Song: Hognose Snake

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When I used to play live music, I got A LOT of requests… but I would keep playing, anyway. (Ba-doom-tiss!) Here’s a new song about a phenomenon I’ve recently identified and it goes out to my good friend in Indiana. (You know who you are!)

Hognose Snake
Lyrics by J.P. Ribner

Hognose Snake! Hognose Snake!
Lookin’ like a cobra, but ya know he’s a fake
You have to give more than ya take
[Turnaround]

Chased down the dark path,
I turned and ran away
Fuel the fire in my ears a’burnin’
The liberties taken that day

Hognose Snake! Hognose Snake!
Lookin’ like a cobra, but ya know he’s a fake
You have to give more than ya take
From that no-good, lowdown, dirty rotten snake [Sung over the turnaround]

[Bridge]
Spirit of Red Dog came to me in a dream
Told me that the snake ain’t all that it seems
Said you gotta give way more than you take
From that no-good, lowdown, dirty rotten snake [Sung over the turnaround]

[Solo part]

Apologies were accepted
Set the sword down in the glade
It’s been a score, maybe a few more
It’s time to reclaim that blade

Hognose Snake! Hognose Snake!
Lookin’ like a cobra, but ya know he’s a fake
You have to give more than ya take
From that no-good, lowdown, dirty rotten…
Hognose Snake! Hognose Snake!
Lookin’ like a cobra, but ya know he’s a fake
You have to give more than ya take
From that no-good, lowdown, dirty rotten snake

Reverse Seniority: Narcissistic-Boss Problems

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It was like a scene out of Office Space with a more twisted logic. The new employee sauntered over to my cubicle to inform me that I would be responsible for five sales per week in another department. The conniving little prick didn’t care that I already was juggling my department and another one that was handed to me after the former manager quit. He also didn’t give two shits that I hadn’t had a raise in two years. Nope! All he cared about was being a hero in front of the boss at my expense. To add insult to injury, he condescendingly told me that the boss “already gave me his approval for this.” The message was clear: resistance is futile and “Reverse Seniority” was in full effect …

My friends told me not the take the job. They said the boss, aka “Big Man,” was a demanding prick who expected everything but gave nothing in return. As proof, they said he would brag about his vacation to vacation to Cabo San Lucas to employees who hadn’t had a raise in years. Since I was dead broke college student, I was forced to ignore their warnings and work for “The Company.” (Cue “Imperial March” theme music.)

During my first few months on the job, Big Man was somewhat as my friends described. He drove his Porsche to the office every day, had a different Rolex for every day of the week, and loved to regale us with tales of vacations in faraway lands such as Jamaica, Mexico, and the French Riviera. All that said, he did manage to be nice to me during my first six months; he even regularly complimented me on my columns that appeared in the college newspaper.

About a year in, I noticed that I went from being the star employee to “just another lazy-ass college kid livin’ off his parents’ money.” (It never occurred to him that I took out loans and was working for him to pay my way through school.) According to him, my sales numbers weren’t high enough, my attitude wasn’t positive enough, and I simply couldn’t do enough for The Company. (Cue “The Imperial March” theme.) It bothered me until some of the old timers said not to take it personally, the same thing happened to them. So I soldiered on.

Things completely went to shit during my third year on the job. By then, a new crop of freshmen meant a new crop of employees who soon became the apple of Big Man’s eye. Three of them in particular – Overbite, Double Chin, and Mop Top – were particularly adept at lying, flattering, and sucking the boss’s balls enough to allow them to fly up the company ladder three rungs at a time. Soon, these rookies became the de facto managers and directors of we who’d been there for years. Everything came to a head the day Mop Top sauntered over to my cubicle and saddled me with the additional responsibilities.

As angry as I was, I knew there was no use arguing about it. Mop Top was Big Man’s new pet and the two of them had already made up their minds. Plus, I already knew Big Man’s take on human resources management: “If you don’t like it, there’s the door.” And even if I did complain about being overworked and underpaid, I already know what he would’ve said: “A company has only two priorities: to its profits and its stockholders.” It was a nice way of saying, “Fuck off! You don’t deserve anything.”

Needless to say, Big Man went through the roof when I quit. In a matter of seconds, he was reminded about how much he and The Company (Cue “Imperial March” theme.) actually needed me. But instead of conducting an exit interview to learn about his shortcomings as a leader, he chose to yell and scream at me. “How can you do this to me after all I’ve done for you?” he said. I had to point out to him that a company’s only priorities are to its profits and stockholders. As CEO of J.P. Ribner, LLC, I owed it to my stockholders – my wife and child – to earn more money with a company would pay me more and I my work would be appreciated. I’m sure the lesson was lost on him.

Sadly, reverse seniority is common amongst narcissistic bosses. Their attention spans are notoriously short and since they believe they’re entitled to everything, they’re unable to appreciate what any one employee has done. Also, quiet, steady, hardworking employees don’t create the kind of excitement that silver-tongued false flatterers do, so it’s easy for the slow-and-steady types to fade into the darkness while the spotlight is trained on the boss and his pets. If you have a narcissistic boss, my advice is simple: Fire them before they fire you. My only regret is that it took my three years to do it.

Cue “Imperial March” theme.

Fight Like a Human… Not an Animal

To beat a bully, you’ve gotta fight like an animal, right? Wrong! You have to be a human. I’ll explain; but first, watch this video:

In the animal kingdom, creatures of the same species often go through an elaborate ritual when they fight. It often includes a lot of vocalization, posturing, chest-thumping, etc., and this is all designed to instill fear into the other animal. We human animals are not much different than our wild counterparts, particularly when studying the behavior of bullies. The video above is a good example of what happens when one person (the bully) engages in all the ritualistic intimidation behavior, while the other (the intended victim) short-circuits that approach with quick, decisive, and violent action. I would argue that the bully, caught up in her ritualistic behavior, never saw it coming.

Although this fight video is a mere 53 seconds long, it speaks volumes about bullying. I’ll break it down for you as quickly as possible.

1. Like animals that live in groups, bullies like to make their fights public events. They do this because they know that every person they hurt, shame, and/or humiliate in front of a crowd furthers their own reputation as someone to be feared, which to them is as good as being respected.

Before a push or punch was ever thrown, the bully in the video had a crowd of young ladies standing around, recording the event with their cellphones. No doubt this whole confrontation was pre-planned and pre-meditated by the bully.

2. Much like animals, bullies shout and yell at their intended victims before engaging them physically. This is to instill fear and make it easier for the bully to be victorious because in most cases, the intended victim is afraid of the bully, and the verbal ritual helps instill this fear and adrenaline response, which often makes people freeze up.

Of the total 53 seconds of this video, roughly 20 seconds are dedicated to the bully verbally accosting her intended victim. That’s nearly half of the total time it took for the confrontation to begin and reach its inevitable conclusion.

3. Animals will often puff their chests and stand as tall as they can to appear larger and more fearsome to their opponents. Bullies do this too, and it’s to their detriment. Most proven martial arts – boxing, kickboxing, jiu-jitsu, etc. – stress standing at an angle to your opponent. This is smart insomuch that it makes it easier to attack and defend from while presenting yourself as less of a target to your opponent. Bullies, on the other hand, will often square up in front of their opponents with both feet next to each other. While this certainly helps make an impression, it’s a stupid move tactically, especially if someone chooses to counterattack. People using this stance often find themselves off-balance and at a distinct disadvantage when this happens.

The bully in the video stands over her intended victim in this manner. Notice how ineffective her defense is when her intended victim leaps up and begins punching her? Standing squared off like this also allows the intended victim to score a good kick to the bully’s thigh (at the 27-second mark), knocking the bully off balance for a second and allowing the intended victim to maintain her superior attacking position.

4. Generally speaking, the more elaborate an animal’s posturing instincts, the less able it is to actually fight. Check out the hognose snake:

When confronted, it puffs its head up similar to a Cobra and coils up, making many false attempts at striking. If this display isn’t enough to deter a potential threat, it will eventually roll over and play dead, which is a far cry from the threatening displays it showed earlier. Bullies aren’t much different; they’re threat displays are a lot more intimidating than their actual fighting prowess.

You saw the video, right? Besides a lot of barking and posturing, did the bully do anything significant? Her best shot was a weak-ass push that only resulted in triggering her intended victim’s fight response. From that point, she got punched, kicked, and eventually ragdolled to the ground, where her intended victim continued to make a mockery out of her for everyone to see. In other words, the bully was nothing more than a hognose snake… who was stupid enough to pick a fight with a mongoose.

So there you have it, good people. To win a fight, you don’t have to be an animal because acting like an animal will likely get you knocked out. Be a human and learn to shortcut the bully’s posturing and other pre-fight rituals to catch him/her off-guard and commence to whippin’ dat ass! But always remember, once you commit to a fight, you have to be willing to go all the way. Even though the bully in this video was outmatched, she didn’t go down without a fight. If her intended victim had let up at any time during their brawl, this video could have had a different ending.

Stay safe out there!

J.P. Ribner is the author of three novels: Legacy of the Bear, Prophecy of the Bear, and World So Dark.

Me and Mr. Ego

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The record company told me this song was “a treasure”… then they told me to bury it. But I’ve unearthed it for your entertainment. Another reminder of my short-lived career as a singer/songwriter:

Mr. Ego
Lyrics by J.P. Ribner

Me and Mr. Ego,
gonna take a ride
He’s in the driver’s seat,
with me by his side,
It’s been a while since
we’ve been down this road,
I forgot how it was,
let’s see where it goes

Me and Mr. Ego,
We’re cruisin’ right along
and I forget about
every time things went wrong
who even cares about
what happened before?
Mr. Ego puts the pedal down,
down to the floor

I always thought I was unique,
but they say I’m not unique
No validation that I seek
Mr. Ego… take me away

Hey Mr. Ego
You’re going too fast,
Now I remember,
we got in a crash,
But Mr. Ego
doesn’t hear what I say,
he’s gonna do it
do it his way

I always thought I was unique,
but they say I’m not unique
No validation that I seek
Mr. Ego … take me away

[Bridge/slow down]

As they pull me outof the burning wreck
Burned flesh, contusions, broken neck
lay my shattered body to the ground
Where’s Mr. Ego?
He’s nowhere to be found
Yeah, I know he’s not around

I always thought I was unique,
but they say I’m not unique
No validation that I seek
Mr. Ego… take me away
Take me away now
Why won’t you take me away
Far away now
a million miles away now
Mr. Ego?

Why am I so Cold?

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In days of old when J.P. was bold and good music wasn’t invented, I thought I’d try my hand as a punk rock singer/songwriter along the lines of Henry Rollins and Jim Carroll. After extensive touring, I finally landed a recording contract but the major label decided to keep the album and release me. Here’s one set of lyrics that never saw the light of day:

Cold
Lyrics by J.P. Ribner

The sky is a blanket above me
colored gun-metal gray
Trudging through the slush again
It’s just one of those days
the snow on the concrete, stained black as coal
exhaust pipe scars, clouds, choking my soul
and I keep thinking this shit’s getting old
Why am I so… cold?
Cold
Cold
Why am I so…

Wind-chill factor kisses,
go straight to the bone
Empty branches reaching out
but I’m so alone
Car tires splash, puddles threaten to drown me
Trapped under ice, lost, nobody’s found me
and everything around me has been bought and sold
Why am I so… cold?
Cold
Cold
Why am I so…

{breakdown}

The snow keeps coming down
It keeps falling down
It’s falling down
upon my head
They say things are comin’ ’round
but it keeps comin’ down,
keeps falling down until I’m…

The sky is a blanket above me,
colored gun-metal gray…

“Going There”… Your Friends’ Exes

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villainYour friend fucks your ex, what do you do? I’m sure you’ll say you’d take the high road, believing that the past is the past and everyone has a right to move on. Right?

Bullshit!

Truth is, you’d be pissed because sex is a possessive endeavor. The act releases hormones that make us feel “bonded” to the other person to the point of perceived ownership. It’s why we impose “rules” regarding our exes, foolishly demanding that they’re “off-limits” to our friends. What a crock! Spending time with your buddy and his girlfriend leads to developing feelings between you and her and sooner or later, you’re thinking “what if?” Despite this reality, people turn into pissy little bitches when they find out their friend hooked up with their ex… and that’s what makes doing it so much fun!

Tall, with black hair, pale skin, and studded leather, Grace Goth marked my first foray into “going there.” While she was with my friend, I always wondered what bouncing around on top of her curvy frame would be like. Ten years after they broke up, I ran into her at the bar and, after a few beers, I felt confident to say, “I always thought you and I would’ve made a better couple. He just seemed like he didn’t appreciate you.” Twenty minutes later, we were back at my apartment, where I was “appreciating” the hell out of her vagina. After a few more rolls in the hay, the allure of banging my buddy’s ex wore off quicker than the appeal of Marilyn Manson’s last album and I carelessly discarded her into the dustbin of my sexual history. I’m sure my cavalier treatment of her most precious gift inspired plenty of dark, moody poetry written in her own blood.

The second time I “went there” was with Renee Rhythmless, and she was a real two-for-one. Not only had she recently divorced a buddy of mine, she also became friends with my on-again, off-again girlfriend. I knew Renee was looking to sow some wild oats and I was a bit of a farmer myself so I said, “Meet me at the bar on New Year’s Eve.” Shortly after midnight, we were back at my apartment, groping, grasping and grabbing each other in a bizarre dance where neither of us could get into the groove. What was more exciting was how my ex-girlfriend found out about the whole sordid affair. One day, in the midst of lecturing me about the “shortcomings” of my friends, I endeavored to recall the events of my New Year’s Eve celebrations… and whom I had enjoyed them with! I ended up hurting three people that night.

My buddy was the fucking man for dating Big Booty Judy. Her back porch was one of sheer wonder; a big, bumpin’ bubble of a butt that bounced and jiggled with every step. I wanted to pull up behind those two chunks of luscious roundness and have my way with her, and I could tell that she was down with the idea, too. The sexual tension between us boiled over one long, hot night after they had broken up and we tore into each other like a couple of wild animals. The sex was frenzied and highly erotic, and Judy’s epic booty proved to be everything that it had promised and then some. Sadly, the primal lust I had for her lovely shelf wasn’t enough to build a happy home upon. (Okay, I could’ve built a home upon it, but you know what I’m trying to say here.). While I moved on to become happily married to my wife of five years, Judy has suffered her share of heartbreaks and divorces. My bad, yo!

So what’s the moral of the story here? I’ve thought that myself many times during moments of self-reflection over the past few years. Was I selfish? Sure. Was I careless with the feelings of the women I’d slept with? Absolutely. Was I being vengeful toward my former friends for past slights, real and/or imagined? Yeah, that’s in there, too. In the end, each person reading this will have their own interpretation, and it will be based upon their own life’s experiences. So think whatever you want about me but keep this in mind – I’m not the only person who’s done these things… I’m  the one who’s had the balls to admit it.

The Consolation Rim Job

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RimjobWhile my wife has waxed poetic about the “consolation blowjob,” it’s a rim job that truly makes the best parting gift.

The year was two-thousand something and I was dating the voluptuous Ms. Wilhelmina Jeannette Smith, better known as “Billie Jean Big Boobs.” I shan’t bore you with the generous proportions of this Amazonian warrior woman; suffice to say her assets were ample, her spirit willing, and her flesh was anything but weak. What was weakening, however, was her love for me and mine for her. We were just so different, her and I but, grasping jackal that I was, I desperately tried keep our relationship together and I believe nary a big-girl lover would blame me for wanting to hold on to she who had so much to hold on to.

A relative’s wedding in Chicago proved to be our undoing. I’ve always said that if you really want to get to know someone you’re dating, take them on a trip. Being together (read: trapped) all the time for such a prolonged period of time brings out the worst in both parties and puts it on display. Such was the case with our ill-fated trip to the Windy City, though something good did come out of it.

On the night of the wedding itself, we returned back to our hotel room, rather exhausted from a long night of drinking and dancing, followed by more drinking and dancing. We took a shower together and on the one occasion we both seemed to be in tune with what the other was thinking, we managed to scrub every nook and cranny of our collective undercarriage.

“No rush,” she said, as she slipped halfway between the shower and the bathroom, “but come straight to bed when you’re done.”

When I finished drying off, I found Billie Jean Big Boobs naked and spread eagle across our bed. I didn’t need any further encouragement. Jumping in, we began kissing passionately, our tongues furiously probing each other’s mouths. Then, upon her suggestion, I mounted her in the classic 69 position for a little two-way oral foreplay. That’s when the fun really began. Burying my face into the plump, moist mound of womanhood that lay before me, Billie Jean’s tongue went from my stick shift straight to my exhaust, to put it nicely.

Being new to the whole “rim job” phenomenon, I was initially taken by surprise at Billie’s bold actions. Then, my senses were overloaded with tiny explosions of bliss coalescing around my bunghole. Ol’ Billie Jean was quite a pro at this whole “salad tossing” thing, though I didn’t stop to think about that then… I was too busy enjoying the moment. Though enraptured, I did manage to gorge myself on the presentation of womanhood before me, and the cheap hotel room was filled with the sounds of our mutual delight. The evening culminated in a more tradition explosion, with me firing off a hot load straight up her well-protected birth canal, then rolling onto the mattress, rather spent from such vigorous anatomical exploration.

Little did I know that the rim job she gave me – my first and only – was the figurative goodbye kiss.

All good things must come to an end, and so do the bad ones. I don’t think Billie Jean and I lasted six months; we were just two different people – I was right-handed, and she liked to sleep with all her coworkers. She was also a rather selfish person. Her saying things like “There’s no shame in my game,” and “Only God can judge me,” were a good indication of this, as was the endless list of people – male and female – who were members of the Billie Jean Big Boobs Broken Hearts Club. I, myself, became a charter member when she summarily sent me packing the day after we came home. Apparently, tongue-tickling of a man’s hairy anus is enough to assuage any transitory feelings of guilt she might have had for prolonging our flagging relationship for a free trip to Chi-Town.

So ladies, if you’re stringing some poor shlub along until you get your final payday, take a note from Billie Jean Big Boobs’ playbook. You have to give something to get something… and a consolation rim job ain’t a bad way to go. You don’t hear me complaining, do ya?

The Real Housewives of ’Possum Hollow: Desperate Deena

While I’m not exactly proud to admit it, I’ve slept with a few married women. And all these blushing brides lived in ’Possum Hollow, that quaint little community nestled between two mountain ridges in Northern Michigan. Here are their stories, with names and certain details changed to protect the guilty… not that they deserve it.

I should’ve known she was trouble the moment Desperate Deena walked in to Sawdust Corners with her girlfriend, Hot E. Tatrotsky. She was hot, drunk, and making it known that she was looking for some action. Her gigantic boobs were bursting at the seams of her low-cut blouse and if her jeans were any tighter, I would’ve sworn they were painted on. The tramp stamp and thong were nice touches, as was her wedding ring. Fortunately, this last detail meant little to me, as hooking up with the Real Housewives of ’Possum Hollow had become a bit of a hobby of mine. But despite my experience in humping Hollow honeys, I wasn’t prepared for the level of weirdness that Desperate Deena brought to the party.

Her story was as old as ’Possum Hollow, itself: she got married straight out of high school, pushed out a couple of rugrats, and now she’s unhappy with life in the trailer park with her no-good pig of a husband. Boo hoo! I reassured her that I was all about having a good time and at precisely that moment, the conversation took a sharp left turn that left ’Possum Hollow and entered straight into the Twilight Zone. All of a sudden she started getting loud, insisting that I had better “love her and treat her like a lady” before she’ll go home with me that night and fuck my brains out. She’s not the kind of girl who “does this kinda thing,” after all, yadda yadda yadda.

That’s when I excused myself and headed outside for some fresh air, hoping Deena would eventually forget I was there. Ten minutes later, Hot E. Tatrotsky came outside and we got to talking about Deena’s outburst. Tatrotsky said, “I don’t think she understands how the game is played.” Although I’m unsure what else was said, I do remember Mrs. Tatrotsky and I began making out, with me eventually removing both of her boobs from their holster, unzipping her jeans, and using my finger to diddle her clit, making her entire nether-region rather moist and welcoming. Before we could get any further, however, Desperate Deena came stumbling outside, screaming Tatrotsky’s name at the top of her lungs as if the two had somehow gotten separated in the deep, dark woods.

Then, Deena’s eyes fell upon Tatrotsky and I in our rather compromising position.

When Deena began shrieking at the top of her lungs, Hot E. Tatrotsky moved faster than I’ve seen another big girl move. In one fluid motion, she leaped off the hood of the car, inserted her boobs back where they came from, and zipped up her jeans. Deena kept going on and on, saying, “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” and other drunken ramblings. Tatrotsky ran to her and, putting an arm around her shoulder to hold her up, led Deena to the car and eventually stuffed her into the passenger seat amid her protestations. When I tried to get Tatrotsky’s phone number, Deena screamed, “Take me home! Now!” Poor Hot E. gave me a helpless shrug before getting into the car, the wheels spitting gravel as she peeled out of there and down the long, dark country roads leading in and out of Sawdust Corners, the culture center of ’Possum Hollow.

Like Hot E. Tatrotsky, I also shrugged my shoulders at the whole thing. This kind of shit can happen in the strange world of hook-ups and random sex so it’s best to have a you-win-you-lose-some outlook on the whole thing. Besides, Deena’s meltdown brought all my friends out of the bar, so we had plenty of laughs – and rounds – discussing this sordid yet short-lived affair, which marked my last fling with any of the Real Housewives of ’Possum Hollow.

A word of advice, ladies: This is the world of booty calls, hook-ups, and one-night stands, NOT drama class. The men are only playing the role of Prince Charming, so don’t start actually believing you’re Cinderella.

J.P. Ribner is the author of three novels: Legacy of the Bear, Prophecy of the Bear, and World So Dark.

The Real Housewives of ’Possum Hollow: Pyrite Pattie

PattieWhile I’m not exactly proud to admit it, I’ve slept with a few married women. And all these blushing brides lived in ’Possum Hollow, that quaint little community nestled between two mountain ridges in Northern Michigan. Here are their stories, with names and certain details changed to protect the guilty… not that they deserve it.

Pyrite Pattie is perhaps the most interesting Real Housewife of ’Possum Hollow. This tall, thick brunette with exotic looks was a hot commodity among the many horny Hollow hillibillies who’d hit on her at the local waterin’ hole. Thing is, Pattie wasn’t just looking for a one night stand behind her hubby’s back, she was looking for hubby’s replacement… someone to take her away from her dead-end job, dead-end home, and dead-end life. And because there was more at stake for her, she wasn’t just going to jump into anyone’s bed right away. I experienced this firsthand when, after a month of kissing and heavy petting, Pattie had yet to deliver. The only thing she did give me was her infamous I-need-to-be-sure-you’ll-love-and-respect-me-in-the-morning speech. I was wise to this angle, however, and with the help of horny honey from the Hollow, I was able to beat Pattie at her own game.

So, one night I’m at Sawdust Corners, stuck in another dead-on conversation with Pyrite Pattie. All of a sudden, in walks “2D,” a young lady who’s so skinny, she’s damn near two dimensional. I mean, if she turned sideways, she’d disappear! As luck would have it, 2D had a little crush on me but I never pursued anything with her because I prefer big girls… girls built like Pattie. On that night, however, I was happy to leave with my arm around 2D’s tiny little waist while Pattie watched on in shock, horror, and fury. About 10 minutes later, I was lacing my fingers through the grooves between her ribs and used it as leverage to slam my hard cock deep inside her wiry little body. It was better than going home alone, I suppose.

The following weekend in ’Possum Hollow was an interesting one, to say the least. It was as if Pyrite Pattie was waiting for me to walk into Sawdust Corners, and she practically whisked me out of there and broke the speed limit back to my buddy’s house. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on my cock, she described a myriad of carnal pleasures I’d be enjoying on the 10-mile drive back to my buddy’s house. And while I’d like to say she made good on her promises, my night with Pattie wasn’t exactly worth the wait. Upon reaching the bedroom, she promptly wrapped herself in a blanket, turned off the lights, and stripped out of her clothes before sliding into bed. I slid under there with her and proceeded make her big body shake and quiver, not that I got to enjoy the visual.

Getting her to leave turned out to be as difficult and time-consuming as getting her into bed.

She wouldn’t back out of the driveway until I took her secret cellphone number and email address – two accounts her husband didn’t have access to – and make a solemn promise to contact her. Then she went on a long-winded tirade about how different I was from the guys in ’Possum Hollow and how much she liked and respected me, before transitioning into how badly she wanted to move out from her husband’s house even though she just didn’t know where she could go. While she was telling me this, she kept eyeballing my GMC 2500HD pickup truck parked in my buddy’s driveway. Needless to say, I made no attempt to contact her in any way… though that didn’t stop her from asking about me through mutual friends, all of whom gave her evasive answers as to my whereabouts until Pyrite Pattie finally got the hint.

Moral of the story, ladies: Be careful when you’re running a game because you’ll never know when you might be the one who gets played!

J.P. Ribner is the author of three novels: Legacy of the Bear, Prophecy of the Bear, and World So Dark.

The Real Housewives of ’Possum Hollow: Dirty Debbie

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Dirty DebbieWhile I’m not exactly proud to admit it, I’ve slept with a few married women. And all these blushing brides lived in ’Possum Hollow, that quaint little community nestled between two mountain ridges in Northern Michigan. Here are their stories, with names and certain details changed to protect the guilty… not that they deserve it.

“Dirty Debbie” was the hottest thing to hit ’Possum Hollow since indoor plumbing, or so she thought. And why shouldn’t she? Every time her husband pushed or slapped her, he’d buy her something like an SUV, diamond earrings, or a Jet Ski and beg her to stay with him. Without realizing it, hubby created an incentive for her to pick fights with him. Hell, I’d let him hit me with everything he’s got if I knew I could get a GMC Denali out of the deal. (Four-by-four with air conditioning, leather seats, and power windows, of course!) Yes, I am making light of Dirty Debbie’s alleged “victimhood.” I find it hard to believe that a woman whose terrified of her abusive husband would be taking the risk of making out with me at Sawdust Corners, the most popular waterin’ hole in the Hollow.

I got a literal taste of Debbie’s dark side in the back seat of my friend’s car. While we were making out, she gave my lower lip a little nip. It hurt, and I told her not to do it again. She nodded and our mouths hungrily met each other once more as we began to metaphorically devour each other with passionate kissing. Then, perhaps to show me whose boss, Debbie clamped her teeth down upon my bottom lip again and this time she pulled her head back – and my lip with it – like she was trying to tear the meat off a fucking turkey drumstick. Maybe she thought she was being cute, or maybe she was angling for a fur coat or Coach purse, I don’t know. There was only problem with what she did – I’m not her husband. Out of reaction, I delivered a slap-chop strike to her jaw a’ la Vince Shlomi and it was hard enough to get Debbie the human pit bull to release my lip. When she did, the telltale taste of blood soon came gushing into my mouth.

“Wh … why did you do that?” she said, her voice heavy with tears.

“You fuckin’ bit me!” I replied.

She apologized just as we were pulling into my buddy’s driveway and surprisingly, she was rarin’ to go. I quickly surmised that a quick shot to the mouth was foreplay in her home, and who was I to deny her? We never even made it to the bedroom; instead, we landed in row after row of begonia’s – my friend’s ex-wife’s begonias – though we didn’t allow that to stop us. Within moment, she was naked and on all fours in the flowers. Still tasting the blood as it coursed into my mouth, my erect and enraged member furiously thrust in and out of Debbie’s own “flower patch” as her as fleshy, flabby belly and pendulous boobs hung down beneath her, swaying in the dirt.

Thrusting myself even harder, Debbie went face-first into the muddy flower bed. As I continued to pound the hell out of her, I pulled her hair to raise her face above the mess. “Do me harder!” she moaned, and I aimed to oblige. Shoving her forward again, she landed back into the mud with a splat, and that’s where she stayed, minus the few times I yanked her head up for air. She was covered head-to-toe in soil, with leaves and twigs tangled in her rat’s nest hair. Quite an ignominious end for the woman who was too proud to respect my wishes not to be bitten.

When all the moanin’ and groanin’ and the huffin’ and puffin’ was done, she turned and looked over her shoulder at me then said, “Call me next time you come up.”

After spitting a huge glob of blood out of my mouth, I said, “Yeah. No problem.” Too bad I didn’t mean it.

This sordid affair leaves me with advice for you women, although I shouldn’t have to say it. You ladies need to remember, “No” means no.

J.P. Ribner is the author of three novels: Legacy of the Bear, Prophecy of the Bear, and World So Dark.

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