The True Story of Easter (starring Jesus, the Easter Bunny, the Goddess Eostre, and the Pope)

Sadly, the only time the Hulk really felt like he fit in, was once a year on St. Patty's Day.

PMS Jokes Are Not Funny. Period!

Catholic Church Seeing Green as Papal Conclave Chooses a New Pope - Sistine Chapel, Vatican City, Rome

I Think I Had Sex With Lady Gaga Last Night

I’m not usually a big drinker.  I mean, I don’t usually get shitfaced and all out of control the way a lot of chicks do when they drink.  I actually can’t remember the last time I puked.  Maybe high school.  Yeah, it was that long ago. 

Maybe it comes from working in a bar and seeing WAY TOO MANY maggots get plastered and out of their minds.

Maybe it comes from seeing way too many girls go home with guys they never would’ve looked at twice if they hadn’t been 90 degrees South of sideways.  And you just know they’re banging their pretty little heads against the wall when they wake up beside that guy and realize they just let him pound on their pussy with that little ding dong of his until he blew his mind. 

And then they realize they’re feeling something sticky down there, and all of a sudden they can’t remember if they made this little shit wear a condom or not, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.

And then they’re suddenly going crazy trying to get a closer look at the shmuck to see if he looks like he’s got VD, or any other STD’s, or even worse, the unthinkable "A" word.

So yeah, seeing this kind of shit go down every night kinda’ makes drinking not seem all that fun and attractive.  Plus, I absolutely hate hangovers.  Can’t stand ‘em.  Don’t deal with ‘em well.  Never forgive myself for getting one.

So that’s why I was kinda surprised, even shocked I guess, to wake up in a strange bed early this morning, with a lightning bolt crashing through my brain when my eyelids opened and the light hit them.

And oh yeah, the naked chick lying beside me was a little shocking too.  I mean,  it’s not that I don’t sleep with girls from time to time, but it was more the fact of who it was that was lying there naked beside me, sleeping peacefully like she’d didn’t have a care in the world (or had her mind blown apart by a series of crazy mind blowing orgasms which, from the looks of things, were most likely from my tongue being deep up inside her while she sat on my face). 

Looking over at the sleeping beauty beside me, I was pretty sure it was Lady Gaga who had probably just made love to my face.  Sure looked like her anyways, and since I didn’t stick around to chat, I guess I’ll probably never know for sure.

My head was pounding like a bass drum that was having the shit beat out of it by a cocaine driven, fifteen year old, Metallica drummer wannabe, and I was pretty sure I was gonna puke any second, so it didn’t seem like a good time to have a chat and exchange stories. 

I’m not sure how I managed it, but I finally made it home.  My head hurt even worse if that was possible, and my stomach was still threatening to go to war with my mouth even though I’d somehow managed to keep myself from puking up to this point.

When I got in the door, I stumbled into the kitchen and fumbled around in the cupboards until I found a bottle of Tylenol.  The directions said to take two, so I poured six into my hand and dry swallowed them.  Hell, they always understate how many you can safely take to cover their asses in case of lawsuits, and I needed the drum solo in my head to stop.

Flopping onto the couch, I covered my eyes with a pillow which seemed to help a little, and I tried to think back to how I’d got myself into this situation. 

I remembered going out with a few of the other girls after work.  Remembered a couple of different bars.  And that was about it.  My mind was blank after that.  It was like somebody had jumped up inside my head and wiped out my memories after a certain point. 

Blank slate.  Empty wall.  Nothing there.

“God Damn It!” I swore, instantly regretting it as the sound of my own voice crashing through my head brought a fresh flash of pain that came holding hands with a wave of nausea that tore through my guts.  I realized in a flash of painful insight that I’d been roofied.  Rohypnoled.  The Date Rape Drug. 

Whatever you want to call it, Lady Gaga, or her freakin' twin sister, must’ve slipped me something in my drink to get me into bed with her.  I was pretty damn sure of it.  There was no way I had drank anywhere near enough to feel like this, and even if I had, it still wouldn’t explain the memory loss.

I fumed for a while as I lay there suffering on the couch, and then, before I even knew what came over me, I started to laugh.

My head protested, but I laughed even harder.

My stomach threatened to let loose on me, but I just kept laughing until I couldn’t tell if my sides hurt more from laughing or from the hangover.

I still don’t know who the hell I ended up in bed with, and sadly, I don’t even know if she was any good.  It might have been Lady Gaga herself, or it might have been some chick who looked just like her.  Either way, the funny thing was that she wasted a roofie.  I would’ve fucked her anyway.  All she had to do was ask.

Beating The Shit Out Of A Cop With His Own Nightstick Is NOT How My Saturday Nights Normally Go

When I smashed the cop’s nightstick into his nuts, a little part of my brain was asking if this was going to become a regular thing.  It’s amazing the weird things that pop into your head when you’re in the middle of an incredibly intense situation like beating the shit out of a dirtbag cop.

Not that beating the shit out of cops is something I do on a regular basis or anything.  I guess it just seemed like my week was going from crazy to full on nuts, and maybe this was my brain’s way of dealing with it.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night at the bar had gone pretty much like Wednesday night, minus the part about me setting a guy’s balls on fire with a Flaming Blue Jesus, so pretty much the usual. 

Tips were better each night, which is pretty routine as the closer you get to Saturday, the busier the bar gets and the better the take.  Saturday is of course the best night of the week as it’s the busiest, and when I left after closing time, my purse was full of cash from the night’s tips. 

I had started to walk up the street to the next intersection because all the cabs had already left the area out front of the bar.  They always fill up fast after last call which is followed by a steady stream of drinkers exiting the bar and needing a ride home.

The sound of a cry for help stopped me in tracks as I was passing the alley.  It was dimly lit, and I couldn’t see much, but the cry came again, slightly louder this time, and I took a few steps into the narrow darkness. 

In hindsight, I guess it was kinda stupid of me.  I mean, who knows what I could’ve walked into down there, but I guess it was the fact that the cry for help sounded like it was coming from a girl that made me act.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the alley, I could make out the outlines of two people.  One was being pushed up against the wall by the other, and as I drew closer, I could see she was a young girl, maybe 16 or 17 at most. 

And the guy pinning her up against the wall was a cop!

The cries had stopped as he had his hand over her mouth.  His other hand was between her legs, and it sure didn’t look like any standard procedure for a police search that I’d seen.  The girl’s eyes looked terrified, and my anger started to burn red hot as I realized what this dirtbag was doing. 

I think that’s about when her eyes locked on mine.  The terror flashed to hope when she saw me, but he must’ve seen it too because he turned his head and looked at me as I drew closer.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he growled.  “Police business.  Leave.”

“Yeah,” I replied.  “Sure looks like police business to me.  Why don’t you take your hands off her, and maybe I’ll pretend I never saw you.”

“I said this doesn’t concern you,” he growled again, his voice louder this time and more menacing.

“Well, I think I just made it my concern,” I said, the anger in me giving rise to an edge in my own voice.

“Now that’s not very smart,” he replied, taking his hands off the girl and turning to face me.  “You  just bought yourself a whole world of hurt.”

I stood my ground as he stepped towards me, pulling his nightstick from his belt as he did so. 
Time seemed to slow down, and I became intensely aware of every muscle in my body tensing  as he brought up the nightstick and started to swing.

His attack was clumsy, his body telescoping his swing so that I could see it coming a mile away.  I stepped inside of his swing and slammed the palm of my hand up into his chin before he knew what hit him. 

The look of shock on his face was followed by one of pain as his body brought his brain up to speed with what had happened.  I locked his arm in a joint lock and took the nightstick from his hand before stepping out and under in one fluid movement. 

Rather than maintain the lock on his arm and force him to the ground, I let the momentum of his swing propel him face first into the wall of the alley where his face hit the brick with a satisfying thwack. While it had all seemed to happen in slow motion, in reality, the whole thing had happened in less than a couple of seconds. 

When he hit the wall, the girl moved away from where he’d been holding her against the wall, backing up and putting me between her and him.  I stood my ground, my eyes watching as he turned to face me again.  His eyes burned with hatred as he glared at me, his left hand wiping a stream of blood away from his mouth, but it was his right hand that I was watching intently as he reached for the gun on his belt at the same time. 

“You’re going to pay for that bitch!” he growled as his fingers closed around the gun.

I didn’t reply as I swung around in a full roundhouse, the nightstick extending from my arm as it connected with the side of his head.  The snapkick to his solar plexus followed a split second later, although it probably wasn’t necessary as I think he was already unconscious before it drove him backwards and smashed his head against the wall for the second time. 

I kicked his gun away from him as he collapsed to the ground and turned behind me to look at the girl. 

“Are you alright?” I asked. 

She just nodded as she stood there staring at me, a look of awe on her face as her eyes strayed over to the pile of cop on the ground and then back to me. 

“How did you do that?” she asked.

“Oh,” I replied, glancing over at the dirtbag cop on the ground, “I’ve taken a few self-defence courses.”

The girl stared at me for a moment, looking as if she wasn’t buying my answer, and then she just nodded her head, having either decided to accept my answer or just let it go.

“Come on,” I said.  “It’s probably best if we don’t hang around here.  I think he’s going to be out for a while, but we should we go.”

The girl nodded again and followed me as I turned and started walking out of the alley. 

“So, you got a name?” I asked her.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” she replied.  “It’s Kristy.”

“Hi Kristy, nice to meet you,” I said.

“Me too,” she replied.  “REALLY nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I smiled.  “So, what happened back there?”

Kristy was quiet for a moment as we continued to walk, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to go over it again in her head. 

“My friend Pauline and I were smoking a joint in the alley when that cop showed up.  At first we thought we going to get busted for the joint, and then he said he didn’t have to write us up, that maybe there was another way we could make it up to him.”

I glanced over at Kristy and saw she was shivering slightly as we walked.  It wasn’t cold out, so I figured the memory of what had happened, and more likely, what almost did, was giving her a chill. 

“That’s when Pauline bolted.  I tried to run to, but he grabbed me before I could get past him.  I yelled for Pauline, but she just kept going.”
Kristy paused, and I was about to comment that Pauline must be some friend, but I bit my tongue.  There was a time when I might have done the same thing.

“That’s when he pulled me in close and tried to kiss me,” Kristy continued.  “I managed to pull free and smack him, but then he grabbed me again and pushed me up against the wall, pinning my arms together with one hand while he ran his other hand up between my legs.”

I could see Kristy shiver more violently as she paused again, and frankly, I couldn’t blame her.  The whole thing must’ve been terrifying for her.

“He whispered in my ear that we could either do this the easy way or the hard way, that it was up to me.  He said either way was fine with him.  He started rubbing his hand harder against me between my legs, and then that’s when you showed up, thank God.”

I looked over at Kristy again as we walked.  Me and God weren’t exactly on the speaking terms and hand’t been for a long time. 

“I’m not sure God had much to with me showing up, but I’m glad I was able to help you.”

We walked up to the next intersection together where a cab had just pulled over.  “Need a lift?” I asked?

“I don’t have any money,” Kristy said, looking kinda fearfully at me as if she was scared I was going to get in the cab and leave her standing there alone. 

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.  “It’s on me.”

We didn’t talk much in the cab.  When we arrived at her building, she thanked me again as she got out, and then she turned and leaned back into the cab and wrapped her arms around me in  a big hug.  There were tears in her eyes as she thanked me again. 

I didn’t say anything as I hugged her back.  When she let go, I brushed my finger across her cheek and wiped away a stream of tears.  She smiled at me for moment before turning and running to her door. 

I watched from the cab as she unlocked the door and went inside, watched as it closed behind her, and wiped a tear from my own eye as the cab pulled away. 

I Set A Guy’s Balls On FIRE Last Night With A Flaming Blue Jesus

Every night at the bar is always interesting, but last night was one of those nights that you just know people will be telling stories about for a long time, and it’ll be one of those stories that keeps getting more and more crazy every time it gets told.

So I guess I better write it down here before I forget what ACTUALLY happened.  At least this way I’ll be able to laugh my ass off every time I hear a newer, crazier version of it.

My shift started off like usual. 

At seven there’s usually just a few regulars sitting around the bar finishing up their after work drinks, most of them probably not looking forward to heading home and getting an earful from their old lady for coming home half pissed again. 

I said hi to Frank as I made hung up my coat and my way behind the bar to see what needed doing.

Frank is a really good shit.  He’s old enough to be my Dad, and while I have on occasion caught him giving me one of those looks guys get on their face when you can tell that in their head they’ve got you totally naked and bent over a barstool, Frank is a perfect gentleman. 

He’s a great boss too.  Never late with a paycheck.  Never gets mad if I’m a little late for a shift, although I think that’s only happened like twice, and he is fun to work with too.  Great sense of humor for an old guy. 

I call him an old guy, but he’s only in his early fifties, so he’s really not that old.  Still, he loves to put on a show of being miffed when I call him that, so it works for both of us.

Things started to pick up by eight like they usually do as the stragglers from the after work crowd have finally made their way out, and the evening crowd starts to slowly make it’s way in. 

By nine we were probably half full, which is good for a Wednesday night.  That means the drinks are flowing, and it’s going to be a good evening for tips. 

More bodies kept filtering in, and it was pretty packed by ten-thirty.  I was busy as hell, taking drink orders and cleaning tables at the same time.  I had just finished clearing a table and had a tray full of empty beer bottles and glasses when it happened. 

Somebody bumped me from behind. 

Now, of course I’m pretty used to that type of thing.  It happens on a regular basis when you’re working in a busy bar.  But as I caught my balance and moved to stop myself from dropping the tray, I got bumped again, harder this time.

The tray slipped from my hand, and the sound of broken glass interrupted the noise of the bar.  I almost went down with it too, but somehow managed to catch myself.  As I turned to see who the hell had bumped into me, I came face to face with him, and I mean FACE TO FACE. 

This guy had no understanding of personal space.  He was practically sucking the breath right of my mouth he was so close, standing there with a big, dumb, leering grin on his face.  No apology.  No look of remorse or sheepishness like most people get when they bump into someone and cause an accident.  It was almost like he’d done it on purpose and was amused with himself. 

I made to take a step back to put a little space between us, and no sooner had I done so than both of his arms shot up and he had a hand on each of my tits, full grab, getting his money’s worth. 

The grin on his face was even bigger.  The prick was obviously enjoying himself, and then he turned to grin at his buddies, hands still on my tits. 

Now I know what you’re probably thinking.  Why didn’t I smack him, shove him away, or pull his hands off my tits?  Something.  Anything. 

Well, I guess I’m a little cooler than most chicks in a situation like this.  Comes partly from working in a bar for a while, and partly from my own depraved sense of revenge, which is why I did what I did next.

I just stood there, didn’t move from the spot except to reach beside me to grab the Flaming Blue Jesus I’d just delivered to one of the guys at that table.  Looking Mr. Tit Grabber straight in the eye, I tossed the whole thing squarely into his crotch, flames and all. 

Now, for those of you that don’t what a Flaming Blue Jesus is, here’s the recipe.

1 oz Bacardi® 151 rum
1/2 oz peppermint schnapps
1/2 oz Southern Comfort® peach liqueur
1/2 oz tequila

Layer with 151 proof rum on top. Light on fire - burn for 5 seconds - blow it out and drink.

Except, unluckily for Mr. Tit Grabber, I hadn’t had time to get to the blowing it out part yet before he bumped into me.

And, this Flaming Blue Jesus was a double, so it had lots of alcohol to keep it burning while it flew through the air into Mr. Tit Grabber’s crotch. 

That’s when the smile transferred from Mr. Tit Grabber’s face to mine. 

His crotch lit up like somebody had just thrown a match into a pile of wood that’s been doused in
lighter fluid. 

The look on his face was priceless.  Shock at first, followed by amazement, followed quickly, VERY QUICKLY, by a look of horror as he stared down at his flaming crotch. 

It didn’t take much longer for that look of horror to turn into a look of excruciating pain, and then Mr. Tit Grabber was turning and fumbling around behind him, hands grabbing frantically for a glass that had liquid in it. 

He finally managed to get his hands on a mug of beer and poured it on his crotch, followed by quickly by another one.  By that time it was quiet enough in the bar to hear a pin drop, and then as the entirety of the situation and what they’d just seen started to process in people’s minds, the laughter started, growing quickly until the whole place was alive with it.

As mad as he was about having his twig and berries roasted, I think it was the laughter that finally pushed Mr. Tit Grabber over the edge and caused him to throw a punch at me.  There was no grin on his face when he did it.  Just pure rage.

I moved out of the path of his fist just before it hit me, and before he could react, I put my knee between his legs with everything I had. 

The look in his eyes changed once again as the rage disappeared and that now familiar look of excruciating pain took it’s place.  His hands moved to cover his privates while his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor in that familiar sequence we’ve all seen at least a few times before. 

The laughter had quieted and died out after he’d thrown the punch at me, and silence had again filled the bar as everyone had watched to see what was going to happen next.  The sound of applause now broke the silence and grew to an almost unbearable level as I received shouts of approval and support. 

Frank softly pushed me aside, stood over Mr. Tit Grabber as he moaned on the floor, and told his  buddies to get him the hell out of his bar.  None of them said a word as they sullenly picked up they're tit grabbing, crotch roasted, balls busted buddy from the floor and headed toward the back door.

A couple of the guys at the table behind me had gathered up the bottles and broken glass from where my tray had fell and stacked it all carefully on the tray.  I thanked them as I picked up the tray, and headed back to the bar to get my customer another Flaming Blue Jesus. 

I've never been much for prayer, but I found myself laughing and thinking "thank you Jesus!"