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Message-ID: <48778asstr$1092129003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 00:19:54 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Gerbil of Fate (and other stories) (M/F,Humor,Incest,Consensual,Humil,D/s,S and M,Rant
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Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 05:10:03 -0400
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Story Codes: M/F,Humor,Incest,Consensual,Humil,D/s,S&M,Rant

Copyright 2004 Rachael P. Ross all rights reserved. No portion of this
story is for sale. It may be archivd and /or reposted to FREE access
by adults only provided my name and email rache696@yahoo.com and this
notice appear in the message text. Certain portions of this essay are
true and factual to the best of my knowledge. Other descriptions and
characters are wholly fictional.

Author's Note: This is a rant, first and foremost. A release of
emotion. Some of you may enjoy such things, others will only scratch
their heads in bewilderment. I'd like to think your doing both. -rr
Jun 2004

--=--

The Gerbil of Fate (and other stories)
By rache

I. Reflections
II. Gerbel of Fate
III. Idle Chatter
IV. Elision
V. I Remember
VI. 12 Good Men (And one fucked up bitch)

-=-=-

Reflections

I'm in a reflective mood. I've been sitting here while Paul sleeps,
listening to the radio station from Cebu, listening to Mario play his
guitar, listening to the crickets and frogs, the electric fan whirring
endlessly. It's kind of noisy, but not really.

I've been typing on a couple things. Something called `Vampire People'
something else called `X' and something called `Observations on
Com-Elec Procedures in Provincial Voter Registration Program' which is
probably the most dreary document I've ever worked on. I switch back
and forth and sometimes; I wonder what's the point.

So now I'm typing this.

My mother was from the Philippines. I don't talk about her a lot and
certainly not around the internet. Probably because I don't understand
my feelings. Sometimes I think I have no feelings, at least on that
subject. A few years ago I was very...down. For lack of a better word. I
was just coming out of that when I posted my first `dark' stories. I
guess it showed. Hopefully, I've changed and what I'm writing reflects
that, but I'm not sure. Sometimes I wish I could still access that
really bad place inside me. But I can't, even though I know it's still
there. Maybe that's a good thing, right?

I've started to love humanity, which is scary. Once I felt nothing but
loathing for the world. I hated it with a passion. What was it
Caligula said? `I would that all Rome had but one neck.'? I understood
that once, but I'm not sure anymore.

I was going to say something about my mother, because I've been
looking for some courage to look at her. To look at myself. My father
is old. He was in the air force during the Vietnam war and he was
stationed someplace here in the Philippines. He has some medals and
stuff, I've never really read them, I suppose I should someday. He
told me a little, that he used to get on these bomber planes after
dinner every night and they'd fly over Vietnam and drop bombs, and
then fly back. He was the guy who told them when to pull the trigger,
or maybe he even pulled the trigger himself, I'm not sure. That's his
phrase, by the way. You drop a few thousand pounds of high explosive
on some guys and it's just a pull of the trigger. He didn't even have
to see the smoke.

He met my mother when he was in the Philippines and they were
eventually married. There was a time, when I was young and reading
Hemingway, that I supposed she'd been a nurse. A wartime romance, you
know. My father never talked about her much. He said she worked at a
hotel he stayed at. Okay, that's mildly disappointing to someone
desperate for romance, or at least drama in her life. But now, I
wonder sometimes if my mother hadn't been a...hostess, I suppose is a
polite enough term. Why do I have this urge to hurt myself? To
contemplate my mother as a prostitute?

I have no reason to believe she was, except the popular belief that
those were the only kinds of girls young American soldiers would have
intimate contact with. And like all popular beliefs it is a false one,
to be sure, so my mother could have been virginal, innocent, swept off
her feet by an American of noble character.

I do not like the middle path. I never have and so I must choose to
believe one or the other, that my mother, who died bringing me into
the world, was either a whore, or a saint. That seems to be my new
personal torment of choice. Doubtless it seems a minor thing to you,
and that is fine, this is hardly an earth shattering issue. Just a
curiosity. But...How does one go about asking her father, `Dad, was mom
a cocksucking whore during the war?' without getting slapped?

That's my new fantasy, by the way. Since I have come to terms with the
cold reality that my father has very little, if any interest in me as
a sexual being, perhaps I could persuade him to kill me. Fuck me or
kill me, Daddy...Sounds like a Dolcett kind of thing.

+=+=+

Gerbel of Fate

Cue big music...bright lights...fancy graphics...

"Welcome to `Who Dares?' the most popular game show on television
today, where contestants are given impossible choices and have to live
with the consequences! Today's guests are Rachael and her father,
Robert! And here's the host of `Who Dares?'...Jula Valdez!"

Big applause please...camera 1 zoom on Jula...
"Hi, welcome to the show! When we left off last week Rachael and
Robert were still deciding whether or not to go for the one million
dollar jackpot, risking everything...or, take the $100,000 they've
already won and go home safe and sound.

"Robert, you've already defied fate 3 times! That's pretty amazing, do
you think you can do it again?"

Camera 2 zoom on Robert...
"Gee, I don't know..."

Camera 2 go wide...
"You can do it Daddy, I believe in you!"

Camera 1...
"So what's your decision, Robert...take the money and run, or go for
broke?"

Camera 2...
"Well, a million dollars would almost pay for Rachael's student
loans...Aw, heck! Let's go for it!"

Camera 1 go wide...pan...the audience...center...hold...

"When we come back Robert will spin the Gerbil of Fate! Where will
that little rodent go? Will Robert and Rachael win the million dollar
jackpot? Stay tuned after a word from our sponsors!"

Are you at the end of your rope? Has life got you by the balls? If
you've got one foot in the grave, don't take another step until you've
called 1-800-DLIVER that's 1-800-DLIVER ...We need your organs! All
around the world, rich people with so much more to live for than
losers like you, are willing to pay top dollar for hearts, kidneys,
livers, eyes, and much, much more! Don't leave your spouse and
children with a mountain of unpaid debt! Leave them with something
they can use! Real money paid in cash! Not in McDonald Gift
Certificates, or food stamps like those discount organ merchants, but
real green money with pictures of dead people on it! Act now and we'll
even throw in a six piece Ginsu Knife set! A $29.95 value and yours
free! Surgeons are standing by! Call now 1-800-DLIVER ...and save the
life of someone important!

Camera 1 wide...big applause...

"Okay, we're back! Robert and Rachael, you know how the game works. We
put the Gerbil of Fate in Oprah Winfrey's ass...no, just kidding, folks!
We love the President, we really do! Robert you're going to spin the
gerbil and that means Rachael, you get to pick a Golden Envelope!
Thank you, I'll hold that..."

Ohhhh....Robert spins the wheel, drops the gerbil in the middle and the
poor dizzy confused creature scampers for safety into one of the
little holes...it's...

Camera 3 zoom rodent...

"Well, looks like the little furry bugger picked `Incest' Robert! How
about that! For one million dollars you get to fuck your delightful
young daughter on national television! How old are you Rachael?

"I'm 21, Jula...and a virgin!"

"Is that right? Well, I never would have guessed, the way you dress my
dear! Do you think your Daddy will put his big old penis in your
little hole? Or will he chicken out and take his chances with the
Golden Envelope?"

"Oh, my Daddy loves me! He'll jump at the chance to break my cherry!"

"Is that right Robert? Do you want to make your little girl into a
woman? Especially since she's 21 already, she must have been saving
herself for someone pretty darn special, Robert!"

"Uh, well, Jula...I do love Rachael and I, well...I could never bring
myself to do...that. To her, I mean."

"Mmmm...Well, don't make up your mind just yet Robert, because on this
show you get a choice! Let's see what your other option is, and
remember, if it's the jackpot, you win 1 million dollars immediately!"

Scritch! "Oh my, look at this...Parricide by Hanging...Robert, you may not
want to fuck your daughter, but if you don't...you'll have to kill her!
How does that sound?"

"Well, not too good, actually. I'm sorry, Rachael."

"It's okay Daddy. I've been waiting a long time for you to show me
your love...in a physical way. I mean a different physical way. Make
love to me, Daddy!"

"No Rachael, I meant that you're just too special to me, I'd
rather...uh, see you dead than have to do that...um, incest...thing."

"What? Daddy! Please!"

"I'm sorry Rachael, call me old fashioned, but I still think a father
should beat his little girl, not fuck her."

"There you have it folks! Tipper would be proud of you Robert. Are you
sure you won't fuck Rachael?

"I'm sure, Jula...Where's the rope?"

=-=-=

Idle Chatter

Blah blah blah...

You know, there are women out there who are suffering precisely
because of the thing I want most. Does that make sense? It's akin to
having a fetish for infectious diseases. "Oh please, give me AIDS!'
and you know, I found a small group of people into that. Sharing
stories about having unprotected sex with HIV positive people, just
trying to get it. I even wrote a couple, just for fun. Chopping
someone's head off for sexual gratification is not the extreme it once
was. Abortion fetishist, them too...Oh boy, I love that group a lot.
Every time I go and chat or post and imagine what it would be like
getting a late term abortion, just for a sexual thrill, I know I'm
hell bound.

My fav is playing the happy innocent mother to be, who has Dr Mengele
for a OB/GYN...He kills the fetus and fucks her while she deals with it.
I always imagine that desolation of the soul, like a great famine is
suddenly visited upon my very existence. Getting to that point is
incidental, a fantasy is a fantasy, it is relatively unimportant in
the same way pain is unimportant. It isn't the physical sensation that
matters, it's just the push to reach the emotional summit. Or perhaps
emotional pit is a better term.

Anyway, at first I was surprised by how many Dr. Mengele's there are,
lurking out there. Innocent mothers are a dime a dozen too, but I knew
that.

And these are on my mind a lot. It used to be that I was worried about
my boyfriends, or at least one in particular. I would write and be
totally influenced by my experiences, by my insecurities. How we broke
up and got back together, etc. etc. I always thought, way down inside
my heart, that once I was married all that would go away. But it
doesn't, does it? Now I'm always wondering about my husband. Does he
love me? Does he love me enough? Does he fuck around behind my back?
Why would he do that? What don't I give him that he needs?

I know I am...paranoid. It's a chemical imbalance in my brain that makes
me a little depressed, a little anxious and tending to focus on small
things, unimportant things, and making them life and death issues for
me. I know this and I take pills to combat it, I talk to people who
can lead me through some issues I can't deal with alone. But,
still...inside...I feel really fucking paranoid! God I hate it.

I'm pretty good mostly. But sometimes I can't sleep at all, for like
days. I'll bite my fingernails until they bleed, then I'll bite the
skin. I start wanting to hurt myself, like I really need to stick this
needle in my skin, because...I don't know why. Or I'll start a fight
with my husband. I'll look at him and I think, he's up to something
behind my back. He's fucking the maid, or some woman down the street,
or his old girlfriend, Jenny. I look through his clothes, his wallet,
his briefcase looking for evidence and when I don't find it, I don't
feel better, I just think he's being clever.

-=-=-

Elision

"How do you feel about body modification, Rache?" Paul asked me and I
looked up at him from the paper I was trying to edit.

"I like it." I looked back down.

"Any kind?" He seemed surprised.

"Sure, um..." I waved my hand a little, like I do sometimes. "I can't
think of anything I don't like." And then I thought about it some
more. "Well, I mean the people who get goat horns bolted to their
skulls, or wolf canines to replace their own, that's a little out
there. But it doesn't bother me."

"How about amputation?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You want to amputate me?" I chuckled and looked down again. "Just
don't mess with my fingers, okay? I need those."

"I was just wondering."

"Well, what do you think about it?" I decided to ask.

"I'm not sure. I uh, ran across some pictures when I was cleaning out
your temporary internet files." He grinned at me.

"Oh," I laughed. "Spam, you know."

"Uh-huh. Right." He nodded. "And I suppose that explains the amputee
stories I found in Rache's Documents Folder."

"You big snoop!" I threw a paperclip at him.

"Hey, you're the one who downloaded them. I just try to keep that
machine running." He picked the paperclip off his chest. "So anyway,
what's the deal?"

"What deal?" I asked. "Why does there have to be a deal? I download
everything, you know that."

"Yeah, and I'm the one who throws it away, you don't have enough gigs
for the whole internet yet."

"Not my fault, dear!" I sang. "Your the one said 240 gigs is enough
for anyone!"

"It is." He threw the paperclip back at me.

"Then let's delete the 30 hours of video you shot in Thailand! That's
half of it right there. All that Anger What crap."

"Angor Wot. You just don't want to do the subtitles." He accused.

"Angor Wotever. No, I don't want to do the subtitles, Jesus. Fucking
Thai bastards, I can't even understand that stupid translator you
hired, the stupid bitch. You could have at least found one who speaks
English instead of that pig Oxford shit."

"She came from the university and her translation is fine, I don't
understand your problem with her." He looked at me, both of us
wondering how this started.

"Maybe my problem is with that night in Palay, watching her fuck your
brains out. She translated fucky sucky just fine, I noticed." I
frowned because I hadn't meant to bring that up.

"What? You were the one who suggested it, Rache. Or did that whole
conversation somehow slip your mind?"

It had, actually, but now I recalled it vividly. Telling my husband
how much I'd love to see him fuck our new traveling companion, out
little translator from the National University in Bangkok. How I'd sat
so close to the girl, laughing and talking, touching her and telling
her it would be okay, it would make me happy. And it had, that was the
thing, watching them. Masturbating as I sat in that big rattan chair,
smelling their sex, listening to it, tasting it on that humid air in
which we languished. Decadent and spoiled, playing the debased wife
and loving it.

"No, it didn't. But today it bothers me, alright?"

"Sure, fine, so the next time something is okay with you I should just
assume that a month later it's going to piss you off, huh? Do you
think you could schedule these little schizo episodes, because frankly
Rache, it's a little tough to keep up."

"Fuck you."

"I have a headache." He stood up. "So I guess you'll just have to go
fuck yourself, Rachael."

I stared at him as he walked away, but he didn't look at me. This
wasn't the first time I'd managed to turn a relatively friendly
conversation into an argument. It seemed to be happening a lot lately
and I didn't understand why. I was usually pretty well behaved. I
hadn't skipped my pills or anything, it wasn't PMS or anything stupid
like that. There'd been some stress, a little, but only because I felt
a bit lonely sometimes, a little tired of all the travel, but we
didn't have any money problems or anything. Our sex life was great,
when I wasn't pissed, I should say. Fuck. I didn't know why I just had
to fight with him.

I stewed in guilt for an hour or so, watching the sunset and not doing
anything at all. Roselyn, our maid, asked me once if I wanted
something to drink, but I waved her away. I got up finally, walking
into the house and finding Paul asleep on the sofa. Johnny Bravo was
on the television and I turned him off.

"Hey." I whispered and gave Paul a little nudge, sitting on the floor
next to him. I nuzzled his neck and breathed into his ear. "Wake up
baby, I need you."

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times and stretched. "What time is
it?"

"Almost seven." I put my head on his chest and he stroked my hair.
"Are you hungry? Roselyn was going to barbecue some pork, but I told
her to wait."

"No, I'm not...Are you?" He asked lazily.

I smiled up at him. "I want to work up an appetite."

"Oh really?" Paul smiled and ran a finger around my lips.

"Uh-huh." I opened my mouth, catching it and sucking on it. "If you
wanted you could, um, punish me."

"Is that an official apology?" He chuckled.

"Not yet, but..." I ran a hand up his leg. "there's one inside me
someplace, just aching to get out."

"You really pissed me off today, Rache." He stroked my cheek, staring
into my eyes.

"I know."

"I'm going to nail your tits to the wall."

"I love it when you talk dirty." I rubbed his crotch seductively.

"Suck me." He said.

"Here?" I looked around, Roselyn was just on the other side of a thin
beaded curtain, doing maid stuff in the kitchen. I didn't know where
how houseboy Mario was, probably getting water.

"Yeah. Make me cum." I could feel his prick growing in his loose
pants, soft old worn Dockers I envied. All my pants were tight and
unbearably hot in the tropical climate. So I'd taken to wearing
shorts, or things like the thin short skirt I was wearing now. Paul
brought a hand up to squeeze my breast through the t-shirt I was
wearing.

I unzipped Paul's trousers, reaching inside to feel him already hard
and I pulled his penis free, so it stood up from his body in my hand.
It was heavy and warm, throbbing with life. He pinched my nipple
against the cotton, teasing me while I squeezed him. I love my
husband's cock, not exclusively mind you, it is only one part him, but
oh!...I do enjoy it so.

I let the length of him slide across my cheek, moving my head back and
forth, pressing him to my skin with my palm. I kissed and licked at
him, dragging my tongue along his length and encircling the smooth
swollen head with my lips. I sucked on just that for a moment or two,
stroking him with my hands until I felt the first bit of wetness
leaking from the tip. I tongued the little slit there, letting him
watch my tongue until finally he urged me to take him deeply into my
mouth.

I gave him a slow loving blowjob, as much for me as for Paul. I
worshipped his cock with my mouth and hands. My own body was
responding just as eagerly as my husband's. My nipples had become hard
and sensitive so that Paul's fingers were a gentle torment as he
played with them. I moved slightly to help him get my t-shirt over my
breasts, so that he could tug at my rings, making me moan around his
stiff member. I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing me down
gently, but insistently.

"Roselyn, would you bring me a glass of water, please." I heard him
say loudly and I started to lift my mouth, but he held me firmly on
his hard cock. "Don't stop, I'm almost there." He told me, and I could
feel the little thrusting of his hips as he urged his cockhead deeper.

"You're such a slut, Rachael. I can't believe I married you." He
started berating me, jamming his cock suddenly upward as he pulled
down on my head. It made me choke and I gagged and coughed against his
swollen shaft as it pressed to the back of my mouth. I knew Roselyn
must have come into the room, but I had my eyes closed. "I think I
should change your name to cocksucker. Thank you Roselyn, just put it
down there for me. Say hello to my wife, Roselyn." Paul pulled my head
up by my hair, twisting it back painfully so I faced our young maid,
kneeling with saliva and Paul's precum running from my panting mouth.
"Say hello, cocksucker."

"Buong." Roselyn said under breath, but she dared not leave. She
wouldn't look at me either, even when I reluctantly opened my eyes and
said hello.

"Kamusta ka, Roselyn." I said breathlessly.

"That's enough talk, cocksucker." He slapped my face hard and pushed
my mouth back down. My body burned from the embarrassment and I sucked
his cock back into my mouth, using my tongue and hands, trying to
bring him off quickly now.

=-=-=

I Remember

Blah Blah Blah... You get the idea. I remember this one guy, mmm...I
remember the way he smelled and tasted. I remember how his fingers
were hard and calloused. I remember the way his hair used to blow in
the wind. I remember everything, except his name. I wonder if I ever
knew it?

He called me cocksucker. "Come here little cocksucker." He'd whisper
it and I was young, like use your imagination young, and he smoked. Oh
Christ he smoked all the time and one day we were in bed, naked and
we'd just finished having sex. He was smoking and he played with his
cigarette, just moving it over one small barely there breast, not
touching, but just above the skin and I watched it, glowing darkly in
the dim light.

He burned my nipple with it, accidentally I think, just grazed that
hard nub of flesh and I jumped with the pain, but it wasn't that bad.
He looked at me and I smiled and he took a puff of his cigarette.

"Did you like that?" He asked me and I nodded. "Really?"

"Yeah, it didn't hurt." I said, even though it did. 

"You lie." He laughed and that made me a little mad.

"Do it again." I dared him.

"What for? No." He shook his head.

"Give me your cigarette then, I'll do it." I reached for it and he
gave it to me, not believing me I'm sure.

I put the cherry to my left nipple, just holding it there and it hurt,
oh God it hurt so much. I almost couldn't do it but I did. I held it
there until I thought my flesh would melt and he left me after that. I
never saw him again. Now, why do I remember him? Why do I remember him
now? I remember everything except his name.

I have a cigarette. Sitting here, typing this. A document I started a
month ago and return to, adding a few words, here and there, closing
it again. I'm burning myself, small black and pink and red holes in my
tit. It hurts glorious and I'm so fucking crazy. I know it, but I
can't stop. My husband is gone, gone away, visiting someplace else and
fucking. I know it. He's fucking and I'm burning. Why did I marry him?
I hate him.

I wish...

=-=-=

Eleven Good Men (and one fucked up bitch)

01 "Okay, let's get this started, huh? Maybe we should introduce
ourselves just so we know. My name is Gene and I'm the jury foreman.
I'm a retired school teacher." The old man looked around the small
jury room. "Let's just go around the table here."

02 "I'm Jim, I, uh, I work for the post office."

03 "Hi, my name is Henry and I'm a plumber."

04 "My name is Seth and I sell cars, down at Thompson
Lincoln-Ford-Mercury-Hyundai-Rolls-VW-Audi-Plymouth-Chrysler-Ferrari-Bmw-Jag-Honda-Kia-Saturn.
If you guys need a car, you know, just come by and I can really get
you a sweet deal, like we got this red..."

05 "Yeah yeah...I'm Fred and I'm a florist."

06 "Hi there, I'm Joe and I own Boeing."

07 "Really?"

06 "No, I'm uh, a pathological liar. But I stayed at a Holiday Inn
last night."

07 "Oh. Well, I'm Jerry and I'm a trash collector."

08 "Hello. I'm Robert and I'm an alcoholic."

01 "This isn't AA..."

08 "Oh, right, I didn't see any donuts. I'm a minister. Sorry."

09 "Hi everyone, I'm Stanley and I'm an unemployed social satirist.
But, uh, I brought copies of my resume if anyone's interested, or
knows anyone who might be..."

10 "Okay, my name is Wayne and I'm a horse breeder."

11 "My name is..."

10 "I mean, I don't breed with horses."

11 "My, uh name is..."

10 "Personally."

11 "Okay! I'm Bill and I manage a McDonalds."

12 "I'm Rachael and I'm a pornographer."

01 "Uhhh-huh. Well then, um, now that we know everybody, kind of,
maybe we should take a quick vote just to see where we stand, huh?"
The old man looked around. "Everybody have paper and a pen? Good. Just
write guilty or not guilty and pass it down."

A few minutes later.

01 "Okay, uh let's see...Not Guilty, Not Guilty, etc...etc....okay that's 11
not guilty's and...the last one... `Guilty as fuck.' Uhhh-huh. Okay hold
it down, hold it down. Does the um, person who cast the `Guilty as,
uh, fuck' vote want to identify himself and maybe, er, maybe shed some
light on the reason?"

12 "Why do you assume it was a himself?"

01 "What?"

12 "You said it was a himself, why not a herself? Are you sexist?"

01 "Er, no, of course not I just assumed..."

03 "When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me."

11 "That's clever."

12 "You assumed that a female would never find a raping murderer
guilty?"

01 "No, of course not, I mean..."

09 "What? You mean of course she never would?"

01 "No, I meant I wouldn't assume anything!"

06 "But you just said you assumed a moment ago."

01 "I know, but...I'm not on trial here!"

02 "Maybe you should be."

10 "I wanna change my vote now."

04 "You can't do that!"

05 "What do you mean he can't?"

08 "This is still a democracy, nimrod!"

03 "I think he's guilty too now!"

12 "Let's vote again."

01 "No, wait a minute this isn't right!"

05 "What do you mean? We can vote again."

07 "Something's fishy here. He's guilty."

09 "Yeah, let's vote again."

01 "Alright, alright...let's vote again. Everybody just um, write your
vote and uh, pass it up."

Some minutes later...

01 "Okay uh, Guilty as Hell, Not Guilty, Guilty, Not Guilty, Not
Guilty, Guilty as Kuck...oh, that's an F...Guilty as Fuck...um Guilty, Not
Guilty, Not Guilty, Guilty as a Girl, uh...Hmmm... ok...Guilty, Guilty, and
um, Not Guilty. Let's see that's 6 Guilty and 6 Not Guilty."

12 "Who the hell wrote Guilty as A Girl?"

03 "It wasn't me."

12 "Who did it? Come on chicken shit, what are you trying to say? It
was you, wasn't it?"

08 "Me? No, not me why...why would you think it was me?"

12 "Cause you're a minister."

04 "So?"

07 "So? Original sin? Eve? The Garden of Eden? Duh!"

11 "You blaming girls now? For what that prick did?"

08 "No, I'm not! I didn't even..."

02 "So you think it was the girl's fault she was raped and strangled?"

08 "No, I didn't say that! Look it's all a misunderstanding, it's her
fault that..."

12 "Oh! You're blaming me now? Hmm...let me check! Nope no cock in here,
gosh! I must have left it at the scene of the crime!"

01 "Why do you think she did it?"

03 "I think he did it!"

07 "You know why fish smell the way they do?"

10 "What's the matter, no choir boys to castrate that day?"

06 "He was in on it, that's for sure. Look at him, guilty as hell."

05 "So how was it, raping a mother of two on her way back from a PTA
meeting? Pretty tight?"

08 "What?"

09 "I wanna change my vote now."

11 "How come this didn't come out in the trial?"

12 "It was the lawyer."

01 "Well, there ain't no lawyer in here to cloud the issue. I'm
changing my vote too."

04 "Let's vote!"

A bit later...

01 "Okay...Guilty, Guilty, Guilty, Guilty...etc etc...Not Guilty. That's 11
for Guilty and um, 1 for Not Guilty. So, who's the guy who still
thinks he's innocent?"

12 "What makes you think it's a guy, you sexist bastard?"

--++--

the end
rache696@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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