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The Nun Made Me Do It March 14, 2012

When I was younger, I attended parochial school.  If don’t know what that means, simply put, it means that I was tortured in a Catholic school.   The fact that my school was located in the heart of Gangland USA wasn’t as distressing as the fact that my oppressors were well-trusted rosary-clutching mother superior wannabes.   Never mind that, I’m a survivor!  In fact, I survived over 12 years of what seemed like ritualistic forms of religious persecution bewilders me.

Let me assure you that all those years’ of laying it on think with guilt and condemnation haven’t gone to waste.  So, in an effort to avoid the pits of hell, I have changed my 5th grade nun/teacher’s name. I’m inclined to think that if I blog her actual name, there will be little mercy left for me comes judgment day.  So, I will call the black mamba, Sister Mary Margaret.

Sister Mary Margaret was an ordinary nun like all the others; but, she was a bit more chunkier than the rest.  She sort of looked like a fat man in drag; habit and dangling rosary included!  I could only imagine what “extra parts“ Sister Mary Margaret concealed underneath her get-up.  These days, her face escapes me and I don’t even recall the color of her eyes or the pigment of her skin.  Well why would I?  I’ve spent all my life trying to forget her.  The thing that I brightly remember is how Sister Mary Margaret must have had a serious case of allergies.  You know- the type of allergies that make your nose dry.  I say this; because, she was known to carry a white hanker chief and used it to dip the linen into a jar of pale-yellow colored Vaseline.   She would dig deep and scoop the goo up.  Then, she would insert that greasy stuff up her nose and rotate her finger in a severe attempt to cover every inch within the cavity walls.   The funny thing is that while she did this, she would multitask and as she rotated her finger, she would walk, talk, and explain things.  She was quite a gem as well as a rigid ruler.  She was a child-choking canoness with ultimate power.  These days, I don’t blame her.  I mean, think about it, you’d be mad if you were emotionally suppressed, had to deal with kids all day, and the only dates that you had lined-up were with other nuns.  That suppression is the epitome of women’s suffrage.

So, let me recall one particular barbarous incent of the life of a Catholic school girl.  One school day, Sister Mary Margaret passed out a test.  Any test given out made me nervous and so it didn’t surprise me that I accidentally dropped my pencil during the test.  The yellow pencil rolled under the desk in front of me.  I extended my foot underneath the desk and attempted to roll it back my way but was unsuccessful.  So, I crouched down underneath my desk and reached over to grab the pencil.  As I did so, I glanced to my right and noticed her tunic.  “Oh boy!”  I twisted my head upward to look at her.  She was not at all amused.  I quickly backed-up into my seat and sat up straight.  It was as though someone had shoved a pole up my *utt and I was sitting straighter than an arrow.  I was a mental mess and freaking out for fear of the twisted sister.

I was a skinny kid and I probably only weighed about  60 lbs.  That day, my hair was parted down the middle and tightly braided.  Now you have to ask yourself, why would anyone remember how their hair was styled on any particular day so long ago?  Well, this happens to trauma patients. They seem to recall the damndest things which end up being branded into the person’s psychic.  Before I knew it, the sea hag was on me; accusing me of cheating! What a *itch!  She knew better.  Nevertheless, I frantically attempted to explain the situation; but, she reached over and grabbed onto one of my braids.  She then yanked my head from right to left and my neck actually cracked!  Click, click, click goes the neck bone!  She continued to rock my head back and forth and I became a living bobble-head doll.

Being a young kid didn’t stop me from being pissed and to help my anger long was my Latin heritage.  It enabled my rage to go from zero to one hundred almost instantaneously.  I had enough and I was sick and tired of these oversize doctrinal penguins always giving me the shake down.    Where’s a gallon of holy water when you need it?  If I had my very own gallon available, I would have doused the cloistered hen with all of it and yelled out, “the body of Christ compels you!”  I could see myself conducting my very own exorcism.  Perhaps then, the black mamba would finally be exercised of her evil.  So since I had enough, I said to the rigid ruler, “Just you wait.  I’m going to tell Fr. Rushing!”  But my proclamation was met with a challenging smirk and it pissed me off even more.  Its’ on like Donkey Kong you fricken psychopath!!! I glared back at her with my evil eye; the one’s that Italians give.  And I knew that the duel was on!  I was now a scorned pre-pubescent 5th grader and I had to take down the nun or else my social calendar; along with my popularity (which was ranking very low) would be ruined.  I needed respect!

And so the days passed.  I plotted, planned, PLOTTED, PLANNED, and I knew exactly what to do.  I waited and knew that God was on my side.  How could he not be?  I mean, I’m the innocent victim.  Yes.  It’s true that I cause trouble all the time; but, God always gives kids leeway.   I knew that in the end, God would grant serenity — after I take down the penguin.  This little Catholic school girl was entitled to some vengeance.   All that I would need to do was practice the virtue of patience.   So, the equation was… practice patience + plot = serenity.  Ok, I got it and I’m good.  As I lay in wait, I did not make comments that would rouse and alert the black mamba.  I did not want to foil my plans; because, the unsuspecting doctrinal penguin needed a can of whoopask.

Before I go further, I need to mention Fr. Rushing; the priest in charge of the church and school.  He was really cool.  He actually looked like Jesus Christ in the flesh.  He was a real hippie.  Anyways, Fr. Rushings’ hair rested just above his shoulders’ and it was wavy and light-brown.  This little 5th grader thought that the friar was one hell of a sexy priest.  Haahhaa!  So since he was a hippie, I had complete confidence in the padre.

Anyways, every month or so Fr. Rushing visited the classrooms and told stories and jokes.  All the kids enjoyed it when he stopped by.  So, finally the day of Armageddon came and the unsuspecting penguin was sitting right on her ice-cold human glacier.   Father Rushing told his stories and then asked, “Does anyone have any questions?”  Now that is what I was waiting for! Instantaneously, I stood up.  And like a child of the corn, I turned my head in the nun’s direction, pointed my finger, and said, “She pulled my hair, yanked it, and hurt me.  She also swats us with a ruler!”  It was then that both Sister Mary Margaret and Father Rushing’s face turned beet red.  She began to babble and struggle for words.  He turned to her in a rage and without hesitation, Fr. Rushing lashed out.  She was seriously red in the face as he continued saying, “How dare you lift your hand and strike the children of God!”   And to my extreme glee, he continued to berate her.   I simply smiled; inside and out and I knew that all the other nuns that paced the hallways would pray an extra decade on the rosary because of me.   They would discover that if you mess with an underdeveloped hormonally unbalanced preteen, you’re treading on thin ice and it’s going to one day crack.  Yes.  It got hot that day and the ice did crack.  The nun was submerged and this child of the corn stood and watched, happily.  Now that’s the way to train a nun to practice good habits!

 

 

Casual Interview? March 9, 2012

For those of you job seekers seeking employment, there is no such thing as a casual interview- unless your interview is with Burger Town USA.  Employers dedicate countless hours submitting job postings, reviewing hundreds of resumes, screening candidates, booking the Conference Room calendar, and for what?

In comes the visual nuclear disaster.   The warning of my impending visit with disaster comes via an inner-office call from the receptionist.   Our seeking huntress is then directed to the conference room and is asked to wait.   Hmmm… As I see her enter the room from my desk, I question, is that a troll-wig on her head?  It looks like a dried-out tumbleweed.”   She also looks like she rolled over out from her bed with the clothes that she slept in from the day before.  What makes this horrible huntress so striking is that she had the courage to come to the interview in sneekers.  OMG!!!  Is she planning to run a 5K after her meeting or what? Oh bee jeezus!  In my mind I’m asking all the wrong questions.  This loud siren looks good on paper; but, in person, this comical candidate looks as though she had a few beers after leaving the mental ward.

Already batting zero, the delusional candidate begins to answer my questions.  She is unsuspecting that from the time that I saw her, her time to “yap” was reduced to 15 minutes.   Seriously, I haven’t the time to waste on this wastebasket.   Hmmm…. wastebasket… maybe I’m psychic by thinking that.  You’ll see what I mean.   This hard-headed egg obviously hasn’t figured out the vital factors of an interview.  One question that I ask Miss Quirky, “What interests you?”  Her reply is priceless.  She talks of how she loves to dumpster dive.  How she finds so many cool things in the trash and that one time, she found really cool shorts that her husband loves to wear all the time.  Ok… you win!  I’ve heard it all.  NEXT!!!!

This is her a few weeks later.  I saw her on my way to work

 

The Wickam September 20, 2012

Filed under: Suspense — ThisCougarHasSomethingTosay @ 7:09 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Always on a reactor, I say.  That’s how our life as a young-married couple started and how it has continued to this day.   It was typical to react immediately to unknown situations; rather than make an objective decision.  But in the case of the Wickam Guest House, reacting immediately is undeniably a safe choice.

Coming from the cool winters of California, the deep-cold that accompanies life in Kentucky during this time of year was agonizing.  There was no jacket thick enough to warm my body and I realized that my measly coat was no match for the weather disturbances that cloaked the land. As we continued trekking in our car, the fierce snow storm that we were entering would not compare to the disturbing event that we were about to encounter.   As my body rattled, we made our way through the pearly-white province.  The car rolled into the direction of the guard station located on base.  We arrived late into the evening around midnight and as the minutes passed, the storm continued whipping the wind in a rhythmic fury.

The wretched snow flurries made us even more nervous that we had not made prior housing arrangements. With a newborn baby, we were in desperate need of a hotel.  Being young, we were responsible with finances and reckless with planning.   Having said that, we immediately packed up in Texas and left to his new military assignment to the Blue Grass State without planning or hesitation.  I only thank God that we made it to the fort just as the snow storm had kicked into gear.   Our new home would be known as Fort Knox – the Bullion Depository where the majority of U.S. gold is stored.  The land of and around Fort Knox is historical going back before Union and Confederate forces battled for territory.   As we waited briefly, I could not help but feel sorry for the MP who sat in the icy-cold guard shack just waiting for any type of activity. He looked miserable.  The bitter elements  interrupted his attempts to question the soldier wishing to enter the grounds.    He was also perplexed as to why we were not using chains.   He rushed us through and it was not long before he eased our minds and directed to transient housing located on base.  Minutes later, we three vagabonds trudged on through the whiteness that drifted before us in search of respite.

I lay under the bed covers at the Wickam Guest House.  I was now warm and cozy and my body no longer rattled. My fingers were pink and my lips warm.  I turned to kiss my dear; but, I could not see his face.  It was then that I noticed the darkness that seemed to absorb the contents of room.  The room was odd.  We were told that the Wickam was a very old converted barrack house and our room was once said to have been a large storage room.  This would explain the oddness of the room and why it had no windows.  It seemed as though the room harbored darkness seizing the contents when the lights were turned off.  As I lay next to my husband, I could not hear a thing. The wind outside was muted.  No sounds of snow flurries.  There was nothingness. The walls were made of brick and the building was solid as stone.  I thought that the building must have been as old as the fort itself.  Still, I was happy with its’ tranquility.  It was perfect; quiet and clean.  It was simple for us to quickly nestle and fall to sleep after such a long journey.

The next morning I noticed that my Mr. Right had already left to report for duty.  As I prepared to ready myself for the day, I noticed that our room shared a Jack and Jill bathroom with another bedroom for other family’s undergoing inprocessing.  I secretly hoped that we would not have any bathroom encounters with anyone.  Intent on exploring the base, I bundled my newborn baby and headed off for some fresh Kentucky air.  But as I walked towards the exit, I notice that the snow storm had not relented.  Snow continued to ferociously whip about and fall onto a blanket of white crystals. It was a gloomy day.  I sadly realize that I am home bound at the Wickam and for the next several days, the snow continued to fall.

It’s our last night at the Wickam and we begin to settle down for a restful nights’ sleep.  In a ritualistic fashion, Mr. Right fumbles through the darkness after turning off the light.  The darkness seems normal now and my love has made his way to the bed.  After a full day, the baby has finally fallen to sleep in my arms while my back is resting against the headboard. I then begin to inch my way towards’ the foot of the bed to lay the baby inside the port-a-crib.  And as I finally reach the end of the bed, I slowly began to bend over.  Gently I begin to lay him down so as not to awaken him.  Without warning, the room is lit up and I am face to face with unnatural bubbles of light.  They danced ferociously and swirled in uniform just above our infant’s sleeping body.  They waltzed too quickly for me to determine how many balls of light there were; but, my eyes counted four.  Chills roll up my back and a shiver tingles my body.  I instantly turned to a stoned corpse.  The balls of light continued to swirl before me and above my child.  I was petrified and hysterical by the sight.  Shamefully, I dropped the baby.  If not for the port-a-crib and the grace of God, our infant would have fallen to the ground.  The infant lay undisturbed in the crib and was unaffected by the incident.  He continued sleeping as the balls of light relentlessly frolicked above his body.  My cowardice overcame me and I then rushed and kicked my body back to the headboard.  My eyes were fixed on the bright circular balls of light as they continued playing over our son.

I expelled a heinous screech that should have been heard by other guests; but, it was not.  I continued screaming and I could hear my husband shouting.  I begged him to grab the baby because I was bound by fear and it was there that I remained at the head of the bed -unable to fight or move; just squirming as I sat.  My husband frantically moved towards the crib and called out repeatedly; “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”  and I knew that my eyes did not deceive me for he too saw the balls of light.  He frantically moved towards the crib but to my trepidation, he waved his hand over the baby to test the lights; but, he did not pick the infant up.  And still, the balls of light continued to swirl above and below his hand.  He quickly pulled his hand back and rushed for the light switch.

The incident seemed to have taken an hour; but, only seconds had passed. Then, as the light switch was turned on, a quiet filled the room.  We were silent and the balls of light were gone.   My eyes glanced over to my husband.  The fear was written all over his face.  He said nothing and walked over to pick up the baby.  We sat on the bed clutching onto our son.  We sat fearful and in disbelief.  Neither one of us dared to turn off the light switch and like hawks, we lay awake on the bed for as long as we could.  As I lay awake, I replayed the incident over and over in my mind and questioned reality and sanity; but, I could not help the fact that I was not the only witness.  We both saw something unexplainable.  Although we could not explain the incident, it was disturbing to us that we knew something happened and that the things that we encountered were attracted to our baby.   We were eager to leave the Wickam and never return.

The following morning as we were checking out, my husband summoned up the courage to ask a vague question, “Does anything ever happen here?”  The receptionist replied, “You saw the ghost, didn’t you?” and she continued to add that although she had not encountered anything unusual, through the years’ several guests have reported ghostly happenings while staying at the Wickam.

As the years’ passed, we have discovered several  answers about the incident.  The “things” that danced above our infant son and terrified us that night were orbs; which are attracted to children.   Apparently, Fort Knox is home to a number of paranormal sightings not only at the Wickam but other sites as well and is considered a paranormal hot spot.

Why is it that if we were in denial, we reacted so fearfully?  Henry Louis Mencken once said, “The one permanent emotion of the inferior man is fear – fear of the unknown, the complex, the inexplicable.  What he wants above everything else is safety. ”   It is my belief that disbelief does not guard safety.  If you believe that anything is possible, then you are appreciative of your  instincts, reality, and inexplicable situations and thereby you are promoting safety; but, if you are in denial of the inexplicable, the possibility of you jeopardizing your safety is real.

 

Chivalrous Code of Conduct June 6, 2012

Filed under: Advise — ThisCougarHasSomethingTosay @ 11:41 pm

This cougar contends that women’s lib killed the knight; clobbered him at the knees.  In a quest for liberation, the libber fought hard to prove to mankind that she was strong, smart, and did not need a knight.  The damsel was no longer in distress and she now could slay any dragon that came here way.  Unbeknownst to the libber, she would soon discover that her actions created an unbalanced relationship between the libber and the knight with most being de-knighted because of unchivalrous ways.  And so the knight became a dying breed.  Thank god for those gallant souls who continue to ignore the libbers cause.

Setting Chivalrous Code of Conduct-  Yes, it’s medieval; but, a girl needs her proppers!

  1. The key to the castle starts with the knight opening doors; car, house, or building.  Stop the sniveling and just do it!
  2. It’s not an electric chair for gawed sakes.  Pull out the chair for the wench and take ownership of knighthood.
  3. I don’t come from the Netherlands so let’s not go dutch.  Never let a woman pay for a date and you libbers don’t mess it up for the ladies who want to be treated as such.  You’re not Cuban, so stop trying to liberate yourself.
  4. Dating means he’s picking you up.  Prepubescent idea of meeting somewhere is immature.  Try not to seem so desperate by agreeing to a meetup date.   Let the fella be a man and pick you up.  And when he does, don’t rush out the door when he honks.  A knight always picks up a lady at the door and drops her off at the door as well.
  5. Knights set you up and never put you down.  They should never point out your flaws except to say that they like your imperfections.  If they do, high-tail it and run for the hills.
  6. Protect the Princess by all means.  Never permit anybody, dis the princess.  If a guy doesn’t protect your image, it’s time for him to talk to the hand cuz he ain’t the man.
  7. And whatever you do… don’t shower a damsel with lavish gifts until the ground rules are set.  It’s just plain weird to go all out if you’re not all in on a relationship.

If a woman doesn’t expect these things, then they take away from the romance and it’s been this cougars’ observation that women desire romance more than a man with  good looks and a high-profile position.  So, you damsels would be shooting yourself in the foot if you don’t expect chivalry from any man that wants to be in your presence.

 

The Book May 23, 2012

Filed under: Suspense — ThisCougarHasSomethingTosay @ 9:33 pm
Tags: , , , , , ,

I awaken.

The next thing that I become aware of is the somber room that is not so well lit and before long, my memory is devoured with each passing moment.  Yet through my composed panic, I do not scream.  My eyes begin to chaotically scan the room; searching for something that might jolt my memory. I am frightened to admit that I do not know where I am or for that matter, how I have found myself in this dreary place.  I am shocked how my memory bank is riding on empty and I try hard not to  thrust my panic into full-throttle.  The solitary room begins to suffocate me.  I feel it and I want to get out.  Something is not right. I feel as though the room is watching me. From the looks of things, I am in a high-end hotel room.  I glance towards the only door in the room and fix my eyes on its’ golden knob. I get up and slowly begin to creep in its’ direction.  I am quite hesitant but continue to tiptoe forward to the door; pausing for a mere second.

My fingers kiss the cold knob which seems as equally as cold as the room.  My heart is racing and I begin to gently twist the knob. For some reason, I do not want to make a sound.  Quickly, I release it realizing that the room is locked from the outside.  I’m on high alert! In an effort to control my hysteria, I lift my arms and cross them over my chest and begin to pound my body.  I’m afraid to scream.  What if I make a fool of myself?  It’s then that I notice that my fingernails are involuntarily being  driven into the skin of my arms.  “Crap!” I feel silly as I politely call out; “Hello? Is anybody out there?” but, there is no answer.  Perhaps, if it’s not too high up, I can escape through the window.  I then walk towards the window; which is covered by very flamboyant damask curtains that stretch from the floor to the ceiling.  I fear this place and feel the need to escape.  Calmly I rush towards the window as my cowardice continues to swell.  My hands touch the soft fabric and I urgently glide it over to the left side of the window.  My mind screams hysterically! The room has no windows!  “Oh my god!”  I’m working myself into a frenzy and I begin to stumble backwards.  My stomach is twisting and I want to vomit as I crouch forward in anticipation.  My hair is tossed forward hanging over my face and I see only carpet.

I hear something and look up.  It’s a tall man standing next to the now opened door.  He stood there looking at me; observing me make a fool of myself.   I immediately stand up and out of fear begin to back up.  I fear that my withdrawal has sounded off a potential chase and I begin to stutter.  I’m making no sense.  The man interrupts me and says, “You called?”  My heart rapidly continues it course.  While I stand there unable to move or talk, I take notice of the tall mans’ features.  The grooves on his face confess a harsh life.  His deep-set eyes are dark, lifeless, and detached.  He has an upside-down smile; which matches his lack-luster personality.  Salt and pepper hair.  He’s holding something behind him.  Ever so slightly, I edge my way to the right in an effort to see what it is that he is holding.  Fearing a strike, I ready myself to escape past him through the doorway.  “What is that behind you?” I ask.  He doesn’t answer me at first but lifts his hand and presents a little-black book.  The book is being extended towards me.  This is weird.  It’s a bible.   “Um, okay.  I’m really confused. What is going on here?”  My memory loss, the locked room, the bible, what the heck?   “My dear, you came to Le Hotel; because of the season.  You must recall registering with your friends, no?”   His response resonates and jolts my memory. “Oh my gosh! Of course, now I remember! We were referred to you.”

The plug is now connected to my brain and the light bulb is now on.  I then recall a conversation that I had with my friends; Michael and Lynn, while in the city a few weeks back.  “Yes, yes. I do recall.”  We were discussing the thrill of being scared stiff.  Our friendly Halloween tradition is played is such a way that we frequented grave yards and searched for ways to scare each other.  Once again, we readied ourselves for the season.  During our talk; my friends described their discovery of Le Hotel.  They had been told that every year during Halloween the management staff of Le Hotel organized a Scare Fest at the hotel.   The hotel is said to be haunted and for a price, a select number of guests could take part in the Scare Fest Tour.  Unfounded rumors of the hotel were growing and its’ popularity was increasing.

“Madam, your friends Michael and Lynn are here and are quite eager to accompany you this night.”   He hesitated a moment and said, “So you see, I am here to deliver the required content- the little Bible that you are now holding and also to provide verbal instructions.”  The instructions were simple and very odd.  Participants were to carry the little-black bible at all times and once received, to immediately spray its pages with luminosity; a highlighting fluid.  At which time he reached into his pocket and handed me a little spray bottle.  He then pointed towards the bible and I immediately sprayed the pages inside the bible.  Apparently, the bible had a purpose and given the moment, I would know when to use it.  “Oh my gosh! I’m so excited!  I ignored the inner warnings that were calling to me.  All that I could think of was how amazingly crazy this experience was going to be.  Not knowing what exactly to expect; but, knowing that the chilling adventure would go beyond my wildest expectations. He waited silently before me to ensure that I finished spraying the pages; urging me to pay attention to detail by spraying as many pages as possible. “Well done. I will now direct you to your friends.”  My minds’ anticipation called out- “This little field trip is going to kick right up there!”

My anticipation grew and I was eager and on edge.  I clenched onto the little-black bible like I had so many years before and it seemed to fit perfectly in my hand.  The feeling of dread grew inside me as I followed the man from the room.  We passed through the dingy hallway.  Something was off; but, I continued to follow him.  Everything about the hotel disclosed impending doom and yet it had magnetism and I was compelled to remain on course.  The evil whispers of temptation continued calling out to me; urging me to come forward and it was then that the war between desire and logic spread within me.  Being rebellious is better than following rules and the song said it best, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun.”  So, I ignored the battle and foolishly continued the course.

As I was contemplating leaving,  it was then that my eyes caught sight of Michael.  My lips quickly lifted to a smile and I rushed his way.  He was a shy modern-day Adonis-  so exceptional with olive skin, powder-blue eyes, and wavy-brown hair that always seemed to barely stoke his broad shoulders.  His smile could easily thaw anyone’s icy disposition.  “Michael!  Oh my gosh. Hi!” and he quickly replied, “Hey there!” As I set my focus towards him, my girlfriend, Lynn stood sheepishly next to him clenching onto his jacket.  Along with them were three other people, two guys in their mid-twenties and one girl around the same age. We huddled together each holding a bible.

The tall man finally began to speak, “The final hours are upon you and it is at this time that I urge you to reconsider and repent.”  A response of giggles ensued and the man reacted with one raised eye-brow.  He shouted, “You fools!”  The giggles came to a hault as he slowly lifted his bible towards the ceiling.  A piece of white paper was taped on top of it with writing that I could not make out.  He began to read a verse out loud, “This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that there is one event unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead.  Ecclesiastes 9:3″. Over and over again, he recited the verse as we walked through the hallway of the hotel.   Someone muttered jokingly, “I guess that’s Act 1.”   This Scare Fest was proving to be not only scary, thrilling, and realistic.  The tall man abruptly stopped and turned and pointed at the other group and said, “You three must enter that room.  Rely upon the Word for it is your only salvation.”  As my eyes followed the tall mans’ finger, my eyes connected with Lynn’s face.  Her blonde-bangs slightly covering her face failed to conceal her visible terror.  She was pale and the pink in her cheeks had vanished.  My eyes shifted back to the reluctant trio as they entered the dark room. Inexplicably the door closed without aid.

We stood in the hallway for a minute or two and then, a loud rumbling came from beyond the walls where the trio had gone.  We heard screaming and pounding on the walls.  The clamor was intensely intimidating and we huddled and moved backward.   The nerve-racking screams brought anguish to my heart.  We were too scared to look at each other.  “You must continue and not back down.” The tall man exclaimed.  Then, after several minutes had passed, the screaming stopped as fast as it started and the wails from within the room were silenced.   A hush came upon the building.  Seconds later, screams began again and the walls seemed to vibrate until the room fell peaceful.  Finally, the girl began to squeal.  There was no other noise other than the squeals that bellowed from within her.   I clenched onto Michael even tighter.  He whispered out, “Don’t worry.  They’re acting.  Trying to get us all worked up.  It’s just a scare tactic.”  But the screams and comotion sounded too real.  His reassurance wasn’t good enough.  The drama finally ended and the tall man then called out, “The wicked is driven away in his wickedness: but the righteous hath hope in his death.  Proverbs 14:32”    Mortified by his words, I stood paralyzed.  My legs were being weighed down by the devil himself.

The tall man called to me saying, “You did not listen to the warnings given by Him.  You must continue and not back down.”  Michael held onto us and we three continued to walk towards an entirely different wing in the hotel.  We were so scared that we didn’t speak.   Like before, the tall man paused before a white door.  My gut twisted inside and my shoulders became weak.    With my right hand against Michaels’ back, I could feel his heart pounding.  His left arm was resting over my shoulder.  He was being sandwiched between us and Lynn held onto him with much trepidation.   Although I could not see her as well, I could feel her trembling.

We huddled and squeezed each other as the door sluggishly opened.    The room was darker than the night and like penguins, we wobbled our way into the darkness and it was then that the door closed shut behind us.  The silence inside was ghostly and all that I could hear was heavy breathing and Lynn whimpering.  I didn’t understand what she was saying.  A minute or so passed and nothing was happening and my confidence slightly ascended.    Then, a little glow appeared.  Its’ brightness became brilliant and it became apparent to me that Michael had opened his bible.  The radiance of one verse lit the entire room enabling us all to read from its’ pages; Judges 15:8; “With that he tore into them, ripping them limb from limb–a huge slaughter.”   Suddenly, a swift breeze came into the room.  The bible was still open and the verse still glowed.   Michael sat still with his eyes fixated on the little black bible.  Unexpectedly, his body lifted upwards off the flooring; not nearly two feet.  His body began to convulse and without warning his left leg was swiftly lobbed from his body and blood splattered onto my face.  His screams deafened me.  The terror in his eyes and his screams were mind-bending.   Then, a short recess was provided and as he fidgeted on the floor, I was too scared and slowly edged my way toward him.  It was then that his right leg was brutally ripped from his torso.  He collapsed and was not conscious.  His disfigured body lay in a pool of blood.   He woke and his groan was barely audible.  To my amazement, Michael still had possession of the little black bible.  I drifted into shock as I stood staring helplessly at my dear friend.  As before, a pause proceeded as he lay with no legs.  Then, his left arm was brutally stripped from his torso. There was no struggle.  My eyes shifted away in vain towards the floor and I could see chunks of bloody flesh.  Finally, the bible fell from his right hand and with that, his attached arm was torn from him.  Nausea overcame me.   Too cowardly to touch his lifeless body, I stood there emotionally numb.

The episode passed quickly and there was not much time to fathom what we had both witnessed.  Reality was unreal.  It was as though we were in a freezing snow storm and our bodies shivered and quaked out of fear.  Lynn’s face, like mine, was covered with Michael’s blood.  With each vibration, she uttered, “He said we must continue and not back down.”  I could not completely take in what she was implying and I did not respond.   To my alarm Lynn opened the bible that now rested on her lap.  She began blubbering in terror, “Oh my god, NO!” My eyes quickly shut-tight and as quickly as I shut them, I opened them again.  As she held onto her open book, the highlighted message read; “And the soul that turneth after such as have familiar spirits, and after wizards, to go a whoring after them, I will even set my face against that soul, and will cut him off from among his people.”  A sudden ease came upon her.  She then lifted her hand away from the bible and touched her mouth.  Although she trembled hysterically, she said, “Oh my god, that’s not so bad.” But in that moment, just as her hopes began to rise and after her fingers had already lifted from the book, the pages began to turn to another verse, “Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels” and in that moment she immediately stood up uncontrollably.  She glanced at me.  Her eyes cried out for help.  Not knowing what to expect or do, I became uncertain of myself.   Then, beads of sweat began to appear on her forehead.  Her face became animated with discomfort and if not for the illuminated room, the sweat from her brow would not have been visible.  It was a slow process as she silently stood there quaking.   A few minutes had passed and she continued to stand there, trembling and then, her skin began to blister. Then, smoke began to fill the room; draping between me as I gazed upon her.  Yet, as I crept closer towards her, she began to shake profusely as though someone or something was physically shaking her- followed by an abrupt stillness.   A deep groan bellowed from within her and her body became a blaze.  The fires from hell devoured her beautiful body and the smell of death filled the illuminated room.  The stench  was pungent and it filled my nostrils and I forcibly contained myself from throwing-up.  I could not escape the sulfurous odor that also accompanied the room.  I covered my nose to avoid it and I cried with much regret.  I wanted to wake-up from this nightmare but in my soul, I knew that my fate was coming soon.  The room was now pitch black and her bible lay closed.

In the dark I sat motionless and numb.  I tried to contemplate a strategy; if any.  Inside me there was an unexplainable urge that clouded my thoughts.  I was being urged  to open my bible.  The urge was hard to resist; but, I did and I continued to sit in total darkness for what seem like an eternity.  And so I gave in and surrendered myself.  I continued to sit in the blackness that surrounded me; the bible in my hand and as I swallowed my salted spit and left over courage, I opened it slowly.   “Their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths.” Immediately, I could feel my stomach and eyes burn; along with my tongue.  Hysterically, I stumbled about the room and fell to my feet.  I began to wail; still clenching onto the Good Book.  As I fell once more, its’ pages turned to another verse to Deuteronomy; “And it came to pass at that time, when Eli was laid down in his place, and his eyes began to wax dim.”  No sooner after I read it, a thin coating covered my eyes.  In this moment, I gave into the hell.   I surrendered completely; muttering and crying out loud, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.  Help me! Forgive me!” and all the while I could feel my body deteriorating and the smell of my body was turning rancid with each passing second.  And during that wicked moment, I became inspired.  It was the Spirit.  A random memory filled my head and then before I decided to close the bible that sat firmly in my hand, I uttered forgotten verse that I had previously memorized long ago; “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”  And almost instantaneously the violence quickly diminished.  Like the room which turned placid and airy, so too did my nerves.  Still, my heart raced with a pounding thud as my company.  A single memory flickered.  It was the single thought of the tall man and it was at that moment that I realized or made sense of what had just occurred. I will survive!  I will live! I will live because I surrendered completely and I did what He said to do.  The messengers words echoed in my mind, we must repent and without Him; without God, without repentance, salvation will never be ours.

 

Lockdown May 15, 2012

Filed under: Funny — ThisCougarHasSomethingTosay @ 6:32 pm
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Relationships are like prisons; with the inmate being the male and the female being the warden.  Call this cougar a Narc, if you will; but, men need to get called-out for their covert dating practices.

Inmates- also known as booty bandits and convicts put themselves on voluntary lockdown during the dating period.  It’s an extremely tactical surveillance practice on their part.  The solitary confinement process is done for one primary reason; to nab the booty.  The process is simplistic and only requires good behavior with every conjugal visit.  Once good behavior is achieved and the behavioral monitoring is approved by both parties, the inmate then requests a life sentence with his female treasure, the warden.

For both parties, being given a life sentence is a serious occurrence; however, for the woman, a life sentence is viewed as a romantic gesture.  A life sentence is a emotional profession of the inmates never-ending love and devotion.  So it is criminal that once a life sentence is legally binding, the voluntary lockdown is then repealed by the inmate and the warden is victimized and fired from her post.  She is victimized and all her  civil rights are trashed to the wind.  Erratic and uncivil sociopathic behavior on the part of the booty bandit ensues at full force velocity.

Let’s refer to the case study-   So after saying the “I do’s” it happened that this particular doe laid in wait underneath the matrimonial sheets on her honeymoon night.  She was beautiful and expecting romance with her buck.  She was ready to consummate the lifetime sentence that she so eagerly accepted.  Don’t laugh.  All people have dumb moments. Anyways, so when out from the bathroom jolts the buck.  He stampedes through the honeymoon suite and jumps onto the wedlock bed. He lets go of the white towel that is wrapped around his waste.  She is startled and flustered by the ruckus.  As the towel falls, she smiles and assumes that the buck’s playful gesture is how life will be.  Slowly, her buck raises his arms, shapes his hands into a gun, and releases one loud round of invisible gas into the air.  The imaginary gun let out potent fumes.  The sudden and violent release of natural energy  is loud and long; riveting the room!  She quickly raises the matrimonial sheets over her head in order to hide from the fart’s scent.  All the while, she is hoping that the contagion did not penetrate the covers.

After the natural toxic impurities settled, trace elements lingered in the room and the doe hesitated to lift her head from the sheets.  She summons up her courage and finally sniffed the room.  The pungent mist subsided into nothingness and she was safe.

And this ladies is where the doe made a fatal life enduring snafu.  She belt out a huge boisterous laugh.  Yes!  The stupid biatch laughed!  And her laugh registered as green light to the buck that it is ok to fart.   The “go” sign was up and he now had permission to play the fart game from that point on.  Unwittingly, the doe was laughing at her moment of defeat.  From that moment on, her life would be plagued with natural gas attacks, bellowing belches, toilet seat stains, and more.  The doe should have put up her defensive shield and gone on a matrimonial attacked in order to repel such monstrous behavior.

The tables turned and the inmate delivered a resounding message that  forever established the relationship, “Bitch I’m gonna learn you right!”  And from that point on, the scales of justice frequently tilted back and forth; while the inmate who is now out on parole performs sociopathic acts that boggle the mind.  And she, the victim, enthusiastically seeks rehabilitation for her paroled convict.  She is continually seeking new correctional avenues in order to reform her convict; anger therapy, victim-offender resolution, sexual sanctions, and crime prevention strategies; but for the victim, the lewd and vial acts will continue and reform is only momentary.

As the sands of time fall, there is one unproven way to predetermine whether your convict’s sociopathic behavior leaves nothing to be desired.  If his mother bred more than two male’s in the family litter- RUN!!!  If there are only boys in his family clan- RUN FASTER!!!   But, if his family pack includes mostly older females,  you have a 50/50 chance of a stagnant free life.

 

The Confidential Confidant May 7, 2012

Filed under: Funny — ThisCougarHasSomethingTosay @ 4:22 pm
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Michael Angelo, the famous sculptor once said, “The promises of this world are, for the most part, vain phantoms; and to confide in one’s self, and become something of worth and value is the best and safest course.”  Such wisdom instructs us to covet our secrets which is difficult to do; but, easier to do with a complete stranger.
It was an ass backwards day and this cougar wasn’t about to let a bad start determine the rest of her day.  So off this cougar went in search of some well-deserved pampering.  The only problem she faced was that it happened to be the 4th of July and all the salon’s were closed.
As this cougar scoured the concrete Serengeti in search of an open salon, she came upon the mall and decided to see if one of the upscale department stores had a salon that was open.  This cougars’ persistency paid off and her name was added to the list for a mani and pedi and she quickly settled into a chair, relaxed, and waited.
Minutes had passed and an extremely beautiful Asian lady came up to her and said, “I understand you like a mani and pedi.” This cougar was captured by the lady’s perfection.  Her face and skin were flawless- as well as her make-up.  It was as though the cougar was gazing upon a touched-up photo.  No fly away hairs were seen.  She was slender and her body proportion was near perfect.  She wore a tight-fitting polka-dot red dress that was a perfect match to her red-trimmed white stilettos.  She was really put together well.  This cougar does not reserve deserved compliments and could not help but say, “You are so beautiful. “  The Asian lady smiled and with her oriental accent said, “Honey- Ay am sisty yeers old, you kno.”  This cougar immediately responded, “No way! You are not.  You look like you are about 35 years old and not a day over 40.”  The manicurist continued smiling and said, “No.  No. No.  I tewl you da twooth. Ay am sisty yeers old! “ And so the connection between this cougar and the Asian manicurist continued and they continued chatting while the manicurist worked diligently on the cougars’ finger nails.
This cougar could not understand why someone so elegant and refined was working as a manicurist.  The Asian lady looked more like a socialite to this cougar.   And so this cougar couldn’t help but pry once more and asked the question and this cougar was amazed by the Asian lady’s candor.  She began to reminisce fondly about her rich husband and how she once lived in a magnificent mansion at the edge and high up on the Malibu cliffs.   She said that she lived like a queen with no worries and that her husband adored and took care of her and every detail.
One day, her dear husband died suddenly; leaving her in despair.  Although she was rich, she quickly discovered that she knew nothing.  Didn’t know how to clean, how to cook, how to pay bills, and didn’t’ even know what she owned or owed.  The Asian queen was in bad shape and still reeling from the loss of her beloved.
Then, the Asian queen’s brother-in-law arrived from China to help her arrange her life and she and her children were extremely grateful.  “I caynt tewl you how happy I was.  He did every-ting.  He fix it awl.”  And soon the Asian queen’s life was being handled and went back to normal as the brother-in-law had promised.  Months’ had passed and things got steamy between the Asian queen and the brother-in-law. Love was brewing and she said, “I fewlt good and since he was his brother, I tawt, why not? Dat way, money is stiwl in fam-i-lee.”  So she agreed to marry her dead husbands’ brother and the Asian queen felt safe and happy.
It happened one day when her husband was away on business, she received a certified letter of eviction.  She called her husband and he did not call back.  She called the mortgage company who stated that the mortgage was behind in many payments.  She called the bank and discovered that she only had a few thousand dollars in the bank.  Her annuities were cashed out and everything of value was either withdrawn or sold.  Heirlooms were gone and she realized that she was penniless.  She became hysterical.  She told me of how in that moment something snapped inside her and that the sight of her was dramatic; like a scene from a movie.
What little fortune came upon her was when her children arrived to see her in such a dramatic state as she was ready to fling herself over  the Malibu cliffs.  “Stop!” They shouted.  Her children clung to her as she tried to escape; screaming, “I go kiwl him!  I go kiwl him!  He take every-ting! Every-ting I tewl you!”  My eyes were wide and fixated on her story.   She said that they held onto each other and cried and her children repeatedly pleaded with her not to hurt herself.   Although she vowed to kill her husband, she knew that she would never see him again.
So now, this is why the Asian queen was now a manicurist.  As she told the story, I could not help but wonder why she had a victorious expression on her face.   So, this cougar pried once more and asked why that was so and she said, “Oh…gurl.  Don’t fewl sawee for me.  I tewl you.  I got it goooood.  I have a boyfwend who is fawtee and he is weel  go000d to meeee, I tewl you.  He give me Murhcedes Benz an dah house that is weel nice.  I is vewee happy, I tewl you.  I have every-ting I want and my kids are happy too!  I tewl you this life if good to me right now. And I am not stupid no mow.  I don’t put up with dah shit you see.”
We laughed and in the end, it is true that this world makes no promises.  I suppose that the best way to live in this world is to become something of worth and value so as to give back and also help yourself and if you have secrets, remember that the safe course is to always rely on a confidential confidant.
 

Caveman Courtship April 30, 2012

Filed under: Funny — ThisCougarHasSomethingTosay @ 10:42 pm
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They tinker with sticks, forage, and fix; but, cavemen are quite the breed.

Take the available caveman.  Yes, it’s true that his sexy prominent grin, hairy back, and Flintstone toes can make any cave girl quiver.   But all cave girls need to think before they mate; PRIMATE that is.

Although mate-able cavemen have tiny brains, this does not deter them from their tactical mating efforts.

Caveman Courtship (Pre .com era dating)

The spouseless primate’s sexual objective is concealment of all stone age habits.  This primate’s instinct is under control and is refined so as to taunt, lure, and capture a hot Cro-magMa’m.   During this pre.com dating period, the cave dweller is known to exhibit the following hygienic habits:

  • Shit, shave, show and shine behind closed doors

Additionally, the cave dweller will follow the following protocol when the Cro-magMa’m is present:

  • No scratching behind the loins
  • No picking for gravel in either the nasal or anal cavity
  • No belching
  • No “buddy cups” gas farts from the buttock to the mouth

Strict observance of the rules enables the cave dweller to nab even the most observant Cro-magMa’m.

Yabba Dabba “I do”  (Prehistoric wife capture continues)

After the caveman has clubbed his Cro-magMa’m, she is taken to the cave where soon after, the carnivorous creatures’ behavior changes.  His behavior reverts back to the day when Dino roamed the earth.  This plate tectonic behavioral shift is due in part because the caveman is keenly aware that he has finally bound, gagged, and bagged his cave babe.

For the first time in ions, the long-time member of the Loyal Order of Water Buffalos soon discovers that once the I do’s are said and done, he can act as prehistoric as his ancestors.   Case in point:  This prehistoric cougar was enjoying the evening with two friends who have been cave dwelling together for several years.  This is how the conversation went:

Fred Flinstsone-  Baby  I’m so f*icken drunk right now that even you look good.  Can I lick your v@gina?  Giggle giggle giggle

Wilma-  Oh, baby.  How vial!

Son of a Brachiosaurus!  You would think that such smutty verbiage  would in some way imply the caveman’s deep emotional devotion and heightened desire for the love of his life; but, I think not!  Goes to show you that a lot goes on down stairs but they still have itty bitty brains.  Sadly, such cave talk from big dim-witted meat-eaters forces Cro-magMa’ms to wait a while before the stone-based calendar system tells her when it’s ok to mate with the monkey.   Lord of the Flings knows that she doesn’t want to holster another meat-eating monkey on her hip.

Although the clever clubber’s trap initially worked since he was able to bed the cave babe, the cave dweller will soon discover that mattress nabbing requires intellect and strategy.   Us cave babes will have to wait for either the manners to kick in or for the brain to grow.  Most likely us cave girls will have to wait for another evolutionary cycle or the end of another ice age for that to ever happen to any of the cave dwellers that said, Yabba Dabba “I do”

 

The Tony Montana in Life April 20, 2012

Filed under: Suspense — ThisCougarHasSomethingTosay @ 9:00 pm
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I suppose that it all began one boring night many moons ago when this cougar was a kitten.  I decided to relax and spend my time watching an interesting investigative report on Dateline.  The report was on true crime incidents relating to security guards and how most who are hired have rap sheets longer than the legs of a model.  To think that many companies were hiring thugs without screening potential candidates was insane.   Nevertheless, I watched the segment, turned off the TV, and went on with my life.

Normal people do not befriend crazy people; their friendship is quickly snubbed.  Well, this cougar is not normal so of course she would entertain the concept of a crazy friend.  In fact, this cougar would consider herself as a sort of sidekick to the crazed lunatic.  So it is not shocking that after being introduced to a potential maniac, that this cougar and her husband quickly became best friends with the quack and his wife.  They were as half-baked as us and times spent with them were a blast.   They are the kind of quacks that  do things that the population wouldn’t.  Of the friends, he is no doubt the Tony Montana (Scarface) in our life.   I for one would quickly discover that having such a person in my life would be extremely beneficial.

So what does Dateline and Scarface have to do with me?  A lot!  Month’s later after the Dateline segment aired, the cougar’s family moved into a new little track home in a quiet desert community.  More than half of the track homes in this cougars’ neighborhood had already been sold and it was a great place to raise children.   Many of the homeowners’ that lived in the city commuted over an hour to work.  Since the developer still had unsold homes, he hired a security guard to watch over the unattended homes in the neighborhood.

While we were settling in our new home and our two children were at school, my husband hired Tony Montana to paint the inside of the house.   That’s what Tony did for a living, he was a commercial painter whose clients are as big as U.S.C. and since we were good friends, we were sure to receive amazing service.

It was a sunny day and about 10:00 o’clock in the morning.  Tony mentioned that he needed some painting supplies and said that he would be leaving to the paint store.  Several minutes had passed as I continued unpacking boxes that were in the master bedroom.  I heard a noise.  It was the front door opening.  It must be Tony I thought and I left the room to retrieve another box to unpack.  As I walked down the hallway towards the living room, I noticed a man standing in the middle of the living room.  He was a security guard.   As he stood there, I asked, “Excuse me; but, why are you in my house?”  His reply didn’t matter to me because he had no right walking into a home without cause.  “This home doesn’t show that it’s been sold.”  I replied to him and then instructed him to go to the sales office to confirm that we were the new owners and that he shouldn’t just walk right a house.  Why didn’t he knock first?  The thought disturbed me.  In the middle of my showdown, Tony walked in and the security guard scurried away.

I was perturbed and clearly shaken.  The nerve of that wannabe long arm of the law to walk right into my home.  As Tony listened to me recount the encounter, I went on and interjected my distant recollection of the Dateline investigative report.  Tony told me not to worry and that he would take care of everything if the guard came back.  I unwittingly disregarded his assurance.

It was a weekday, two days’ had passed, and the children were at school.  Again, it was around 10:00 a.m.  Tony was painting a bedroom and happened to see the security guard walking up the walkway to the house.  He rushed over to me and ordered me to hide in the master bedroom because the security guard was back.  I began to freak out and rushed over to the room.  But the curiosity in this cougar called to me and so I opened the door and looked down the hallway towards’ the living room.  Tony was hidden and resting against the hallway wall.   He was laying in wait, quiet, serious, and extremely focused!

I couldn’t believe my eyes!  Tony had a gun!  A gun! Electricity rushed from my feet and jump started my heart; making it thud hard and race even faster.   Oh my god!  Oh my god!  Oh my god! I recited the chant in my head.  Then…. the door opened!!!!   I could faintly hear the security guards’ footsteps from the room.  Why didn’t he knock?   The thought badgered me.  All the while, Tony stood silently behind a wall.

Time seemed to stop.  Then, a forceful ear-shattering racket ensued.  Although I fully anticipated action, Tony’s roar startled me so much that I jumped in the air.  OMG!  Loudly, Tony began with his demands.  “Get the “F” on your knees you “F-ing piece of shit!”  Tony Montana was back in action and ready to dance with his little fren; his 357 Magnum revolver!  His weapon was loaded and ready to do business.   I recall Dirty Harry, “magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk”  Tony’s  bravado performance continued, “You know what?  I can F-ing blow your brains out and splatter them all over this F-ing house and get away with it you F-ing piece of sh!t and you know why?  Because your F-ing trespassing!  Just make one F-ing move and give me a reason!”  His fuming rant was flawless as well as the command of his booming voice.   I believed him and I was ready to pee in my panties for fear of his rage and what he might do next.

I sheepishly walked down the hallway toward Tony and stopped behind him as the panic-strickened security guard rested on his knees.  His hands were raised and shaking as if he’s was being held up in a robbery.   He began to beg, “I’m the security guard for the developer! Don’t shoot me!” Tony replied, “You were told not to enter this house again but you came back and didn’t F-ing knock.  You just F-ing walked in full on knowing that this house was owned and you and I know what you wanted to do you F-ing pathetic piece of sh!t.”   The guard begged even more, “Don’t shoot me!”  The confrontation was like an ascension into hell.   “Get the F up you piece of sh!t” Tony demanded.  “If you EVER come back, “I WILL F you over!”  The guard slowly rose up and backed himself up towards the door and he persisted in saying, “Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot!”  Once at the threshold, he quickly turned around and rushed towards the street.

Tony quickly kept up time- in synch with the guard but stopped outside the house, he laughed and said, “I promise to blow out your brains you you mother F-er. Don’t come back!”   His crazed taunting with the scared guardsman was far from over.   Tony  meant to leave an impression and wanted to scare him.  So he aimed the magnum; pointing it towards’ the grass, and released three rounds into the soil-  BAM, BAM, BAM!!!   His rampage was finally over and he turned to me and he released a boisterous and sinful laugh, “The bastard won’t bother you again!”  And as Tony promised, he didn’t.

One memorable Scarface quote that best describes the Tony Montana in My Life is, “I’m Tony Montana! You fuck with me, you fuckin’ with the best! And this cougar isn’t about F with or question her lunatic friend!

 

 
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