Day With Damien- Day 18

“Stoovie’s Bangcock Bachelor Party”
April 19, 2003

Written by: Stoney Stoned

Finally, after a year and a half of sneaking around behind my girlfriends back (just remember, you’re my petunia in my garden of love, pumpkin-nut) I got the “ok” to hang out with Damien again… Not like it mattered.

The reason? Bangcock tuna girl Bachelor party baby! The victim – Stoovie. The place- Damiens house of hard working women of the night. First of all, the evening had a breeze of a late night sausage party in it, since Damien wasn’t handling everything himself for these special occaisions like he usually does. Damien said he’d have it at his place, provide the beer and get people to show. Stoovies brother in law to be, Joe, said he wanted to handle the party favors, strippers and all the food. The deal was simple, just show up, pay $30 a head, eat and drink all you can, and join in on what hopefully would be a fuckin seafood buffet.

The original 2 Bangcock STD donors were supposed to be at Damiens by 11, but their middle eastern, oil dwelling, musty men of midnight (MMM for short, their “managers”), were on Saddam time and showed up an hour behind the troops who had been standing at attention the whole time like the proud Americans we are. (Support the troops and you all should be loving some BUSH.)

Then, before anything even started, the shit the ceiling fan in a white room and it was all over the fuckin place. You see, the original 2 poonanny pansies in the garden of weeds decided that the price that was PROMISED to Joe for TWO for one at the seafood buffet was wrong…they told him he was reading off the wrong menu and the price was 2 whores on the floor for a lot more. Since they were running so late, and Damiens house was overflowing with horny, drunken idiots with money to burn, they thought they had us where they wanted us and were going to pay. Joe was pissed off and almost strated a brawl with the MMM (musty men of midnight) “managers” and well…needless to say, he kicked them in the brown eye and told them to hit the home turf of the boulevard.

Joe came back in with the BAD news and was freaking out like chicken running through Ethiopia (that’s pretty fuckin scary!). Word got out to the swashbuckiling crew of what was happening and we were a bunch of one eyed, spittin, bonefish angry pirates! People were screaming, some were leaving, (Like this manhole, Pittsburgh Steeler fan of a motherless goat name Alejandria) others wanted their money back, all were looking at Joe like he had the biggest tits in the room, expecting him to do a dance and the rest were asking Damien what the fuck was up now.

Damien was pretty pissed. He took me, Joe and Miraslov in his room to figure out what to do. We had Danimal watching the door, keeping the angry seamen from the main ovary room. Damien was screaming at Joe telling him to calm down because all of the panicking wasn’t getting anything done. We were looking through the rent a hooker papers, making phone calls and getting nowhere fast. Damien, cooler than cool, made a phone call to an agency he knew of. He spoke to the chotch, in a calm, monotone voice and told him what was happening. Damien hung up the phone and promised some bomb babes from the religion of boobism and they would be showing up soon. The only bad part was they weren’t hookers that would suck fat cock, but they would be hot and putting on a good display of raw fishery.

It’s now 12:30 and the 2 new providers of poontang make their way into Damiens palace of pork entrepeneurs. They go back to his amazing room of animal antics, still guarded the infamous Danimal, the 6’8″ 69th wonder of the world of women. 20 minutes later the show would begin and so would this story…

While the 2 tampoon lagoon occupants were in Damiens bathroom putting on their neccessary warpaint, Damien was in the kitchen, doing shot after shot of Jagermeister on his never ending quest of drunken madness, trying to make people (like me) barf all over the place. While this was going on, Damien had his friend, codename: VHS Victor (named changed to protect the guilty) stashing some movie making magic deep in the fireplace of funk. “Victor” put a piece of electrical tape over the red light on the vcr camera, and with the tinted glass covering the fireplace, the camera couldn’t be seen. We tried it out to make sure it would work and it did. So we let the tape roll, while the “ladies” got ready, for additional entertainment later.

The girls came out and the show started. It ended almost as quickly as it began with some rowdy ice throwers being thrown out. Then it restarted and went for a few more minutes and stopped again when some butt slinging fartknocking chode champion took a fuckin picture! The flash went off and the “ladies” saw it like a possum in the headlights and headed straight the fuck out, back into Damien’s bedroom to pack their shit and leave.

Their “manager” went back to Damiens room to calm them down. The girls said that if the camera, or film in it could be found and destroyed, the party would continue, if not, the show was ending. The buttered biscuits were becoming beligerent. So while the chode smoker was talking, Damien went into his office and grabbed a disposable camera. Next, he handed it to one of the guys in the living room and told him to throw the camera onto the living room floor while Damien was dicatating the conversation to the “manager” so the “manager” wouldn’t know who threw the camera on the floor. It worked perfectly. As soon as the fake camera entered the arena of asshole aristocrats, their “manager” found it and took it to the women to destroy. They did and the party continued.

After all of this, I needed hit of the old hippy hay off the heavenly hashpipe. As I walked out front to smoke, I noticed toliet papering taliban terrorists of the night (the bachelorette party) were running a muck in the front yard. After some Raider fan-like gestures, I went in to report to Damien. Once again, D (short for Damien) took over. Damien walked out there and talked to the wannabe wedding bitches and told them that “there were 2 women fucking each other in his living room with the same dildo and he would rather be watching them than wasting his time outside.” So, D said they could “either come inside and watch with us,” or “act like a bunch of fucking cunts and get the hell away from his house.”

We went back inside and a few ladies followed while the others left. We walked back in the door and all of the other guys were crowded around, watching the 2 bangcock lesbo whores in amazement as if they were all christian virgins seeing the dirty deed done for the first time. D just kind of laughed and said “You’d think that none of these guys ever watched 2 chicks fuck each other with a double headed dildo before.” We both had a good laugh, went into the kitchen and did some more shots.

The show finished and everyone was happy. The girls took their money and went their way. As soon as they left, “Victor” whipped out the vcr camera from the fireplace to replay the action. We plugged in into the TV just to find out that as soon as the first girl started to get naked the fuckin tape ended! Apparently, “Victor” had some “important things that couldn’t be taped over” like his briss, or what I like to call the decaptiation of the purple headed love warrior, and started the tape halfway thorough so it missed all of the nakedness!

By about 2:30am, Damiens place looked like a scene from “Saving Private Ryan” and was wasted. Bodies laying everywhere, it smelled like barf, stale beer and food wherever you went and it was time to go home. So I called my now undersatnding girlfriend to pick me up and take my fucked up ass home. AND THIS TIME I DIDN’T NEED TO USE A NAPKIN BECAUSE THERE WAS NO CREAM PIE INVOLVED!!!!

See me, my lady and Danimal with Tommy Chong, (who was kind enough to break in my heavenly hash pipe) of Cheech and Chong by CLICKING HERE.