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Going to Hell to the Sounds of Sucking or How the Gimp got 86’d from Mac’s

Every once in a while we need to remind you guys that Offensive is stamped on the door at FFO

Jaylee Alde gives us his take on the age-old question: What would Jesus do?

Going to Hell to the Sounds of Sucking or How the Gimp got 86’d from Mac’s by Jaylee Alde




They were hunched over two bottles of something cheap. The Gimp was just about to get to the weird part of the story but stopped mid-weird. He looked around the place like a slow wipe; as if what was about to be said was the name of god ... 

The joint was empty except for a fresh faced Goliath sitting in the corner. He was fatter than a circle and kept staring at the door whenever the wind shook it but mainly he stared at his hands like they were ghosts and that was fine by them. 

Harry’s wasn’t their normal bar. They were Mac’s kind of people. But The Gimp got himself 86’d from there last week and if Mac’s had the strongest drinks in town—Harry’s had the cheapest. They figured it all added up the same in the end. So there they were.  

The Gimp leaned over to his friend ...

“… and then Jesus appeared—almost naked.” The Gimp almost whispered.

“Holy shit.”

“He was dressed as a cowboy … I think—ass hanging out chaps and not much else.”

“What the hell?”

“Yup. But you would think since his pops made sequoias and skyscrapers and the like, he would’ve helped his only son out a bit more. He definitely didn't.”

“Shut up. So, what did you do?”

“I laughed.”

“Damn you.”

“Yeah, you said it. Jesus didn’t like that. But anyways, we were sitting there, you know at Mac’s…”

“Wait a minute. Are you talking about that crack head on Texas Street that’s always in front of Mac’s screaming that he’s Jesus?”

“No. I’m talking about the real deal—hair like lamb’s wool and everything. Anyways, I start a conversation with the original Jesus—Jesus #1, and all of a sudden the man started to cry like someone just pissed on his last meal.”

“What?”

“No shit. He goes on about how no one understands him, and his porn addiction and fetish for getting his feet washed, and that his holy mother is some kind of misunderstood hooker, and that dad is always watching over him, and he's scared that his friends will one day betray him, his experimentation with drugs and homosexuality in his early 20’s—you know, before the start of his autobiography—and on and on and on and on and on … about his dick.”

“Goddamn. That sounds like half this town.”

“Yeah, you said it. So, then I thought, ‘Jesus #1, you need a good laugh’, right? So I stuck those umbrella toothpicks into my wrists and feet and ran around the bar screaming, I DIED FOR YOUR FUCKIN’ SINS YOU UNGRATEFUL BASTARDS!  Not even a tiny snicker from the guy. Then I lit a telephone book on fire, turned to Jesus #1 and said, ‘Hey man, is that burning bush talking?’”

“Damn you.”

“Yeah, you said it. Jesus #1 didn’t like that either.”

“So, is that how you got 86’d?”

“No. I’m getting to it. Anyways, after a few drinks he finally loosened up his crown of thorns and started to relax a bit and we all got fucked up ...”

“Gimp, I thought you told me you were flat broke last week.”

“Water to wine baby, water to wine. So we sat there getting wonky and spouting gibberish and it’s about two drinks from closing and I’m trying to get some from that new Korean bartender…what’s her name?”

“Sue.”

“Yeah, Sue. I’m trying to convince Sue that I’m not an asshole and that Jesus #1 is a close personal friend of mine so whatever we might do that evening our sins will be forgiven by the morning.”

“Did that bullshit work?”

“No. But here’s the kicker—while I’m talking to Sue, Jesus #1 turned to me and said, ‘Gimp, you’re a great guy, the best, how about I give you the best goddamn blow job of your entire life.’”

“What did you say to that?”

“I told him it was against my religion.”

“Damn you.”

“Yeah, you said it. But I felt bad for the guy—the man was on the brink of tears again, so I let him watch me jerk off in the bathroom as long as he didn’t make eye contact. And let me tell you, that son of a hooker made eye contact the whole time. Very awkward. Almost couldn't finish.”

“Fuck, man. You are the worst person I have ever met. And is that how you got 86’d?”

“No. I’m getting to it.”


Jaylee Alde has been published before. He is viciously handsome and fat. He dreams of owning a '72 Chevelle and writing a novel that reads like an engine rumble. Jaylee Alde, by all accounts, is a motherfucker.