From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Wed Sep 22 12:49:43 1999 Message-ID: <37E940E7.4B1A33A2@newsfeeds.com> Date: Wed, 22 Sep 1999 16:49:43 -0400 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.61 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt 1) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=iso-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 22 Sep 1999 15:49:49 -0500, 208.218.94.5 Lines: 143 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: news.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: news.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:58860 To the collected masses: I've been a lurker for a while now, and thrown a few posts into the AT hopper. Now it's time for a more serious effort. For my introduction to you, I am planning a series of posts spotlighting one of the more tasteless periods of my life. In coming months, I will acquaint you with some of the cast of characters I met while toiling for the betterment of mankind in a mental health center. Although I didn't know it then, I came to realize I was simply a misguided yoot, full of the idealism of the 60's and copious amounts of Really Good Drugs. Although I failed to change the world, I did give myself a hell of a lot of good stories. The fledgling tastelessness I had cultivated in college matured in this environment. I hope that like me, you will revel in the humor inherent in the plight of these dregs of humanity. The sad truth for me is that my fond memories of these pieces of human excrement are all I have to show for the years of utopian endeavor I wasted there. So, dig in dear reader and enjoy! To help you understand the context of these character sketches let me tell you about Flint, in the early 1970's. A Midwestern manufacturing town about 65 miles NNW of downtown Detroit, Flint had a long, proud history of working class dominance dating well back through the previous century. When I moved there, the city population was nearly 130,000 and the county held perhaps 200,000 more citizens. Flint was, among other things, birthplace of the UAW, site of the famous sit-down strike, and home to Grand Funk Railroad. Union sentiments ran deep in this town, usually to the exclusion of any reasonable dialogue on the merits of any issue bearing on the auto industry or politics. You were a shop rat, or management. Black or white, there was no compromise on this issue. Speaking of black and white, Flint, long full of deep racial divisions, had been populated largely by a steady stream of southern ŽmigrŽs, both blacks and whites. These folks had brought their beliefs and biases with them, giving Flint a decidedly southern flavor. Education, never a prime value here, was noticeably lower among those of the Negroid persuasion, leading to higher unemployment rates. By the early 70's, this area boasted a 30% unemployment rate among the brothers. It would later shoot to 45%. A black yoot between the ages of 18 and 25 had a one in four chance of being shot in any given year. He had a better chance of getting shot than getting a job. In its heyday, this town, pre- and post- WWII, had provided muscle and backbone for the industrial Rust Belt. In the process, however, Flint had thoroughly prostrated itself at the feet of GM. When GM built their big plants there, they weaseled tax abatements to last through 1999. The city agreed to that because the workers lived in the city, and their residential property tax provided lots of revenue. White flight to surrounding communities in the 60's seriously eroded the flow of revenues into city coffers, however, and conditions in the city declined rapidly. By 1970, it was readily evident that Flint was in for a good reaming by GM. The 50-year-old factories and the high priced, heavily unionized labor were all the reason a fat cat company like GM needed to get the hell out of Dodge. See Michael Moore's "Roger and Me" and you'll understand. A gritty town, Flint showed little evidence of anything but working class culture. Almost no theater, one art gallery, the rare independent cinema, just factory workers, bars and strip joints. Drinking was clearly the social activity of choice, and there were lots of watering holes in which to waste ones time and money. I played music to supplement my income (saving society don't pay shit) and provide some creative outlet, so the number of bars was a godsend to the likes of me. The bars provided not only a steady income stream, but also a steady stream of bar chicks. Granted they were tough as nails, but they were just as prone to excesses of alcohol and drugs as I was. This meant, of course, they were generally lacking in inhibitions at the end of the night. Fucktoys such as these made pleasant but minor distractions in an otherwise grim and monotonous existence. The price the city had paid for sleeping with GM was etched into the faces of the inhabitants there. It showed in the once impressive downtown area, replete with majestic, albeit rundown deserted buildings and brick paved streets. It was apparent in the crowded, decaying neighborhoods. It was evident in the racial tension as the competition for jobs tightened. It lay in the environmental devastation of industrial chemical dumps sprinkled around the county. It was especially visible in the massive social services complex needed to care for the indigent, unemployed, retarded and mentally ill. The mental health agency I worked for was a premiere agency in the State at that time. The State Department of Mental Health had chosen to pilot a number of programs there. Our budgets were healthy because of that. Also, the administrative leaders of the agency had figured a way to bilk the State out of astonishing amounts of money to fund its excesses. Check this scheme out. They took the rent given them by the state agency every month, laundered it through a dummy corporation, and then donated the proceeds back to themselves. They then claimed the money was locally generated, therefore, it was eligible for a 9:1 match from the state agency. Slick, eh? In the time I worked there they clusterfucked the taxpayers of Michigan out of $18-19 million. The head of the local agency was an inscrutable Chinese MD who had visions of elected office dancing in his head. He appointed himself Kommisar, er, make that Commissioner of Mental Health, clearly a Very Important Person par excellence. He imported a colleague/friend from Taiwan to serve as the lead psychiatrist. This guy was abso-fucking-lutely laughable. He couldn't speak English. I don't mean he spoke poor English, or heavily accented English. He just couldn't speak the native tongue of the patients he was charged with treating. At a whopping 5'2" he couldn't see over the hood of the Olds Delta 88 he drove, and eventually ran down a patient in the parking lot (accidentally, of course). He was extensively trained in the ancient art of acupuncture; however, he had no exposure to mental health or psychiatry. The agency was largely staffed with recent college grads (this was everybody's first professional job). Being young and inexperienced, the staff was prone to the excesses of youth: substance abuse, fucking each other, and fucking the patients. I hope this adequately sets the scene for you to enjoy my "Crazy Daze" series. Next Installment: We get down to business with "Jim" Jeff "The new kid" Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Thu Sep 23 06:13:55 1999 Message-ID: <37EA35A3.F08BB69D@newsfeeds.com> Date: Thu, 23 Sep 1999 10:13:55 -0400 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.61 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt.2) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 23 Sep 1999 09:13:58 -0500, 208.218.94.5 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Lines: 130 Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!newspump.monmouth.com!newspeer.monmouth.com!dispose.news.demon.net!demon!newsfeed.tli.de!newscore.gigabell.net!newscore.ipf.de!bignews.mediaways.net!newshub.bart.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: news.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:58954 Jim Jim was one of the most charming defects of nature I dealt with during my tenure at Community Mental Health. Jim was in his mid forties at the time, balding, average height and weight, but, born with a problem in one leg, leaving a six-inch difference in leg lengths. Needless to say, Jim displayed an interesting gait as he gimped his way around town. Jim had been a resident of the mental health hospital for many years (probably since adolescence), and had only been released into the community during the "gee, it's cheaper to house them in the community" frenzy of the 70's. He had been a resident of Flint when he was committed to the big house, so he was released back there, in spite of having no living relatives there anymore. With regard to his mental illness, Jim was unremarkable. Probably hearing voices, doubtless suffering delusions, shy and soft-spoken, Jim was nothing special from a clinical perspective. He took his meds, and he said a few goofy things, but mostly he kept to himself grinning at the mischief he could stir up. While in institution he had picked up a number of annoying, albeit, amusing proclivities. Almost bereft of any social skills, Jim was a loner who preferred to wander the streets of Flint from sun up to sundown. Although Jim attended the treatment at our charming downtown mental health facility, he often headed out onto the streets for more serious entertainment. Now, Jim's unusual locomotion was visually arresting, and he was certain to catch the attention of passersby, but Jim's real strength was his ability to gross out most onlookers at will. It was this characteristic which caused the erstwhile citizens of Flint who recognized him to cross the street to avoid contact with him. Often, I watched in awe, as he would catch the eye of an oncoming pedestrian, place a finger on one nostril, blow whatever snot he could muster down the front of his shirt, then stop in front of the stranger to beg for a smoke or money. His timing was impeccable, so there was usually residue of snot remaining on his nose, that last strand of mucous fluid which slowly jiggled to a stop when he halted his forward motion. After softly asking for a smoke or money, Jim would cap his performance off with his trademark gap-toothed grin, which showed his remaining teeth in all their yellow/brown stained glory. Another satisfied customer! Jim's favorite targets were older women who were dressed well and had a "proper" or "genteel" look about them. As Jim stood in front of them, usually close enough to invade their personal space thoroughly, his snot-encrusted beard, mustache and shirt dangerously close to touching them, he would beam with pride at his "catch of the day". Another of Jim's favorites was dumpster diving in the trash baskets on the light poles. Flint had invested in metal trash baskets which had a bracket welded on one side that allowed attachment to a pole via large clamps. There were two or three per block in the downtown area. I would occasionally watch Jim as he gimped down the street, checking each receptacle in turn for discarded soda bottles/cans, smoking materials e.g. cigarette or cigar butts, and foodstuffs. The soda bottles/cans were stashed in a coat pocket, or pants pocket in the warmer months. Good for a 10-cent deposit, he treated them as prizes. Unfortunately, he often forgot to make sure they were entirely empty before he stuck them in his pockets, resulting in more than one wet dribble down his pants or coat. If he had found a beer container, however, he would drain it eagerly before putting it away. And yes, he had picked up beer bottles with urine in them, and no, they didn't faze him much. Any cigarette or cigar butts he found were immediately smoked if he didn't have a lit smoke in his mouth at the time. If he was puffing on a butt at the time, he'd merely pop his treasure into his shirt pocket file cabinet for later use.. Of course, his search for smokables was ongoing and not confined to just trash containers. Often Jim would be fortunate enough to pick up a still-lit butt dropped from a passing car or by a pedestrian. He would consume these still-lit butts a la Cheech or Chong sucking a roach down to nothing. The complementary burns and stains on his fingers stood mute testimony to his avid desire to get the last from each glub-given tobacco hit provided him. The true highlight was when Jim found an item of food. Upon digging it out, he would stuff it in his mouth and, glub willing there would be a victim for him to approach. He seemed to delight at their queasy reaction to watching him scarf down a sandwich scrap from the trash. I've witnessed him mutter something along the lines of "Tastes good" to his victim, as he walked past with crumbs of discarded trash food in his beard. Jim came to our program for a long while and was good for numerous "gross out" adventures. He didn't belong in our program, however. He was eventually transferred to a program for the chronic population, and I would only occasionally see him in the downtown area. In the intervening time, the city of Flint had acquired a block grant to fix up the downtown, and had built a park along the grimy river that flowed downtown. There were various paved walkways, benches and reflecting pools which the city engineers had constructed, seemingly for the benefit of the indigent and gangs who hung out there. One of the last times I remember seeing Jim was on a lunchtime walk through the park. It was one of those beautiful early spring days, so I took a nice leisurely walk after eating. As I rounded a blind corner to head back up a long ramp structure, I encountered Jim, sitting on a bench, wanking furiously, eyes closed. I sensed he wasn't aware of my presence yet, and I tried to exit, stage left, as noiselessly as I could. Unfortunately, my shoe scraped a pebble on the sidewalk, and from the corner of my vision, I saw Jim's eyes jerk open. He recognized me immediately and greeted me in a soft voice. I turned back to face him, more slowly this time, and to my dismay he hadn't seen fit to let go of his member and was still working it over furiously. I returned a hasty acknowledgement, spun around, and had made it all of 15 feet when I heard him sigh his way through his greasy climax. Damn! As much as I had tried not to be one of his dupes, I was forced to admit that he had gotten me. I had just become another one of his gross out victims. Next: Ed -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Thu Sep 30 14:04:54 1999 Message-ID: <37F3DE85.BD0282C0@newsfeeds.com> Date: Thu, 30 Sep 1999 18:04:54 -0400 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.61 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 3) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 30 Sep 1999 17:04:52 -0500, 208.218.94.5 Lines: 122 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:184557 Continuing on with the crazy street scum of 1970's Flint allow me to present: Ed Ed was another of the downtown crazies we had in our program. Ed had been institutionalized in his late teens, and he was profoundly unable to cope with life on his own. He had one of the more interesting male bodies I've had the privilege to see. He was perhaps 5'8" and weighed nearly 400. His weight was distributed like a ball around his midsection. I'm reminded, upon reflection, of the Wimpy character in the Popeye cartoons of the 30's and 40's. Ed also had gynecomastia and sported a couple of "D cups". I'm sure his weren't caused by smoking pot, BTW. Ed always wore old polyester pants cinched with a belt at what would have been his waistline. Since his trousers were worn below the point of his greatest circumference, and didn't seem to cut into the pudge appreciably, I always marveled at them not falling down. His pants were always tight, and I think they helped mold the flab into its basic ball shape. Ed kept his hair closely cropped in a "flattop" cut, and he had an extremely hirsute brow. You know the look; a continuous band of fuzz across his brow, as though a large woolly caterpillar had come to rest there. The flatness of his haircut emphasized the roundness of his countenance, the fly-away, "open taxicab doors" ears were just a bonus. Ed had been burned on one hand while in the institution, and as a result several fingers on that that hand were fused together in a claw shape. He generally kept long nails on those fingers, which served to emphasize the talon-like appearance of that hand. He had a nasty fixation with his claw fingers and he picked his nose and ears obsessively with them. He wiped the products of his explorations on his pants, so every day he wore the delicious green, brown and red decorations of a dedicated nasal spelunker and ear geologist. I used to enjoy watching him responding to a student nurse who'd screwed up her courage to ask him about his life. He'd then tell them about his "problem" picking his nose and ears, and how he knew he shouldn't do it, but he couldn't help himself. After he continued on about how he picked his nose until it bled every day, and that he often got infections in his ears from his unsanitary habits, the little darlins' were usually lamenting their woeful decision to ask an open-ended question such as that. Ed usually got rid of the little nuisances in short order. Ed's major contribution to tastelessness was his obsession with toilets, butt tape and paper towels. Ed could choke a shitter with the volume of his feces alone, but he had a significant compulsion to use all the bog paper cleaning his expansive ass up. In addition he would then turn to his ritualistic hand cleaning. Instead of putting the many sheets of brown folded paper towel in the waste can, he'd drop all the spent paper towels in the crapper to cover the frightful mess he'd left behind. In all, Ed would generally leave enough shit and paper to bring the water level up three or four inches. It was only then that he would flush. I'll bet you all can figure what the result of that was. My solution to his mess making was simple enough; he had to clean it up. He quickly lost interest in his game after that, and he shifted to "plan B". In this scenario he went to the restaurants in downtown Flint and performed his "choke the crapper" routine. After a few experiences with him, the managers/owners of said restaurants knew him well enough to chase him out on sight. His sniveling, coddling parents called me once to complain that I was treating Ed unfairly. After I invited them to come down and clean up after him, they shut up. A visually captivating sight, Ed walked in a head forward, arm swinging controlled charge, sort of a mobile ball on a stick, perpetually falling forward, but never falling down. Ed would gather all the momentum his weight would allow, and attempt to plow through crowds of people on the sidewalks. Ever the gentleman, Ed would say "Excuse me", "Pardon me", "Oops", "Sorry" as he mowed down the citizenry. If one or two citizens looked askance at him he'd shrug and offer up "I can't help it, I'm crazy" as an excuse. After encountering enough resistance, however, he would snap, and start swearing like a sailor at the people around him. Most people instinctively knew to back off. The ones who took affront at his behavior and stood their ground were greeted with his best impression of a crazed bull moose. Ed left our program with a real flair. He got into a physical conflict with another patient. She was a small black woman with a pathological inability to keep from saying whatever came to mind. If she thought something, she said it. That's just how she worked. This day we were on an outing to a local park. The patients were less closely supervised than usual. Apparently, she had been nattering on about this and that for some time, when he told her to shut her "fucking black mouth". Of course, she couldn't let that go without scolding him about his racist attitude. My first indication of trouble was some other patients squawking about a fight. By the time I got there, Ed was sitting astride her chest with his full weight. He had gotten a choke hold around her throat, and was beating her head on the ground. Even though she had a dark skin tone, I could see that her lips and tongue were blue. Another staff member arrived at the same time, and together we hauled Ed's lard ass off her, but she had grown uncharacteristically quiet and limp. After getting her to the hospital and running tests, the doctors confirmed she was comatose. The long and short of it was that between the lack of air and a closed head injury, she suffered enough brain damage to render her a veggie for life. I had the grim pleasure of testifying at his assault trial, and watched wistfully as they took him away in manacles and leg chains. He was on his way to the state forensic psychiatric hospital for his treatment/sentence. Aye, definitely a mad dog, that one. Next: Rita -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Mon Oct 04 12:28:48 1999 Message-ID: <37F90DFF.22EF1A8D@newsfeeds.com> Date: Mon, 04 Oct 1999 16:28:48 -0400 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.61 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze ( Pt 4) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 4 Oct 1999 15:28:36 -0500, 208.218.94.5 Lines: 136 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:184848 Back with another installment of the most charming kooks you've had the pleasure to meet. Rita Rita is a more complex figure to describe than the others. Rita, at the time I knew her was an 18-year-old street waif. But what a waif she was. She was short, slender, and attractive in a plain, "girl next door" way. If she had the money and inclination she could have been quite attractive, indeed. Hard, flat belly, which she showed off at every opportunity, and with no provocation. Sandy blonde hair most often pulled into a ponytail, adding to her already youthful appearance. Rita had large blue eyes, eyes the color of a pale summer sky, and yet eyes which were as vacant as they were alluring. Her best feature, or should I say features, were the large breasts which burst forth on her chest, ripe in their adolescent perfection. Large and firm, Rita's sumptuous bust was the envy of several of the female staff in the program, and precious wank fuel for most of the male patients. Rita was a girl of modest intellectual means, and her emotional state was such that she often didn't participate in the allegedly shared reality around her. She truly didn't belong in the treatment program we had. Most of the other patients were schizophrenic, and she was definitely not schizophrenic. She had a detached and self-absorbed way about her which seemed more autistic. Although she was generally aloof, she had a limited number of people with whom she had spontaneous and close relationships. For the most part, her profound detachment lent a robotic, "stiff" air to her personality. A clue for the uninitiated is in order at this point in our story. Severe mental health problems are generally not associated with beauty. Psychoses tend to divert people from taking care of themselves. Voices echoing desultory and degrading commentary in one's ear are truly anathema to self-care. Delusions cloud a person's perceptions and actions. Psychotropic medications often cause physical discomforts, which inhibit one's desire to exercise. Some seem to cause various skin eruptions and rashes, others cause stiffness and many cause dry mouth. For these reasons, and more, there is a drastic shortage of good-looking people in the mental health system. Those that come along are leered at, and set upon by the rest of the population in a most ugly manner. Rita was afforded the most slavering treatment I've witnessed outside a strip club. Rita was my patient, and as such I had individual sessions with her daily. Before you, dear reader, project yourself into this story, and fantasize about how you would use, abuse and otherwise make pleasure out of work, I must caution that this *really* wasn't the time or place for such play. This was a teaching mental health center, and as such, was full of one-way glass and a steady stream of observers. I didn't want to find myself in the unenviable position of losing not only my livelihood, but my license to practice in one fell swoop. Controlling my desires (I was in my late 20's at the time) was tough enough. She would further complicate my discomfort by spending her individual sessions talking about how she wanted to become a whore. Her aspirations were to move to Las Vegas and be the "best prostitute in the world". She would talk at length about how she wanted to learn how to do women, how to handle threesomes, foursomes and more, how to fellate multiple partner's etc. Her other big topic of concern was the Neanderthal she lived with and hated. She would go into some detail about how she "made him" fuck her in the ass most of the time, because she thought of that as punishment for him. I wonder if he thought it was punishment. All of this talk coming from a wide-eyed little girl who looked 12-13. This was killing me softly. Rita stopped attending our little program on her own, but periodically would wander by to say hi. About 2-3 months after she left the program I had decided to quit and return to grad school. I was pleasantly surprised that she had found out I was leaving, and stopped in to ask me out to lunch. Well, I wisely chose to make our date for after my last day of work, because my fantasies had been suppressed for long enough. I met her at a prearranged time and place, and she suggested Mickey D's for grub. Now that I felt free of the obligation to be "professional" (please no legal opinion wanted/needed) I countered with rustling up lunch at my house. We went to my house, and upon arriving I muttered something about smoking a doobie. That sounded fine to her, and as I was twisting one up she told me proudly that she had done it with another woman. Then she told me that one thing that held her back from being a perfect whore was that she still didn't like guys cumming in her mouth. Man, I was over the edge by then. After we burned the joint, we wandered into the kitchen, popped open a couple of beers, and I whipped up some food. After lunch I suavely suggested a spot of sex, since she always had talked about it and all. She said she would enjoy that, so we retired to the bedroom. Our clothes were quickly shed, and my eager cock was in her mouth and then in her pussy in what seemed like a minute. That's when it finally dawned on me that she had become exactly what she wanted - a hooker. But, instead of being the "classy" call-girl type of prostitute she had aspired toward, however, she had become a common street whore. She was just a girl servicing the dregs of humanity who crawled the sidewalks of the ghettos and barrios of Flint. On her back for any clown who could rustle up a few bucks, or a sandwich and a joint in my case. She had been working the streets all morning; I was probably her tenth man of the day. Being a street whore, she didn't clean up between customers. I can't even begin to describe how the slime in her cooze felt. The closest I can get is that I felt as though I was fucking a cup full of warm lumpy pudding. The most memorable part of the experience was after I came, when it came time to pull my dick out. As I extracted myself, I managed to pull a healthy dollop of cumslime out with me which then slid greasily from my quickly wilting manhood onto my bedspread, a final present from her to me. "Shit", I thought to myself, "now I have to waste the afternoon washing the bedspread so the wife doesn't see it." So much for pleasure. Next: Babs Jeff "it's just crazy) Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Thu Oct 14 13:26:14 1999 Message-ID: <38064A76.9654FD66@newsfeeds.com> Date: Thu, 14 Oct 1999 17:26:14 -0400 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.61 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt.5) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 14 Oct 1999 16:25:30 -0500, 208.218.94.5 Lines: 126 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:185465 This gal was really special. She whacked one of my co-workers right over the head with a 20lb. purse. No reason. Just did it. She was pretty far gone. Enjoy! Babs Barbara, (Babs) was a fairly young and almost attractive woman in our mental health circus. She attended for six months, or so. Born and raised in Flint, she moved to the Great Northwet after marrying Prince Charming at 18. Apparently Prince Charming was neither a prince, nor was he charming. He apparently spoke to her with his fists as often as with his mouth, and his vocabulary was somewhat limited. And when he spoke with his mouth, the words that slithered out were contemptible and vicious. Everyone in the kingdom knew early on that Babs did not have The Good Life in the Great Northwet with Prince Charming. Soon, Babs found the secret to living with Prince Charming. She simply bid a fond farewell to reality, that great shared commonality we've all come to know and avoid. With that first step, Babs fearfully set out upon what would turn into her personal journey through Hell. At first Babs was afraid of her new found strategy and kept one foot in the door of reality. Her connection to the world of shared concerns was fragile, however, and when Prince Charming started talking, she found it easier and easier to wander into the arms of her Good Place. After a few years she found it much less complicated to stay in her Good Place most of the time. Now, Prince Charming found it tedious that his helpmeet was no longer sharing the magnificent world he had given her. Since he had brought her to his palatial apartments in the city by the Sound, he believed she should remain steadfastly at his side. But she spent so much of her time in her Good Place, that she wasn't of much use to him. Her increasingly tenuous grasp on things real was becoming too much work for him. Thinking that he might, in fact, be done with her, he invited her to stay in Another Place - any Another Place. So alone and befuddled, Babs wandered the streets of her new hometown. Of course, Babs was already in her Good Place, but since her Good Place wasn't tangible, she had to find somewhere to go. One of the citizens of the Great Northwet grew concerned about the scary lady on her street, so she called for help, and when help came in the form of the Knights in Blue. They tried to talk to Babs, but since Babs was in her Good Place, they didn't get any answers, or at least any that made sense. So then they took Babs away, and found her a place to stay. Babs called it the Bad Place. The Bad Place was a dirty gritty ward in a dingy hospital in the Great Northwet. When Babs realized where she had gone, she tried to return to her Good Place, but the people in the Bad Place had given her evil potions which made it hard for her to get there. "Oh! Those crummy people", Babs thought, "Why have they done this to me? Whatever shall I do?" Then after some time, through the fog and mist Babs saw her salvation. "Papa? Mumsy? Is that you?" Yes, it was true! Daddy Dearest and Suckling Sow were there. There to rescue Babs from her personal Hell that had erupted in the Great Northwet. And so, it came to pass that Babs moved back to Flint, MI armpit of the Midwest. And, that's how Babs came to me. Babs was so floridly crazy so as to be entirely unable to speak a coherent sentence. Her thoughts scattered as winnowed grain in the drying winds. I rarely felt sorry for patients, but Babs evoked a rush of pity from me. Her mental disorganization was as profound as any I have seen, and as such, she was simultaneously at the mercy of, but also totally insulated from those around her. If someone were to approach her with the intent to cause her harm, Babs could very likely frighten the perpetrator away because of her confusion and disarray. She also could be just as likely to hit them blindsided, probably while saying thank you, because that was how disorganized she was. Babs had a disturbing effect on those she encountered, due to her scrambled thoughts. For her to conduct even the simplest transaction was an arduous job. She had so little capacity to express herself, and often the listener was another patient, who had their own confusion. For her to deal with "normals" on the street was an adventure in parallel universes. The simple action of bumming a cigarette and light from someone on the street could easily become a twenty-minute encounter, during which the word cigarette is never mentioned. Her parents at least loved her, and would tolerate this obfuscation; others had varying degrees of patience for her convoluted manner. Many times she left puzzled looks and a wake of fear behind her in her travels through downtown Flint. Daddy Dearest and the Suckling Sow were in their later years, however, and all the love and compassion couldn't compensate for the work and worry Babs caused them. They eventually had to talk to the wise judge in the Court of Probate. He decided for them to send Babs to another, Another Place. This Another Place was a Big Bad Place, one at which a thousand Babs lived. Our story ends with Babs locked in the Big Bad Place, this one in the magical kingdom of Michigan. Doctors and nurses plied her with potions, sometimes against her will. Babs was getting tired of fighting to get to her Good Place. She was tired of the grim life around her, which she saw when she visited from her Good Place. Every day she grew more pale, wan and weary. She grew so tired that one day, after a rousing game of gang rape with some of the boys in the Big Bad Place, she took all the nice colored pills she had managed to secret away, and found the way to her Good Place forever. Next: Sam Jeff "who gets the thorazine?" Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Tue Oct 19 12:13:29 1999 Message-ID: <380CD0E9.ACA16BD2@newsfeeds.com> Date: Tue, 19 Oct 1999 16:13:29 -0400 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.61 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt 6) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 19 Oct 1999 15:12:35 -0500, 208.218.94.5 Lines: 133 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.nacamar.de!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed2.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:185724 Back again with another crazy person for you. This guy was one of the more frightening characters I met. He gave me great cause to fear for my safety, and yet so much entertainment at the same time. Enjoy! Sam Sam was another one of those "more complex characters" I encountered in Day Treatment. When I first met Sam, he was in his early twenties and unlike the typical "garden-variety" schizophrenic he was superficially well organized in his thoughts. His appearance didn't hint at the crazy thoughts in his mind. In his recent past, Sam had been the drummer in a rock 'n roll band in high school. He knew the boys in Grand Funk Railroad personally. His older brother had started a company producing guitar and bass amplifiers, which had achieved a degree of notoriety in the Midwest, and even out to the left coast. Sam ran in rarified circles of fame and prominence in the rock 'n roll scene in Flint. And Sam looked the part. He had waist length hair and suitably hip clothing. Whenever humanly possible he went shirtless to reinforce the rebellious rock 'n roll image. Many of the women on the staff thought he was an attractive young man. He was bright, and somehow he'd kept himself together long enough to complete a hypnotherapy course and become a certified hypnotherapist. It was funny to watch him trying to hypnotize the other patients in the program. Unfortunately, Sam had a wild and extensive paranoid delusional system which interfered with his ability to handle most of the everyday responsibilities of life. At various times, he believed he was with the CIA, FBI, or one of several other top-secret spy organizations. Other times, he believed he was the victim of a CIA or KGB campaign to harm, or discredit him. He had myriad permutations of these basic themes, but one feature of his delusions was constant: Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac was his lover and partner in crime in his twisted relations with the CIA. He considered all of Ms. Nicks' lyrics and public utterances to be messages to him. He based most of his day to day decisions and activities on those messages. Like most delusions, this one started out as a relatively harmless belief. But, like kudzu, little crazy thoughts grow wildly, and soon he started calling, writing and trying to visit Ms. Nicks at her home. Then he started following Fleetwood Mac to concerts around the country. Sam was in full stalk mode by this time. His intense manner and flights into delusion-land were more than a bit scary to those around him. Apparently, since his stalking Ms. Nicks had crossed state lines, the FBI was pulled into the investigation of young Sam. Because of his delusional nature, he immediately began to incorporate them into his crazy thinking. So, although it was true that the FBI was out to get him, he thought it was because of his CIA "job" not because he was stalking someone. Oh, what a tangled web. What I haven't told you yet is that Sam was incredibly violent at times. He'd been taken to jail and to the loony bin several times for attacking family and friends. Another detail of his life I haven't shared is that he was an expert marksman. He had a veritable arsenal of weaponry and even in his rages, he maintained control over his mastery of them. He'd shot up the home of his last therapist (they didn't tell me that until much later) while the poor guy's family cowered on the floor. Although he hadn't killed anyone, this made him very scary. Nobody wanted to be his first. I had been assigned Sam when I first started working at the agency, you know, give him to the greenhorn. Sadly, for me, he had taken to showing up at the doorsteps of those assigned to help him carrying weapons, spewing threats and foul language at 3 AM. He was at my door within two weeks of his being assigned to me. His first visit to my abode came at an early morning hour. He was pounding on the front door of my townhouse while yelling obscenities at me. I stumbled down the stairs and opened the door to the sight of Sam, shirtless, aiming a rifle at my chest. At several points during this encounter, he shouldered his weapon as if to fire it at me. Aside from gurgling noises coming from my mouth, the only other noise I could produce was a soft "plopping" as turds trickled out of my boxers. Eventually, I was able to talk him into putting the weapon down and leaving, but his visit was a harbinger of things to come. He did this at least five more times and at one point, he launched a phone campaign against me. Repetitive obscene and threatening phone calls day and night for days on end. Fortunately for me, he made such a pest of himself at my townhouse that the management booted my ass out for disturbing the neighbors. That solved my problem of his knowing where I lived. The good news is that Sam was eventually shipped off to the loony bin and he forgot about me. The bad news is that he continued to become more delusional and aggressive. He came through our program several times after my first experience with him, but he never again focused his craziness on me directly. Near the end of my tenure in the mental health system, I had him back as a patient and he was very crazy. I received word one morning, from the State Police, that Sam had been murdered. He had been seen hitch hiking on one of the freeways, and several motorists had called the State Police reporting strange behavior. By this time in his life, he'd become an overweight, longhaired and unwashed scum with a big fuzzy beard. He looked like a big mean biker. He'd been observed on all fours, face to the ground. An actual biker had stopped to render assistance to what he thought was a fellow biker. As he approached, he found that Sam was on all fours because he was eating ants from an anthill on the shoulder of the road. When the biker tried to convince him to stop, Sam screamed, leapt to his feet and attacked. The surprised biker made it back to his bike and pulled a pistol from his saddlebag, then shot Sam to death. The subsequent investigation found that the biker had fired in self-defense, and so he was freed. Justice was served that day. Next: Deanna Jeff "ants in my pants" Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Tue Oct 26 14:26:51 1999 Message-ID: <38162AAB.ACE1E563@newsfeeds.com> Date: Tue, 26 Oct 1999 18:26:51 -0400 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.61 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt.7) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 26 Oct 1999 17:25:46 -0500, 208.218.94.5 Lines: 150 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:186170 Hi All: This one's a "must read" for anyone who gets as great a laugh out of the physically and mentally infirm as I do. She was a real fiesty little bitch who gave me several months of entertainment before drifting on away. BTW, I will be putting these stories out on a website in the near future. I Will throw the hURL your way when I do. Deanna Deanna was another of the characters I had the great fortune to know in the mental health wars of the 70's. Deanna was in her mid-30's at the time I met her. She had been a resident of a state institution since early adolescence, and had been was released to the community in the "great back hall clearing" of the times. Deanna had been severely epileptic since early childhood, and that was the reason for her being in institution. Her seizures were pretty well controlled by meds at this point in her life, but she had suffered irreversible brain changes from her epilepsy. Compound this with a life spent in mental institutions, most of that time spent in an institution for 'tards, and you can only imagine how screwed up this woman was. When Deanna first came to us from the institution, she tried her level best to be a "ward pet". She was cooperative, helpful, and would rat out the other patients in the program at a moment's notice. She was assigned to me, so I thought to myself that first day, "That's cool. This one won't be too much work." Little did I know what I was in for. Deanna was a wiry thin woman and she looked fairly normal. Well, OK she dressed institutionally, you know old clothes that don't match, but, hey, Flint was a gritty town, lots of po' folk dressed that way. She did had some strange speech mannerisms, however. Where normal people stick an "er", "um" or "ya know" in their speech, she would insert "all the more" or "donchasee". So far, nothing too weird. Deanna had a strong belief, verging on a delusion, that if people just understood our laws, and obeyed them, there would be no problems in our society. She called it "law therapy". In some ways she was the mental health equivalent of Rodney King - "CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?" Deanna had arrived at this universal answer to societal problems while studying behavior at the 'tard farm, and she had written all of her elected officials about her ideas. Of course, they all sent back the polite responses, you know the type, "Thanks for your interest in the political process...your ideas are interesting...keep on writing...vote for me...blah, blah, blah." To her, these letters were real evidence of the soundness of her crazy ideas, "all the more, donchasee". As mentioned earlier, this harmless appearing little woman was soon to become the terror of my days. Like many people in the mental health system, life is a series of episodes of profound disorganization interspersed between periods of relative calm and the appearance of being able to function, however marginally. At some point in time, Deanna realized I was not was not as supportive of "law therapy" as she thought I should be. Based on this single belief, she quickly flip-flopped from "ward pet", to worst enemy, one intent on making my life a living hell. It was a very personal vendetta for her. She was bent on destroying my credibility among the patients. She was also interested in breaking, stealing or damaging my personal property. It started slowly with little confrontations in front of the other patients in the program. It escalated to talking with, no, make that talking _at_ me, loudly and accusingly. She then began urging other patients to join her personal rebellion. Then, she appointed herself spokesperson for all of the other patients and began arguing with every word I uttered. Several days later she escalated to pissing into a coffee cup and dumping it into a plant on my desk. A week or so later she caught me with a cup of hot coffee in the chest (only some quick reactions kept it from landing in her intended target - my face). Finally, she blew out onto the streets, and decided it was time to get our local senator, Don Riegle involved. Hey, y'all remember Riegle, one of the Keating Five don't you? He was involved in the coverup of the snatch and grab of billions of dollars skinned off of those old milkshakes through the S & L's She repeatedly crashed into his local office demanding that he use all of the powers at his disposal to get me fired. He was in Washington, or at least there was the pretense of him being in Washington, I suspect he was on one of his usual junkets as a cover for his immense propensity for philandering. Of course his local office staff could make little sense of her ravings, and were more than a little frightened of her. When they coaxed my name from her, I was immediately summoned to their office suite. In all, I spent significant time there attempting to calm Deanna and get her out of their hair. Of course, by the time she was darkening their doorstep, Deanna was cursing like a truck driver, and occasionally exposing her skinny little twat to passersby on the street. The complaints about her were mounting by the moment. This pattern kept up for several months, only varying in intensity from day to day. Calls from the police, the senator's office, the local university, library and city government offices came in almost daily. She wasn't crazy enough to return to the big house, but she sure made my life a living hell for a while. Deanna later got referred to the "holding tank" program our agency developed to handle those chronic cases. She met and married the man of her dreams, a young fellow (also epileptic) who was just about as rigid as she, with his own pet of delusions to nurture. He wore a uniform of all white, causing him to be mistaken for an ice cream vendor or painter. I'm happy to report that I did reap some benefit from all of this, in the form of shagging the receptionist at Riegle's office. She was a cute young thing (from what I saw of his staff, Don had a taste for young, nubile tail), had a real randy streak, and eventually became the Honorable Mrs. Riegle (3rd or 4th, I believe). That, then, qualifies me as a "sexual social climber", once removed. Or something like that. Thanks, Deanna. Speaking of sex, I often imagined the wild sex Deanna and her hubby could have by discontinuing their anti-epileptic meds for a couple of days. Can't you picture the uncontrolled chaos of simultaneous grand mal climaxes? Imagine, two naked spindly bodies, limbs intertwined, twitching and spasming unchecked, eyes rolled back so that only the whites show, a delicate white wisp of foam at the corner of the mouth, tongues bitten in two, and, of course, the sweet nothings whispered into a lovers ear. "Unnnnnnnnngh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh-gh." "ohhhhh, m-m-m-m-m-m-m, ahhhhhhhhhhh, ungh-gh-gh-gh,ooooooooo,ah-ah-ahah." Jeff "whole lot 'o shakin' goin' on" Justin Next: Dan -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Sun Oct 31 16:06:12 1999 Message-ID: <381CD974.62DEA334@newsfeeds.com> Date: Sun, 31 Oct 1999 19:06:12 -0500 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.02 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (pt. 8) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 216.40.144.68 X-Trace: 31 Oct 1999 18:08:39 -0600, 216.40.144.68 Lines: 140 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!newsfeed.yosemite.net!newspeer1.nac.net!news-FFM2.ecrc.net!fu-berlin.de!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!news.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!216.40.144.68 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:186661 Hi All: All the talk about "Darwins" recently makes this piece a timely one. It describes a perfect retro Darwin in action in the ghetto. My favorite kind, actually (in the ghetto, that is). Dan Dan was a large and athletically built young black man, and in this instance, I mean BLACK man. His skin was that shiny ebony color one occasionally encounters in African Americans. Dan's African heritage was evident in his features as well with his large lips and broad nose. But looks are not the reason Dan is included in this series. No, Dan was a very unique young man. He was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, although he wasn't screamingly deficient mentally. I'd guess his full-scale IQ came in at 90 to 95, which although a dim bulb, the light was in no way too dim to see. The fun part of Dan's presence was that he acted like a four or five-year-old, except he was 6'4" and weighed perhaps 225. Being a child, he had extremely poor impulse control. More often than not, he would say or do whatever popped into his mind. The program I worked in had a structured schedule of activities to help the patients develop a habit of structure. One of the activities was a patient government meeting. The patients would elect a slate of "officers" to run the meeting which was held each afternoon before they went home. It was one of the more laughable things we did there, because it was so elementary and aimed at a grade school level mentality. A group of thirty schizophrenics has a great deal of difficulty managing any business. The staff of the program had to guide the discussion and ensure that the group didn't make gross errors in behavior. By that, I mean things like spending their collective money on pot or something like that. Shit, the staff would have had to intervent and get the pot for ourselves. Dan was so poorly controlled that it was literally hell for him to sit through this meeting each day. Like the hyperactive kid that he was, he'd fidget and move around in his seat to the great discomfort of those around him. On occasion he'd just absolutely lose control and burst out laughing, or impulsively yell out his contribution to the discussion. One afternoon I was seated on one side of the room in which we held the meeting and Dan was seated at the back of the room. He was especially fidgety that day and he looked very mischievous. Suddenly, Dan sprang out of his chair landing several feet away, crouched like a frog. He proceeded to hop his way out of the room making a loud "ribbet, ribbet" sound. The impact on the rest of the group was immediate. The laughter at his actions was instantaneous and uproarious. Dan proceeded to hop like this out of the door which was all the way across the room from where he started. But this was small stuff, minor amusement for Dan. Dan was capable of much greater havoc. With his lack of self-control, you can well imagine how many fights he got into with other patients. It was a constant struggle to keep him from impulsively striking out at any and everybody, except the staff. He didn't threaten staff because he saw us as the parents in the equation of his life and mustered up whatever control he had around us. Dan also struggled mightily with his burgeoning sexuality, being about 18 years old. Of course with his poor impulse control, he had his dick out of his pants and in his hands more times than any of us on the staff could count. A high anxiety level increased his masturbatory frequency substantially. Dan was not deterred from wanking by the presence of other people, and of course, he was especially prone to doing this when any remotely attractive female came into his field of view. Believe me when I say that having student nurses around was hard for Dan, in many ways. He saw nothing wrong with spanking his monkey while engaged in a card game or while standing in the hallway. Oh, and by the way, Dan was one of those blacks who contributed to the stereotype that blacks have bigger units. His was a fair sized chunk o'man meat. Of course, this always excited the ladies and a couple of the men, so there was always a bit of a fuss when Dan did his stroke thing. While he was with us, Dan grew from a mental age of 4-5 to a mental age of 10-11. Unfortunately, his progress through treatment came to a rather abrupt halt one weekend. Dan had gone home from his group living home for a visit with his sainted mother, the woman who had kept him confused and dependent, frozen in his development for fifteen years. Dan was her only child, and therefore her pride and joy. While at his mother's house he had gone out on the front porch to take part in the street life in one of Flint's poorest neighborhoods. While out there, a neighbor yelled something Dan judged to be an insult of some sort. Believing he'd been "disrespected", Dan took immediate and impulsive action. He leapt off the porch and onto the young fellow as he ran away. Dan's knee caught the unsuspecting lad in the upper back, right beneath his head. The coroner wasn't sure whether the blow to the back or the resulting collision with the ground did the damage, but his spine and spinal cord were both severed. Apparently, the young fellow died quickly, if not immediately. Unfortunately, that death didn't keep Dan from continuing to attack. He sat astride the dead boy beating him with his fists. The police were summoned, but before they could reach the scene, the recently alive youth's brother/cousin/friend fetched his handgun. He strode purposefully up to Dan and executed him with a single revolver shot to the side of the head at point blank range. Dan's mom had witnessed this whole chain of events from her porch, and was screaming at the top of her lungs at the youth who had shot her recently alive son. The youth must have decided a retroactive Darwin was possible, and he turned the gun on mom and gave her a terminal case of lead poisoning. The police arrived from the gendarmerie just after the fun was over, and found three recently alive human husks in the front yard. No perp in sight and a decided lack of witnesses. And so that was the end of Dan's emotional growth. Next: Steve Jeff "Dan, Dan, he's our man..." Justin ObT: As I age I find myself thinking more frequently about grabbing some of the 14 and 15 year old pussy that goes out "Trick or Treat"ing. They do a trick, it's my treat, and all's well with the world. -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Mon Nov 08 14:54:11 1999 Message-ID: <38275493.15B462F4@newsfeeds.com> Date: Mon, 08 Nov 1999 17:54:11 -0500 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.7 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 9) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.218.94.5 X-Trace: 8 Nov 1999 16:52:35 -0600, 208.218.94.5 Lines: 139 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!newspump.monmouth.com!newspeer.monmouth.com!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed3.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!208.218.94.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:187316 Hi All: Back from the land of the trying-to-die (the hospital) minus a couple of small tumors which I didn't need anyway. Not really a lot of tastelessness to report, but that's a story for another day. Feelin' fit as a fiddle (whatever the fuck that means, or ever meant), full of piss and vineagar (same comment), and rarin' to go. Time to get back in the saddle with the Crazy Daze series. The following fellow was a mystery to me until he...well, you'll find out soon enough. Enjoy another story from the trenches of the mental health wars, where going over the top really meant something. Jeff "sir jury" Justin Steve Steve was a personal favorite of mine. Not because his thinking was bizarre, not because he was deformed. Not because he dressed in an unusual manner. Absolutely not. The truth be told, he was a plain looking fellow with nondescript features. 5'10", 175 pounds, brown eyes, brown hair, no distinguishing scars. Straight average. In many ways, Steve was much like a chameleon. He blended in with his surroundings. He didn't do it consciously, it was a natural occurrence that imposed itself on him. Have you ever met someone such as this? They were the one that came to your last party with someone you invited, and the next day you couldn't remember a name, what they looked like, or how they were dressed. If this fellow robbed your 7 - 11 you'd have a tough time picking him out of a lineup. To look at him, talk to him, read his life history you would quickly come to the same conclusion. Plain white bread. There was absolutely nothing that made him stand out. But Steve, well, there was something that made him special for me. Of all of the patients I met, he was unique because he was the only one who seemed to know the answer, and have a plan. Steve graduated high school with average grades. Steve had never held a job other than a paper route or cutting grass/shoveling snow. Steve was not hostile toward others, he was not friendly toward others, Steve co-existed with others, with no real attachment. I never saw Steve angry, nor did I ever see him happy, he was always "OK". He rarely initiated interactions with others, and yet he was not withdrawn or reclusive. Steve was an only child whose parent's divorced when he was young. His dad was in another state, and Steve saw him infrequently. His mom was local, but hadn't been involved in his life since his teens. Steve spent most of his free time watching TV. I knew this because he lived with three other fellows from our program. They told me he was quiet and spent most of his time channel surfing. When he was in our program he spent most of his time drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Oh, sure he'd play cards and chat with people, but most of the time he was an observer rather than a participant. In spite of the fact that Steve had been sent to the State Psychiatric Hospital for a 90-day stay, even the court papers detailing why he was sent there were remarkably unremarkable. In Michigan people may be committed to the State Psychiatric Hospital if a Probate Court judge can be convinced that he or she is a.) dangerous to self, or b.) dangerous to others, or c.) unable to care for self. Steve was sent there because his mother complained that he wasn't doing anything, therefore he was unable to care for himself. She hired an expensive attorney, and she convinced the judge and the mental health system doctors that he was far worse off than their own observations would lead them to believe. He certainly wasn't the first person railroaded into the loony bin, and won't be the last. From a social perspective, Steve was a waste of space and oxygen. From an economic perspective, he was a net drain on the system. From an intellectual perspective, Steve was "space for rent". From an artistic perspective, Steve's soul was Steve was as useless as tits on a snake. He had no original ideas, nor did he have the desire to contribute toward his, or others, betterment. He had no purpose, direction or focus. Steve was a slug - plain and simple. He was an inert boil on the ass of life. A slothful repository of fluids and tissues assembled into a facsimile of a human life. God ventured nothing on this life, and there was no gain as a result. Steve was as close to zero as a human could come. I say almost, because Steve was so insignificant he couldn't amount to something as momentous as zero. I have nothing tasteless to report about Steve, simply because he did so little, he was so average, there just wasn't anything to report. I know he had to have bowel movements. I know he had to urinate. I assume he vomited sometimes. I guess he masturbated on occasion. There just was never any indication of these potentially tasteless activities. So why write about this guy? Remember, gentle reader, Steve had a plan. He must have known something that most people don't. Steve must have known the secret of life. Steve was that fucking guru on top of the Himalayan peak. You all remember the scenario. You journey for weeks to get to the foot of the mountain, spend another few weeks climbing the mountain. You endure hardship after hardship. When you finally reach the top, you ask the little guru sitting up there "Master, what is the secret of life?", and the little fellow tells you "Life is like a beanstalk...isn't it?". Well I didn't have to journey to the Himalaya. I didn't need to suffer through horrendous trials. I had this guy right in Flint, and this guy had single-handedly figured out the secret of life. He actually held the secret of life in his hands. What was really amazing to me was that not only did Steve have the secret, but in an uncharacteristic move, he actually shared his secret with a few others. One night back at the apartment after treatment, the four roommates had cooked dinner and everyone had eaten. The dishes were piled in the sink to be done later. The guys were kicked back in the living room relaxing, watching TV. Suddenly, Steve produced a handgun, fired off three quick shots, striking each of his roomies in the head, then turned the gun on his own head. All four were dead by the time the neighbors got there. No arguments, no raised voices, no drugs or alcohol. Nothing was out of order, except the four dead guys. See? I told ya'. Steve had a plan. Next: Janet -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Sat Nov 20 13:35:53 1999 Message-ID: <38371439.37E6049F@newsfeeds.com> Date: Sat, 20 Nov 1999 16:35:53 -0500 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.02 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 10) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 216.40.145.13 X-Trace: 20 Nov 1999 15:37:51 -0600, 216.40.145.13 Lines: 147 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!newspump.monmouth.com!newspeer.monmouth.com!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!news.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!216.40.145.13 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:188478 Hi All: Back at it posting the misery of the dregs of society - the mentally ill. The gal outlined in the story below was the life of the party for a while. Then she became a real party-pooper. Although, I will give her credit, she had a particularly tasteless ending. Enjoy! Janet Janet was the bitch goddess of our smarmy little treatment program for over two years. Janet expressed her emotions in a greatly exaggerated way. You know the type - when she was angry, she was really angry, when she was pouty, she was really pouty, and when she was happy, it was scary. I suppose lay people could mistake this for multiple personalities, but really she was just hysterical. Physically, Janet was homely. She had probably never been pretty. But then, maybe I just lack imagination. I can't picture her ever being attractive to any man. Wide, wide hips provided support and structure for her massive butt, a masterwork of lumpy cottage cheese flesh. When she wore her stylish, tight 3/4 length clam-diggers, her ass looked for all the world like two pigs fighting in a gunny sack as she walked away from you. Follow, if you will, the line of her tree trunk thick thighs, down to her massive calves and end at her piano-leg ankles. One can only imagine the stinking heap of woman flesh buried between the sloppy massiveness of her thighs, hidden in the depths of her crotch. In spite of the heaviness of her lower half, from her waist up Janet was normally proportioned. A pair of 32 B's skulked on her chest, hiding as if embarrassed by her mammoth lower frame. Her body was so mismatched as to make one think she had been designed by committee, and the members couldn't agree about the purpose of the product, so they put together their individual contributions without regard for what the others had done. Janet had an equally homely face. Maybe not the proverbial "face that made a train take a dirt road" ugly, but unattractive nonetheless. Her enlarged pores and a steady parade of angry purple zits across her pasty white face provided the perfect backdrop for her deep red lipstick and hollow blue eyes highlighted by the dark semi-circular bags beneath them. Her dark hairy eyebrows matched the faint, yet dark fuzz of her sideburns. A discernibly mustachioed upper lip completed the decoration. Her face was framed nicely by her "pubic hair curly" brown tresses flecked with the occasional touch of gray. As far as being crazy, Janet was definitely not the worst of our group. Her illness, or lifestyle choice for those Doubting Thomases out there, involved massive doses of self-pity tied to major episodes of histrionic behavior. Drama surrounded her like the aura of cheap perfume on a street whore. Her long painful journey through life began with a Mommy who told her she was no better than the crust of feces on the outhouse walls. Her Daddy added to the party by discovering his offspring's tender bits by the time she was 7, and using them frequently. Sounds like he read Dr. Spock doesn't it? Uniquely twisted by the time she reached high school, she conned the class "most likely to snap while killing gooks" candidate into marrying her, by claiming pregnancy, which later turned out to be false. While living with hubby on the base, he was shipped out to Viet Nam, leaving her with no one to play with. A tawdry liaison, or five, with some GI-Joe types on the base changed that, but left her with a heap o'guilt. Somehow Mr. Gyreene found out, and the divorce tore the most of her already limited self-esteem apart, what with the public exposure of her private peccadilloes in court. Alone and injured, Janet had a loud and dramatic breakdown. Her family reluctantly picked her up from the military hospital, and promptly got her committed to the state loony bin. Upon her release, Janet was placed in a group home which she terrorized with her skanky hyperdrama, the non-suicidal "suicide attempts", the self-flagellation, the crying. Many times the home operator was ready to kick the bitch back to the Department of Social Services (incidentally, now called Family Independence Agency. What an oxymoron!). Most everybody in her life was tired of her constant games and high drama. She had pissed off most everyone who knew her. Skip forward 6-8 months. Janet is sick and tired of not getting enough attention. She chooses a Friday evening to take a walk from the group home to Mommy's house in one of po' white trash suburbs around Flint. In order to get there she has to negotiate a bridge across I-75, which for the uninitiated, is the main artery of UpNorth traffic in Michigan. On Friday evenings year 'round, this highway is asses to elbows traffic, a combination of commercial 18 wheelers and people on their way to their cabin pulling the boat, or snowmobile, and generally moving at 70+. After crossing about a third of the bridge, according to witnesses, she clambered over the edge of the cement rail of the bridge, and jumped, all in one smooth movement. I always wondered how someone with her thighs, could have done any leg lifting smoothly, but nonetheless, she made it. The first two cars which struck her popped her body up in the air, the third went over her. The witnesses said she was messed up pretty badly after this uncaring treatment by the automotive community. I believe them. Janet lost her head and one leg in the process of dying, at least 7 cars ended up making contact with her, or parts of her. She fucked up a bunch of people's weekends. She caused a multi-mile backup on two major highways. Blood, guts and body parts galore. A tasteless way to die, but the truly tasteless part came later on, after the lawyers got involved, after the suits were filed. Yes, the story plods on with an ambulance chaser enlisting the support of Janet's family in filing a $8 million lawsuit. I was sued for Negligence, Stupidity, First Degree Callousness, Aggravated Emotional Distress compounded by Loss of Affection and multiplied by Carelessness - or something like that. The list of charges went on for twenty pages. All I remember is that _MY_ name was on the papers. Then came the depositions, the counter-interrogatories, the solemn swearing to tell the truth, etc. Fact of the matter is that it dragged on and on, motion after motion, brief after brief, until, finally, I received the letter telling me the whole thing had been dropped. Whoo-hoo! Next: Random Couplings Cheers Jeff Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Sun Dec 05 13:22:13 1999 Message-ID: <384AD785.DA2395C0@newsfeeds.com> Date: Sun, 05 Dec 1999 16:22:13 -0500 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.02 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 11) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 216.40.144.136 X-Trace: 5 Dec 1999 15:24:38 -0600, 216.40.144.136 Lines: 163 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.nacamar.de!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!news.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!216.40.144.136 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:189499 Hi All: Back in the saddle with some more looney people for you to laugh at. This time, I've got a real change of pace for you - glimpses of the alledgedly normal people responsible for treating the crazy people. This is a two parter, so I'll try to get the other half up tomorrow, or Tuesday. I'm temporarily disconnected from Usenet at work while it IS boys get me a new machine. Enjoy. Jeff Random Couplings In the introduction to this series I hinted at the volatility and instability of the staff at this center. For much of time I worked there we had roughly 225 staff in the whole agency. Probably 75% of the staff were under 35, and a healthy percentage of that group were unmarried. For many of the staff, this was a first professional job out of college. For others, it was an opportunity to perform socially responsible work, kind of like being a nun, but without the religion, self-discipline, responsibility, or chastity. For yet others, it was the chance to live like they were still in college while appearing to actually contribute to society. Dress codes were extremely lax. What we call business casual nowadays was acceptable and jeans were not uncommon, depending on the program in which one worked. There were no time clocks, it was a fairly egalitarian organization and the largest part of the job was just a matter of talking to people, or spending time with people, albeit mentally ill, retarded or generally fucked-up people. Are you getting the picture yet? Normal red-blooded American college-educated young people turned loose on the real world for the first time, many in desperate need of a good shag. Do I smell a party? One other characteristic of the employee population was the high degree of willingness to abuse substances of all types. Was this a matter of only flaky people being drawn to work in the mental health disciplines? Did it happen because of the high stress nature of the work? Was it simply a cultural phenomenon within the group? Or was it a reflection of a high degree of immaturity on the part of people hiding from the real world of work? I'll leave you to your own conclusions about the "why" behind the substance abuse. I'll limit my role to that of a simple reporter. The drugs of choice there were alcohol and marijuana, but there were many who used psychedelics other than marijuana frequently; mushrooms, pills, peyote, etc. When I started working at the agency my primary identification in life was as a musician. I had been playing music for money since I was 14, and in fact had supported myself through college by playing with several bands and sitting in for studio sessions. I hadn't decided not to pursue a career in music, so this seemed like the kind of job I could handle and still play rock 'n roll. The pay was shit, but it gave me benefits and provided a steady income to get me through those months when the band wasn't working steady. Besides, I could smoke all the weed I wanted at night and still make sense to the crazy people during the day. Bonus! I quickly learned that a goodly portion of the staff from all the locations in the agency met at a particular pub downtown on Fridays and sometimes on Thursdays too. The bar itself was named Doobie's, which just might give you a hint about the clientele that hung out there. They hired bands for Thursday through Saturdays, so I had additional incentive to go there and get to know the owner. I was pleasantly surprised to find my new co-workers to be a hard-partying bunch of folks. When the drinks started flowing, they got down! There were many willing females, unattached and otherwise to fool around with. Life was sweet. I started to work at this agency in late October and in a couple of months the agency xmas party rolled around. It was held in our sheltered workshop building and had all the features you'd expect: major drunkenness, one really good fight over someone's wife, and people sneaking off into the offices to screw. I had finagled my way into providing the music for the event, so I was able to stay out of any of the career wrecking activities that happened. But, I did watch with interest as my boss was dancing a slow dance with a coworker of mine. They were in a shadowy corner of the dance floor, and he had his hand tucked under the waist band of her skirt. Like to see him get away with that nowadays. Unfortunately, xmas parties just ain't the same anymore. The program I worked in also employed the agency pot dealer, which was a major Good Thing, because he gave me good deals on quarter pounds (you know the routine, buy four ounces, sell three to pay for yours, smoke for free) and he was always handy. He was also a major ringleader in setting up the big parties which erupted every month or so. One of the premiere parties every year was his annual pig roast, which was always entertaining. He invited everyone he knew, which was a considerable number of people, and he would host a party of 250 to 300 each year. Every year he would make a fire pit with concrete block walls and mount a pig on a motorized spit between the walls. One year it rained, so he put a sheet of metal across the fire pit to shield it. Unfortunately, too much heat built up and caught the fat under the pig's skin on fire. All the fat caught on fire at once, and happened so suddenly that it blew the makeshift roof about five feet in the air and landed on a woman in a chaise lounge. She only got minor burns on her face and only two people had to leave the party to take her to the hospital. Great fun, eh? There was always a room full of serious pot smokers at mental health parties. It was always a crowed room where the air would be so thick with smoke you could catch a healthy buzz by just walking in and breathing. As a result, there was invariably some tit-flashing, mooning or streaking during every party. If you didn't see at least one couple furiously fucking or furiously fighting during a party, you went home disappointed. These were classic events. During my years there we had several staff, male and female, fired for engaging in sexual activities with patients. But most of the agency libertines confined their licentiousness to other staff which was fine by me. The agency slut was a buxom woman who was sort of shy and soft-spoken when at work, but under the influence of drink/drugs, was profligate in a most wanton manner. She had done most of the men I knew, and if the stories were at all accurate (judging by my own experiences with her they were) she had no real preference for holes to be used and how many guys were needed to fill them. She was divorced with a pre-teen girl when she came to work there. The daughter was pretty wild and had been caught in numerous misadventures by her mom (sneaking out with boys, drinking, and having boys over when her mom was gone.). By the time I left the agency mom had taken to bringing her, then, 14 year-old daughter to parties to "keep an eye on her." Of course then mom would get wasted, stop paying attention and her darling offspring, who was extremely attractive in that early adolescent, eager young tits, testing her own sexuality way. Daughter dearest would then take the opportunity to party with the big dogs. During one party at a friend's house, I had gone upstairs to use the phone and walked in on the daughter and a co-worker of mine in a rather compromising position. She was naked in my friend's bed, slurping down the cock of this co-worker who was in his mid-thirties and married. Ever the gentleman, I waited until he'd shot his wad down her throat before I interrupted them. When I did, the girl made no attempt to cover herself when I walked in, so I did get a good look at her young, but fine, goodies. I have to admit, I envied the co-worker for getting her in bed, but I'm not sure I'd have had the nerve to chance it like that, what with his wife and her mother being downstairs and all. One thing was for sure; like mother, like daughter. Next: Random Couplings (Conclusion) -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Mon Dec 06 18:41:37 1999 Message-ID: <384C73E1.A53A4653@newsfeeds.com> Date: Mon, 06 Dec 1999 21:41:37 -0500 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.02 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 12) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 216.40.146.185 X-Trace: 6 Dec 1999 20:37:31 -0600, 216.40.146.185 Lines: 131 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 60,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!newspump.monmouth.com!newspeer.monmouth.com!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!216.40.146.185 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:189621 Hi All: As promised, the second half of my report on the "normals." Enjoy! Jeff Random Couplings (Conclusion) Continuing on, there was a young woman that worked in the evening version of the program in which I worked. When she hired in, she was new to town and I, being the gentleman that I am, helped her find an apartment and showed her where things were in the area. She asked me over to her apartment for dinner, and as we talked after dinner, I learned that she was a bit of a freak. It turned out she planned to have me for dessert. She asked me very matter-of-factly if she could suck me off. She had a major kink for sex in dangerous places. Her favorite activity was giving blow jobs, and her favorite place to suck me was in my sports car, driving around with the top down. I had sex with her in several bars, in a church, she gave me a hand job under the table in a restaurant, and once we fucked in a storeroom at work while everyone was there, patients and other staff. She also liked to mix foods and sex, doing things like drizzling honey on my stiff pecker, eventually mixing the sweetness with the salty taste of my jizz. Then there was the receptionist whose boyfriend was in the army, and although she pledged her sincere love for him, she managed to screw at least screw four or five of the guys there. She was a free and easy piece of ass, and she didn't make much of a secret about it. She wasn't the best looking woman in the world, but then slutty women rarely are the best specimens. Her hygiene was particularly suspect, and I can remember her putting out some pretty funky smells. I remember being particularly surprised at finding a big dingleberry in her ass hair one night as she knelt over me in a sixty-nine. It was probably 3/8" in diameter. I played with it a bit, but she wasn't into ass-play very much, so she shooed my hand away after a few minutes. I had sex with her again the next night and it was still there, so I gave it the benefit of longevity and left for someone else to pluck. And we also had the gay guy on the staff whose effeminate mannerisms and laugh which rose to frequencies only heard by dogs and bats were obvious signs of his sexual orientation. You just knew in your heart of hearts that the nonverbal role-modeling his presence lent to the treatment milieu had to confuse the hell out of your garden variety schizophrenic. My staff went through a dramatic "coming out" staff meeting with him, which ended up lasting two and a half hours and ended in a group hug. Well, almost a group hug, since several people didn't participate. The strange part of this was that we all knew the guy was gay when we hired him. Why we needed a "coming out" event was beyond me. Being a nurse, he appointed himself the agency expert on AIDS during the early days of AIDS awareness. He was the minister of a gay church in town and was always conducting church business when he should have been working. This would piss off his co-workers, yet because he was the "gay expert" and likely to accuse anyone who criticized him of discrimination, he got away with it. He owned his own house, and during the two years I knew him, he had no less than nine different lovers move in and out of his place. He got me to thinking that if I had found a church that encouraged such behavior when I was younger; I might have grown up believing in God and church. Continuing on, we had student nurses from three different nursing programs coming to our treatment program for clinical experience. I looked toward the student nurses as a steady stream of eligible, nubile and impressionable young women. Imagine, if you will, having a job in which you meet 50 - 75 young women, all college seniors, every year. The law of averages that you'll find some cute strange in any group are overwhelmingly in your favor. They were only there for 10 - 16 weeks (depending on the college they attended) and all except one of the nursing programs was out of town so it was usually a zipless fuck (ObEricaJong) if you could nail one. Over the years I found myself atop, underneath, in front of, or behind many of these wide-eyed students. I'd be hard pressed to pick a favorite, because they were all my favorite, at least at the time. To top off the cast of characters, there was a fellow who managed and supervised the staff in the outpatient division. He was a touchy-feely California-type, who wore wide white belts, leisure suits, white shoes, flashing "V" peace signs and winking behind his extra large aviator half tint glasses. Yeah, fuck you guys, this was the mid-70's. In some circles he was fashionable. Sometime after he left the agency for private practice, he announced publicly he had slept with most of the women he supervised. This announcement came during the radio show he had (think of Frasier Crane, only much, much more smarmy), and nearly ruined a couple of marriages of staff in the outpatient area. He thought sex was a natural extension of the supervisory process, and therefore a helpful adjunct to giving a subordinate the guidance she needed. "Oh yeah baby, right there baby - ooh baby, faster, faster - gnnnnnnnnughhhhhhhh! Oh yeah baby, you cured it, you see how that works baby." Of course, this was well before the days of sexual harassment lawsuits. Like to see him try that now. He also had men that he supervised, and I often wondered if he gave them the same kind of guidance, or what. I was also introduced to group sex by one of the women who worked in the accounting department at one point. She was lived with another woman in a large English Tudor mansion in the "old money" area and they were involved in a swing party. At some point she took a liking to me and invited me out for drinks. The evening progressed to us going back to her place, and sometime between the first and second fucks she was sucking on me when her roomie walked in naked and joined us. After my "initiation", I got invited to several of the regular parties with 8-10 couples doing whatever, where ever. Did I mention that the late 60's and early 70's were great? Next: Al -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Sat Dec 18 05:48:15 1999 Message-ID: <385B909F.F3C00CFB@newsfeeds.com> Date: Sat, 18 Dec 1999 08:48:15 -0500 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.02 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 13) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 216.40.144.83 X-Trace: 18 Dec 1999 07:52:33 -0600, 216.40.144.83 Lines: 154 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!newspump.monmouth.com!newspeer.monmouth.com!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath2.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!216.40.144.83 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:190441 Hi All: Wot a fuckin' two weeks it's been. Puttin' in those 12-14 hour days and feeling wasted when I get home. I, for one, will be glad as shit when this season of faux joi passes and we can look forward to the depression and anxiety of that dreadful January-March stretch. Ahh, the suicide months! Short dark days, cold rainy weather, x-fucking-mas bills to pay, grey skies, bleak and brown vegetation. Well, at least it's that way for us in the northern part of the Northern Hemisphere. Man, that's my time of year! Just like The Carrot described in the fall. This is the time of year that get's me going. I never feel more alive, than I do from January through March. Everything around me looks dead, or dying, and the people around me are at their worst. They suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, drinking too much, family stress, financial stress and whatever else can bother them. As a career depressive, I laugh with impunity at the amateurs who drop by for the season, in over their fucking heads, looking more desperate each day. Welcome to life - assholes. Anyway, here's another installment of Crazy Daze. Enjoy. Al One night I was playing in a downtown club and an attractive young woman started hitting on me. We talked during each of my breaks and were both flirting heavily. During the last break, she indicated she'd be around at the end of the night if I wanted to do anything. Well, I knew I was going to get my wick dipped that night, so I played the last set in a sprightly mood and at the end of the evening, I eagerly abandoned my band mates. We'd only had to play until midnight that night, so the young lady and I sat at the bar and got acquainted over a couple of drinks. Predictably, she invited me back to her place, so I happily followed her home. She actually lived in the same suburb of Flint in which I was living. How convenient. She lived in a split-level home which looked as though it had been partitioned off into two apartments. Once inside, we fell into each other's arms, and then into the bed. She was an uninhibited lover, and we performed a variety of sexual acts. To cap the evening off she requested that I drill her ass, which I did with pleasure. This request was a lot less usual for 1971 than it is today. After we were done, I politely excused myself and went home. I had to work the next morning and I wanted to get a change of clothes, as well as check on mail and messages. Beside, I generally don't like waking up next to the one-nighters if I can help it. We'd exchanged phone numbers earlier, so I promised to give her a call. The week after this had happened I got assigned a new patient, Al. Al was in his fifties, although looked very much older. Truthfully, be he'd been an old man when he turned 30. He'd been referred from the state hospital. He'd been there for two years because of a breakdown after his wife died. As it turned out, he actually hadn't functioned for shit for probably 20 years before that, but his wife had kept things together "for the sake of the kids" for lo those many years. When she died of exhaustion and overwork, his incapacity became glaringly obvious to his family, friends and neighbors. He'd been on a 100% military disability since the "big one - WWII" and he'd never held a job for much longer than a couple of months. Al had two grown kids, one a son who was the prototypical hippie mailman, and a daughter who worked as a graphic designer. The daughter lived at home with Al, and "managed" his finances, meaning in fact that she managed to skim off a good chunk of his disability money into her own checking account. Al was depressed so he never wanted anything. So, daughter dearest kept everything but the living expenses such as the gas, water, phone and electric. Plus living with this depressed old fuck left her the run of the house and no hassle from him. I was less than impressed with what I heard about the daughter's compassion. Al's illness was a deep, deep depression. He didn't do much except to grow flakes. He had the worst case of hair flakes I'd ever seen. This was not dandruff, but some kind of monster condition which produced masses of falling flakes. Since Al's grooming was bad (he bathed once a week, whether he needed it or not), his hair flakes were that much worse to deal with. Al sat most of the time, his legs crossed, smoking. Cigarette after cigarette throughout the day. I'd guess he was knocking back two, maybe three, packs a day. He loved those old unfiltered Camels of his. He had huge nicotine stains on his hands, his lips and his teeth. Again, the bad grooming habits accentuated the problem. Al didn't have any floridly crazy behavior, although a couple of times he'd become physically resistive with family and at treatment. But, in the big scheme of things, it wasn't a big deal. Mostly, he sat around and smoked. Sometimes he muttered about how he was so sad, and how life sucked, but mostly he just smoked. Outside of work, I continued to see the woman I'd met in the club. I was amazed at her raw sexuality. She loved sex and was not shy about expressing her wanton desires. Although she hadn't been the first woman I'd had anal sex with, she was the most enthusiastic about it, asking repeatedly to have me fuck her in the ass. She loved to fuck her pussy with a dildo while I reamed her anally. She used to wonder aloud about how it would feel to do a double penetration. I had the impression that she was leading up to asking me to participate in one. Meanwhile, back at work, my boss decided to set up a support group for relatives of our patients. We sent out letters to invite them for the kickoff meeting. I was assigned to lead the group the first six weeks, so I stayed after work on the appointed day to meet with the dozen or so relatives who'd sent RSVP's. We got started by doing introductions and the relatives shared some of their concerns about the patient they lived with. As we talked there was a knock on the door and someone poked a head in to see what was happening. I just about fell out of my chair. It was my little anal friend! She was as surprised to see me as I was to see her. It turned out that she was Al's daughter, the very same one who was stealing most of his disability checks. Instant discomfort. We hadn't talked about our lives to each other since we'd been dating. Really, all we discussed was music, getting buzzed and sex. Oops! After the meeting ended she stuck around, and we decided we needed to talk about this little surprise. We got dinner, talked it through, and I'm happy to report we went to my house instead of her father's house for her reaming that night. I saw her a few more times, but both of us grew increasingly uncomfortable and eventually, the relationship died. But I couldn't look at her old man without chuckling as I pictured his lovely daughter and her sex tricks. Next: Ronnie Cheers, Jeff Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Mon Dec 27 12:22:14 1999 Message-ID: <3867CA76.97BCFF25@newsfeeds.com> Date: Mon, 27 Dec 1999 15:22:14 -0500 From: Jeff Justin Reply-To: jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.7 [en] (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 14) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 198.88.132.5 X-Trace: 27 Dec 1999 14:28:05 -0600, 198.88.132.5 Lines: 126 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.icl.net!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed4.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath2.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!198.88.132.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:191064 Hi All: Ronnie No, not the South Park character, but an earlier Ronnie, one of the less memorable "stars" of the mental health center. One from the early days of the program. Maybe not eligible for a founder's award, or anything similar, but he was exemplary of the hard working crazies who piqued my interest in the field. Ronnie was a 17 year old street yoot who, in typical Flint fashion, was smart enough to realize he was beaten by life and his lack of brainpower. He dropped out of high school before he could flunk out. Without the structure of school to guide him through his days, he slowly became a significant problem to his parents, with whom he lived. Ronnie was a gang "hanger-on", and like most "hangers-on" he was allowed to stay around as long as his presence held some value to the gang leaders. Ronnie's value to these gang leaders was that they found him amusing. You see, Ronnie was none too bright, and had little enough self-esteem that, with a little coaxing, he could be led into doing almost anything stupid. He had been humiliated time after time, but his dreams of full gang membership brought him back for more, time and again. But being stupid had not caused Ronnie to be referred to our little funhouse. No, Ronnie had one peculiarity, and only one, which was the source of his being labeled crazy. Ronnie saved his cast off body emissions and products. Urine, feces, sperm and semen, fingernails, hair, saliva, snot, and lastly, earwax - Ronnie had one or more bottles/jars for each tucked under his bed, in the closet and in the drawers of his dresser. Now, before you accuse me of misleading you, he didn't save every sample of all of his excretions, he had some criterion to select just the choicest ones. For example, he didn't keep all of his urine or feces, only samples of interest. He did, however, keep all of his ejaculate, at least all that he produced at home, for posterity's sake. Ronnie's treasure trove was first discovered by his Mama, who in the process of performing her spring cleaning found, much to her horror, the collection of jars holding the by-products of her youngest son. As she told it, she had a premonition of sorts, in that she had detected a vaguely disturbing aroma which had settled over Ronnie's room in the months preceding her discovery. She had noticed that he had been keeping the windows open almost all the time, and she had wondered if he was smoking pot up there and trying to hide the smell. At last, she had torn the room apart for a thorough cleaning, only to find Ronnie's bottle collection. In total she hauled over 125 bottles/jars of various sizes, and of different contents from the room. She told me they were tucked everywhere throughout the room. Hidden in places she didn't know existed. As she related to me that she had found a quart jar filled with dried and semi-dried jism (OK, she called it "his man stuff"), I found myself wondering how long it would take to unload a quart of the old hot 'n gooey. Hell, I felt like a came a quart once, but, I think it was the acid that made it seem that way. Lets see, at 10ml per ejaculation, 1 fluid ounce is a little under 30 ml, so 3 loads to the ounce, 32 ounces to the quart or 96 money shots to the quart. One load per day gets us a quart of jizz in a shade over three months. But we've got to allow for the shrinkage of drying. If the wet/dry ratio is 100:1, we'd need 9600 wanks to fill a jar with crusty dried spoo. Now that's a lot of wanking! Better stock up on a good lube and a pile of good porn. There were numerous jars of dried urine, although mom told me he appeared to rotate which jar he used, as if to make sure that none of the jars never completely dried out. She said these jars "...wuz all nasty an' sheeit." If I recall my high school chemistry correctly, he should have had a good supply of phosphorus with all that dried urine. I'm not sure his mom was impressed by that though. She said it was pretty gross. The jars containing feces were the best, at least according to his mom. He had apparently started out smushing the turds into the jars to pack them full. I'm not sure if he deposited them into the toilet first and scooped them out, or whether he dropped them in the jar to begin with. His later jars held only specimen grade turds, ones of which he was particularly proud. Of course, they had dried out quickly and mom told me they rattled in the jars when she carried them out. Ronnie never talked much about his collection. At first he denied that he had done that, but, eventually he admitted that he had collected all this stuff. Then he went through a stage during which he denied it was goofy behavior. He acted as though everyone bottles their pee and saves their toenail clippings. Finally, after some discussion, he admitted that he had been told that if other people got a hold of your hair or fingernail clippings, they could pull that "hoodoo shit" on you. So I deduced that somewhere along the line the gang members had told him that he better watch out 'cause someone was going to control him through black magic by getting some part of him. In his weak little mind, if hair and fingernails could control him, then the other things like earwax and the rest could be used against him too. From there I think he got just a tad out of control, especially about the ejaculate. Ronnie eventually drifted back into the arms of his homies, and was eventually graduated to become a sacrificial lamb in a drive-by shooting. The gang finally cost him his life. Really not a high price at all. Next: Herb Cheers, Jeff Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Fri Jan 07 05:55:40 2000 Message-ID: <3875F05C.FD005D25@newsfeeds.com> Date: Fri, 07 Jan 2000 08:55:40 -0500 From: Jeff Justin Reply-To: jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.7 [en] (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 15) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 198.88.132.5 X-Trace: 7 Jan 2000 08:01:32 -0600, 198.88.132.5 Lines: 126 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.icl.net!feed-out.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath2.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!198.88.132.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:191999 Hi All: Two words for you on this guy - waxy fuckin' flexibility. Catatonia is a barrel of laughs for the more demented among treatment staff. If they're really far gone, you can pose them like wire statues. Enjoy. Herb "The statue." That's what we called Herb. He was my first catatonic schizophrenic. Tall and thin, about all he did was smoke. Sometimes sitting, but mostly standing, he was a sentinel, a solitary lookout deeply withdrawn into his own world. Not only did he have massive tobacco stains on his hands, but he even had a tobacco stain on his lips. There isn't really much to say about Herb because he said little and did less. He was, however, a fixture in our program for several years, sort of like a piece of furniture, or part of the woodwork. For 6 months or so Herb had a urinary tract infection which occasionally became severe enough to cause him to lose control of his bladder. Although there were perhaps six times he pissed his pants, three episodes of self-pissing were particularly amusing. The first occurred at the local YMCA. We took the group to the YMCA to play volleyball twice a week. Before starting the game we would form a circle and have warm up, replete with exercises. This particular day one of the group had suggested doing "bicycles" (using head and elbows as a tripod, elevating legs to vertical and pump them alternately, as if riding a bicycle). It took Herb a long time to assume the position for the exercise, but almost immediately after he started moving his legs he lost control. I was looking around the group and saw the stain on his khaki pants. I stared in disbelief as the stain spread quickly across his shirt, down his forearm and onto the floor. A rather unattractive student nurse was next to him, and the urine reached her head about the same moment I said something. After a moments hesitation she realized what had happened and she jumped up screaming. Herb just continued to perform the exercise and pee. I was proud that he really could do two things at once. The rest of the group cracked up in great gales of laughter. Herb was literally drenched and none of the staff wanted to deal with him because he had urine in his hair, on his shirt, everywhere. The second incident happened in a group therapy session. Herb was sitting on a short couch upholstered in vinyl. He was seated at one end of the couch, a large black woman was seated in the middle place, and a young black man was sitting on the other end. This couch was short enough that all three were within six inches of each other. Right near the end of the session, during which he had been sitting catatonically and staring into the distance, he let loose again. This time my first notice was a stream of golden liquid dripping down his pant leg into his shoe. I watched in amazement as the person next to him leapt up screaming as if she'd been shot. Since she was so much heavier than him, the urine had flowed into the depression her butt made. Her ass was soaked with his urine, and as she thrashed about, screaming, she started shaking urine on the guy at the end of the couch. By this time I was shaking with laughter, but trying to restrain myself from laughing aloud. Finally, I couldn't hold my laughter any more and I joined with the balance of the group in a mocking cackling laugh at the three "pissees". Great fun, this scene. The final blast I want to report is one Herb let loose on the street. It was lunch time, and I had parked myself in the park across from the main entrance to the largest bank in town. This was their corporate headquarters and had a majestic cascade of steps leading to the large glass doors of the main entrance. Herb was positioned about halfway up the steps, and to one side of an imaginary straight line path to the doors. He stood stiffly as if he were a cigar store Indian, smoking, staring. I had gone to the park to watch the young ladies who worked in the bank come and go. I was only marginally aware of Herb standing there. He was old news to me, and I had a tendency to disregard his presence. At some point, Herb let go with a torrent of piss. His pants had the telltale spreading dark stain down the inside of each leg. He stood there, in a pool of urine, and continued to smoke. Absolutely no outward acknowledgment of anything amiss. I watched gleefully as people passed him. At some point in their approach to him they realized what was going on, and would swerve away from him, some sooner than others. A few "type A's", walking heads down and quickly, managed to step in the puddle around Herb and at least one said something, which I unfortunately couldn't hear. Most stared in disbelief. He finished one cigarette and was partly through another before a security guard came from within the bank and shooed him away. He silently turned and walked away leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake. Maybe fifteen minutes later a custodial type came out with a hose and rinsed all evidence of Herb away. I suppose I could have done the truly professional thing by going to help get Herb away from the public, but I couldn't risk having one of the bank cuties see me dealing with this dreg. This had been a most entertaining lunch break indeed. I found out that Herb had gone back to the center, and sat down on a couple of chairs before one of the staff sent him home for a change of clothing. I think he took the bus home, as that was his habit. I'm sure leaving a trail of piss and digustipation behind him. Herb died within a year of this event. He died a mundane and senseless death. He choked on his vomit in his sleep one night. None of the other residents in the room, four men, all retarded, had noticed anything wrong. The group home staff noticed the following morning when Herb didn't come down for breakfast. Next: Don Jeff Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Sat Jan 15 14:51:56 2000 Message-ID: <3880FA0C.F0595BDA@newsfeeds.com> Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2000 17:51:56 -0500 From: Jeff Justin X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.02 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze ( Pt. 16) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 216.40.144.135 X-Trace: 15 Jan 2000 16:55:53 -0600, 216.40.144.135 Lines: 134 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!news-spur1.maxwell.syr.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.icl.net!newsfeed.icl.net!feed-out.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath2.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!216.40.144.135 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:192825 Hi All: This is more of touching tale with a bit of the old ultraviolence thrown in for good measure. Just as most of us who were alive when Kennedy's brains were splattered on his wife remember that day, I remember this incident with vivid clarity. Enjoy Don Don was a young man from an outlying suburb of Flint. Unlike most of our clientele, Don was from an upper middle class family and had been given significantly more opportunity than most of the others in the program. He dressed better, had been better educated, and was more aware of the scope of opportunities available to him. He wasn't even crazy in the way most of the others were. Don didn't have an illness which caused a disorder of thinking. He wasn't disorganized or hallucinated, there was no confusion. His illness was a major depression which had caused him to make a significantly lethal suicide attempt. He had waited for a weekend when his family was going to be gone and took a lethal overdose. Only his younger sister's sudden case of the flu which caused his parents to turn around after less than an hour in the car saved him from a sure death. After a month of suicide watch in the hospital, he was transferred to our inpatient unit. The psychiatrists had decided he was over the worst and no longer needed all of the suicide precautions. He was sent to our program during the day, and housed in the inpatient unit the rest of the time. Don bonded with me almost immediately. He seemed to look at me as though I was an older brother (I was six or seven years older than him), and he made a point of seeking me out. Time passed and he was not making any more suicidal gestures, so all of us eased up with him a bit, treating him increasingly as if he were normal. I guess he had been with us for a month, perhaps six weeks when it happened. His depression reared its ugly head again and again it almost got him. Don made another highly lethal attempt on his own life. I happened to be present when he made this attempt, and although I consider myself to be jaded and thick-skinned, I have to admit, it was a very dramatic moment. It was a summer day, nice blue skies and warm temperatures. Just the kind of day that you or I would want to be anywhere but work. I had a meeting to attend in the Outpatient center which adjoined the Inpatient unit building. The Inpatient unit was on the top floor of a five story building which at one time was a nursing home. The Outpatient center was connected by a hallway, and the two wings made the vertical legs of a "U", with the hallway forming the base of the shape. There was parking in the area contained by the "U". I had driven from our downtown location to the other complex, and had just parked my car. I was walking across the "U' shaped area toward the entrance when I heard a strange noise from above. I jerked my head around and saw Don plummeting down about ten feet away from the building along with a large rectangle of Plexiglas. He screamed one long, dreadful cry until he hit the ground. I watched his fallas if it were in slow motion, and it seemed to take forever for him to strike the ground. Being more aerodynamic, he beat the Plexiglas to the ground. He hit face down, in a spread-eagle position, his left arm making first contact, followed quickly by the rest of his body. His loud shriek was cut off at the moment of impact, and he made an audible gasp as he hit. That sound, along with the thump of his body on the pavement is indelibly etched in my memory. The unforgiving asphalt surface of the parking lot refused to give way to his attempt to dive through it, and gave back enough of his kinetic energy to cause him to bounce slightly. As his body came to rest, the sheet of Plexiglas caught up with him. It struck the pavement basically flat, but one edge was slightly lower than the other causing it to shatter into two large pieces and myriad smaller ones many of which came to rest on Don's back. Don landed about fifteen feet from where I stood transfixed in horror. I dashed over to him and crouched down to see if he was still alive. To my utter amazement, not only was he alive, but he was conscious. He opened his eyes when I touched his shoulder, he recognized me and said faintly, "That was the dumbest thing I've ever done." He then lost consciousness. I was shocked and terrified by what I had just seen. I felt as though I was moving in slow motion, as though the air around me had been replaced by clear gelatin. A scream penetrated my shock-like state. It was only after a moment that I realized that scream was my own. I lifted the largest pieces of Plexiglas off him, being careful not to move him in any way. Then I started bellowing for help like a wounded bull moose. After what seemed like an eternity, the first people came running toward me. Staff, patients and passers-by began to cluster around, some crying and sobbing, others barking orders. An ambulance was on its way from the acute care hospital two blocks away. An ER doctor had hopped on the EMS truck to supervise. By the time they got there, blood was seeping from everywhere on Don's body, making a halo of red around his crumpled form. I could see he was still breathing, but I doubted he was going to live. They carefully slid a board under him and lifted him gingerly onto a stretcher. In a flash he was gone, only the Plexiglas and blood remained. Apparently Don had barricaded the door to his room with all of his furniture, then made repeated runs from across the room at the Plexiglas window. Eventually he hit it with enough force to pop it out of its frame. The truly amazing part of this story is that Don survived his fall. He was also completely cured of any desire to kill himself. He came to a moment of absolute clarity lying there crushed and crumpled, and in that moment he was healed. Next: Bobby ObT: Having to fill out fuckin' paperwork on this incident. Forms from OHSA/MIOSHA, forms for the cops, forms for the insurance, forms of the agency. "Jeeze, people, I don't really feel like fillings out your fuckin forms right now. I just watched someone I know...never, mind. Is there anything else?" -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==----- ------------------------------ From jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com Fri Jan 28 04:59:16 2000 Message-ID: <389192A4.53DAD094@newsfeeds.com> Date: Fri, 28 Jan 2000 07:59:16 -0500 From: Jeff Justin Reply-To: jeffjustin@newsfeeds.com X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.7 [en] (Win95; I) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.tasteless Subject: Crazy Daze (Pt. 17) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 198.88.132.5 X-Trace: 28 Jan 2000 07:04:53 -0600, 198.88.132.5 Lines: 140 X-Authenticated-User: jeffjustin X-Report: Report abuse to abuse@newsfeeds.com X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body X-Abuse-Info2: ALL Spam complaints are acted upon within 24 hours! Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: typhoon.aracnet.com!news1.ltinet.net!newsfeed.yosemite.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!oleane!feed.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!goliath2.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!198.88.132.5 Xref: typhoon.aracnet.com alt.tasteless:194043 Bobby Born in the foreign country of rural Mississippi, Bobby immigrated to Flint at age 17. Barely speaking the language of the northern street Negro, Bobby was ill equipped to survive in the crazy world of the industrial north. Although Bobby had no skills that fit the needs of his new home, he was lucky to find work in the bowels of the Chevy plant downtown, the "Pit". Bobby had grown up on a sharecropper's farm, working the hardscrabble land with his family to eke out a rude living. His life in Mississippi offered no electricity, no plumbing, no education and no future, so Bobby struck out on his own to make his way in the world. He ended up in the dirtiest and least desirable of the factories in Flint, performing some of the hardest, grubbiest and most dangerous work in the place. Bobby didn't know any better than to do what the man told him to do, and collect his check every week. You see Bobby was a Negro, and most of his bosses were White Men. And Bobby had learned as a child that you don't talk back to the White Man. In fact, you didn't even make eye contact with the White Man if you didn't absolutely have to. And never, ever look into the eyes of the White Woman. Why, he'd seen buck Negroes lynched for that, and that had made a big impression on Bobby. So, Bobby went to work and lived in his rented room and life was good. Except for the voices. The bad voices that made him think about women in bad ways. The voices that told him that the White Men were out to get him. The voices that scared him when he tried to sleep. Bobby learned he could drown out the voices by talking to himself, and by drinking, so Bobby did that. And he kept it up for 13 long years. He never took a vacation, he never varied his routine, he stuck to what he knew, and to what worked for him. He didn't need all the fancy temptations of this complicated northern life. He was a simple man from a simple background. All he needed was his job, his room, his three squares a day and the occasional rented woman to ease his manly needs. Oh, he prayed to God every time he visited one of those ladies, because his mama had told him how wrong it was to be sinnin' like that. But, dammit, he had those needs and he couldn't just ignore them. Thirteen years Bobby plugged away in the shop. Thirteen years he kept up his brave struggle. But, after thirteen years he finally realized that the White Man had beaten him. They'd ganged up on him and sent that god damned FBI to torment him, and they'd made him think about White Women and their dirty parts all the time. And their voices rang in his ears, taunting him, as he tried to duck the flying White Woman Vaginas that swooped out of the air around him. How could he work like this? How could he endure the agony of being chased and teased by the White Man and those Flying White Woman Vaginas? It was more than Bobby could fix by just talking to himself, and by drinking. And so Bobby came to visit us at Community Mental Health. Bobby was one sick puppy dog and we all shook our heads in disbelief that someone as disorganized as he was could have survived in the shop around heavy machinery all these years without injury. Hell, how he could even get himself dressed in the morning was a complete mystery to me. So, Bobby started coming to Day Treatment and he quickly became a staff pet. There were several blacks on the staff and although Bobby was my patient, he thought it best that he relayed his concerns to me via them. He knew that it was best not to bother me, A White Man, with his petty little problems. It took me over a month to get him to talk with me directly, and even then, he was very hesitant to make any complaint about his lot in life. The high point of his tenure with us occurred in group therapy one day. Bobby had finally gotten comfortable enough to stay the whole 45 minutes in the therapy group he'd been assigned to, one of the groups I ran. This particular day he had sat quietly staring at an attractive young White Woman seated across from him. He'd neither said anything nor given any indication that he was even listening. Suddenly, and I do mean suddenly, he jumped out of his chair and hit the floor like a grunt in the jungles of 'Nam hearing sniper fire. "Git down y'all. Y'all goin' git hit." "What'll hit us, Bobby?" "Y'all caint see dat?" "All I see is you on the floor." "Sheeit, y'all caint see dat? Oh, lawd, dere it is agin." "Bobby what is it you're seeing?" "Dat flyn' vag-eye-na? Y'all caint see dat thing?" "What are you talking about Bobby? There's no flying vagina here." "Mista Jeff, suh, I doan mean be disrespckful, but dat thing raht behin' you." "Bobby, get up. I'm not going to talk to you like this." "No suh, I can' git up, dat thing goin' hit me." "Bobby, nobody else here sees a flying vagina, now, get up." "No suh, it be raht dere, behin' yo' chair. Plees doan make me git up. It goin' hurt me." "Bobby there are no flying vaginas here. Where would a flying vagina come from anyway?" "Her. It come from her." He said pointing to the attractive young White Woman seated across from him. "She been makin' me think 'bout her an her nasty pahts. 'Den dere come dose things. She be's 'de devil hissef." "Oh, OK, I think I understand now, Bobby. Like so many of the mentally ill, Bobby eventually faded into the woodwork of society and disappeared. I still think of him sometimes and to this day I wonder if his disappearance might be related to those flying vaginas. Next: Jasper Cheers, Jeff Justin -----------== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com, Uncensored Usenet News ==---------- http://www.newsfeeds.com The Largest Usenet Servers in the World! ------== Over 73,000 Newsgroups - Including Dedicated Binaries Servers ==-----