Army Ranger Hospitalized After Having Balls Literally Smoked-Off

Joint Base Lewis-McCord, WA – A soldier was admitted yesterday to Madigan Army Medical Center after a lengthy corrective physical training session, or “smoke session” as commonly known, went awry. The soldier was rushed into the emergency room with the crotch area of his trousers drenched in blood and his testicles in a 7-11 Big Gulp cup filled with ice.

“I’ve seen cases of women cutting off their husband’s dick after they caught them cheating,” said Dr. Richard Cox, Emergency Room Surgeon, “but I’ve never seen anything quite like this. He was literally smoked so hard that his scrotum lost its elasticity and ripped off.”

Private First Class Chris Stiff, a new Ranger with 2nd Ranger Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, was more than eager to give an interview after he awoke from his operation and immediately asked, “How long will it be before I can jerk it?”

“It was a pretty bad day,” says PFC Stiff. “I was all sorts of fucked up. First thing, I showed up to morning PT formation one minute late, unshaved, and without my reflective belt. My team leader was pissed and ripped into me during PT. Describing to me how he is going to smoke my balls off so bad that Indians—feather type— miles and miles away were going to think he was sending them smoke signals warning them that the white man cometh.”

Due to political pressure, the Army has been making it its objective to phase out hazing though there is still some cultural and traditional resistance in the combat arms.

“At 0900 we had to be at the motor pool to do PMCS [Preventive Maintenance Checks and Services] on our Strykers. My team leader found out my oil was low because I didn’t fill up the last couple of days we were training even though he told me to. That’s when he went apeshit.”

PFC Stiff then explained that he was ordered to do push ups, flutter kicks, monkey fuckers, alligators, star bursts, bear crawls, and various other physical exercises. The punishment went on for at least an hour.

“It wouldn’t stop. I was sweating, my arms were spaghetti, and I couldn’t do anymore. Then while I was doing a monkey fucker, I felt a sharp pain, like my ball sack was being pulled off. I looked down and saw blood spilling. It fucking looked like I had a fucking miscarriage.”

His team leader, Sergeant Antonio Verga, sprung into action to check out what was the matter with his soldier. PFC Stiff explained, “My vision was blurring, and I was on my knees in pain. My balls had fallen down my pants and were stuck right where I bloused my boots. I remember my team leader ordering me to calm down and applying pressure to my crotch in order to stop the bleeding.”

“I was smoking his fucking balls off for being such an incompetent piece of human waste that should have been a 60th trimester abortion. I didn’t know it was actually physically possible to smoke someones balls off,” SGT Verga says as he spit some dip into the ground “I’m kind of proud of myself.”

After SGT Verga stopped the bleeding, he then carried PFC Stiff into his truck and drove him to the hospital.

PFC Stiff balls were surgically reattached, and he is expected to make a full recovery in a few weeks.

“I can’t really blame my team leader. He’s actually good at his job and cares for us, even though he can be a dick… and I tend to fuck up a lot. Its fine though cause I get two-weeks of con-leave [Convalescent-leave] and there is a chick from back home I want to get married to before I deploy. She is turning 18 this week.”

Upon hearing of PFC Stiff’s plans when he returns back home, SGT Verga remarked, “Stupid fucking cherry privates. Well, I hope they reattached his nut sack pretty fucking good this time. I have a feeling this isn’t going to be the last time I have to smoke his balls off.”

~Raul Felix

This satirical news article was featured on Article 107 News.

Read: 3 Winning PR Strategies For Muslim Extremists
Read: Four Years Of Hell: College V. The Army
Read: Army Rangers Talk About The Times Their Words Have Shocked Civilians

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God Damn Common Whore Cold

I cough violently. I sneeze as loud as thunder, snot dripping.
“Fuck!”
I blow my nose into a tissue.
I know exactly who got me sick.
That chick with the pink hair I made out with after work.
The next morning, I felt raspy in my throat.
God damn common whore cold.

A few days later, I’m feeling better.
But, my roommates begin to exhibit symptoms.
Same violent coughs, loud sneeze, and snotty noses.
The unmistakable orchestra of the virus’s triumph.
God damn common whore cold.

A couple of weeks later,
The plague has spread to the dwellings of friends who visit often.
Wreaking havoc and causing despair,
Pink scabbed noses and constantly watery eyes.
Dozens of used tissues scattered about,
Empty medicine bottles and Vitamin C tablets,
Vain attempts to control,
That God damn common whore cold.

~Raul Felix

Read: Where Are My Whores?
Read: Eager To Pop My Cherry On The Battlefield
Read: The Witch In My Dream

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Army Rangers Talk About The Times Their Words Have Shocked Civilians

Sgt. Brian Kohl, 55th Combat Camera, US Army

Sgt. Brian Kohl, 55th Combat Camera, US Army

Men in Special Operations units look at the world very differently than the average civilian does. There is no subject or phrase that is too taboo for us. All kinds of jokes are commonplace: rape, racist, dead baby, misogynist, and plain disgusting ones. You’ll never get scolded for offending someone; if anything, you’ll get mocked for not being offensive enough. Such an environment has a lasting effect. When we’re set loose on the civilian world, we must learn that most people can’t handle our dark, twisted humor. I asked my Ranger buddies about times they have said something that horrified society’s sheep.

Raul Felix:
When some cunt broke my heart I was drinking at the bar I worked at drowning in booze, my own tears, and woes. I told the young female blonde dumb bartender, “I want to slit that bitch’s throat.” Then word got around that I was a psychopath.

George:
“This [name a situation] is a fucking abortion, it’s a bloody mess.”

Leo:
I told a woman that was trying to take my dad’s beer that I would fillet her like a fish.

TJ:
When people ask me, “What’s up?,” I say rent and the price of pussy. Both are always going up.

Matthew:
In film school I was in a class that was covering all the things you needed a permit to legally do—shut down a street, fire a gun, etc. So I was doing a short at the time that required shooting someone in the back of the head and that person falling off a building. So I ask, “What do I have to get in order to shoot someone in the head and throw them off a building?” I thought it was a perfectly logical question considering the movies that come out these days, but holy shit did everyone else, teacher included, think I was a psychopath.

Calvin:
In reference to an abortion [my girlfriend] had: “No, I felt OK about it. After all, it was one more confirmed kill.”

James:
Saw new talent in the office, told my coworker that I would “pee in her butt.”

Raul Felix:
At my best friend’s birthday I had been heavily drinking. They had two short female friends they were close with but that simply tolerated my existence. I joined the group and said, “I like to dominate small women” and patted one of the chicks on the head like she was a dog and walked off. They were upset about that for a while.

George:
“You’re looking at me like you either want to fuck or fight; either way it’s a good time.”

Steven:
“Look at the turd-cutter on that chick. I’d eat a mile of her shit to see where it came from.”

Dirty Dick:
I can’t think of a story or anything I’ve said out loud off the top of my head because I’m so inappropriate all the fucking time. But you can talk about how my cousins showed me videos of the cartel mutilating each other and I laugh about it while they’re staring at my crazy American Psycho face.

Chris:
I used a freshly skinned rabbit pelt for a puppet to the horror of the college girls at the campout. I guess skinning it without a knife didn’t help.

Calvin:
Felt a pregnant classmate’s belly in a bar—classy, Oregon—and said, “That’s so cool that you’re adding life to the world. I always wanted to leave it with less than I came.”

Matthew:
I was sitting in the newsroom at NBC in Kansas City and felt the presence of the cameraman and reporter over my shoulder as I read a text message [in] which the thread included a thumbnail of my most recent dong shot.

Steven:
(In reference to the Ice Bucket Challenge): If dumping a little chilly water on yourself is the level of intestinal fortitude that you consider being Rangerrific, then you, sir, should be a Seal. If the challenge was to pour a gallon of ISIS and virgin blood over my head while I aggressively masturbate to “Two Girls, One Cup” while I fist-fuck a porn star’s ass and kick a puppy in the face, then, sir, we are on the same page.

Alvin:
A few civilian friends and I were going to pull a train on some chick. While they were all arguing about who was going to go first, I called dibs on last.

Erik Larsen:
Civilian to me when I was a recruiter in New York: “How do you live with yourself knowing you killed innocent children in Iraq?” My response: “Don’t knock it ’til you try it.” Civilian walks off in horror.

Rammers:
Before I leave certain locations or say goodbye to people, I use certain words to say goodbye instead of the usual (“have good one,” “see ya later,” “keep in touch”). Most of the time I say, “Don’t get shot.” Once, before I left my economics class prior to the Thanksgiving weekend, my professor told the class, “I hope everyone has a good holiday weekend” [and] I replied, “Hopefully no one gets shot.” She then repeatedly asked, “Who’s getting shot?” three times. I laughed and said, “Getting shot is always a possibility where I am from.”

~Raul Felix

Jumping Out of Airplanes: How It’s Really Like

My second article on Thought Catalog has gone live. People always ask me how it’s like jumping out of airplanes, and I could never quite put it. So, I took a lot of thought and I decided to tell it in the most matter fact way possible. I’m pretty proud of this one.

“There was blood upon the risers; there were brains upon the chute,
Intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper’s suit,
He was a mess; they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,
He ain’t gonna jump no more.

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain’t gonna jump no more!”
-Blood Upon the Risers: World War 2 American Paratrooper Song

One of the best and worst parts of being an Airborne Ranger is the airborne part. Civilian types tend to have a misconception of what jumping out of airplanes is like in the Army. When they picture it, they think of all those skydiving videos where you pleasantly enjoy the view as you have the thrill of a lifetime, screaming at the top of your lungs, and with adrenaline pumping through your system. Then you land softly and celebrate because you faced one of your fears. During the whole thing you took pictures; you then post them on Facebook, and people comment about how truly wild and crazy you are. The whole thing probably took about three or four hours.

Like everything else in the Army, it’s a longer, more painful process. I’m not particularly scared of heights, but jumping out of an airplane was one of the training events I dreaded the most during my time in uniform. The process goes as follows:

You see on the training calendar that there is a jump coming up. You wonder if there is a way you can sham your way out of it, but sadly for you, you’re unable to weasel out. Fuck it. You joined the Army to jump out of airplanes and kill people, right?

To minimize the odds of you killing or maiming yourself and your buddies, the day before, you go through sustainment training. Sustainment training is where you get repounded into your head all the proper steps and procedures for conducting airborne operations that you learned in Airborne School. This involves going through a dry run of all the things you’re supposed to do as a group when you jump into the abyss. You play out perfectly the appropriate actions when you hook-up: Hand-off the static line, jump with your legs together in a tight body position, counting to four-thousand, and feeling the opening shock of the parachute. Then you make sure to check your canopy has no holes in it by looking up; if you’re unable to put your head up it’s because your risers are twisted, you bicycle kick to untwist yourself. You keep a sharp lookout during decent, make sure to avoid other jumpers, trees, telephone wires, and other potential hazards. You then play out what you will do if you do run into any of those hazards. You then prepare to land, putting a slight bend in your knee, keeping your eyes to the horizon. You then land by hitting the balls of your feet followed by your calves, thighs, buttocks, and pull up muscle. They actually call it the pull up muscle. That’s the end of sustainment training and now you are ready for your jump.

The next day, you go to the airfield to rig up your chute, harness, weapon, and put on your 45-plus-pound rucksack. God help you if you’re a mortarman or a machine gun gunner; you have a shit-ton more weight to carry. You then get inspected by a Jump Master to make sure you didn’t rig yourself all sorts of fucked up.

This is where the fun begins. The bird is probably going to be delayed by an hour or two. Meanwhile the harness is crushing your balls, and you’re unable to move effectively because you have your heavy ass rucksack dangling from your waist. You’re sitting down, using your helmet as a support for your lower back. While you’re waiting for an unknowable amount of time, you fall asleep. Suddenly, you’re awaken, still groggy; you are told to get up. You struggle to get yourself up and fumble around like a football, until one of your buddies takes pity on you and offers you a helpful hand. As you get to your feet, you realize you have to take a piss. Too late, dick face, your 50-plus buddies are already lining up to get on the bird. You don’t really walk to the bird but instead press forward in waddle-like, hunched over fashion in order to support the weight you’re carrying.

You approach the C-17, a humongous fortress of an airplane whose size leaves you in awe. Instantly the distinct smell of jet fuel and heat of the engines hit you. You follow the men in front up the ramp of the C-17 and take a seat. The ramp goes up, the plane taxis on the run way and takes off. As the plane settles into flight, the once roaring sounds of the engines turns into a hum.

Even if it’s not your first jump, the feeling of uneasiness and fear never completely go away. This shit is fucking dangerous even with all the precautions the military takes. On my first jump in battalion, we had one of our men get his parachute tangled with two other jumpers and got killed in the horrible training accident. The other two Rangers suffered serious injuries. Broken ankles, legs, backs, and concussions occur enough to be a legitimate concern each time one rigs up their chute.

At times the flight only takes twenty minutes, at others several hours. The two side doors of the C-17 open, and your ears are consumed by the fury of the wind. It’s hard to hear anything else. You see the Jump Master give you the signal to “Hook Up,” and in unison everyone echoes the command. “Check equipment!” screams the Jump Master. You paranoialy check all your straps and hooks, making sure none of them somehow came undone. Then the soldier in the very back slaps the ass of the one in front of him while saying “Okay.” This creates an ass slapping domino effect that continues until it reaches the very first jumper who then says, “Okay Jump Master!”

You stand there with your ruck hanging between your legs waiting to jump. Its heavy, uncomfortable, and you’re hating your life. You probably should have just gone to college. Your back is cramping up; you lean to the side of the plane to help support yourself and relieve some of the stress. The plane is encountering some turbulence, and you know this jump is going to fucking suck. After being tortured by this, you’re not even scared of jumping anymore. You just want to get the fuck off the bird so you can take the goddamn ruck off from in between your legs.

“One minute,” echoes through the plane. You’re looking in front of you, eyes on the red light which will soon turn green. Finally, you’re getting off this fucking bird. “30 seconds,” the birds coming upon the drop zone, and you’re completely focused on what you’re going to do next. The Jump Master has placed the first jumper in front of the door. The light turns green and “Go!” orders the Jump Master as he slaps the first jumper’s ass signaling him to jump. With one-second spacing between them, each man proceeds after the other. Your mind goes blank as you walk towards the door, all the training kicks in and everything you’re suppose to do has become muscle memory at this point. You hand off your static line, make a right face, and jump. You count to four-thousand, keeping your body tight as you get sucked out. Your chute opens and the once deafening sound of jet engines and wind is replaced by the tranquility of the being airborne as you slowly descend to the Earth. You begin to look in all directions and see your buddies all around you. You’re hoping you don’t run into one of them. You see one is getting too close, and you pull the risers in an attempt to slip away, but they really don’t do much. He spreads-eagle and he bounces off your chute, going on his merry way.

Now you must prepare to land. You drop your ruck, grab your risers, hold them firmly, keep your eyes on the horizon, and bend your knees slightly. You hope you don’t land on thorn bushes or if you’re doing an air field seizure, on the tarmac. You hit the ground hard. It knocks the wind out of you. You lay there for a moment or two, trying to figure out if you’re hurt or have broken anything. Luckily everything seems to be fine, and you begin to perform your final point of performance: taking that piss you’ve been holding in since you got on the bird.

~Raul Felix

The Pick-Up Follies: The Snow Fatty

I was in my seat on an airplane in between two very attractive women. Yet, I was unable to talk them. My breath stank and I reeked of booze, smoke, desperation, fat girl spit, and body odor. Normally, I would have started a little coy conversation in effort to see if there was a connection, but not this time. This time, I sat there in silence brooding on the foul odor that had been cast upon my body. God was just, I was being punished for the sins I had committed the previous night.

We had spent two weeks in late October 2008 on a training trip in Fort Bragg. After doing our military training for the day, we spent nearly every night of those two weeks getting hammered beyond reason or recourse. It was our last night in North Carolina and we decided to have one final hurrah before heading back to Washington. “Jonathan” and I tried to rally up a bunch of the guys to go out, but most rejected the idea knowing that we had an early morning flight to catch. We were able to get a humble group, “Blitzy”, “Tiburón”, “Jonathan”, and I to go out.

We rode through the mean streets of Fayetteville to a bar called Doghouse Bar & Grill. The place was refreshingly different from the typical bars you see outside military bases. The amount of high and tights with off-duty soldiers wearing their dog tags outside their t-shirts as a fashion accessory was kept to a minimum. Typical of southern bars, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke that engulfed the whole place. There was a live band playing country music, cheap beers, and a decent female to male ratio.

Since I always keep my head on a swivel looking for attractive women to hit on and promptly get rejected by, I noticed there was only one really hot chick in the whole entire place. Our drinks came and we made a toast to the good times and to 2/75. I kept my eye on the hot chick and noticed that she was eye fucking the singer the whole time. After he completed one of the songs, she went up to kiss him passionately. With that kiss, went my one percent chance at success with the only hot chick. It looked like hitting on the bountiful subpar chicks of the bar were the conditions I was going to operate under.

I was drinking my alcohol at a respectable rate in order to boost my courage levels so I could actually approach women. While these days I am able to hit on a chick like nothing, back then, I still needed a good helping of alcohol to get myself to talk to one at a bar. The alcohol began to set in, ever so gently, taking over my psyche. Liquid courage had been spliced with my blood. I targeted a table made up of fuckable, but unimpressive looking women. I went in and begun speaking to one about witty and charming subject matter that surely sparked her interest. After a couple of minutes, the rest of my buddies decided to join the table. One guy in particular, Blitzy, began to hit it off with one of a generic looking chicks. Eventually, the girls tired of me and I went back to sitting at the bar alone. Blitzy was forming a true spiritual connection with the generic chick.

All the guys except for Blitzy rejoined me at the bar and we continued toasting and drinking. A couple more drinks in, I locked eyes with a woman who was in the late stages of being a cougar and in the early stages of being a sabertooth. She smiles at me, I sat there frozen not sure what to do.

Raul: “That chick is looking at me.”

Jonathan: “Go for it.”

Raul: “But she’s really old.”

Jonathan: “So? Women like that will show you some crazy ass shit that you can only dream of.”

Raul: “Really?”

Jonathan: “Yeah man.”

I walked up to her and begun flirting with her all awkwardly because I wasn’t sure how the fuck you’re supposed to hit on an older woman. She was dirty blonde, with rough skin conditioned by many a decade spent in smokey bar, and had a cigarette in her mouth. I don’t recall what we talked about or what poor excuse of seductive language I used to get her to the point of holding my hand. She pulled me close and said:

Older Woman: “You’re really cute, you should come home with me.” She squeezes my hand and places it on her thigh.

Raul: “Uh… I can’t… I have to stay here with my buddies. They’re my ride.”

Older Woman: “I’ll make sure you won’t forget it.”

Raul: “I can’t, I’m sorry.” I gave her a hug and walked back.

I’ll make no excuses about it. I pussed out because I was really intimidated by this older woman even though she wasn’t that attractive.

I rejoined my buddies and was mocked for having fucked it up with the almost-sabertooth. While my little frolic with older temptation occurred, it seemed that Blitzy had truly formed a one a kind connection with the generic chick. He went about consummating their one in a million love by fucking her doggy-style in the back seat of the van while she stuck her head out the window vomiting.

We continued to drink and were inebriated to the point where we sung along with the band. All morals and standards were being slain by the alcohol demon. Then she appeared: a paled skinned woman, with dark hair, and humongous breasts. She was like Snow White, if Snow White was about 100 pounds heavier. I didn’t care, I walked up to her.

Raul: “Let me guess, you’re drinking a Jack and Coke?”

Snow Fatty: “No, it’s a Rum and Coke, but good guess.”

Raul: “I like rum and coke, let me have a taste,” I take a sip out her drink, “Not bad.”

I introduced her to my buddies and we’re introduced to her shady looking friend “Daringer.” I got close to her and heavily flirted, touching her here and there. Fully aware that I was way above her league, I knew it was all a matter of playing the waiting game before my dick will be slaying her orifices. Eventually, the bar begins to close and Blitzy wants to go back to the motel. I asked the Snow Fatty if she could give us a ride to the airport the next morning and she agreed to do so. Snow Fatty, Tiburón, Jonathan, and I all pile into Daringer’s shitty little sedan.

We arrived at the mobile home park she calls home. She and I immediately head to the bedroom. I do my standard operating procedure of shoving her on the bed, positioning myself on top of her, and kissing her. All the while, firmly squeezing her huge breasts. I begun to undress her and that’s when the magnitude of the situation hit me. Her clothes, albeit not well, hid how fat she truly was. I had estimated a 100 pounds overweight Snow White, not a grotesque 150 pounds overweight Snow White. I made the executive decision not to fuck her, instead opting to get my dick sucked until I nutted.

I straddled on top of her, had her support her head on the pillow, and began thrusting full force into her throat. She stops me at some point and wants to fuck. I tell her that I don’t have a condom and luckily, she doesn’t have any laying around either. I continued until I busted in her hair.

I came out the bedroom and Tiburón was passed out on the couch. Jonathan and Daringer were nowhere to be found. It was nearly 4 a.m. and our flight was to leave at 7 a.m. I called Jonathan up and he told me that he went to get some cocaine with Daringer. Since they were my only ride, I began to panic a bit, but then decided that most practical solution was to sleep until they return.

At 6:15 a.m. I was awoken by the pounding of the door and my buddies voices. I scrambled to my feet and scoured the floor for my shoes. “Felix, we have to go man! Lieutenant Snuffy keeps on calling Sergeant Tiburón and he’s fucking pissed,” yells Jonathan. Fuck! I finished getting dressed and we all piled into the car. We were about 20 minutes away from the airport as Daringer drove us as quickly as his little jalopy could take us. Every five minutes en route, Lieutenant Snuffy called Tiburón to get a status report on where the fuck we were at.

At 6:35 a.m. we arrived at the airport. We stumbled out of the car and right before we were going to run off the Snow Fatty asked me, “You’re going to come back one day right? You got my number.” I smile at her and said, “Of course,” and gave her a reassuring hug and run off to the check-in. One of our buddies was on stand by with our bags and we checked in. We got through security rather quickly and ran to the gate where we met up with Lieutenant Snuffy and the rest of the men. “I don’t want to hear any of you fucking idiots speak. I’m going to take care of this shit when we get back! Got it?” He yelled.

“Roger, Sir!” we all responded. We tried our best not smile and giggle at the events that unfolded the previous night. We headed into the boarding gate and Jonathan took out his phone and showed me a picture he took of Snow Fatty. “Ugh… that’s pretty gross,” I said with disappointment. We boarded the plane and I sat in between two lovely women. That’s when I noticed how horrible I must smell.

~Raul Felix

“Tell me more about your follies of picking up women.” Here mother fucker: The Pick-Up Follies: Sleazy E’s Revenge

The Pick-Up Follies: The Halloween Abandonment

It was Halloween 2009, I got invited to a Halloween Party held at a bar in San Juan Capristano for a network marketing (pyramid scheme) company that I was a part of. Always being one to sport funny Halloween costumes, I dressed up as Frylock from Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I arrived alone and met up with some of the people I sort of knew. I began doing what Raul Felix does best, I started drinking irresponsibly and socializing.

I made my rounds, fully confident that I had the best costume there because who the fuck is going to top dressing up as a box of french fries? I’m about three or four drinks in and I start talking to girls and flirting, but nothing is connecting. I start getting a little frustrated and drink some more in an effort to amp up my charm, which history has dictated is always a great idea.

That’s when I saw her. She was dressed up as a vampire witch thing or something. Actually, I don’t even remember what the fuck she was dressed up as but I can tell you it was seductive enough to attract my attention. Or I may have just been drunk and desperate. She was tall, blonde, had a voluptuous body, big breasts, and my ultimate weakness, a full ass. She was a cougar in her mid-forties. I positioned myself next to her, and noticed she was drinking a beer.

Raul: “Wow, a woman who knows how to drink beer, that’s rare.”

VampireWitch: “Yeah, I don’t do any of those girlie drinks… like you.” She points to the white russian I’m drinking.

Raul: “Hey, the white russian is the manliest of all drinks. The Dude from The Big Lebowski drinks them.”

VampireWitch: “I like that movie. Still though, that’s still borderline fruity. Are those cherry’s in there?”

Raul: “Yes, cherries are bad ass. They add a sweet little flavor to it. Try it.” I give her the drink and she takes a sip from it. Here is a pro tip for you: if a woman takes a drink from your drink or allows you to take a drink from hers, it means she is somewhat interested in you or at the very least not completely repulsed by you.

VampireWitch: “Not bad. You’re too handsome to be wearing that silly costume.”

Raul: “Its funny though! I’m Frylock from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.” She gave me a blank look which truly indicted how far apart our generations were.

Neither one of these girl is VampireWitch.

Neither one of these girls is VampireWitch.

Our conversation then transformed into the mindless basics and we started dancing. That’s when I felt a vibration and looked down at my cell phone. A buddy of mine just texted me to remind me to pick him up at his work so we could go to some house party he invited me to. I told VampireWitch that I needed to go, got her number, and gave her a kiss.

I picked up “LittleBean” at his work and quickly informed him that he needs to take over driving responsibilities for I planned to get shit housed. We stopped by the store, bought beer, and headed to the house party. By the time we arrived, I was a few beers away from peaking and spiraling down into the abyss.

The house party was all of his co-workers and their friends. LittleBean was the only person I knew. Since I tend to be somewhat outgoing when I drink, I started talking to people and mingling. I don’t recall the exact order of these events, but the following ensued throughout my stay there:

1. I flirted with some chick in a Little Red Riding Hood outfit and she was digging me and rubbing on me, but I ended up fucking it up somehow.

2. I smoked some pot and started becoming extremely paranoid.

3. Some dude was overprotective of his female cousin and I had a man to man talk with him about how he should let her be her own woman.

4. I took a couple of shots of whiskey.

5. I vomited in the bushes.

6. The rest of the chicks rejected my ambitious, but sloppy and misguided attempts to hit on them.

7. I got into an argument with the owner of the house and got LittleBean and myself kicked out.

I'm STILL pissed off  at myself for fucking it up this cute chick.

I’m STILL pissed off at myself for fucking it up with this cute chick.

Raul: “Fuck those mother fuckers, I’m going to call VampireWitch.” I call her up and she informs me that she is staying in Newport Beach at a friends house. She invites me over for us to have some fun. LittleBean drives my truck there and I stumbled out of the truck and VampireWitch grabs me.

VampireWitch: “You need to take that ugly costume off.” I take it off and throw it in my truck. Since VampireWitch agreed to give me a ride to pick up my truck the next day, LittleBean drives away and goes home.

I aggressively begin kissing her and grabbing her big ass. She then stops me, grabs my hand, and leads me into her friends multi-million dollar home. We sneak in, careful not to make too much noise because she didn’t want her friend to know, and go into the guest bedroom. I shove her onto the bed and get on top of her kissing her passionately. With each messy drunk movement, taking off an article of clothing. I take off her bra, releasing her big breast, and begin sucking on her nipples. I get completely naked. Then I work my way down to taking off her panties, she stops me.

VampireWitch: “Do you have a condom?”

Raul: “Yeah of course… wait… fuck! They’re in my truck!”

VampireWitch: “Are you kidding me?”

Raul: “You could suck my dick.”

VampireWitch: “Well you do have a nice cock.” She starts sucking and slobbering all over my cock. After a while I’m ready to cum and since I’m a man brought up by internet porn, I opt to cum on her face.

She cleans herself off and we are laying in bed talking and waiting for me to recharge when her phones rings.

VampireWitch: “Oh shit, it’s my husband.”

Raul: “Your husband? I didn’t know you were married.”

VampireWitch: “Yeah, it’s a weird situation. We’re about to get separated, but he still acts like we’re together.” She then begins talking to her husband on the phone, argues with him, and then…

VampireWitch: “What? You’re here? All right, I’ll come outside.” She then just leaves and to goes talk to her husband who is outside.

I lay there. I’m not really sure what I’m suppose to do in this situation. Do I wait? Do I go out there to see what’s going on? Do I just leave? I decide to just sit tight and wait.

Ten minutes. Fuck. She is not back yet. Maybe I should call her cell? No, if she is with him that would be suspicious. Fuck.

Twenty minutes. Fuck. I don’t know where the fuck I am. I should leave and call LittleBean to pick me up. I dial LittleBean and the phone goes straight to voicemail. Fuck.

Thirty minutes. Fuck. I have to piss. All the drinking has caught up to me. I have to find the bathroom in this house. My bladder is going to explode. Fuck.

I tip toe out the guest bedroom into the living room of the house. After much quiet stumbling around, I am able to find the bathroom and take a bladder emptying piss. I walk out of the bathroom and I realize, I have no idea where the guest bedroom is at. God fucking damn it. I begin walking around this huge house, trying not to make any noise. Seriously, picture this in your mind. I’m a 23 year old Mexican male, not wearing a t-shirt, reeking of booze and marijuana walking and stumbling around the house of some rich person in Newport Beach who has no idea I am there on Halloween. Yeah, how does that look like to you?

I see a swimming pool. I somehow convince myself that I must have passed a swimming pool on my way to the bathroom. I open the glass door and shut it behind me. I then realize that there was no way I passed a swimming pool. I attempt to go back in and the door won’t open. Fuck. I locked myself out. Southern California may not be Chicago or New York City, but it does get pretty cold at night in October.

I’m outside next to the swimming pool freezing my balls off for a good ten minutes. I walk around the backyard trying to figure out if I can just climb over the fence and break myself out of this house. I quickly realize there was no way to do it without making a shit ton of noise. I begin to pace back and forward trying to think of a plan and then as I looked into the house through the glass door I see a middle aged man. Oh well, here goes nothing. I tap on the glass.

He hears my tapping and looks me and is startled. Again, picture it in your mind, a 23 year old Mexican male with no t-shirt is tapping on the glass door of a mansion in Newport Beach on Halloween night at three in the morning. I’m lucky Californians are such pussies about guns. I wave at him and he walks away for a few minutes and comes back with his wife. She is holding on to a phone, probably ready to speed dial 911 and he has a baseball bat in his hand. He cracks open the glass door.

Man: “Can I help you?”

Raul: “Hey sir, I’m sorry, I was here with VampireWitch and she sort of just left me in the bedroom. I went out to take a piss and somehow ended up out here.” I said while shivering.

Man: “You were here with VampireWitch?”

Raul: “Yeah…”

Man: “Hold on a moment.”

I then hear him echo what I said to his wife. Then I hear the wife call up VampireWitch and asking her if she had some strange boy over the house. She then yells at VampireWitch for leaving me behind and bringing strangers into HER house. The Man comes back.

Man: “Your story checks out. But I don’t know who you are and you can’t stay here. You have to leave.”

Raul: “I don’t have a car right now. My friend dropped me off.”

Man: “God damn it.”

He shuts the door and comes back a few moments later with some blankets.

Man: “You can sleep here in the backyard. We’ll give you a ride home in the morning.” He hands me the blankets.

Raul: “Thank you.”

I then lay down on a lounge chair and wrap myself up in the blankets. I doze off into a very uncomfortable, shivering sleep. The bull shit a man goes through to get his dick wet.

~Raul Felix

I like reading about you failing with women. I want more: The Pick-Up Follies: Taqueria Hottie

The UK Border Agency Debacle

“I’m from fucking Southern California, why the fuck would I want to illegally immigrate to your shitty, cold country?” I said to the United Kingdom Border Agent as she interrogated me in a small room. I was beginning to lose my composure and my temper. My body was shaking as my veins filled with rage. My fists were clenched and I was grinding my teeth in my best effort not to say anything else stupid. I have never ever in my life been so upset at any bureaucrat that I actually had to use every ounce of willpower to keep myself from breaking their face and ending up in jail.

Throughout the month of January 2013, I was randomly traveling around Western Europe and doing the typical backpacker thing. After exploring the wonders of Amsterdam, I decided my next stop would be London, England. I got on the airplane and arrived at London Gatwick Airport and was informed I was supposed to fill out some customs paperwork. Everything was pretty standard and I filled out my occupation: government. I shuffled through and took my place in line to await the process of getting my visa. I was next, and that’s where I met my soon to be nemesis, “McCunterson.” She was a gorilla looking, big fat black woman with a mix of a Jamaican and British accent.

"Oh what pleasure."

“Oh what a pleasure.”

Raul: “Hello.”

McCunterson: “What is the purpose of your visit?”

Raul: “Just traveling around Europe randomly.”

McCunterson: “Why?”

Raul: “… because I’m on vacation.”

McCunterson: “Don’t give me attitude sir, I’m just doing my job.”

Raul: “… alright.”

McCunterson: “How long have you worked for the US Government?”

Raul: “A year and half. Actually, I just finished working with them a couple of weeks ago. I just put that cause it was my last job.”

McCunterson: “So, you’re unemployed?”

Raul: “I guess I am.”

McCunterson: “Then why did you write you were employed? You know that is lying on a legal document right?”

Raul: “I apologize.”

McCunterson: “How much luggage do you have with you?”

Raul: “Just my backpack.”

McCunterson: “That little thing?”

Raul: “Yes, I travel light.”

McCunterson: “Do you have a return flight?”

Raul: “No. I haven’t bought the ticket yet. I’m not sure how long I am going to stay. I think maybe a week or two.”

McCunterson: “Why don’t you have a return flight?”

Raul: “Because I’m not sure of how long I am going to stay, like I said.”

McCunterson: “Don’t get smart, sir. How much money do you have on you and how much do you have access to?”

Raul: “I have about 500 euro on me and I have access to $X,XXX.”

McCunterson: “You really expect me to believe you have access to $X,XXX?”

Raul: “… yes.”

McCunterson: “I’m going to need you step over there, sir.”

McCunterson pointed me to little boxed area where I would sit while other passengers were screened. I sat there wondering what the hell was going on and what I’ve done wrong. I was a bit annoyed, but confident whatever the issue was would be resolved quickly, since you know, I am god damn American Citizen. I would wait for 15 minutes and McCunterson would come by and with a tone that makes me understand why husbands beat their wives, asked me mores questions that I already told her the answer to. She would then leave and do the same thing 15 minutes later. I waited for an hour.

Another Border Agent came by and told me follow him. He lead me to a back room and I emptied out all of my stuff. He looked through everything in my backpack and jacket, closely inspecting every pocket. He then found a pamphlet of different types of marijuana that I got from Amsterdam.

Border Agent: “Why do you have this?”

Raul: “I don’t know, I thought it was cool.”

Border Agent: “You have marijuana on you?”

Raul: “No.”

Border Agent: “Are you sure! I’m going to search all of you!”

Raul: “I don’t.”

Border Agent: “Alright, turn around and put your hands out.”

He started to search the rest of my person and pockets, luckily, no anal probing. After he finished searching me and my stuff, he left. Then came in a security guard. He informed me that I am being detained and he didn’t know the details of my case. He then asked if I would like a sandwich and something to drink while I waited in the holding area. I began to get frustrated. I am being detained now, for no fucking reason.

"Fuck you and your freedom, America!" -Union Jack

“Fuck you and your freedom, America!” -Union Jack

I went to the holding area and waited for an hour. McCunterson waddled in and took me to an interrogation room. I was heavily annoyed, but was able to contain my frustration.

McCunterson: “What did you do for the government?”

Raul: “I worked in Israel.”

She then began to ask more specific questions about what I did in Israel and I gave her some of the details I was at liberty to speak about.

McCunterson: “You really expect me to believe that’s what you did for the US government?”

Raul: “um… yes. That was my job.”

McCunterson: “Oh really? Do you have any proof?” She gave me a very mocking look.

Raul: “Not on me, on my computer.”

McCunterson: “I’m not interested in seeing what’s on your computer.”

Raul: “Who the fuck just carriers that form of information on them!” My voice was raising in frustration.

McCunterson: “Watch your mouth, sir.”

I hated her. The way she spoke in that smug ass british accent with that half-frown that only fat, black women seem to have. Stupid cunt believed that just because she said “sir” it didn’t change the fact that the way she asked and said things was condescending.

Raul: “Fine.” I fantasized about punching her in the face.

Her onslaught of questions about the details of my trip and my life continued. She asked questions about where I was from, where I was born, my past employments, criminal record, my plans for London, who I knew there, amongst other things. I told her about one person I knew there and who could confirm my plans and my story. I gave McCunterson her number.

I paced back and forward in the holding area, barely being able to resist the urge to throw every piece of furniture in the room against the wall. I was being held because this incompetent cow had never seen a backpacker randomly travel around Europe before.

McCunterson finally came back two hours later and called me into the interrogation room.

McCunterson: “Mr. Raul Felix, I have decided to deny you access to the United Kingdom because I don’t believe the reasons you have stated for coming here are true since you lied about being currently employed by the US Government. I believe you are trying to stay in the United Kingdom illegally…”

SassyBlackWoman

Raul: “What the fuck! I’m from fucking Southern California, why the fuck would I want to illegally immigrate to your shitty, cold country? Are you fucking kidding me?”

McCunterson: “Let me finish, sir.”

Raul: “Fuck you!” I stormed out of the interrogation room and walked out to the holding area where the security guards where.

Security Guard: “Hey! Calm down.”

Raul: “I’m fucking calm. Just let me fucking cool down.” I was trying to recompose myself and bite my tongue. I went back into the interrogation room. McCunterson continues on with her stupid, inept reasoning for not letting me into the UK and informed me that I would be deported to Amsterdam the next morning.

I was sent back to the holding area and let out big yell in frustration. I paced back and forward again, calling McCunterson every form of racial and sexiest slur I could think of to myself. I had completely lost my temper. The only thing keeping me from lashing out was the threat of going to jail for assaulting a government official.

I call my local friend on the pay phone and it takes her a while to calm me down. She informed me that McCunterson had called her up and that she asked a bunch of questions about me. The answers that I gave her matched the answers my friend gave her. I was curious to see why McCunterson still denied me entry. I asked the security guards if they could have her come by. She came by 30 minutes later.

Raul: “Ms. McCunterson, I just spoke to my friend and she said you called her. The answers she gave you matched with what I gave you. I don’t understand why I am being denied entrance.”

McCunterson: “Because I don’t believe you intend on leaving the UK. I made my decision and you’re not coming in.”

Raul: “But..”

McCunterson: “I made my decision.”

She then walked away. I stood there shocked. I couldn’t believe it. I would not see her again. I regret not having called her “retarded, incompetent, fat black cunt.”

Later, I was picked up by some other security guards to be taken to a detention facility. En route there, I expressed my hatred of the UK, its douchebag border agency, and that I hoped the whole place burned down to the ground. The security guard was actually a merry ol’ fella and expressed sympathy toward me and asked me not to judge the whole UK because of “some dumb customs asshole.” We then proceeded to have a pleasant conversation and he lightened up my mood. That was until, I got to the detention facility and was shuffled into my jail cell where I would spend the night. I was unable to quickly fall asleep. The incidents of the day kept on playing in my head. I would randomly punch my mattress in anger.

I was awoken by the sound the cell door opening. It was time for me to get deported. The same merry ol’ security guard was to escort me onto the airplane. I climbed the stairs and I was the first passenger on, with my passport and documentations given to the pilot. I sat there, dead pan, not really feeling anything anymore. Just amazed at the stupidity of the English. I really wished we didn’t save their ungrateful asses in World War 2.

FBStatus

It took me a while to be able to think about the whole situation without wanting to get into a fight. While my bitterness towards the UK has subsided and I’ll probably make another attempt to visit sometime in the future, I still harbor a deep hatred toward McCunterson. I wish I could wish misery on her, but she’s a government bureaucrat, misery and incompetence is her life.

~Raul Felix

Read another European adventure: Pussy Cats and the Appreciation of Modern Technology