Lost In Seattle 2

 Continued from, Part 1.

After waiting for what seemed like, a fucking eternity. Our talkative driver, fucking finally, made it back to the car.

Now... whether we get raped or not. This is it.

This is the moment.

Reggae Beanie, turned the key. The old and very silver (Honda) Civic, came to life...

I was bracing for the knock-out gas, ready to kick a door open. Maybe smash some windows with my BARE hands.

I'm so scared!

...Someone hold me!

Okay... what's going on!? We're moving.

I'm on to you... Beanie.

Don't think, I've let my guard down. I got my eye on YOU and your ridiculously oversized accessories.

I still wonder what is in that purse. Will a giant spider mosy out and say hello, by, biting me on the eyeball?

9 out of 10 doctors, would say yes.

I do not like spiders and I REALLY... do not... like the hippi-verse, that, Pacquiao happily got us into. I'm just going to perform a precautionary ass clench.

I hate you Pacquiao.

Beanie reached for the radio. Pacquiao and I, both jump.

All of a sudden, smoked filled the car:

...Tacos and Dorito bags, danced around.

...A fountain of Mountain Dew, is on my left.

...To my right, I see what looks like -- zombies? Cigarettes in their mouths, complaining about "the munchies" or some shit.

...Behind me, is a girl. Donning a sleeve tattoo and half-shaved head. She, for some reason, had an overly masculine walk. It walked towards me, I grow... confused. Should I back up against a wall, just a case?

"Wuts up, brah." She said.

EW! Get away from me! You abomination, don't touch me! I'm gonna turn into stone. Or worse... A hipster.

Oh wait.
None of that was real, I was just experiencing hallucinations induced by a traumatic event. That just unfolded before me.
Reggae "music" bellowed from the old, worn out speakers. Which, by the way... Also sounded like the only things left, were some old blunt papers. Doing double duty, as speakers.

And good vibes mannn.

Then, our driver began singing along.  EVEN BETTER!

ACTUALLY, CAN YOU JUST STOP THE CAR AND LET ME OUT. I think I would like to DIE ON SOME STREET CORNER, surrounded by piss n' puke, instead.  No need to take me home, thanks.

My cheeks clenched so hard, I could crush scrap metal into little cubes. I could efficiently, recycle whole planets with my ass.

I sat, and waited for the sweet release of death.

Pacquiao and Beanie were chatting it up, as I sat in the back... Still wondering what is in that purse.

Is it sex toys? Someones hand? Or a giant spider? At this point, it could be full of money.

...Whatever, fuck it.

I draw my mind to other, more important matters.

I wonder how things would be different, if say, instead of Beanie. We got Bean-ette? This trip might have been, way more fun.

Feel free to take me home, anytime. *Wink*

Oh well..

I wasn't born, blessed, like some people. Instead of a beautiful blonde, coming to save the day. Using the power of her, stupendous tits. I got... You know...

Street after street, passed by my window. It's all starting to look the same. I see a hint of sunlight, the sky was changing color. From a blackity-black to a blackish-black.

I truly, have a way with words.

That's why, all the ladies come to me. Like, a sale for shitty overpriced Victoria Secret underwear, they will line up and bite each other. Just waiting, to experience this literary succulence.

Minutes go by, as I stare into space. Trying to get this fucking nightmare over.

Hey wait a minute! I recognize this street.

It's mother fucking 8th street... Or avenue, whatever the fuck people call these shitty, shit-filled streets!

We made it!

Never have I  been more happy to see a black Lexus, in my life.

I was so happy, I MADE-IT-RAIN... I mean...

I passed a $20 bill, to Beanie. I'm not rich enough to make it rain 20's, yet. But, just take the whole thing. Keep the change, you've earned it.

Now, fucking stop talking, so I can get the fuck out of Seattle. And the fuck away from you.


"Stop! You guys can't leave"

Pacquiao and I, looked at each other. Oh shit, we about to get raped. 

Actuallyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy... You can have Pacquiao.

...I'm going home. You guys have fun, see you never, bitches!

"Please, let me finish this story first."

Awwww fucking fine, I will let you finish. FUCK! FUCKING-SHIT-DAMN, FUCKING, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.


Hey, thank you so much for getting us home.


We watched, as our beanie-d hero... triumphantly, pull the sloppiest u-turn, in the history of shitty driving. After a moment to regain his composure, our hero sped off... Into the rising sun.

Probably, back to some hipster, organic fucking brunch bar...

But for real, where else WOULD Beanie go?

But whatever.

He was the hero we needed. But, not one we deserved.

With great power, comes great responsibility. Beanie proved, that, if you get stoned often enough. Anything is possible.

And holy shit! We are back in my car. I pushed the START button. The engine, with a fierce elegance -- came to life. As my F-Sport exhaust roared with a well-refined anger. I look at the clock...

6AM. Gonna be a long drive home...

Traveling across the fucking planet, once again. I fought wave, after wave of crazy-ass commuters. Half asleep at the wheel, yet, still managing to cut me off with great precision.

I was on the road for what seemed like, FOREVER.

Finally back at Pacquiao's place.


Now, I may take my final journey... Home. After a long and arduous battle, with the evil forces of "Let's Fuck Leo's Shit Up" all fucking damn day..

I may finally rest.

The next day comes and I go out to assess the damage.

Oh look, everyone forgot their food in my car. GREAT.

And, my car now smells like an old, shitty restaurant.

I call Pacquiao.


"Leo, ever since last night. I just feel... So dirty!"

Yah, me too. I FEEL LIKE I GOT VIOLATED. So this must be how girls feel like. When I creep on them, at the club.

"Yep, now we know."

Damn, I think we just experience... A life experience.

As the two souls depart, going their separate ways. Brimming with experience and valor. Fate will set their paths, to once again, cross.


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