Posts Tagged ‘husband’

Howl of the Hyenas

June 9, 2012

Hyenas are canine-like animals that hunt in packs and are known as skilled hunters and opportunistic scavengers. They are widely considered to be vile creatures that feed on babies and will attack whatever weak prey they can find. Just recently I have discovered that the hyena species has evolved into a new form, a human one.

Anyone who has ever been down to Carlsbad is familiar with the term cougar. It is used for a woman over thirty-five who is interested in dating men who are at least seven years younger than them. There is nothing wrong with that, but young men beware. That older woman who just bought you a jager bomb and is now fondling your junk might not be the friendly cougar you pegged her for. Be wary, because she might a Human Female Hyena and the rest of her pack could be circling you from the shadows.

Much like their animal counterpart Human Female Hyenas are always on the lookout for an opportunity to scavenge a kill. By last call at a lot of bars scattered all across the country if a Human Female Hyena has yet to make a kill their desperation to receive some younger dick reaches a frightening level. They prowl the bar looking for the easiest prey. The drunker and lonelier looking the guy the higher the chance that they will be attacked.

From a distance or in a dimly lit establishment a lot of Human Female Hyenas look fairly attractive. It is likely that in their younger days before pregnancy, divorce, alcohol and random dick turned them into raging bitches that they were at least somewhat sexy. This is why so many young, drunk and horny men are easily lured back to the den of the Human Female Hyena, a vicious skankdom littered with cobwebs, KY and broken promises. Once the dim light of the bar goes out and the allure of the alcohol wears off the Human Female Hyenas true form is revealed. As the morning light seeps into the den most victims upon seeing what lies next to them flee as quickly as possible.

In the wild Hyenas are prone to cannibalistic tendencies and in some instances have been known to eat other Hyenas young. Human Female Hyenas aren’t quite that extreme but they will turn on the pack if they believe it will help them make a kill. I have witnessed two Human Female Hyenas square off in an attempt to seduce a male target. It normally will begin with a who can be the sluttiest dancer contest. If the potential victim buys these Human Female Hyenas enough shots the duel usually escalates to hand jobs in the men’s room. The end result is a Human Female Hyena fight that can only be broken up by the most elite of door guys. According to someone much younger than me videos of these Human Female Hyena fights are all the rage on YouTube.

In some scenarios Human Female Hyenas are married but do not allow their wedding vows to get in the way of prowling the town for some strange. Be aware that married Human Female Hyenas are the most aggressive and putrid version of their species. As they enter a room it becomes filled with the stench of untreated vaginal diseases and vodka red bulls. The jukebox is usually their first stop where they pump the machine full of songs their kids listen to and then scream as each new song begins to play. Dancing ensues and if no young men approach them they begin to grind on whatever random guy is in their near vicinity.

I have been observing a particular pack of married Human Female Hyenas and have been disturbed with my findings. They seem to be a more desperate version of their species making them all the more dangerous. I have witnessed one in an attempt at seduction tell one of my fellow researchers that she wanted to take him to the alleyway out back and “lick his face.” Clearly this Human Female Hyena was so removed from society that she had forgotten what would even pass for a proper come on.

Several nights later while observing the same Human Female Hyenas I was approached by what looked like the leader of the pack. She fell on her way in and blamed her shoes. Based on the state of the pack it was clear this was not the first bar they’d skanked with their presence that evening. The leader, who is usually the best looking but is always the craziest bitch of the bunch ordered an ice water in an attempt to maintain her sobriety long enough to complete a kill. As she drank it she watched the rest of her pack who had found a group of nerds they could easily prey upon.

“Look at those sluts. All those bitches over there are married,” she said as she stared at me. “Isn’t that disgusting?”

I nodded and looked at the pack. Two of them were already making out with guys. I looked back at the leader. She was staring at me. I tried to avoid eye contact as best as I could. I noticed she was wearing a wedding ring. She put her water down and took my hand into hers. She began to caress it.

“You hate my husband.”

She was staring intently into my eyes as she said this.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I said, you hate my husband.”

“Mam, I don’t believe I know your husband.”

She leaned in closer to me.

“I hate my husband more than you do.”

I pulled back feeling a trap being set. She continued to stare at me when suddenly the song on the jukebox changed. She screamed and ran over to her pack to go grind a helpless nerd. I was able to slip away into the shadows unharmed.

I was one of the lucky ones, but I fear that I am in the minority. This cross breed of hyenas and women are a cunning bunch and are not to be taken lightly. Beware of packs of half attractive older woman rubbing up on any young man available because if you’re not careful you might end up back in the den without protection, and a Human Female Hyena may just fuck you for life.

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Tony D., East Vista, CA. GULPU

April 28, 2012

A husband and wife walk into the bar. He is a fifty year old wearing a Hawaiian shirt half buttoned and she is homely and half his age. She is pushing a stroller with their child inside it. Most bars aren’t kid friendly, but since our establishment is both a restaurant and a pub we encourage families to be comfortable there. In fact a lot of our regulars bring in their sweet, well-mannered and well-behaved children all the time and not only do we as employees embrace them but other customers do as well.

This is why when this man strolled up with his kid and his darts no one really thought much of it. He approaches the bar. After waiting less than a minute he grows impatient and begins waving his cash in the air. I walk over to him.

“Jack and Coke. And whatever she wants,” he says.

He points over his shoulder at the woman he walked in with who is frantically trying to find a safer place than a crowded dart room in a busy pub for her to store her child. As she does she dodges darts until she finally finds a safe corner for her kid and her to sit. She begins to order, but does so in what sounded like German. She spoke as if she expected me to understand her. I stopped her finally and began to respond in English. She held up her finger and waved it in my face before turning and calling for the man in the Hawaiian shirt. He was playing darts so it took a minute to get his attention. She waved him over. He leaned on the bar, annoyed.

“I said a Jack and Coke.”

“Right, what is she having?” I asked pointing at his wife.

He nodded.

“Vodka Tonic. Make it the cheap stuff.”

I made their drinks and by the time I returned he was back to playing darts. I placed the drinks in front of the foreigner and told her it was nine dollars. She stared blankly at me. I motioned money with my fingers and she finally got it pulling out a twenty. I gave her some change which she pocketed.

Then the crying began. It started out quietly and brief, but slowly transformed into the sound of a constant scream. It was the kid. I scanned the bar and received annoyed looks from my happy hour regulars. The screaming stopped but continued to ring in my ears for several seconds longer. The guy returns with an empty glass.

“I don’t think there was any whiskey in that drink so make this one a double,” he says as he waves his money in my face.

I pull out a glass and a shot glass. I measure the drink to exactly two ounces and top it off with coke. He pays without tipping.

“Do you guys have any snacks? She’s hungry,” he says as he nods to his mail order bride.

I slide him a menu. He slides it back.

“No, no, I meant like peanuts or crackers or something.”

“No we do not, sir.”

“What kind of restaurant is this?”

He goes back to playing darts. I serve some other people when out of the corner of my eye I see him standing halfway in the doorway to the kitchen. I rush over and find him harassing the kitchen staff for soup crackers which unfortunately they give to him. I inform the man he is not to be bothering the kitchen and he walks away without acknowledging me.

I return to the bar and see that his wife is dousing the soup crackers in Tabasco sauce and shoving them down her throat. The screaming begins again shortly after that. The mother tries to console the child but to no avail. The father keeps playing darts not even looking over at her or the child. He returns to the bar and orders another double. I inform him that it would be appreciated if he could get the kid to stop screaming. He shrugs me off and returns to the dart board again without leaving a tip.

The screaming stops and everyone sitting at the bar and those sitting in the section of tables to the left of the dartboard release a collective sigh of relief to be free from the piercing sound of an angry child. He orders another double without tipping. Five minutes later the screaming starts right back up. The mother has since given up and stares blankly off into space while the father never acknowledges either one of them.

This happened every Friday for a month straight. It was to the point that customers were complaining about the noise. Both parents had been warned every week, but finally it became too much to bare. I was forced to walk out from behind the bar, pull the man to the side and inform him that his five year old child was 86ed from the establishment. He looked shocked. He glanced over at his screaming child briefly before turning back to me.

“If they wait out front can I stay?”

After fighting off the urge to call Child Protective Services I sent the whole fucked up family packing and thankfully have not seen them since.


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