babe back then, a perfect size 2.

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See!?!

Let me be your lesson, never date a fatty unless you are willing to turn into one! I put on 30 pounds in the two years I was with him.

Now all I do is sit around and eat donuts.

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Errrrrrr….Marshmallows. 

Whatever.

Anyway back to the story.

Halfway through the night, probably after wine glass number six, I made my decision.

With my lips now stained red from the cheap grape guts I had recently guzzled down and my heart full of their liquid courage,  I approached Sam’s scrawny and sickly looking male employee.

“I’m gonna do your boss tonight,” I chuckled.  “Yup! Tonight he is getting some of this.”

“Uh, kay?” the snarky little jerk replied. “Hey Sam, come get your chick! I think she’s had too much to drink.”

Sam looked our way,  shrugged his shoulders and went back to the conversation he was having with one of his guests.

I walked over to the bar and poured myself another.

Eventually Sam made his way back to me,  just as the party was coming to an end.

“Tonight is your lucky night!” I promised my processed food prince. “I’m gonna rock your world.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice sounding completely monotone.

“That’s right, I’m gonna give you the best night of your life,” I drunkenly promised.

“I don’t know,” he began,  pausing to take a hit from his e-cigarette and still sounding noticeably unenthused, “That’s a lot to live up to.  You think you are in the condition to accept the challenge?”

“Ha ha ha! There’s no challenge,  I’m amazing in the sac,” I assured him.  “I might even let you put it in my butt.”

As was the usual,  Sam left his rarely paid employees to clean up the entire mess by themselves before driving me back to his place.

Though I had been there once or twice prior to that night, I had never actually made it into his bedroom before.

Once inside,  I followed Sam into his room and onto his king sized bed.  I kissed his hairy face and then began to pull off his pants.

It didn’t take very long because Sam was a sagger. Those babies sat halfway down on his swollen thighs anyway. I’m not sure if he did it because he thought it made him look cool,  or if it was because he wanted to trick himself into believing his waist was only a size 42.

Once the jeans were gone, he removed his socks and that’s when I saw them for the first time.

Giant raptor claws.

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That’s right!

The tips of Sam’s toes contained what I can only describe as what would have once been present upon a prehistoric beast.

I’m serious!

I don’t think those things had been trimmed since he was in high school!

His feet were blue and veiny, which only made it worse. The lack of natural pigment gave the illusion that they could have easily been the fossilized remains of a raptor, had he only been scaled down to size. -Oh wait! Ha ha ha ha!

Whatever.

I didn’t care.

I was horny, drunk and determined to get my rocks off, even if it meant possible dinosaur bestiality.

So, I did what any half-retarded bimbo would do in my situation, I pushed my marshmallow man down onto his bed, prepared to do the splits and hoped he could stay puffed!

I hiked up my skirt,  slipped off my panties and climbed candy mountain. Riding his belly eerily reminded me of the motion from a cruise ship, bouncing and swaying all the while becoming more and more bored and disappointed.

Finally I faked an orgasm just to make it end.

But Sam wasn’t finished yet, he was ready for a marathon.

If by marathon I mean the best 38 minutes of my life.

Actually,  if you combined all the sex we had together after that, for the entire duration of our relationship,  they probably wouldn’t even add up to that magic 38 minutes he gave me the first night.

I humored Sam,  I had to.

I mean I couldn’t lose the challenge. I continued to bounce on top of him until I thought my hips would pop out of socket. When the pain became unbearable, I rolled off in defeat.

Sam was proud. He felt he had won the challenge and celebrated alone with four corn dogs and two of those giant cans of Spaghettios.

I passed out.

A few hours later the bellowing sounds escaping Sam’s mouth woke me with a startle. I was not yet used to his snoring.

Almost immediately I could feel a piercing sting in my girl-rella.

DAMN IT!

The alcohol must have diluted my sense of smell that evening, because there hadn’t been any detection of Sam’s foul body odor, but still I could feel it coming…

Yes, you know what I’m talking about.

The three worst letters a lady can hear:  UTI.

Or was it?

Well, that’s another story.

 It’s not my fault.: Sacrifice & Survival[image error]

Cow Balls

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I awoke a bit dehydrated from the wine I had consumed the night before. My neck was stiff as I squinted to the left to see the clock. After one failed attempt I gave up and reached for my glasses. It was 7:30 am.

Perfect.

I still had time for my morning run before I had to get ready for work. I stood up and walked towards the bedroom door already hearing it.

HARR UMMP! WEEEEEE! HARR UMMP! WEEEEEEE! GRRRRuuuup!

Suddenly my head hurt. I rolled my eyes when I saw it.

My boyfriend, Sam the Ham, was sprawled out on my beautiful sofa snoring his ugly brains out.

Shirtless.

That’s right!

There was 400 pounds of fuzzy man fluff spread out as far as the eyes could see.

He had one giant leg limb resting against the side of the couch, while the other was spread wide open exposing his measly man bits to the entire house; including his mother, who happened to be watching TV on the love seat next to him. -Though she didn’t seem bothered.

His head was leaning over the arm of the sofa and his mouth was agape.

I found it annoying that not only did he snore like a locomotive, his body resembled the caboose.

“Hey, get up!” I ordered as I attempted to shake him awake. I watched as his whole body rippled like the water bed I used to have in high school, or perhaps one of my aunt Marsha’s famous Jello molds.

HARR UMMP!

“Sam!” I tried again.

WEEEEEEE!

“WAKE UP!” I yelled.

HARR UMMP!

“Oh just let him be,” his mother demanded.

WEEEEEEE!

“I’m heading out for a run, no sense in him staying out here.”

Suddenly, the snoring ceased. 

“FUCK!” Sam screamed.

I watched as my Puddin’ Pop’s giant eyes rolled around in his fat head as he finally came around.

“What the fuck are you waking me up for?”

“You can go to bed now, I’m up.”

“Ahhhh! My neck is killing me from sleeping out here all night!” he scolded.

“I told you I had to work today, I needed rest.”

“Then you can fucking sleep out here yourself!”

“I have a hard enough time sleeping as it is, Sam. Maybe you should do something about your snoring since it’s YOU that has the problem?”

“No one has ever had a problem with it BUT YOU. Besides, I can’t control it! It’s not like I choose to snore, Asterisk!”

“You chose NOT TO DO anything about it! Make an appointment with the doctor, get one of those machines your dad has, or hey, maybe think about losing some weight? You can come run with me!”

“Fuck you!” he screamed as he hefted his mammoth body out of the furniture and began waddling into the bedroom. The putrid smell of fat man body odor mixed with strawberry e-cigarette flavored juice wafted from behind him before he slammed the bedroom door.

Angrily I stared down at the hole imbedded in my sofa and the sweat stains around it.

“You need to be nicer to each other,” his mother lectured me. “Sam was kind enough to sleep out here so you could rest even though it hurts his neck. Sam is a sweet boy.”

I ignored the dumb bitch as I made my way to the bathroom to change into my gym clothes. I really needed a run after that crap.

An hour later I made my way back to the house and showered. Once my makeup was done, I left the bathroom to see Sam sitting at his computer desk. I walked up to him and as was my routine, put my hands on the back of his shoulders and began to rub them.

“So, what?” he asked, “You want to be nice now?”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled, his eyes still transfixed on the computer screen as he took a hit off his e-cigarette.

I continued to rub his beastly white shoulders despite noticing the chunks of dead skin rolling off from the friction of my fingers.

Sam relaxed and began to speak, “I thought maybe I could take PJ out to a movie today while you are at work. I know he wants to see Spider Man too and I figure it would give us some bonding time.”

“That would be cool, he’ll like that,” I said happy to see my boyfriend interested in spending some time with my son.

“My mom is taking my daughter to Disneyland anyway.”

I loaded up my car and drove out to my job selling wine. It was a Sunday and Mother’s Day no less, so I was hoping I’d make some good sales. I wasn’t disappointed. After 6 hours of pretending to flirt back with half of the gross old men at the market I finally made my way home.

I stopped and picked up some flowers and a card for Sam’s mom first. Even though she annoyed the hell out me, I knew Sam probably wouldn’t get her anything.

Sam’s mom was back when I arrived at the house, but he still was not. 

“These are for you!” I said handing Donna the small gifts.

“Huh? I’m not your mom,” she said, “You didn’t need to do this.”

“I know, it’s nothing much. I just want you to know I appreciate all you do for us.”

She nodded, sat them down on the counter and then turned on the TV. 

I took a seat at the computer desk to do my sales report for work. I was just finishing up when Sam and PJ walked through the door.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Sam said handing me an enormous bucket of popcorn.

I looked at him a little confused and let out a short giggle. It was unlike Sam to remember ANY holiday. “Thanks?”

“You love popcorn at the movies!” he stated.

“Yeah, but I didn’t get to go…”

“Oh how sweet!” Donna interrupted.

“It gets better.” Sam assured me.

“Look Mommy! Look what we got you,” my son pointed proudly to a balloon following behind him. It was shaped like a cow and even had little dangling paper feet hanging underneath it.

“What the hell?” I asked.

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“Don’t you remember, PJ had one of those a few years ago and you were scared of it, you said it followed you around the house!”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “Wow! Screw you Sam!”

Sam’s face became engulfed with a grin bigger than that of a disabled kid smelling his own fart.

“Funny. So, what are we doing for dinner?” I asked.

“PJ and I had hot dogs and nachos at the theater.”

“But…it’s mother’s day, I thought you would at least take me and your mom out to dinner or something?”

“What the hell? I just took your kid to a movie for you!” Sam reminded me.

“And Sam was nice enough to bring you popcorn! That was so thoughtful of him!” Donna added.

I watched as Tons-No-Fun waddled his way back into the bedroom. Within seconds I heard the “plop” from his body hitting the mattress followed by the sound of him taking a drag off his e-cigarette and then…..

HARR UMMP! WEEEEEEE! HARR UMMP! WEEEEEEE! HARR UMMP! WEEEEEEE!

Douche.

 

 It’s not my fault.: Sacrifice & Survival[image error] 

 

 

 

Pickle Pants, Dog Rescue or Modern Day Puppy Mill?

Is Pickle Pants Rescue neglecting, medically torturing and selling animals for profit? You will not believe what this organization is doing to one injured and helpless 10 month old Chihuahua and he is not the only one!

*This is the true story of a California based dog rescue group. Criminal charges have not yet been filed. All “human” names have been changed except mine. WARNING: Some photos are extremely graphic and may not be suitable for sensitive viewers.

“Yes, they are potty trained!” was the first lie Katelyn ever told me. I had recently offered my home as a foster environment for two homeless dogs after seeing a post pleading for help on Facebook back in September of 2015.

“Desperate for fosters!” it read. Along with the post was a pic of a cuddly looking puppy with sad eyes. I thought fostering sounded like an amazing way to give back to the community, especially since I was just starting over financially and the post stated that the rescue would cover all expenses of the animal while in my care including food and vetting.

So, without hesitation I reached out to the dog rescue group named Pickle Pants. Within a day a plump middle aged woman named “Katelyn” arrived at my small apartment with two energetic pups to do a “home check.” After a short conversation, Katelyn found my home to be acceptable enough and left the dogs in my care.

The next morning I awoke to what I can only describe as the devastation left ny a feces tornado. There was dog poop and urine EVERYWHERE.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” I texted to Katelyn, along with details 0f what my apartment now looked like.

“They are potty trained, I promise, just give it a few days!”

Reluctantly I agreed. The weeks went by and even though the problem was never solved,  I grew attached to the little pups and found ways to deal with the on-going issue.

Then on one warm Sunday, I was volunteering at an adoption event (which had now become my regular weekend routine) to help Katelyn when my two first foster pups had a person interested in adopting them. Sadly I had to say my goodbyes.

That night I took home, Vegas, a canine-aggressive Bull Dog/Pointer mix. “Keep her away from other dogs!” Katelyn had warned me.

“Ok,” I agreed, “But I’m visiting my dad for the holidays in Arizona next month and he has two dogs, you will have to take Vegas back for the week then if she isn’t already adopted.”

“No problem!” she agreed.

I reminded Katelyn a week before my trip that she would have to take Vegas, the dog very soon.

“I can’t have her at my house! Sorry!”  Katelyn responded, just before informing me that Vegas had in fact KILLED another dog while in her care. Katelyn did not offer me any alternative such as paying for Vegas to be boarded in a facility for the week, so I had no choice but to take the dog on the trip with me and leave her pitifully muzzled and crated the majority of the week.

Finally the day arrived that Vegas was to be adopted. The family however was located in another state. Katelyn made plans to send Vegas to her new home several times. They all “fell through.”

Wanting the best for the dog and ready to get on with my life (the dog’s temperament prohibited me from doing many things, plus she had recently been sprayed by a skunk) I decided to lend a helping hand. Overnight I found a company willing to ship the dog for a small fee.

Katelyn was reluctant.

“It’s too expensive,” she complained. So, I networked and crowd funded and within a few days made the money to have Vegas transported overnight to her new home. Katelyn was still unconvinced. “It’s too dangerous!” So, out of desperation I offered to drive the dog myself. Katelyn had no issue with that.

That following Sunday I drove Vegas to her new home.

It was at an adoption event the following  week that Katelyn’s partner, Janet, arrived with a new dog for me to foster. The dog was an aggressive male named Shadow.

“I can try!” I said as I reluctantly led Shadow to my friends waiting car down the street. I got in and the dog jumped inside and onto my lap.

“Who is this?” my friend asked, looking lovingly at the dog.

“This is Shadow,” I replied.

No sooner had the words escaped my mouth that the dog lunged towards my hand. Before I knew what was happening the dog clasped his jaws around my hand and wouldn’t let go! I wasn’t sure what to do, as having never been attacked by a dog before. So I pushed the dog onto the floor of the vehicle with my other hand and tried to get my restrained hand away. Once he finally released me, I pulled him out of the car by his leash and fearfully walked him back to the event.

“This dog just attacked me,” I said, showing both Janet and Katelyn my bleeding wound. “I can’t take him, I’m sorry.”

“Please, just take him overnight. It’s too late to board him. He wont do it again,” Janet begged. “Here’s my number, just take him tonight and if anything happens call me and I will come get him.”

Stupidly I agreed.

The next day Shadow savagely attacked my friend.

I called Janet to come pick up Shadow but she didn’t answer, I texted her and she never replied. I reached out to Katelyn and she said she would come get him, but not until the following day.

Though I locked Shadow in a kennel, he growled, barked and attacked the door whenever I would walk by. I was scared he would break out and attack me, or worse my 8 year old son. That night I felt like an prisoner in my own home. The following morning, Katelyn did pick up shadow. He attacked her in the car on their way to boarding.

I was never issued an apology from Janet nor any excuse as to why she ignored my calls and texts. Medical reimbursement was never offered to my friend.

Here is his account:

A few weeks later Katelyn asked me to take a dog saved from a hoarding situation. I agreed, but when I arrived at the kennel to pick him up, it turned out there were two. Reluctantly I took both dogs feeling too guilty to leave one of the bonded pair behind. I had recently adopted a cat from Pickle Pants and now had a 2 pet maximum policy at my apartment.

“It will just be for a week!” Katelyn promised me.

Both dogs were extremely ill. I came home with prescriptions for both but they were finished a few days later and the dogs didn’t seem to be doing any better.

“The dogs need to go back to the vet, they are out of their medications and still really sick,” I warned Katelyn.

“It’s just kennel cough. I have medications here I will mail to you,” she promised.

A few days later they came. Both were in old prescription pill bottles with names scratched out and instructions written in pencil I couldn’t understand. When I voiced my concernes to both Janet and Katelyn they assured me the dogs were fine and to just keep giving them the meds they mailed me.

“If you can’t handle it, just take the dogs back to boarding!” Katelyn eventually blew me off.

Three weeks later I still had both dogs and their conditions were worsening. I awoke at 8am to a pounding on my front door. It had been my day off and I hadn’t been expecting anyone.I was relieved when it turned out to be Janet.

“I’m here to take the dogs to the dentist,” she explained.

She returned later that evening with both dogs and two jars full of teeth. “I had most of their teeth pulled. The dentist said he had to chizzle away bone they were so bad! Oh, but I forgot their pain medications. I’ll have to mail them to you!”

She never did.

So both dogs were left in my care after a somewhat major operation without anything to ease their sufferings.

Finally the day came for the dogs to be transported out of the country. Janet, who has ties in Canada, informed me that Pickle Pants would be sending roughly 40 dogs to Canada in an RV. The only problem, Katelyn hadn’t organized a way to get them all to Los Angles to board the RV.

So, once again, I stepped up to help in an attempt to save the dogs, I offered to pick some up myself. I retrieved several and then met everyone in LA.

Many of the dogs there were from Pickle Pants. Others however were not. I was told that some of the dogs had just been pulled from a local animal shelter without having been on a “stray hold” (the legal amount of time a shelter must hold a dog to look for their original owners before they can become available for public adoption), others were stolen from Mexico and brought illegally across the border just that day. Much of the paperwork on the dogs was forged. Many had no vetting at all.

The inside of the SUV was crammed with dogs and the trip took 3 days. The conditions were deplorable and one of the dogs died on the way. Another almost died, one of my fosters. It turned out he had untreated pancreatitis.

Not long after another dog’s story touched my heart. It was that of a tiny, 10 month old Chihuahua puppy named Dragon, saved from a high kill shelter with a bone sticking out of his arm. He sat there alone for 2 weeks and was listed to be euthanized before Pickle Pants Rescue pulled him.

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Pickle Pants sent him into surgery at a non-profit veterinarian in Los Angeles called “The Pet Care Center.” Many rescues use this vet because of their low cost pricing.

Dragon came to my home just a day after the surgery that repaired his broken bone. He was wearing a tiny cast and had a small bottle of antibiotics for me to administer. However he did not have any pain medication nor was I given any care instructions.

“He needs a bandage change in a week,” Katelyn warned me. “There is another vet closer to you can use. It’s cheaper! Plus, Janet said he’s REALLY CUTE!”

The new vet was thus dubbed, “Vet Dreamy.”

I called and made Dragon’s first appointment for the following week. Once to the clinic, I took Dragon inside and introduced myself. The doctor took Dragon to the back and began the routine procedure, however, it was anything but routine.

“Come here, you need to see this,” the doctor advised me.

I followed him to the back of the clinic to see Dragon’s exposed wound for the first time.

“This is not normal. Look here,” he said, pointing to the wrist area of Dragon’s forearm. “It looks like it was fused together, if so it may never work properly again, plus it could cause other issues like arthritis at an early age. We will need to take an x-ray. I think it will require another surgery. Where is Dragon’s E collar?”

“His what?” I asked.

“It’s a cone he wears around his neck, so he wont chew on his bandage.”

“He doesn’t have one,” I admitted.

“Then I will donate one.”

Katelyn was called by both myself and Vet Dreamy and filled in on the news. “No, we aren’t going to do an x-ray,” she told me. “It’s too expensive. We will just take him back to Pet Care. Plus, Dreamy wanted to charge me more than $20. He said this wasn’t a regular bandage change. I told him he needed to stick to his word. Maybe you should show him your tits,” she suggested in a failed attempt to be funny.

“This is a lot more than a normal bandage change, but I will discount it for you, even though Pickle Pants is not licensed,” the doctor kindly offered.

That was news to me. Katelyn had told me that Pickle Pants was a legal organization and even gave me a fake license number! You can check for yourself .

A week later I took Dragon in for a second bandage change. I was waiting in the lobby when Vet Dreamy came out with a startled look on his face. “This is no good, there is a hole on dragons wound, it looks infected. Come on back, I want you to see this.”

I followed the doc to the back of the clinic and he was right. There was a hole now showing on Dragon’s arm with puss surrounding it.

“This isn’t normal, I’m going to swab it so it can be sent out for a culture. If Katelyn doesn’t want to pay for it here, that’s fine. I will send it with you guys to do at Pet Care but it needs to be done, the infection could be dangerous.”

Dragon’s arm was cleaned and wrapped up. Both the doctor and I filled Katelyn in on all the details of the vistit, and as was now becoming routine, sent her pictures of Dragon’s unabandaged leg. The sample was left behind for Katelyn. Though she promised to have it cultured, she never did.

Because of the new infection, Dragon was now having bandage changes every 4 days. The next visit things had made a turn for the worst. We soon discovered that the “hole” in dragon’s arm was being caused by metal.

The metal screw used to put dragon’s arm back together was too long and had pierced right through his skin. This was same visit we noticed that the plate temporarily holding his arm together was too long and moving diagonally putting a lot of pressure on what should have been Dragon’s healing wrist.

Even without the needed x-ray, it was now clear that this surgery had been botched.

Again Katelyn was filled in on the visit and sent pictures.

“What kind of pain medicine is Dragon on?” the vet wanted to know.

“Nothing,” I answered.

“What do you mean nothing? Oh my God, his arm is very painful. I will donate pain medication if I need to.”

“Maybe an amputation would be better for him than all this surgery?” I suggested.

“No! Not on a front leg. If it were a back leg it would be different but a front leg we want to try and save if possible,” he assured me.

After a call to Katelyn she agreed to finally have something done about Dragon’s leg, just not in this office. She insisted on taking him back to Pet Care Center.

“They need to fix what they did. We already paid for it,” she told me.

That day I sadly left Dragon at Vet Dreamy’s office for Katelyn to pick up and transported to Pet Care. Dragon was to have the screw changed out for a smaller one and the plate in his arm removed. He was there 5 days. During the 5 days, I sent several text messages to Katelyn asking how Dragon was doing. She only gave me short answers and didn’t seem to have much information.

On the 5th day, I met Janet in a parking lot between our homes to pick up Dragon. He wasn’t wearing a bandage and right away I noticed that I could still see the screw.

“Where’s the bandage?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Guess he doesn’t need one,” she said.

“It looks like he’s in pain,” I stated. “Did they give him pain meds? What did they say?”

“I don’t know. They said he’s fine. Maybe it just needs to air out.”

“So Pet Care removed the plate?” I pressed.

“I think so. Anyway I got to go,” she said, handing me Dragon and his cone.

I held and kissed little Dragon all the way home, so happy he was back. Even though it had been only a few weeks we had greatly bonded. My bed was not as warm without his little body snuggled up next to mine.

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It was close to bed time that night when I noticed that Dragon had licked the top of his injured foot raw. Even though he had the cone around his neck, because his leg was not wrapped, he could still reach around and lick.

Scared, I immediately took a picture and sent it to both Katelyn and Janet. Neither seemed worried. Actually, Katelyn seemed more annoyed than anything.

“Can I please PayPal you some money to purchase him a larger cone, Wendi?” was all she would offer. “If you can’t handle it, he can come here.”

I went ahead and took Dragon in for a bandage change the next day. Vet Dreamy confirmed, Pet Care had not removed the bar nor exchanged the screw. The stitches in Dragon’s arm were old and in fact, he removed them that visit.

“Please Katelyn, Pet Care is no good. Let’s let Vet Dreamy finish off Dragon’s care. He needs another surgery, he needs x-rays!”

“I can’t afford Dreamy, Wendi! He’s too expensive!”

“What if I found a way to pay for it? If I can get the money donated then can we let Dreamy do the operation?”

“Sure.”

“Ok, I’ll set up a GoFundMe.”

“Go for it.”

With Katelyn’s permission and a determination to help my little furry friend I did just that.

Unfortunately, before I could raise the capital, it was time for Dragon to REALLY have the plate and screw removed at Pet Care.

I drove Dragon down to Pet Care on a Monday morning. I had a hard time locating the office because it was in what appeared to be an old house. The place was packed and filthy, smelling of urine and feces. I was there about 2 hours, only to find out Dragon “was not ready” to have the screw and plate removed, though I was armed with questions for the surgeon. Here is the email and attached picture I sent to both Vet Dreamy and Katelyn that day:

On Mon, May 23, 2016 at 2:09 PM, Wendi Bear <electrikkiss@hotmail.com> wrote:

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I took Dragon to his vet visit in LA today,  hoping to get the plate removed. Of course on my way I ended up rescuing a stray.

The place was super packed and busy. Even though they were expecting us before 10, we still sat a good hour before they called Dragons name.

“Just a drop off, right?” the nurse wanted to know.

“I think so. He’s supposed to have his plate removed if he’s healed enough. But I wanted to talk to the doctor, I had some questions.”

“Ok. We will call you in a bit and take you into a room.”

“Thanks. Hey,  by the way,  I just found this dog,  can you scan him for a chip?” I asked holding up the new guy.

The nurse pulled out the scanner and ran it over the dog’s back but as I had suspected,  having no collar, he didn’t have a chip either.

I sat back down and waited another 15 minutes before being called into the back room.

It was scary (see attached pic).

A few minutes later a nurse came in and took Dragon into the back for his exam. While I was waiting I spoke to Katelyn about the new dog and she gave me the go-ahead to get him his shots while we were there.

Not long after the nurse reappeared with Dragon. He had on a new tiny bandage.

“Dragon isn’t ready for surgery. He hasn’t healed enough. Come back next week. The doctor is writing him a prescription for antibiotics.”

“He’s already on antibiotics,” I told her, while pulling out the bottle I brought along with me. “When can I speak to the doctor?”

“Oh, he can’t talk to you today, he’s in surgery, I’ll tell him about the antibiotics though.”

“Well, I’ve been taking over some of Dragons medical care and I have some questions for him about Dragons healing.  The screw is still visible and the plate looks to be turned diagonal.”

“Yes, it’s all normal,  come back next week for the surgery.”

“This other dog here,” I pointed out,  “I just found, can we get him some shots? “

“Yes, I’ll set that up for you,  wait here.”

The nurse left the room once again. When she returned, I started back in about about Dragon.

“Do you know if Dragons screw was changed out last time he was here? He’s been on antibiotics for 4 weeks now,  is that OK?”

Finally she gave up. “I think the doctor might be in between surgeries, I’ll see if I can send him in.”

“Thanks!”

She took the stray (now named Linus) in for shots. I stayed in the scary room. Finally the doctor came in.  Just as he entered,  I sneezed.  He offered to shake my hand but I had to decline, “Oh I just sneezed into it, sorry!”

*Probably not a good way to start the conversion.

“Dragon is doing well! He’s walking on his leg,  see?” he pointed out.

“He’s been doing that a while,” I noted.

“Yes but he was doing it without the bandage on,  that’s what we want,  movement.”

I pulled out my phone and set up the microphone,  “Is it OK if I record you?” I asked.

The Veterinarian looked shocked, “Why do want to record me?”

“Oh,  because I’ve been taking Dragon to most of his vet visits and I don’t always remember everything to tell Katelyn.”

“No, no. I’ve got to get back into surgery…”

“That’s OK, I don’t have to. Umm, the screw is still showing in dragons leg, what are you planning to do about that?”

“Dragon came to me with an old break. Did they tell you that?  There was a lot of calcium deposit. I had to rebreak  the leg. He is doing good,  it just will take a long time to heal.”

“Oh wow. Was the bone fused back together?  Will dragon regain function of his wrist or will it be straight?” I asked.

“He can move it, he’s bending it already.”

“So he will regain full function?” I pressed.

“He can move it.”

“So it isn’t bonded together straight?”

*crickets chirping*

I decided to move forward.

“Will the screw be replaced?” I asked.

“Dragon needs the screw to keep his arm secure. There was a lot of damage,  he needs strength.”

“Right,  but it’s showing through his skin. Was a smaller screw put in last time he was here?”

“The screw is OK. It will heal, it just takes time.”

“So the screw will stay in?”

“We don’t know yet. It could stay in,  it could come out.  It all depends. You need to be patient. Injuries like this take a lot of time,” he warned. “It will close up.”

“The plate looks a little crooked. I noticed it looked like it was putting pressure on his skin.”

“Where have you been taking him? To a specialist? ” he wanted to know.

“No,  it’s just some little place by my house that does bandage changes.”

He nodded.

“The plate is ok.”

“I’m concerned about the antibiotics. He’s been on them 4 weeks now,  is it possible that he could get an immunity to them?”

“He has a little infection.  He will have surgery Monday.”

“It’s a holiday,” I reminded him.

“Oh, well I will be here if Dragon needs me,” he promised.

“Well don’t kill your weekend over it!”

“No, no. We do surgeries here everyday. I will have _______ (person who’s name I forgot) call Katelyn and set it all up for you.”

“Ok, thanks!”

“See you next week.”

“Thanks for your time!”

I can’t make this stuff up… Anyway,  I have zero answers and feel just as nervous as before about all of this.

Wendi  (Dragons foster mom)

I decided to post Dragon’s story on this blog in hopes of gaining more support and it worked!

Over the weekend I raised $1400, more than enough to start the x-rays and planning for the next surgery.

www.gofundme.com/savedragonsleg

I cried tears of happiness when I relayed the news to everyone! Finally Dragon would get the care he deserved!

Of course Pet Care hadn’t given Dragon a proper bandage and within 3 days I noticed it had begun falling down exposing pink flesh on Dragon’s arm. It also had an unusually foul oder.

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The next morning, I took Dragon into Vet Dreamy’s office to have it looked at. Once removed, his arm exposed a gaping hole from one side through the other side of his arm.

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“We ARE DEFINETELY taking a culture today!” Dreamy ordered. I agreed. Unfortunately Katelynn didn’t see the urgency and wanted to “shop around” for the best “deal.”

Luckily we had some funds so I went ahead and paid for the culture out of donations.

The culture came back to reveal that Dragon had a highly dangerous form of staph that was immune to almost all antibiotics, except for one that was very dangerous and could cause sever kidney damage.

Vet Dreamy was no longer willing to operate.

“I wouldn’t touch that thing with a 10 foot pole! It’s too dangerous it must be amputated!”

But, Katelynn wasn’t convinced and STILL wanted to try and “save Dragon’s leg.” Actually she was happy about the news! Her text is in the yellow.

So against Vet Dreamy’s warning and my pleading she took Dragon back to Pet Care Center to have the screw and plate removed despite his dangerous infection. Here is the email we received from Vet Dreamy.

———————————————

Hi Katelynn/Wendi,

I wanted to recap and comment on Dragon’s case as I know the tensions are high especially in lieu of the fact that he is doing so poorly lately.

Dragon was diagnosed in the last 24 hours with a very dangerous multi-drug resistant strain of bacteria on his leg, which will essentially outlive most types of antibiotics. That aside, his screw is still visible from his surgery area and something needs to be done.

I had proposed giving the other doctor one last attempt at saving the leg and that is why I had proposed taking him back there so they could try whatever they thought in their head was the plan for Dragon.

I saw his leg today and unfortunately, I feel that his chances of keeping his leg are very low. His infection appeared much worse today. He’ll be having his evaluation from the other doctor tomorrow and they can determine what the next best step is in terms of trying to keep his leg.

If they deem his leg not savable, he will no longer be under their care as both of you have requested I take over his care after that point. I think we’re all in agreement that this poor dog needs help and while there has been plenty of miscommunication lately, I know we’re all eager to help Dragon and we have to try not to let our emotions get the best of us.

I really appreciate the opportunity to work with you both.

Without rescuers, dogs would die in the streets and in the shelters.
Without fosters, rescues would never make it.

So, let’s try to savoir the good relationship we’ve all had together and team up to do what we believe is best for Dragon moving forward. If they do surgery tomorrow, great. If not, then we’ll just go ahead and schedule his final recheck next week and schedule the amputation. Sound fair?

Signed Dreamy

————————————————

I picked dragon up 2 days later and was utterly horrified when I saw him  crying and in severe pain, as once again, Pet Care, failed to care leaving Dragon yet again without adequate pain control.

I begged Katelyn to have mercy on the tiny pup but she was still stuck on saving the painful, deformed and disease plagued leg.

Here are the emails exchanged between myself, Katelyn and Vet Dreamy that day:

——————————————————–

Dreamy

Hi Ladies,

It is my understanding from the brief e-mails I have received from you that Dragon had surgery yesterday and that the goal is to do whatever we can to save his leg. I have no clue what the other vet saw or did in there and what their discussion was with you guys with regards to whether this is a good or bad idea…..but I thought I would reach out with the following comments.

1) If his leg is savable, we should try to save it.
2) There is no way of telling medically if his leg will or will not respond to Amikacin injections, so please bear that in mind when you decide what you want to do from here.
3) The bug on his skin is only responsive to mupiricin ointment and Amikacin injections. So, that is what I would recommend if you want to try to kill off this incredibly dangerous infection.
4) Keep in mind that even if we treat and resolve his skin infection, he is still left with a leg that may not have healed correctly (I don’t know – we have no x-rays to look at).
5) Amikacin is not like other antibiotics. IT IS VERY DANGEROUS. It can cause kidney failure and for that reason, patients who are on it are in the hospital on IV fluids the entire time. We monitor their blood tests to make sure they are not going into kidney failure. They require a huge amount of work, multiple daily bandage changes, strict confinement in isolation (this is potentially contagious to other dogs and a bug I don’t want to spread to other areas of the hosiptal).

I just want to make sure you guys know what you’re signing up for….because Amikacin treatments obviously would allow this dog to potentially save his leg and be a normal dog…..but treatment to try this route is almost as expensive as an amputation (because we gave you such a big break on surgery, too). Either way, we’re giving you very big discounts for a lot of complicated and strenuous work…..and I’m up for whatever and will support you guys either way.

Please let me know how you want to proceed.

 So, we can start with his hospitalization stuff as early as tomorrow and will have to order his Amikacin (I have the other medication) later this week. The attached estimate covers him for 7 days with everything he needs including IV fluids, isolation care, food, meds, injections, etc.

————————————————–


Wendi

I am for amputation.

1. This drug is too dangerous. It’s not guaranteed to work and can kill him.

2. Dragon is a puppy who deserves to run around,  he’s been locked in kennel rest too long. Quarantine will wreck his spirits.

3. Even if the leg is saved,  it doesn’t mean he will be a normal dog. There will be complications down the line.

4. We can NOT AFFORD this treatment.

5. The antibiotic treatment takes a week to even know if it will work! A weeks time of waiting could cause him more harm. If we were to do the amputation, Dragon could be running around feeling great in a week.

The goal of the rescuer is to work in the dogs best interest. Putting him through unnecessary pain and torture is not. If he was an old family pet it would be different but he’s a young orphan who deserves to get on with his life.  I beg you Katelyn PLEASE do the right thing. Stop playing Russian roulette with dragons life.  I see him in pain everyday and even though I’m not legally responsible for dragon I love him very much.

I will not be using dragon’s donation funds for any treatments going further unless it’s towards the amputation.

————————————————–

Katelyn

The surgeon who removed the plate and screw seems to think that his leg is “saveable”. Now please be aware that I am not a vet nor have I seen the leg myself.  I, of course, would like your opinion, Dr Dreamy, as you stated in your email here, if the leg can be saved, of course, that is what we have been working for all along.
Please let me know what you think once you have seen it tomorrow.  Thank you so much for your work.
Thank you, Wendi, for picking him up, I’m grateful for your devotion to little Dragon!
Best,

—————————————————–

Out of desperation, I reached out to Janet, who had just returned from a month long trip around the world. She arrived back from her journey with only one dog. Could this trip have been expensed with Pickle Pants donations?

Janet’s lack of emotion still gives me chills.

I regrettably took Dragon to Vet Dreamy’s office to prepare him for the antibiotic treatment last Sunday. I told Dreamy to go ahead and take the x-rays and I would cover the costs from the donations.

The x-ray revealed what we already knew. They original surgery was not done correctly, the leg was deformed and to top it off, because of Katelyn and Janet’s refusal to get Dragon proper medical care, the staph infection Dragon picked up at Pet Center had begun eating away at the bones in his toes.

There was no saving the leg, it had gone on far too long untreated.

Dragon had his leg amputated on Wednesday June 8, 2016. I was the first to visit him and eager to take him home.

I sent photos to Katelyn but she didn’t respond. She was angry she didn’t get her way and wanted to punish me anyway she could.

You see keeping Dragon sick was making her money.

Let me break it down for you.

1) Before a rescue pulls a dog from the shelter they post a pic of a pooch online and people offer money in the form of pledges to pull the dog. A dog with a broken leg could easily pull upwards of $3000 for medical.

2) Once a pup is rescued, crowd funding can begin. There the rescue can easily get another $3000. If the rescue has more than one person crowd funding they can earn several times that.

3) Rescues can go to adoption events to raise money as well. I attended several events where I watched Pickle Pants fill up a GIANT jar full of cash donations.

4) Charity events, I attended one “Bingo” game at a restaurant benefiting Pickle Pants where they earned upwards of $10,000.

5) Adoption “donations.” Pickle Pants Rescue charges potential adopters a substantial fee for dogs. I’ve personally witnessed fees exceeding $400.

If Katelyn is collecting the pledges for the animals she’s pulling from the shelter to pay for their medical needs, then why is she taking the animals to the cheap non profit vet risking their lives with poor medical care?

Is Pickle Pants Rescue pocketing the money? Is Janet using her ties to Canada to hide their possibly enormous monetary gains?

Instead of sending Dragon home with me after his amputation, as I had been caring and advocating for him all this time, he was sent home with Janet.

So after I spent the last six weeks caring for this dog, took him to every vet appointment, raised money for his medical bills, advocated for him, missed time at work taking him to and from appointments I was told, “I’m not home enough.”

Well, here is a letter I received yesterday from Vet Dreamy controdicting katelyn’s text messages.

I found out today, Katelyn and Janet plan to sell Dragon for an amount into the thousands even though the money for his surgery had already been raised by me through: http://www.gofundme.com/savedragonsleg

Go see for yourself.

A friend of mine who applied to adopt Dragon filled me.

I also asked to adopt Dragon and was told “no.” Who better to adopt Dragon than the person who’s been caring for him through all his surgeries?

This is not the first time Katelyn has denied an animal a loving home due to her ego. In June of 2015, Katelyn sued a woman on Judge Judy. It’s here in this transcript. Judge Judy sided with the dog’s foster mom.

So what was Janet doing last night? I’m sure she was at home seeing to Dragon’s immediate medical needs right?

No.

Janet and Katelyn were at the home of another former foster family STEALING a dog, a St. Bernard being fostered for over a year for Pickle Pants. Katelyn and Janet plan to sell that dog for $800 and as I have been told, stole the dog from his original owner.

If you ARE, or know the original owner of Grip, please contact me for the next chapter of this story.

Here is the current crowd funding page being used by Pickle Pants to gain funds for the dog using a fake name so the original owner can not find him. Pickle Pants has pocketed these funds as well. The foster mom, as she is about to tell you, already paid for this dog’s surgeries out of her own pocket.

SOUND FAMILIAR????

You see, I’m not the first person Janet and Katelyn have used.

Their history of neglecting the medical needs of animals they adopt goes back much further. Here is a small piece of the testimony from another former Pickle Pants foster mom.

Is there any doubt that Katelyn and Janet don’t know the low quality of Pet Care Center?

Well, I spoke with another former foster mother of theirs. This is what she had to say:

This is just the beginning! Please share our story far and wide to let the world know how these poor animals are being treated in the care of both Pickle Pants Rescue and Pet Care Center!

If you have been wronged by either Pickle Pants Rescue or Pet Care Center of Los Angeles please make contact! You can reach me through the comment section or email me directly at: AlsoIHateDonuts@gmail.com

Let’s start a class action law suit and make these animal abusers take responsibility for what they have done!

These crimes must not go unpunished! It is up to us to be the voices of the voiceless!

This is for you Dragon. May all your suffering not be in vain.

Wendi Bear 2016