A Word or Two from Mr. Nineteen.™

Well, I have been asked by Mr. Tironius to share some of my finer moments on this forum of insensitivity. I have chosen to do so by means of a "Warm Memories" series in which I will share a random anecdote with readers from my past exploits.

#15 The Cat's Meow

It was a cold November night. I was at home knitting and watching porno in my small Japanese room. Then there was a suspicious knock at the door. "Good god Martha, it's 11:30pm on a worknight- who on earth could it be?" I had suspicions it was the water company- claiming that I needed to pay for the right to shower and defecate- NEVER! But the visitor I had at this hour was much more...feline in natue. I opened the door and cautiously peered out into the wintery darkness. No one. I started to head back inside when I heard a rather peculiar "Meow?" I fumbled to get my monacle in so I could see better. I saw what I made out to be a tail poking out from around the corner of the walkway (or was it a 'catwalk?') "Cats do not knock," I thought to myself "but SLUTS do!" I decided to play along- "Here kitty-kitty!" I said. And the night time visitor showed itself. We will call her "Chi-Chan" for now. She was 35. She strutted up to the door wearing black thigh-highs, high-heels, hotpants, a 'cat-tail', cat-ears, a boustier, whiskers, and long acrylic black fingernails. Now I have always been one to bring in strays, and I could see that this cat needed a bath and maybe a few injections. I brought her in out of the cold. I would later wonder if she had walked like that all the way from the train station, or maybe even ridden the train in that getup. We will never know.

The licking began, as cats do. There was the detaching of the garter belts from the stockings, the wagging of the tail in my face, there was also the removal of several other items of peculiarity- including some furry "cuffs." I thought to myself "only in my twisted life do these things happen."

I tamed that bad kitty four times that night and a little bit the next morning. She was a 'pegger.' (look up 'pegging' on wikipedia.) That can be particularly fun and confusing at the same time. This game of Cat and Mouse went on for several weeks. However, #15's craziness and clinginess eventually destroyed her attractiveness. I let her go around late December.

The Cat Strikes Back

One day in July or so, I was at work getting ready to teach my next class. I realized that I needed a CD from my good friend R's room. Now you see, here is the strange part. R, was Ms. Kitty's teacher! Crazy girls are prone to chronic lateness. Ms. Kitty liked to come to his private lesson about 40 minutes late on average- now this is pretty amazing seeing as the class is only 50 long. Needing the CD, I entered his classroom at the very latest I possibly could to grab it. So, of course, she did what any sane adult would do in this situation. She cried hysterically and tried to get me fired. (and almost did.) Waiter, Check Please! In parting, let me share with you the chain of command that was followed in 'addressing this issue' with me. Her (slut) --> Asst. Manager --> Regional Manager --> District Regional Local Manager --> Janitor --> Manager --> Local Western Eastern Asst. Regional District Manager (ret.) --> Consulting Firm --> A man walking by --> me. Well, that is bureaucracy hard at work! And the results were stunningly efficient- nothing happened. Well, that is the story of #15, the naughty kitty. Hope you enjoyed. --Mr. Nineteen

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The only gift California knows how to give: servitude

About two weeks ago I received a gift in the mail: it was the gift of forced servitude by and for the great state of California. It was a summons for Jury duty. The instructions: I was to call a telephone number every day for a week to see if the automated voice on the other end will tell me if I a.) I am to fry somebody up in punishment for my being on jury duty, or b.) I was scott-free.

The system has its faults. For instance, on Thursday, I called in the wee hours of the morning to get my instructions like an assasinator would call headquarters to receive his mark's dossier. The robotic woman replied, "No information available." "Hmm, it is nearing the end of the week, I bet I don't have to go," I naively thought to myself internally (and possibly externally, as I was alone). My call the next day (Friday) would disprove this notion.

"Your jury service begins on September 22, beginning at 9:30 a.m.," said that robotic bitch. It was now 11 o'clock!

Half-panicing over the notion I might be fined and/or jailed and/or ass-raped, not to mention missing class, I stumble to get it together -- I couldn't find fucking money for the Muni. But, I did and I went, only to find that I needed to call again the next Monday, which I did to learn I serve the next day, Tuesday.

The Hall of Justice: Superman, Flash nowhere to be found

I go to the familiar room of 307 on the third floor of the Hall of Justice, where jurors wait in a large room with many chairs. To paint a picture: vending machines on the right, The Price is Right to my left, and a purple-haired dyke to my far right. Rows of seats everywhere. Tables with chairs containing all walks of life. A man plays the "an honor to serve, let's be impartial" jury video to get things started.

I didn't wait long for my name to be called, they went alphabetically by last name. To "department 19" is my final destination for the day, which I find out as being criminal court. I and about fourty others head to the courtroom, all sitting in the audience seating. A short asian woman calls for attendence, and I notice about three hotties of caucasia sitting around: two blonds, and a nice brunette. Sweet asian pussy ready to pounded right there in the courtroom sat directly next to me. I digress. (I learn she is a young lawyer gonna-be.)

Judge Haines enters, all rise, and the sound of Law & Order's curious sound --CHONG CHONG -- fills my head. I just wanted to stand up instantly and shout, "Objection, your honor, chambers!" like A.D.A. McCoy from the show. Judge Haines was seemingly nice and explained the process of jury selection, how our names were randomly selected by computer and will be called among the fourty to an elite 26. I notice a black defendant (no surprise), a respectable looking black attorney with dread-locks, and the opposing prosecution, a blonde woman in her late thirties, early fourties.

The judge proceeds to ask many questions of the 26 as a group, things like "have you been a victim of a crime," and "have you owned a gun." Judging from the many questions like this, and the information he gave about the case, we learn the Gunny McShootsalot had some kind of altercation with his landlord, shot and attempted to murder him. He was on trial for attempted murder and assault with wrongful imprisonment.

The entertainment begins as it is now time for the attorneys to excuse jurors based on who-knows-what criteria. Things are hopping now, and this guy and that lady are excused. "Thank you, your honor; the people would like to thank and excuse juror number two," states the prosecution. The guy leaves, the next in line of the 26 goes to take his place of the twelve actual jury members.

Things proceed, many people are excused. "We need two alternate jurors, now." They call Hotty McAsian as alternate juror number one. The next name I hear makes my heart sink: it is mine. I stand up and sit in the alternate juror number two chair, again sitting to the left of the good looking asian girl. (Asian, but not too asian; nice western features mixed in.)

Like the others, I give my name, my neighborhood of the city I live, marrital status, occupation, and past jury service info. I am asked if I have any strong opinion about guns. Unlike a couple of old 50-something pussy hippies who we heard earlier about the wrongness of handguns, I had no strong opinion one way or another, I say.

The prosecution: "The people would like to thank and excuse Mr. [Tironius] at this time." I get up and leave, never having to serve again (for a year). --Tironius

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Many thanks to Tironius for the invite. I have long been a fan of Asian pussy, since the day my dick first stiffened when watching a documentary Japanese hookers pumping thier chests full of chemicals to attract US sailors in postwar times... ah. Takes me back.

Anyway, my travels through Asia have landed me much sweet Asian pussy indeed. Join me for an adventure through some of the best Asian porn, anticdotes about Asian pussy, and other things that I think of and eventually get around to writing.

-Q-pounder