Vignette: Stalker Chick and the Morass of Molasses!

A Reading selection from the epic: Story of
 My Life by Mule, with edits and picturation
 wrangling by Edit-brah and original art by
 Artist-brah

I am firmly convinced that molasses is not a product of sugar cane like the guv'ment would want you to believe, but is mined in bubbling pits where they pull out fossils of mammoths and saber-tooth cats!

Photo of a molasses pit mine!

In 1919 Boston was devastated by a giant tsunami of Molasses, that is how dangerous this sticky, sweet substance is!

Now I know you readers think I am joking, but this be a historical FACT!

But I am getting ahead of myself in bringing up the terror of Molasses, first let me tell you about STALKER CHICK a.k.a Molasses Girl.

About a month and a half, before the events I am about to relate, one of the meatheads at one of the gyms I frequent, announced he was getting married.  Typical juicehead, looks like an anabolic gorilla, two barn doors wide and thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. Neck like that of the meme going around now...

and a tiny head like that guy from Beetlejuice...

Nudge, nudge, wink,wink!

Y'all that workout know EXACTLY the kind of guy I mean. 

Anyway, he and the gym's resident MLT (Muscle-loving tramp) decide to get hitched.  Since they are both Monster Truck Rally fans, they decide to get married at the upcoming Monster Truck Rally.  They put a sign up in the gym announcing the wedding and inviting everyone to come and to select a gift off a list of Walmart crap that is posted online.  

I like a good Monster Truck Rally so I'm down.  Cheapest thing on the Wallyworld list was like 20$  but I found some 'his and her' Dr Tung Surgical Grade Stainless Steel Tongue Cleaner/Scrapers on Amazon for less than half that. 

 They had 2806 reviews, with 4.6 out of 5 stars. Some of the reviews even called them a "life changer". Reading some of the reviews were as heart warning as a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie.

Amazon Review of Dr. Tung Tongue Scraper :

For YEARS, my tongue had been a whiteish-covered organ. It was more white-covered than pink. I thought I was just born "different". But deep down, I secretly envied the wet, pink, glistening tongues of others. I resigned myself that I would always be a freak, I would always be the outcast with a white-splotched tongue.

Until tonight. I skeptically opened the tongue cleaner, and went into the bathroom. As I pulled the gentle scraper down across my tongue, I couldn't believe my eyes.What manner of sorcery does this device command?! I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. I HAD FINALLY UNCOVERED WHAT MY SOUL HAS CRIED FOR FOR YEARS -- A PINKISH-RED TONGUE! I stood there in front of the mirror with my big ol' tongue hanging out like Lassie's on a hot summer day. I was laughing and shaking my head, watching that big beautiful pink tongue that had shamed me for so many years laugh and play in his pinkish-red wonderland.

https://www.amazon.com/Dr-Tungs-Tongue-Cleaner-Stainless/dp/B00064JGBO?th=1#customerReviews

I'm not going to lie, I had to wipe away a manly tear after reading that review.  

Using my two-click ordering with Amazon Prime, a pair of life changing tongue scrapers were on the way to the betrothed lovebirds. 

But I digress.  So I go to the wedding/monster truck rally and there I spot this smoking hot babe. She is blonde with green eyes, with a deep tan that almost placed her in the color range of light molasses (one can only imagine how gross and leathery her skin will be at 40)  Really big tits (possibly fake but really nice).  Wearing sandals and looked hippy.  I was quick to engage her in some smooth small talk before any of the other thirsty dudes had a chance to hit on her.  "Hey momma let me holler at u real quick...like damn gurl, you is fine.."

STALKER CHICK a.k.a. MOLASSES GIRL

She turned out to be  one of the bridesmaids. In fact, she was the bride's sister. She was a little younger than I had thought. Her belly tattoos sure added a couple of years. She said she was an "environmentalist" and that she was "gender fluid non-binary " and some other pronouns that sounded made up.  I pretended to care but I'm like, "Oh come on baby I just met you and you are already telling me your fucking life story. I'm not tryin' to wife ya bitch, I just wanna get my dick wet"

 I start spitting game in my smooth suave tones. Your Mule is QUITE the Casanova!   "You want to go see the big anaconda down by the lake ?"

You want to go see the big anaconda down by the lake ?

Apparently my invite went right over the dense bitch's head.  Probably lost too many brain cells huffing bug spray. She says "Oh No! I'm scared of snakes! You're not afraid of snakes, Mule?"

"Nah, I got a pet snake named Al back at my house. He's actually a totally awesome little dude.  It an interesting story on how I found him.  I have to tell it to you someday.   But to be honest, I'm more into collecting exotic animal trophies.  I hope someday to hunt the ultimate quarry--man. The greatest game, they say!"  I explain.  "We need to domesticate new animals. Seriously." I continue. "I'm sick of all this cat and dog chit. We got a million fucking animals running around just being useless as fuck. We should tame mooses and weasels n chit. Would be dope as fuck to walk a wolverine down the street. Or if you have a big pool you can have a pet seal and feed it clams and teach it tricks. Imagine getting a pet dolphin and going scuba diving with it? Man, that would be fun as fuck. And speaking of scuba diving, You really haven't lived unless you've cut a hole in your scuba gear and done it in a shark cage in front of an audience of two Great Whites and a sucker fish..." 

Edit-brah:  I suggested a hedgehog as a  live pet bath toy,
as chicks love an adorable hedgehog, but it wasn't bad-ass
enough a pet for Mule!

I realize at this point that Molasses Chick's sloot brain can't process this much info, so I slow down.   Her one thing at a time mind is busy 'miring my god tier Chad-onis,  with a slayer physique.  My sculpted bod was illuminated by the moonlight.   My muscles bulged and rippled underneath my tank top.   Her eyes were darting quickly over my thick everythings -  up and down and back up the topography of my body-the juts, ridges, plateaus, and canyons of my musculature was making her wet and experiencing the psychological phenomena known to scientists and academics alike as a lady boner.

Finally she snaps out of her trance. "Uh, did you say something about owning a house?"  Ah yea, nothing like the smell of money to get a bish's mind off a pair of big biceps.

"Yeah, I just bought a place. Nothing like being able to lay out in your backyard naked for those full body tan gainzzz..." Let that mental image sink into your pea brain, bish, I think. 

"Fo' realz? wow, houses are so expensive in Dallas. What do you do for a living, Mule?" the little gold digger asks.

I have money, Bishes LOVE money!

"I'm a lawyer. What about you, cupcake. What's your nine-to-five?"  I see dollar signs in her eye sockets like in a old time cartoon. 

"I'm a social media monitor for an environmental foundation working to ban disposable coffee cups. Are you aware that 60 billion disposable coffee cups end up in US landfills every year?"

" Whoa, thanks for awaring me on that, babe. Huge, if true, sweetie." Nope, didn't know, didn't care to know, still don't care.  But you gotta pretend to care what bishes say, to get in their pants and fill her landfill with some of my disposable cream. And WTF is a 'Social Media Monitor?'   Like, does she just read Facebook all day looking for mentions of coffee cups?  I bet they got a goberment grant to do that. My fucking taxes are paying this fucking moron to read Facebook all day!  Oh well, she does have big tits at least.  "I feel WOKE as fuck now about the whole coffee cup thing" is what I say out loud tho'. "How about we ditch this wedding and go get some KFC, baby doll?"

She first protested that she was a vegan, and I shrugged and said that they have coleslaw there.   Then she started to go into a long dissertation about our 'disposable culture' and how much garbage a place like KFC produces, so I demonstrably flexed a 22" bicep as I pulled out my wallet to 'ostensibly' check out my cash flow, but actually to let her see how flush my wallet was.  I flashed my "trick money" ($100 dollar bills on each end, with about 25 singles sandwiched in the middle, looks like I am a baller carrying  $2500+ in my pocket)   and that shut the bish right up and she was hanging on my bulging  arm as I strutted with her to my jeep.

KFC acquired, we head to her place so fast from the delivery window, that my tires smoke. We make out a bit and oh boy her hair smells so luscious and like apples and watermelon mixed with m&m's. Me, I smell like a mix of Ben-Gay, Old Spice and dirty sweat socks. Meh,  I should have spent a little more time in the shower after gym but I was running late for this wedding as it was.

I frankly expected her to say something like this...

But she had $$$ and muscles on the mind and waxed poetically about my 'masculine musk' until I shut her up by shoving my perfectly pink tongue down her throat!

Chicas love them muscles!

I am a veritable CHADONIS, beyond Chad, beyond Adonis,
a  Slayer of iron and pussy!

As I was pulling off my clothes...

Freed from the restraints of my 'dress' wifebeater and my
jeans, my muscles expanded with a BOING!

 
I got the usual "OMG those muscles..."

Thanks babe, I get that a lot, you should see me when I am
PUMPED after a workout!

 "You look like a Comic Book Superhero ...OMG your body is magnificent... OMG your cock is huge..."   Yeah...yeah...yeah... heard it all before, babe. 

MUSCLES FOR COMBATIVE TRUTH,
 JUSTICE OF SEXUAL CONQUEST AND
THE 'MERICAN' WAY,
MULEMAN!

So she says: "My last sexual encounter I was wearing a strap on, it was supposed to be a XL, but your cock is even bigger than mine was."

My porn hub instinct are intrigued:  "That sounds like a pretty hot Lesbian encounter!" I says hoping to elicit some juicy details.

 She gives me that look chicks give when they think you said something ridiculously stupid:  "No, why on Earth would you think that?  It was with a guy, silly.  Bryce is an aroma therapist I met through Tender."

"Bryce?  What kind of name is Bryce?  Sounds like something you would name a canyon! Fact I think someone in Utah did!"

"What kind of name is Mule, sounds like something you would find on a farm or at a Furry Convention, in fact I think I hooked up with  someone dressed as a Mule at one of those..."

She then goes on to flap her lips about how she identifies as a gender fluid non-binary and some other nouns and pronouns that sounded friggin' made up. Who came up with this dumb as phuck new age shit? Well, I identify as an Apache attack helicopter and I ain't no pansexual, spaghettisexual, or scamblesexual.

I think I see the problem here. Molasses had only ever been with sensitive soy boys whose heavy soy diet had raised their estrogen levels such they were more in touch with their feminine side than their masculinity, in the face of such cucks, it behooved her to fill in the masculine void, by adopting some mannish properties herself.

Well, with great sexual power comes great responsibility. I guess it's my duty as a man to straighten her out into a 100% cisgender heterosexual woman. Looks like I got a job on my hands. It just takes the right guy to turn any girl into a whore. Fortunately, I have an enormous Chuck Norris style penis that I can use to convert lesbians into useful, productive members of society.

First, let's show her what a real man looks like. I move towards the window to make sure my beefy pecs and rippling rock hard abs are outlined by the moonlight. Her eyes are feasting on all the hard ridges and sculpted bulges of my muscle laden manly man body. I turn and walk away a few steps, as tho' to lock the door but really to give her a view of my muscled perfection from the back. The roundness of my muscled ass flexes gloriously with each step I take. She tries to keep her eyes off my glutes as they ripple, but she can't help staring as she takes in the perfection of my glutes, thighs, and calves. I have magnificent buttocks, it's all that deadlifting.

I turn and walk back towards her. My magnificent member bouncing fully erect as I walk. She is staring at its thickness. I don't stop my penile strut, until my long hard cock is within inches of her. She has to restrain herself from just reaching out and grabbing it.    I look her in the eyes as I start gyrating my hips. Pro-tip, if you find yourself naked and erect go for  'the helicopter'.  Sure fire move that all the chicas dig.  Her head travels in circles as she watches the trajectory of my penis spinning around and around. She can't look away. Her mind is stuck in a loop, entranced by my whirling member. She is getting hypnotized.

Now with a real fucking he-man, instead of a soy boy, her feminine hunger for such masculine Yin energy, awoke the dormant YANG in her insatiable soul. and she was drawn to this virile babe magnet! Her gender identity solidified into a cawk hungry succubi sloot feeding on my masculine energy with vampiric craving. If it could, her vagina would be whimpering right about now.

She had reached the point of no return. "Fuck me, fuck me hard, fuck my pussy...." she begged. I railed her with my donkey dick, as she kept moaning about how big my cock was, while she panted and screamed like a woman in labor. I hit it from every known angle, put it in every hole known to man. When I fucked her in the ass she begged me to stop. "It's too big..." groaned as my gargantuan cock moved in slowly. My hard meat forced its way inside, the head parting a wide path as it opened her warm wet cave. Eventually, my mammoth cock was all the way in, and my huge balls were pressing against her ass. Soon she was pleading with me not to stop, screaming "harder" and "deeper" as I tore her shit up. Nothing like combining masculine assertiveness with virile INSERTIVENESS to turn a bish into pliable putty.

We fucked like Zebras on an episode of Nature on the Discovery Channel.

Turned out, she had a tight pussy and since I have watched a lot of edumucational erotica  (i.e. porn) on the Internets and slept with a few porn stars, I knew a lot of pornstar shit.  It was a great workout for me: 

Mule's Sex Workout 

(Not for newbies - Advanced Users Only.  Not responsible for Death or Injury.  

⦁ warm-up set of foreplay

⦁ 5 sets of flexing in the mirror and telling her to look how striated my glutes are

⦁ 2 sets of missionary

⦁ 2 sets of legs over the head dropsetted with wheelbarrow

⦁ 3 sets of doggy

⦁ 2 sets of ontop supersetted with reverse cowgirl

⦁ 1 set of blowing my load on her tits

Her sexual ecstasy crescendo as she climaxed into multiple orgasms, the first time she has experienced the apex of true sexual sublime rapture, was all it took to make her love cock, as Jesus intended. My good deed for the day was done! But as my ethics professor used to say "No good deed goes unpunished." I would soon learn that I had succeeded all too well. My good deed was going to come back and bite me on the ass, with terrible 'reaper crushings'.   (Edit-brah: repercussions)

When I was finished, she was withering on the sweat and and cum soaked bed. She was twitching like she was in her 'death rose'. She passed out.  (Edit-brah: death throes)

I snuck out after she lapsed into a sex coma, leaving her laying there, covered in cum, me doing my usual Wham Bam Thank You, Scram

Got Taco Bell on the way home. Sex makes me hungry. Ate 10 tacos and spilled enough shredded lettuce to feed a rabbit for a month all over my jeep. Didn't get home until 4 am and immediately crashed.

Then it's 5:30 AM, I'm sleeping like a baby when I get a text...."Good Morning babe!!!!!! Hope you have a great day!!!! <3 Text me when you're up?"

My first reaction was to text back "Who Dis?" but I  refrained as I was raised to be a gentleman  (yeah, it didn't take, but I was raised to be one!) As I was shaking the cobwebs from my head, as I roused, I realized from the contact name I had put down as 'Wedding Sloot', that it was the bimbo from last night.  As I enjoyed the sex with her, I had not deleted her digits...quite yet...

I'm like, Bish, I just met you last night. I do have an opening in my dick rotation though. I decide to text her in a week or so and offer her the position of GF #3 on a trial basis. I need to let her know I can give her 1-2 days a week max though.

All day Sunday she is blowing up my phone till I finally have to block her number. I am used to this. I have a huge peñor and I have  strong muscular ass/glutes for powerful thrusting during sex. So me fucking chicks is like feeding a stray cat. They keep coming back and hanging around for more dick. That why It's important to go no contact for at least a week.

So the next day is Monday and I spend the morning out of the office arguing a Motion in court. I get to the office about 2 p.m. There's a box for me, nicely wrapped. The receptionist said a girl came to see me and left the box. From the description she gave me of the girl, I knew who it was. Apparently the chick had detectived me on the world wide web and tracked me down to my office. Wonderful! A Stage five Clinger. When am I going to learn not to stick my dick into crazy.

Well, the box contained what appeared to be some fried hockey pucks and a  note  saying  she never knew sex could be that great and she had never met a man like me and some other bullshit.  Since I have an enormous Chuck Norris style penis that I use to  convert lesbians into useful, productive members of society I am used to hearing this from women.  And she hopes I enjoy the cookies.  Cookies?  What cookies?  I don't see any cookies.  Just these fried hockey pucks.  Now I am both pissed off and hungry for a cookie.

Stalker chick cookies are the cookie mascot of
 the National Hockey League!

I tried one...

Chewy and a bit hard on the teeth.  I should be able to skip my Jawzrsize exercises tonight after eating one of these, that's for sure.
 {Product Placement for Blog sponsor: Jawzrsize. Order the Original Jawzrsize™ with Starter Pack Green (Level 4 Bulking & Strengthening) in the next 15 minutes and use discount code Mule 69 at check-out for free shipping. Jawzrsize.com.}

  and as for the flavor...

Fortunately the morbidly obese woman that works part-time at the office was there that day, she rushed to my aid with delicious homemade lemon cookies, to purge the vile flavors of the Stalker's cookies from my suffering palate with sheer delightfulness.   Fat chicks sure know their cookies!

Well,  obviously  No Contact is no longer an option here.  I can't have her crazy ass dropping by the office looking for me.  So, I call her.

So it turns out the fried hockey pucks are actually homemade Molasses cookies.  Molasses?  Who the fuck under 90 uses molasses to make cookies?  BUT THERE WAS MORE! They were gluten free and vegan cookies.  She made them with mashed bananas instead of eggs because chickens have faces and she won't eat anything with a face.  Or their eggs, apparently.  And her secret ingredient is bamboo for fiber.  "Your cookies have trees in them?"  I blurted out. 

  I thought:  "Well aren't you some kind of sandal wearing Prius driving tree hugging environmental  commie/hippy twat, I was supposed to leave all of them in my rearview when I skeddadled from Boulder, they aren't supposed to be any of them in Dallas! I had encountered an endangered species here, which meant suffocating her with a Molasses /Bamboo Tree Cookie, would get me in big trouble with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service."

 "No, silly. Bamboo isn't a tree, it's a grass!" she says.  

Well I sure thought it was a tree, but o.k.  Molasses, huh.  That explains that weird but familiar smell the hockey pucks had.  We used to pour molasses on the oats and barley that we mixed up to feed the horses on my Dad's ranch.  So yeah, horse food.  Now Edit-brah likes molasses in things like cookies, but he is an old-timer weirdo, (Edit-brah:  HEY!) but even HE draws the line at bamboo grass in cookies!  

Mmmm  Stalker chick 'grass and molasses' cookies, my fave!

OK, well its clear she is a full out Stage Five Clinger. The kind that will cut your dick off with a dull kitchen knife while your sleeping if some other chick puts a suggestive emoji on your Facebook page.

I decide I better play along until I can find a way out of this that does not result in me becoming part of  Dallas metro's crime statistics!

The next six weeks of my life makes Jesus being nailed to a cross in the desert, look like a cake walk.

Your Mule has suffered to atone for the sins of you readers!

 It occurs to me, as I am typing this that Molasses girl really hasn't ever done anything to prove that she is even remotely sane during that entire six weeks.

Don't you Mule, don't you?  Why don't you answer me Mule,
why are you backing away, don't you dare run, if you run I will
 find you...you can't hide where I won't find you!!!!

At least she lets me skull fuck her real hard, like in the pornos.  I even made her puke a few times, that was weird but awesome at the same time, and gave me a sense of retribution for those molasses grass cookies...so silver lining?   But worth it...I dunno... she drives me crazy in all sorts of ways.

Quick Pictorial Cliffs of Six Weeks of HELL!

Stalker chick was tolerable when she smoked weed, sadly she
 didn't 4:20 nearly as often as I would have liked!

I must hold my tongue, I must hold my tongue unless I want to
 wake up to a Bobbitted donger! 
(Yeah it is a 25 year old reference, but that is what
 GOOGLE is for readers!)

Calm down, what do you mean calm down, you said that you 
 wanted me to cook...MEAT!  I don't touch or put meat
 in my mouth! --she shrieked hysterically!
That was not the case last night when your mouth took all of
 my 10 inches!--I replied.

I took my fair share of lumps and contusions, which I
couldn't contest as she was a CHICA.

She would explode into violent rages, which somehow in her 
crazy chick mind turned into foreplay...

Breakfast is served,
VEGAN TOFU SCRAMBLE!!!!

There is, silly, there is TOFU BACON!
Flavored with molasses!!!!!

Soy what are saying?  That this disgusting morass of
burnt crud is something you have the temerity to
 call bacon?

Tofu Bacon, you shall not pass these lips!!!

What the fuck are these chunks over here?  I asked forking
 through the plate looking for something edible!

Those are mushrooms, silly!  She giggled.

That brought a instant nightmare flashback
 to MUSHROOM GIRL AND THE
 FISH DINNER FROM HELL!

I kid you not, she actually said this
 cheesy line, I thought vegans eschewed
 serving up the cheese!

In an effort to extricate myself from the mushroom menace,
 I pulled out my 10" trouser flute and proceeded to charm the
 bish by serving up a dish of some anal!

I'm not a drinker myself, so your Mule could not take his own
 advice and turned to extra long workouts instead, still had the
 menace of the stalker chick but the...

...GAINZ...THE GAINZ!!!!! SILVER LININGS!

Gainz and veins:  Jacked as fuck! 

But even the gainz and veins  could not make up for the smothering level of constant attention the STALKER CHICK demanded...

My phone blew up every day with the pointless
lovey dovey stalker texts...

My phone blew up every day with the pointless  lovey dovey stalker texts, y'all know what these are like: "I am thinking about you Mule, are you thinking about me Mule?"

  That sort of crap!

Sampling of my replies:

• It is 7 a.m. bish, I am thinking about breakfast...
• It is 10 a.m. bish, I am thinking about work...
• It is 1 p.m. bish, I am thinking about lunch...
• It is 6 p.m. bish I am thinking about my workout...

It has been two minutes since I texted him, why hasn't he
responded? Is he seeing someone else?  Does he no longer find
 me pretty? Was it something I said?  Did he just break up
 with me?

She kept serving up the vegan slop that I ate only tiny morsels
 of for show, but I snuck off to eat MEAT in a constant stream
 of  meal infidelities, but I didn't instagram it like so many
folks do, so she was oblivious to my continued carnivory!

Plus the continued INSUFFERABLE  lectures by  her on the
 dangers of meat and the garbage crisis!!!! 

She keeps insisting that women are not sluts, or skanks, or whores, or bitches, or cum guzzling lying sacks of shits, Instead that they are beautiful goddesses and should always be respected as the Queens they are. Yeah, right. Spoken like a typical slut. To be honest.... sluts disgust me, the only reason they are here on this planet is to serve us men and make us sammitches and suck our cawks. I refuse to settle down with a girl that's a slut let alone respect one. So I'm gonna continue exploiting and treating them like the pieces of filth they really are.

Edit-brah says I should use my words more in this post, so here are some verbal cliffs of my time with crazy lady, you think I would learn by now about fucking women who are fucking crazy!

For example, I hate when sloots like stalker chick set their alarms 2 hours before they need to get up just so they can hit the snooze 1000 fuckin' times. FUCK! It was like:
5:45

5:55

6:05

6:08

6:10

I threw her phone across the room but it still kept going off so I tried to smother it with a pillow. That didn't work so I got drastic...

DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!

So to make a long story short, during my  6 weeks of hell, I made no fewer than three trips to the phone store!

At first the sex was the consolation prize. But, I got to admit after a few weeks, I was just going through the motions when it came to sex.  No matter how hot the chick I get bored of  slamming the same pussy night after night.  I tried doggy with my foot on the back of her head. I tried having  her make me a sandwich while fucking her one night.  She  opened the fridge, recoiled at touching the meat as specified, the bitch, and she got the: mayo, mustard and cheese which while not a vegan concoction still didn't make her think of sad animal faces, and she put it on my gluten rich bread  (to her distaste) while I was  hitting it from behind. Then I took a bite of it and  continued fucking her while finishing the sandwich.  Despite it not being vegan, the bish had the nerve to ask for a bite of it!

But no matter what I tried, I was no longer enjoying my nice and symmetric veiny 10/10 anaconda monster-cawk stretching that sloot out. Being stuffed with a huge dick over a period of weeks actually will make a vagina looser than giving birth will In fact, by week 5 of our relationship/hostage situation, I had concluded that Vaginas are pretty ugly. They just look disgusting. The vagina is unsymmetrical, it has weird floppy bits and grizzled pieces of meat hanging out of it. It just looks horrible. It looks like something a pimply faced teenager hands you at Arby's!

I think we can all agree the cock is the better looking of the two sexual organs. -NO HOMO!- The penis is smooth, long, sleek and streamlined. A penis is more pleasing to the eye then the vagina. That is why so many Greek statues were made with the penis clearly shown, yet you never see a vagina in a female statue. Display your cock proudly man: its what separates you from someone who cooks, cleans and sucks dick for a living. Plus how can something that looks like a sausage (or in my case a kielbasa), NOT make the mouth water?

I've banged some weirdos in my day.  I've fucked so many ho's I've damn lost count ...Can't even count how many ho's I've gotten with. Started to be a problem when 5+ girls wanted my D in 24 hours... not enough slices of pizza for the whole class, if you get what I'm saying.  Is Molasses Chick the weirdest chick I've banged? Honestly, no.  I would  guess the deaf one was the probably the weirdest, because she carried a note pad to communicate with me and sex sounded like clubbing a sea lion.  But Molasses Chick would be in the top 5 for sure running neck and neck with Mushroom Girl!

The mere thought of  Mushroom Girl had me descending into the nightmare of long repressed memories...

Mushroom Girl Flashback

I remember driving one hour each way to see the 'Supermoon' with her because apparently we couldn't see it 'properly' in Boulder. When we got to the special location, I didn't see much difference between a normal full moon and this super special supercalifragilisticexpialidocious moon, and spent the whole hour back in silent grumpy musing about the terms for crazy related to the moon: lunatic, moonstruck, moon addled, and the increase in violent and insane behavior during a full moon. I imagined turning into a werewolf and ripping her throat out with my teeth all the while she was babbling on incessantly about something or other!

Your Mule after spending two hours in his jeep with the
 babbling brook of a gibbering Mushroom girl to see a friggin'
full Moon, because  it  was 'super'.

I do seem to be a magnet for the crazies!!!!

https://mule-mulesblog.blogspot.com/2017/12/vignette-shrooms-girl-3-moonstruck.html

Perhaps it might have to do with where I scour for my sloots...hmm must reflect on that!

End of Mushroom Girl Flashback 

Up, up and away from these nightmare memories, and back to
our current story of Molasses Girl
{-for further reading see Shrooms Girl links at end of this post-}

A month and a half into the Molasses Girl relationship/hostage situation and things have been going downhill fast ever since day 2. I was realizing, I had to extricate myself from this stage five stalker situation, and I had to do it FAST!

A few days before Molasses Bitch's birthday, her Great Aunt Martha passes away.  As much as I hate the fucking cunt's guts at this point, I am doing my best not to be an asshole.  I try to comfort her. "Your Aunt Martha was old. That's what old people do. They die."    Apparently that thing about how grief turns to anger is true, I just didn't realize it happens instantly. 

There was a tirade of "Blah blah blah blah TOXIC MASCULINITY blah blah blah blah!"  I'd give you better cliffs, but frankly I got good at this point at tuning her our when her voice elevated in pitch and volume.

So, fast forward a few days and it's Molasses girl's birthday.   I am doing my best to be cheery.  The day started off normally enough. I call her first thing to wish her a Happy Birthday.

Me: "Good morning baby cakes.  Happy Birthday!"


Her: "Is it a good morning? Is it? Maybe it's good for you because you have no problem pretending like everything's okay and sweeping stuff under the rug, but not me. I'm not going to act like we're good and have a meaningless conversation, so save your little 'good morning' routine."

"That time of the month?" I inquire with all that sensitive sympathy like the mags claim is da thing for men to do.

She hollers into the phone: "TYPICAL male response, why do y'all always think any time a woman expresses her feelings that she is 'on the rag' as you toxic males put it??!!"

"So...that's a yes?"  I responded.

"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean my emotions aren't real and genuine and can be merely dismissed as hormonal!"

Me:  "Well, um, OK then, cupcake.   See you after work.  Remember I am taking you out for your Birthday dinner. You pick the restaurant.  Bye for now!"

Later that night. It's still her birthday, and she still 'on the rag', obviously and the Midol ain't workin' it's magic. We are driving to the restaurant she chose. It's a “Marxist” “collectivist” “worker-run” restaurant. Which means it has no bosses or managers. Since it doesn't have anyone that makes a schedule, it doesn't have set hours. It opens when enough employees decide to show up. But she says it should be open by now.

Molasses girl says that this Commie run place features a vegan, vegetarian and raw food menu and is "very trendy."  She says it's gotten significant local acclaim for its caviar. Fish eggs? Don't fish have faces?  If we can eat fish eggs why not chicken eggs? 

So its going to be one of those places that gives you a  plate that is the size of a coaster with 4 oz. of food on it and costs $150. And I probably won't be able to pronounce half the stuff on the menu to boot. I played the scenario out in my mind to prepare:

Why do you have to show off, every time we go out, Mule. 
Why can't this dinner be about ME!

I hope you have an appetite, because the dish you ordered is one
 of their FILL YOU UP specials, says Molasses girl
What comes out is not even sufficient to be called an appetizer
 in my usual haunts!

Fortunately, having done the above thought experiment, and thus I anticipated being starved at dinner, and had made sure to eat before we left. I had the "hot dog and mac and cheese extravaganza" while filling up the Jeep down at the local Pump N' Munch. 

Now that is what Your Mule thinks of as good eating!

On our way to this "Trendy restaurant"  She said:  "Not only is the Chef very innovative" but its got a concupiscent ambiance and romantic atmosphere because they play classical music."  

Romantic? Sounds like I'm going to get laid at least.  Puts me in a better mood thinking I will be clapping those cheeks later.  "Cool, I love classical music. Especially Stradivarius. He's exquisite." I had lied convincingly. "You mean Stravinsky?" she asked. "Yeah, him too!" I replied.

She is looking at the generous swath of duck tape that holds the dashboard of my Jeep together.   I used to punch holds in it when I would road rage out. Twice I punched out the entire windshield. 

She starts shoving some loose foam back into a rip in the dash.  "Yeah I gotta ask the maid for some more of that duck tape." I tell her as she does.

"It's duct tape, not duck tape." she sighs.  "And why don't you just get a new car.  Replace this piece of junk... Maybe like a Land Rover." the materialist gold digger asks me. 

WAIT, WUT? Did she just refer to my classic vehicle as a
PIECE OF JUNK?????  I was fuming.

For a chick I met at a wedding at a Monster Truck Rally she's beginning to sound like quite a pre-madonna. ( Edit-brah note: He means prima donna)  (Mule's note: Whose side are you on here Edit-brah?)

Well I got a lot of memories associated with this Jeep, mostly of chicks I have banged in it.  Besides I like having a car I don't have to worry about some urban youths  stealing.  But I can't tell her that. So I say

 "I got all my money Invested in stocks and things. Mostly bit coin and deviations." I explain.

"Deviations?  Don't you mean derivatives?" she asks with yet another sigh.  

"Sure. Those too." I answer.

Apparently I have triggered her  somehow and like a typical chick she brings up something out of the past.  First she brings up this debate we had about Mennonite diamonds at a jewelry store where I had refused to admit that they were actually called Moissanite diamonds, and I had concocted a whole story about Mennonite blood diamonds to avoid buying her the Moissanite jewelry she coveted. Frankly I don't even remember having such an argument, but it DOES sound suspiciously like me!  I pleaded amnesia due to football related Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy and how UNWOKE of her to pick on someone with a disability.

As chicks do, she suddenly GISH GALLOPED to a slew of other points of argumentation faster than I could say Peter picked a pair of pickled pepper!  Suddenly before I could get a word in edgewise, we had galloped over five bones of contention, and had settled into the sixth, the BIGGIE, that she held in reserve...for suddenly we were having yet another argument  about the time I cheated on her with her sister... it happened 4 weeks ago and she is still acting like it just happened...I mean talk about clinging to the past, it has been a month, get over it already! Like MoveOn.org, you stupid cunt. 

The story is, her sister invited us to her yoga class, and Molasses Chick couldn’t make it. I still went (she encouraged me to go so I could become better friends with her sister) well, that I did. It all happened so fast.. she invited me back for a quick drink and asked me what my favorite position was. I said downward dog, and she bent over, shook her ass, turned her head to me smiled, and said “like this?”

I leaped behind her with my cock throbbing through my sweats and pressed it right up to her pussy (she was wearing tight yoga pants) I swear brahs, it went in a little, despite 2 layers of clothing, because I grabbed her hips and pulled her into my dick as I pushed it against her pussy. She started getting wet, and let out a moan. What happened next was unavoidable. And of course  she tells her sister on me, because that's what chicks do.

Why do chicks have to make a federal case out of every little
 thing!

Anyways, my argument was, “she’s not much of a sister to be doing that with a dude her sister is currently fucking...and besides I think she is just still mad because we left her Monster Truck wedding early...and what sort of slut cheats on her husband during the third week of their marriage...not that I hadn't had her before, you had to be a real flabster or skinny jean'd incel at that gym not to have sampled those goods...” I defended myself instinctively, but for some inexplicable reason this just made her more upset... as did telling her to calm down...

I followed up, “Babe it was almost 4 weeks ago, I don’t even remember what her pussy feels like (I do, but I thought this lie would make her feel better). The rest of the drive is silent... 

At the restaurant, Molasses Girl seemed to calm down, and as we were seated, she began chirping bubbly female chitter-chatter, that I pretended to be listening to.  But then she began mean mugging me...not that it was anything I said or did, but something that was entirely BEYOND my control!

You see, it's obvious the waitress is checking out my ripped body.  Which is of course in FEMALE LOGIC, somehow MY FAULT.  Despite the best efforts of my tailor, my blue blazer barely fits over my overdeveloped arms, mile wide shoulders and huge chest.  My white linen slacks strain from the ample circumference of my bulging 28" thighs.  So of course anything with a vagina is going to be checking me out, it was not like I was paying any attention to the cute Marxist waitress with the big tits, nice legs and shapely ass.  Angry noises came out of her maw as soon as the waitress left, so I assume she was mad at me, although it sounded to me mostly like the angry teacher in a Peanuts cartoon.

My "food" such as it is, mercifully arrives before her argumentation can really get going.

 
I ask: "WTF is this shit?"

Molasses answers: "It's local sourced, organic, sustainable, fair-trade,non-GMO, and carbon neutral.  Don't you care about that stuff?" Molasses girl sneered.

"I didn't ask for its origin story, I asked what the fuck IT IS?" I snapped back at  the miserable cur. 

The meagre goo on my plate, honestly looks fucking pathetic and disgusting  and thus I was being one hundred percent serious and sincere in my inquiry.

So there we are, at the table. We’re both kind of pissed and eating very deliberately to emphasize our anger... she whispers, well more of a hiss actually:  "You are a psychotic, cheating scumbag," and   "why don't you go fuck my sister."

And that triggered me to mutter under my breath "I already have, remember?"  To be honest her sister was better than Molasses chick in the sack.  But I didn't throw gasoline on the raging fire by mentioning that.

She gets this look in her eyes.  It's like that look Popeye gets just before he beats the crap out of Bluto.  You know, the look just before he shouts "That's all I can stand, I can stands no more..." and downs the can of   spinach. 

She stands up and yells "You swine! You’re just an obnoxious conceited oversize penis on two legs! And that fantastically muscled body is just a penis support system. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved! You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, and an ignoramus. If it weren't for bacteria, there would not be any culture in you! I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. You are a fraudulent, lying, predatory charlatan! You are a jerk, a cad, and a weasel." 

THERE WAS THE 'CHER' I HAD BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE WE FIRST MET!

The onslaught continued:

"Your life is a monument to stupidity!  You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity! I despise everything about you. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I don't like you. I don't like anybody who has as little respect for others as you do. Go away, you swine."  She tossed her napkin with a dramatic flourish, nice touch that should impress the Academy when they vote on the Oscar for Best Bitch Blowout in a  Bistro!

Her audience, who is everyone in the restaurant, has been looking at us this whole time, silent and dumbfounded. Molasses Girl starts sobbing uncontrollably. 

A middle aged bitch with a customer service manager haircut at the corner table says “You tell him girl!” which got the applause and support of every woman in there. Everyone in the restaurant starts chiming in like this was reality t.v.  THE REAL RESTAURANT BISHES OF DALLAS

I was expecting to see Andy Cohen make an appearance, but as he is gay as fuck, he would be on my side as gay guys are even hotter for me than chicks are!

You da man, Mule!

The ladies and even some of their cucked men start a chant of "THROW HIM OUT! THROW HIM OUT!" like I was the plaid shirt guy at a Trump Rally. 

This manlet security guard comes by and puts arms on me. He's about 5'6" and muscular.  He was uber jacked and looked like a walking lego piece.  I shake them off, and look down on him. “You touch me again and I'll choke slam your ass then rub my balls on your unconscious face in front of everyone in this restaurant!"  I snarl at him, and he withdraws right quick.

"Everybody chill the fuck out....I got this!"    I shout and the crowd stops their jabbering. I shout at the sobbing Molasses girl.

"You snail-skulled little rabbit. You're an idiot. A moron of the highest order. You're so stupid it's a wonder and a pity you can remember to breath. Intelligent ideas bounce off your head as if it were coated with teflon. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know.  On a good day you're a half wit. You have the personality of wallpaper. And did I mention you smell? "

Suddenly the Holy Spirit entered my body and I began to insult in tongues. "You clouted, boggish, foot-licking twit. You dankish, clack-dish plonker. You gormless, crook-pated tosser. You churlish, boil-brained clotpole!  You unreassigned, dickless ponce. You cockered and cankered, bum-bailey queefer. You gob-kissing, gleeking, flap-mouthed,untransitioned coxcomb. You dread-bolted, fobbing, beef-witted. clapper-clawed flirt-gill."

The Spirit left me. I stood, red in the face, the veins in my muscular neck bulging. My huge chest and rock hard abs were heaving to replace the air in my lungs. I was as drenched in sweat as if I had just boxed 10 rounds with a prime Mayweather. 

You could have heard a pin drop in the place.

I did get one supportive salute from a gay guy in the corner
booth, I told you gay guys dig me, but mostly my soliloquy was
 met by silent glares.

So, everything ended well. Molasses girl was the one that broke it off so there were no 'repercussions'  and my life went back to normal. It goes to show you that if you ignore a problem long enough, sometimes it just solves itself !  She found a rebound guy right away and moved to Las Vegas. He's a unicyclist with Cirque du Soleil. 

Writing this post has me thinking about her. I just sent her a joke text saying "Did I mention I think about you when I'm benchin' " Now, I know what you're all thinking, but I added LOL and a laughing emoji, so it's cool. But beneath this alpha male exterior, I am a romantic. I like candle-lit chest workouts, longs walks on the treadmill & poetry about deadlifting.

Nothing bespeaks love and romance like spotting!

Yes, brahs. Molasses Chick is gone. It's nice being the Mule again. 

When I was a young boy I remember going to the history museum on a class trip and seeing this statue of Zeus. And as I was standing there mesmerized by the statue, I could hear my teacher telling the class that we could be anything we wanted to be. 

That instant I decided I wanted to become a Greek god. From that moment on I was in the gym every day, taking my multi and lifting heavy. By the time I was in middle school I was already a straight up beast. I was making year 8  (8th grade) girls’ panties wet when I would walk down the corridor, and every beta phaggot in the school was mirin' my jack'd fibras. My goal in life is to have the ability to make every vagina in the building flow like the Nile. 

When I walk into the club I want to see every chick ravage one another to get a glimpse of my aesthetics, and hope that by the end of the night they are the one I choose to make my bedroom acrobat. That's what keeps me going; that desire to be a gift from above to women and an example of what the human body can do.

Run for your lives!  Mule has unleashed a Vaginal Tsunami ™
from all the females in the club!

A Disclaimer from our Sponsor:

The folks at Jawzrsize™️ would like to emphasize that the roguish opinions of Mule in this vignette, do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the manufacturers of this amazing, life changing product, or that of its parent companies.  We feel that all persons regardless of ethnicity, creed, gender, or sexual orientation deserve a firmer, stronger and more chiseled jawline if they so choose, and we welcome all persons as customers, and are not jaw-shaming anyone who does not share our aesthetic perspective on jawlines.

We will combine this Vignette with a trip deep into the archives in an Out of the Cobwebs Post Script, Mind your step, there is a lot of debris, nobody has been in this section in ages...

If you enjoyed the above tale of angry slootery and debauchery, you might like:

Shrooms Girl

A Different Shrooms Girl

Shrooms Girl 3--> Moonstruck

A Day Without Women

Mule and the Trust Fund Slut

The Ten Types of Females

Mule Goes to a Funeral


and the seasonally appropriate:

Christmas with a Tier 1 Bish