Drama had been pumping me up for some time about his hot, guido, entourage from Brooklyn coming to LA for a weekend getaway.
Him: You’re gonna end up fucking all my friends I know it. You’ll love me for it I promise.
Me: *getting super hot at the thought of fist-pumping, pelvic thrusting fake baked Italian men rubbing up against me all weekend while drugs, strobe lights, and house music encompassed our fuck-fests* Oh my God, Drama, don’t FUCK WITH ME! It’s been so long since I got laid man… *almost choking back tears at the thought of nobody having dived face first into my muff since M&M*
Drama: Jay, there’s fuckin 8 of em comin…I promise you one if not all will definitely fuck you.
Me: *beaming at such a thought* Yaaaaaay best weekend everrrr!!!!!
Drama: So Matt B. will definitely fuck you whenever you go back to Jersey and whenever he comes out here and he’ll treat you right, Jon will fuck you whenever you go back to Jersey and definitely treat you right over there, and Cousin Ron will fuck you this weekend. Personally, I think Matt B’s your best bet.
Me: *delighted at the options* Ok, but who’s the hottest, Drama?
Drama: *rolling his eyes* Cousin Ron is…but he’s not really in our tight inner circle and I really want my boys to get play.
Me: *hand on chin now contemplating intently and eventually deducing quite intellectually* Hmm…I just may have to fuck them all then.
Drama: Good it’s settled and set then; I’ll let my boys know you’re a sure thing. You’re such a doll *flashing an endearing smile*
How I do love my psuedo-husband/Hollywood pimp. Having rented out a mansion at Mount Olympus in the Hollywood Hills for the weekend, Drama and I got to the house earlier in the afternoon to situate the drugs, booze, and surround-sound system before the boys arrived (set up the lines of powder in the powder room, make sure there’s toilet paper out for all the bitches, and dance in place alone by ourselves as we WOO HOO! for the weekend ahead). A couple hours after, the shuttle pulled up. The following scene can be likened to a reality-series mash-up between The Jersey Shore and The Bachelor: Eight Italian-mafioso guido fuckers all donning aviator sunglasses stepping down off the shuttle bus one by one in slow motion with fog emitting from the door as a melodic BOOM BOOM BOOM bass pumped in the background (or did my newly waxed vagina excitedly just type those last two descriptions in herself? Talented little thing she is…). Drama was right about Cousin Ron, as my clitoris beat with excitement at my first glance of him. Oh it’s on.
Sunny, Angel, and Mirage eventually showed up to the pool party later on, all of which refused to strut around in a bikini due to their ill-conceived notions of the SUPPOSED fact that they were all too fucking fat to be seen half-nakedly by the naked eye. Prude ass hoes. Nothing’s worse than having friends who aren’t as slutty as you; it means having to wrestle with all that dick yourself, both figuratively and literally. Fuck it I’m yacked out enough as it is and somebody’s gotta do it. I, on the other hand, made a purposeful point to don my new black brazilian bikini, leaving absolutely everything on my body completely and utterly exposed besides my nipples and butt crack; now that would just be very unclassy on my part.
At one point in the party, I found the three girls all huddled up around Drama, thoroughly engrossed in a heated debate:
The Three Bitches Taking Turns: You know you wanna fuck Jayla! Just say it! She’s hot and you guys are “friends”?! Come on!
Drama: Yeah she’s hot but do I wanna fuck her? NO! I wanna fuck her about as badly as I wanna fuck Matt B.
The Three Bitches Taking Turns: OK but guys and girls can’t be friends and not fuck! You know you wanna fuck her just say it! SAY IT!! LOOK AT HER AND TELL US YOU DON’T WANNA FUCK HER!!!
As I pass by the four of them, I demand that men and women who do fuck each other and state they’re friends are definitely NOT friends, you silly silly hoes you. In that moment I feel myself getting SNATCHED up into these big, hard, tanning-oiled up arms and THROWN into the air over a shoulder. Now being held over his shoulder, Cousin Ron simply states, “You and I are NOT friends, baby,” as he carries me into the house and up the stairs into the bedroom as I think to myself, *In Harry Met Sally inner voice* “YES!! YESS!!! YESSSS!!!!!! YESSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” ……..
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