Especially a ma who lays down wit multiple black men every fucking day—often at da same time. Da NOYVE!!!
Second, she left something out. I'm not talking about da sex—she told my ass all about da orgies, oral, anal, and bukakee sex, dat she had wit da black wresla’s and a ups man--what her ass left out was da foyth memba of da mytalogical muskateers---da Tooth Fairy, da Easter Bunny, Santa Claus AND my masta and savya da liberal liberian --- da liberal masta, Son of Science, Queen of Queers, Loyd of Loyds, Prince of Lies, and one of da primary reasons der is no peace on da eoyth—or at least no peace fowa my sowa ass spinkter.
I rememba being stunned by da news. Santa Claus, not real? Impossible! After all, I had da evidence. I had experienced crimmus morning—even at da brown view apa’tments when I was living wit da Toid. I had wonderful memories of da event. I rememba jakin-off in da wee hours of da morning (tinking about da lovely Amelia) in da small, dark, smelly room, seeing our aluminum dildo tree cova’d in goo from da Toid. Afta jackin, I would just lie on da floowa (in da nude because my masta would not let my ass sleep in da bed or wear clothes at night). But when I had to get up to squeeze a toid owt my ass, I saw all da fuckin’ presents dat Santa had left.
Dere was foytha proof of Santa's existence in da half-eaten, cum-stained cookies and toids floatin' in milk which I had placed out da night befoy; and a hand-written note to my ass (always printed) tankin’ my ass for da snack, and that I should eat da leftova's or face a tremendous beatin. Now my ma was telling my ass that it had all been a lie, a joke, a charade? I was devastated. I was also fuyious, but I had been taught well to keep my emotions 'unda-control.'
However, inside I was angrily aroused because I was, yet again, so humiliated. So afta I finished jackin, I sta'ted tinkin'. Just last year my ma had encouraged my ass to take a photograph to Coytis's boythday party...a photograph of my ass and da 'real' Santa. Afta I showed da Revrund dis pickcha, he oyded his black goons (Malik Monroe and Eugene Washington) to give my ass a severe beatin which dey did.
I had always been skeptical about all da different Santas I encountered around crimmus time. Some, in doz days, even wore a ha’d plastic mask wit bright rosy cheeks and eye-holes for dem to see troo, makin dem look like some strangely jolly Halloween ghoul. ma always explained doze away by telling my ass dat dey was fags ...da real Santa was just too busy to be everywhere. I accepted dis.
Den, tree years ago, while visiting my masta, in his palace, I had encountered da 'real' Santa Claus in a depa'tment store in Braddock. I was thrilled. Anyone could see he was da real ting. His face was real, and he even wore little wire-rimmed spectacles just below his kind, blue eyes. I treasured da 5x7 framed photo of myself, seated on
da 'real' Santa's knee. Befoy my goyth caused his leg to shatta.
Now it was suddenly apparant dat I had been allowed...no, encoyaged to make a complete fool of my ass by proudly displaying my Santa photo in front of my fellow frustrated inc membas. Dat sure humiliated my ass. How could my ma have done dis to my ass? How could I face my pals and my masta, knowing what I know now? How many of dem must have been laughing at my ass den? And not because I sound like Coyly Howard or because of all da sexual humiliation I endoy every fuckin' day. Why I oughtaaaa!!!!!
To make matters woyse, my ma was almost taunting my ass as she continued the revalations:
"Ehhhhh......You didn't really think....ehhhhh..... that a big rabbit hopped around the neighborhood, leaving baskets of candy and sex toys....ehhhhh...did you? Ehhh......." she said, only half suppressing a chuckle.
"Hell, yes...I did !", I mutta'd. "Why wouldn't I ?" "You've told my ass all my life that it was true. How was I to know you were lying to my ass ?" "You old fuckin whore!!" "How could you have lied to my ass all deez years ? And Why? What otha lies have you told my ass ?"
At dis point a tawt occuyed to my ass and I asked, "What about my loyd and savya, da liberal libarian?"
"Ehhhhh......What? Ehhhh....." she said, her tone suddenly very serious.
"Well, is da liberal librarian's mystical powas just make-believe, too...like da oddas?" (It seemed even to my obese mind dat he fit rather neatly into da same category as da rest.)
"Ehhhh.... No! Of course not!" Ehhhhh..... "Don't ever say a thing like that. People won't like you. Ehhhhh.... Fuck you, you fat fuckin' failure. Ehhhh......."
Here was da crux of my ma's philosophy of life, one dat she stamped upon my ass so indelibly that it's taken most of my foyty-two years to get rid of---- Da most impoytant ting in life is fowa people to like your ass.
Well, I won't even go into all da problems which dat kind of tinking has caused my ass, except to say dat it has made my progress of being da greatest wrestler of all time very slow and difficult. People ( 99% of Americans) don't like jobbas, the leftova 1% are just losers like my ass. So...if you want to be liked, it follows that you need to be
a great wrestla.
Finally, dough, you reach a point in life where your priorities change. One day you realize dat da most important ting in life is dat you avoid eating out Shitifa's cheese smellin ass fowa one day... to hell wit dis nasty whore!
After all, doubting da existence of my lord and savya's mystical abilities was a bad ting, everyone fuckin' knew dat--because my ma told all dey asses...even dat weird lookin guy in da sunglasses and suit.
Da day dat Santa Claus died, my masta's mystical abilities died too. Such is life... I tawt. Until one evening I was surrounded by all membas of Frustrated Inc at Clay Boytrand's house. Even my ma was dere. Dey showa laid a tremendous beating on my ass, while my ma kept screamin' "Ehhh!!!!........... Kill him!!!!.... Ehhh!!!" Da noyve!!
Den afta da most severe beatin I eva received, I was left layin' dere in a pool of my own blood, piss, and shit lookin to da sky. Den da strange guy wit da sunglasses came up to my ass toyned around, pull den his trousa's, and let loose a toyant of rancid, liquified stool all ova my face. Dat was da last ting I rememba, until I awoke from another coma 7 weeks lata in a room full of my used colostomy bags.
Here's a tawt which just now occuyed to my ass while writing this a'ticle:
You'd better watch out.
You betta not pout.
You'd better believe in da supa-natural powers of my liberal masta,
Cause
Liberal Klaz is comin' to town
Liberal Klaz is comin' to town
Liberal Klaz is comin' to town
He's makin' a list and checkin it twicet
He's gonna find out if you've been jackin at night
Liberal Klaz is comin' to town
Liberal Klaz is comin' to town
Liberal Klaz is comin' to town
