Y*p, as you may have guessed from his name, is born of Chinese ancestry. Larry's mom and Dad came to the U.S. from Peking in the late 50's and sullied our American soil with him soon after. I am sure the Y*ps meant well when they raised Larry, but they were unaware that things considered normal in China... are sometimes a crime in the U.S. of A.
Larry's wife, Linda is a Mexican-African-American woman with 3 children, all from different fathers (none of them Larry's): a criminal, a lesbian, and one that turned out ok. The only way this child could have ended up ok was from parental neglect.
Linda is hideously ugly; she has a heart shaped ass. This is normally a good thing... but hers is upside down. She has many tiny moles on her nose and cheeks. They look like freckles, but they have height. She looks like Howdy Doody would after closely examining an ass that blew a damp fart. She is a kleptomaniac and a pathological liar. I call her Yap. Larry calls her "live in"
Larry is a 280 lb, out-of-shape curmudgeon. He specializes in one-upmanship and backstabbing. Larry could be talking to you as if you were his only friend (which would probably be true) and if somebody else walked into the room, he would immediately say something demeaning about you like, "Where did you get your shoes... Payless?". Any retort would initiate an onslaught of "Yo Mamma" jokes.
Larry would purposely run into the room to display his latest fart... grunting extra hard to make sure you were impressed. This is probably why his drawers were constantly smeared with intestinal rice.
Larry is a sex and car part addict... it is not an exaggeration to state that he screws a prostitute everyday. He finances his hobbies by exacting kickbacks out of the salivating vendors that supply his company with parts. Larry is the purchasing agent from hell. He particularly liked picking on Vietnamese machinists for some reason. Vendors could be treated to General Chau's chicken one day, and be jacked up against a milling machine the next... Larry viewed himself as the Chinese godfather.
He had one hooker that he saw repeatedly. She was an above-the-knee amputee (no shit) and by the look of her apartment was successful. I have to admit she was pretty. On the way to a meeting, Larry just had to get a nut, so we stopped off at her apartment... I watched TV with her 4-year-old daughter while Y*p boned her.
Once, Larry jokingly mentioned the large size of his rottweilers penis, he grabbed the relaxing dogs cock and yanked it a couple of times. The dogs' eyes opened as wide as a strangled Chihuahuas'. I'm sure Larry thought I would laugh... but I didn't, this was not funny, especially when the dog rolled onto his back expecting more (this had been done before).
I generally avoided going out with Larry and Linda together. It was a source of embarrassment for me to be seen with these two freaks. I didn't want people to think I was out walking two incredibly fucked up pets. Linda's laugh reminded me of an asthmatic pig snorting a 1Ú2 lb of cocaine. Larry's was like listening to a rhesus monkey kick heroin. Both should have been drowned at birth.
One Memorial Day weekend, they asked if I wanted to go to the San Jose car show with them. The show featured motorcycles (my fav.) and was something I thought might be fun, even with Y*p and Yap.
The hellish venture started immediately with the car ride to the fairgrounds. 102 degrees and 75 mph ensured Larry an escape proof, rolling chamber of horrors. His jonesing monkey laugh combined with the sound of the master door and window controls locking alerted me that something horrifying was about to take place.
The treatment began with a few inaudible, rancid pooftees. I couldn't begin to describe the stench. Larry's colon, fueled by Linda's ghetto-bean, multi-ethnic rice cooking, served up an aroma that a perverted maggot would flee from. Linda seemed unaffected, as if these nasty wafts of funk could have been hers. She sat there wheezing with this gummy, tartar-toothed smile, blurting out an occasional "Larrrrry". I became convinced that she was as twisted as Y*p; no one could find anything humorous about this situation unless they were as sick as him.
Larry was in all his glory...like he learned a new song and you just had to hear it. He began to blast out this succession of farts that sounded like he was sitting in a half inch of water. He would occasionally let the windows down, I imagine because the stench was too much, even for him. I must have looked like a car accident victim going down in a pond, my nose pressed up against the window, clawing frantically for air.
My jaundiced friend was on a roll, there was nothing short of an ass whoopin' that could have stopped him. I had already decided to take a bus on the return trip... so all I had to do was make it there and everything would be OK. Larry continued his attack on my sensitive nostrils, all the time laughing maniacally and playing with the electric windows.
Arriving at the fairgrounds, I was as happy as the settlers must have been seeing the Pacific. I was out of matches and at the end of my rope when we pulled into the parking lot. Y*ps golf clubs were sitting next to me and I seriously considered taking a divot out of his empty, balding skull.
My anger turned to quiet satisfaction however, when I noticed a CD-sized yellow patch on Larry's khakis (Larry didn't wear underwear). His wet monkey farts had cost him a pair of shorts. There was no way in hell I was going to alert this torturous bastard to his plight. I was more than happy to see this through to the end.
I walked a short distance behind them, trying not to let on that Larry may need a diaper. He kept slowing up to attempt some male bonding, but I would bob, weave, speed up, slow down... anything to keep our distance. I'm sure Larry was thinking something like, 'He's avoiding me like I shit my pants'.
The looks and snickers Y*p and Yap were receiving convinced me I was doing the right thing. I prayed for a swarm of poo-sniffing insects to start buzzing him, but I wasn't that lucky. This was an extremely visible patch Larry displayed on his khakis and I could barely contain myself. The payback for the car ride was big on this one and I was going to make sure diaper-boy paid in full.
It was obvious that I was with Y*p and Yap, so I had to weigh my embarrassment tolerance with theirs. I decided to get them a little further from the car before enlightening them.
Following the septic duo was too much; I almost had to twist my knob to keep from peeing my pants. There was Larry, walking around like an urban commando; beeper, cell phone and PDA strapped to his belt. His expensive waistline served no real purpose other than to call attention to the yellow peril that had seeped from his ass.
I sensed Linda was starting to feel like she had a barking duck perched on her shoulder. She was looking around nervously and since she was sort of a victim herself, I let her in on the joke. Being the dutiful wife she was, she decided to keep Larry's little accident a secret too and started to distance herself from his leaking sphincter.
Y*p realizing something was wrong, looked around and glanced at the bottom of his sandals... he looked like one of those poor fuckers on Candid Camera that knew something was wrong, but wasn't sure. My face was bright red from holding back laughter. Y*p kept asking, "What's going on? Come on you guys..."
We just kept ignoring him until Linda couldn't take anymore, she finally told him that he had a giant shit stain on his ass and should get back to the car and change into his long pants.
I would have rather drank tea made from Larry's shorts (Poolong?) than be seen with Linda alone, so I decided to walk back to the car with him. He was going to depend on me to shield his little yellow lunch-box from the public. I was going to do no such thing.
I pointed and laughed at every turn. Larry walked like he was in handcuffs as he tried to cover the ugly mess from the crowd. He was starting to get angry with me, I reminded him of the car ride and that he was being paid back. Larry is the kind of person that loves to dish it out, but when he's the butt of a joke, he turns into a rabid animal that would kill you if he could.
I sat in the passenger seat as Larry dropped his shorts. He handed me his beeper and stuff, using the car door to shield his now half naked yellow ass. Larry asked me to quick hand him his pants, I slammed the door shut, leaving him knock kneed and cursing. I locked and unlocked the door, shooting him a "Remember this... hmmm?" look... Larry was beside himself... I was in heaven.
-- G Ras [1]
Like G Ras? He's featured in The Journal of Ass Production [2]!