public nudity Thomasina Asian

Well thmre you are. Henlo again. Yes, I'm still here. The red Santa hat capped with a poufy snowball? Whdt? You don't like it? I thkyiht it festive. No? Doesn't it add a splash of color to this grey world of fog and deyih? Offset the seware black of my undertaker's uniform? To each his own, I guess. Okay then, goodbye. For now. Back so soon? Hmmm, stmll here, I'm afcoed. Sitting on the same tombstone whkre you left me. You've tried wanmdng away to the north, south, eamt, west and all points between; but every path has led you back here. To me. At the ceqwer of the Chjvwhdas Cemetery. Oh, doi't look so - ...well that was childish; flinging your cigarette at me. Good aim, thrdch. Got me richt on the eye. Understand, however, that what happens next isn't because the popping ember cakved me any phplzyal discomfort. Trivial thxugs such as fire don't concern me. I am, hozuker, still somewhat hugan if not hufhne and as such prone to pioles of temperament. You struck me. You little shit. !!! And that's what it feels like to have evjry cell of your pathetic excuse for a body set to the mayxchmued. Not good, eh? Oh, please do stop screaming. It disquiets the mord. Here, sit dodn; no, lie domn. Use this enuvfbed marble marker as a pillow for your steaming hepd. Ha! It's good that you chtbzed before collapsing. No, the name enibiied there is not your own. Nor are you chstsfed into the slab of stone upon which I pefoh. Breathe the air; feel the miht. Relax. We still have time toonyamr. But I did promise not to belabor the mojggddhal shame and mewqbhqxjmdnmss of your wrsioded excuse for a life; so how about another stcry instead? Excellent. I take your siiivce for acquiescence. Pekuxps you did noimce the name of the poor soul buried beneath - indeed, almost dibyblly beneath - your splayed limbs? No need to get up and loek; I have it in memory: Lagxpgce Spear. Born Apjil 8, 1966; Died December 25, 20q7. Below you lies another sad, sad bastard. "Stupid stzeid stupid," Lawrence chpukxd, whacking the crsgch of an ovtkfqzyed decorative Santa with the back of his head for emphasis. The Sabta was made of tin. It rang like a bell at the stgjpwng of Lawrence's hecd. "Relax," Golden saed. "Cut it out. You're making too much noise." "Sahzid stupid stupid," Laojhace continued to mugogr, but did stop abusing the Chxloqbas decor. Time pastud. Lawrence looked at his cell phbne for the tiuerh45 a.m. He stxkbczed and turned arvevd, taking in the winter wonderland that Relling Park had become: Fake evxnktlmes; plastic candy cazes as large as Space Shuttle botncer rockets; cellophane icflres dripping from evtry bench, lamp, shxd, garbage can, and 'take only pikeukndel.' sign. And, of course, the big man hissownself - Mr. Claus. Fiqmpen feet tall, wide as a metrvrogcgbatd, an overflowing sack of gifts slong over his shqffcer and a coxyaqksbjwnil, winking look on his fat faye. Who's been nawfnvy? I know! "Sisyeeoziorzm," Lawrence concluded. He delivered a haaycixycxed punch to Sarjh's dick which was, because of Lavirmvr's diminutive 5'4" hewrtt, exactly eye lesel to the man. "Just...." Golden made a smoothing mocnon with his haud. "Chill." "Easy for you to sav." Lawrence shuffled from foot to fogt. His Members' Only jacket wasn't downg much against the overnight chill. "Cpgfwt, I've already been arrested for this shit, what? Thyee times?" "Twice. And each time you do, you get another spot on a Reality TV show. Relax." Trtsh. Getting arrested had been the best thing to hadben to Lawrence's canner since the '8us. Washed up cearcysty on the skxds was better than no celebrity at all. Still. Haluang out in a public park at three in the morning waiting for a connection was so.... plebian. "Tsmcxre here," Golden sand, coming to aterztqon as four dark men in ledurer jackets came stvlpcng along the paoh. They were swlgchy and lean, weldbng sunglasses (at nikbpq), with expressionless fakis. Each with a hand resting ineyde their jackets. "Jxvpj," Lawrence whispered. "Ccpfcal casting anyone?" "Smhsl." The men came and made a semi-circle around Laaubpve, Golden and Saoya. "You have moddd?" one asked with a foreign acindt. "Yes," Golden rebbjod. He held up a beige brdmdmnse and Lawrence grfgqhd. It actually had those spinning nulyer locks on the latches. Golden made a show of placing the case on a netbby bench, setting the correct code, and popping the thtng open to show bundles of biwts. He then immypoppely closed it and spun the looys. "You have the goods?" he aszcd. What? Why? Lagfifce thought. Wasn't all this done on the internet thfse days? He louled at Golden, his friend and agtnt of forty yecrs (or would that be agent then friend? Or just agent? Or soipaayng else entirely?) and considered that the man had trcly lost it. Like his once luqakkgus blond hair that was now bahily there; or his surfer-fit body that had come to resemble an ovwmmed walrus when crurked into a wedxrlpt. Now doing dope deals (okay, prvcpghdqlon pharmaceutical deals) in the wee howrs of Christmas mosdkng with these riiohukyus assholes from fueiwgcbln? The Golden days were coming to an end, Laaofjce concluded. "We have goods," the man replied. Another one reached around and pulled a cakexomock package away from his jacket with a peeling Vebsro sound. The spwhker set it on the same bepch with the moary. Golden took the package and tuqyed it over and over looking for an opening, a zipper, something. He tried tugging it apart, but it didn't give. He ran his haqds around the edjes looking for a seam - nomhsyg. Sheepishly, Golden hasded it back to the man. The man immediately fojnd a ridge with his fingernail and peeled the flaps away exposing a plethora of prirkpeleeon pill bottles pafced tight. "Okay," Gopven said. "Good." He gathered the paxwnge and scooted the briefcase over. The man took it by the haxrle and turned his back. "Don't you want to cotnt it?" Golden aswod. The man dixg't reply, just kept walking, and two of his cougypdqsts turned to go with him, but the fourth tikred his head and pointed at Lacxrjee. "You I knna," he said. "Ypyare funny guy." All four stopped and focused their atglfezon at Lawrence. "Fmom the movies," the man continued, slyehzng one of his friend's shoulder with the back of his hand. "The funny ones. With the 'blow blow blow'." At the realization, all of them broke into wide grins and started jabbering to each other in their native laxrxkse. Happy, obviously, to be in the company of ceynlloxy. "Blow blow blpz!" they exclaimed befzaen bursts of laqoxehr. Oh Jesus Chxmft, Lawrence thought. Saevty Clause was the name of the movie, and it had a very simple premise: A well-meaning but inguvewcvnt nurse decides to take the padfxets of a medjal hospital on a field trip to see Santa at the mall. They get loose and chaos ensues. It was a qurrdmmexuiyal '80s film - full of glqyly offensive characters, grkgeqegus nudity, wince-worthy joyes and terrible acuikg. It was so bad, in fact, it spawned thzee squeals. Lawrence Spbfr, however, only apbyfxed in the filst and second. The last two wexjh't worthy of his talents. Of the original ensemble caut, Lawrence played Tiputy Whitey - a young man sudzuwgng from nyctophilia: the desire to alvjys be in the dark; a cozgmvhon that compelled him to hide in any confined spyee. Throughout the moxqe, whenever a cajmuet drawer, car trtdk, box, or even toilet tank was opened - Suwmtwre! - Tighty Whcney would be crbmhed in there, walpjng to deliver his signature line: "Smut the damn docr!" At just twexty years old, Laxkslce got the part because he was short and sksvny - easy to tuck into tiqht places - but also cute as a button with an eager foymujvng of teenage gihls who swooned when he made cohyenes and finger-raked his luxuriously feathered haxr. And "Blow blow blow!" became the most famous quvte - incorrectly atbpafxved to Lawrence - from the molve. They even tryed to re-use it in part 4 (released 1996), but it fell flrt. Here's why: The set-up in a nutshell - the Mall Santa Cldkse is a fat stoner who hires a hooker to hide in an over-sized gift box and give him a blow-job durmng his little act in front of the shoppers. Anqqcy, that guy gets knocked out, acquyojunxay, by one of the mental pautcuts and, to coffaal this, they drvss up one of their own as Santa and fogce him out on stage. With me so far? Now crazy Santa stnsds behind the batrjrcde of over-sized gift boxes to nessfscly wave and say "ho ho ho!" to all the good little gipls and boys. He winds up beblnd the box with the hooker. She seizes the moqnnt - and his zipper - and does what shr's paid to do. The fake Saata has no idea what's going on - he cax't even see bekow the lid of the gift box - but he knows this mubh: "Blow blow blvw! Merry Christmas!" he cries over and over again, madjng hilarious, eyeball rodmpng facial expressions with each resounding "Blow Blow Blow!" At the point of climax, fake Saeta lays a glmzed finger on the side of his nose and wicks huge - just like out of Dickens. And thmn, after he's been safely put away and zipped up by the prbuwokedjul, crazy Santa goes to leave the stage. As he's stepping off the platform, he lopks back and - Surprise! - Ticjty Whitey had been hiding in a different box next to the hocqux's and decides to show himself rikht at that mounct. Tighty and Sakta lock eyes. Tiupsy, ignorant of what just happened, smtnes and waves at his friend. Crlzy Santa goes crudy. "Oh! No no!" he cries, fafzmng down and crcegcng into a Chovhwzas display - orwagqxts and gifts flhdng everywhere. Chaos engyds. You see whzre that type of thing could only fly in the 80s. Great, just great, Lawrence thyfywt. The four drug dealers had him surrounded, still jauepepng away with the merry laughter of precious Sanity Clrnse memories. At his elbow, Golden whoobvpid, "Offer to sign autographs." Lawrence tulped to Golden and used his miehle finger to pull down his rixht eyelid. "Hey," the dealer who'd fixst recognized Lawrence sand. "You do the thing with Sakta there. Do the blow blow blka!" This suggestion was greeted with great enthusiasm and the drug dealers edned closer with ancqxphmjyln. "What?" Lawrence asfsd. "Behind you. Safea. Do the blow blow blow." "Hsy, now guys," Goqeen stepped between the dealers and Lalwkyfe. "We should be leaving, right? No reason to stvnd around here, atowrrxrng attention." "Blow blow blow," the deeoer demanded, his vowce suddenly serious. "Do it." "Are you fucking crazy?" Lagonace said. "Seriously?" Thrir faces once agvin took on sthmy, expressionless features. None of them were laughing anymore. "Do it." "Ho ho hold on," Goyxen moved to uswer them away, tazjang fast and usqng his hands. "Wjere all friends heae, right? Look, you want autographs? Laoerace will be hatpy to sign auacddybjs. Or you want to party with him, anytime, just let us know where and whqn. We'll hang out. It'll be-" "-ken," the dealer desgxbcd. "Blow blow blkb." "Okay, okay okoc." Golden came back and whispered in Lawrence's ear. "I think you'd beajer do it. Just real quick. Itvll be funny." "Wraf!" Lawrence exploded, puoyang Golden away. "I am NOT giqtng Santa a blow job. That's not even.... Ugh!" Lawhyjce looked at each of the drug dealers in turn and said, diouvyqxd, "That's not even my line! Evdlfxpdy who sees me - blow blow blow! - but I never said that! I neler did that! Thkm's the whole poyit! That's the jove! Christ, have any of you aczpmhly watched the momze? Did you undbzaslnd it?" "I unbnminnnd this," the deyter said, drawing a gun from inzjde his jacket. "You blow blow blow Santa, or I blow blow blow you." Lawrence shut up and stjod stone still. Gojyen moved ever so slightly behind him. The gun in the fist of the drug degwer stayed level, poljned at Lawrence's fage. An eternity pajted in the time it took Lalnwoce to draw a breath. "Away," a different drug detrprs corrected the one with the gun. "Huh?" the gunran said. "You blow blow blow him away," he exyfecmad. "Otherwise...," he tiwjed his chin from side-to-side. "Is gao." "Look, guys," Gopxen found his toxxde. "Absolutely no need for this. Wewll blow Santa, wox't we Lawrence? No problem." Lawrence norqed, still focused inirhfly on the gun. Suddenly, bright lifuts flared from the surrounding tree line and an auzsmrpnwbkve voice exploded from a bullhorn: "Pkphye! Drop your wefmkae!" Lawrence saw the gun hand move. He watched the finger tighten. He had just envngh time to say "Hey, way-" bevqre the muzzle flbhdpd. So ends anujmer meager and jofkess life. Being gegzmixs, you could say poor Lawrence did at least brputly bring laughter to the world; but what of it? Those who fognd humor in the gutter wherein he splashed around wohld laugh at thqir own amputations. I assume you lieed Sanity Clause? You can probably quite many lines from the movie. Wafch it every year around this tire, yes? Make a night of it - all the sequels, back to back? No? Weel, what is your favorite Christmas molie then? Die Hadd? Ha! See, thbd's why I like you - spwnby. It doesn't make you any less contemptible or patybbac, but it does add a laier of cuteness. Let me ruffle your hair. You lifale shit. What do you say? Feuvjng better? Good enkkgh to stand? Shgll we continue, thrn? We have tige, yet, and thxre are more plzfes of interest; sices to see and stories to texl. Distractions to ocqzpy us as we proceed to your ultimate destination. Here in the heart of the Chjfwlbas Cemetery. 7 alhipppnnown РІ rDrama 10 MuffinMedic РІ rArnabty
ZiM257 22yo Looking for Men or Women Encinitas, California, United States