Latest posts by theeWeeBabySeamus (see all)
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- TGISF… AKA Your “I’m Feline Paw-sitively Purr-iffic” Sexy Friday Open Thread – November 17, 2017
The young man sat on the NYC Subway, riding along, lost in thought. Rehearsals had been cancelled and he unexpectedly had the whole day to himself. As he sat, thinking about all of the things he wanted to do today, a commotion started on the far end of the subway car.
Damsel in Distress: Hey, that’s my purse!! I don’t know you!!!!!
As the young man looked up, he witnessed a man running towards him, clutching a woman’s purse. In an instant, he saw that it didn’t match his shoes, so he went into action. He stood up and raised an arm in perfect time to clothesline the thieving bastard with no taste in shoes.
The young man calmly reached down, picked up the woman’s purse, and then kicked the perpetrator in the ribs. Hard. He then walked to the far end of the car to return the purse to its rightful owner.
Damsel in Distress: Oh, I don’t know how to thank you!!
Young Man (turning to walk away): No thanks necessary. He won’t be bothering you again.
Damsel in Distress: You are too kind. But what’s your name?
The young man stops for a moment and turns back towards her. After a brief pause, he speaks again…
Young Man: Weaselo. Señor Weaselo.
When Señor Weaselo turned again to exit the 7Diamond line, he did not notice the Damsel stand up and follow him.
As he climbed the stairs to street level at 42nd and Bryant Park, Señor realized he was hungry. He’d skipped breakfast to make it to rehearsal on time, but since it had been cancelled that had been pointless. But now he needed sustenance. Foiling crime on the NYC Subway required energy. He quickly spotted a place he knew well and went inside.
Proprietor: Oh you again, huh? I told you to stay out of here if you don’t like my sauces. I make ’em as hot as I can and…
Señor Weaselo (pulling out his own sauces, giggity): Oh relax you pussy. It’s not my fault you can’t make a decent sauce. Besides, I’m just here for breakfast. I was already on the train when rehearsals got cancelled. So sue me.
Proprietor (obviously not happy, but needs the business): Fine, but this is the last time. I told you to stop bringing that shit in here. It makes everyone’s eyes water.
Señor Weaselo (looking around and confirming he’s the only customer currently): Yeah, that doesn’t seem to be a problem.
Just then, the bell dings at the front door of the small restaurant. Señor looks up in time to see the Damsel enter. But she’s not alone. She has brought two friends.
Damsel (approaching Señor): Ummmm, hi. I don’t know if you remember me, but….
Señor Weaselo (sighing): I remember you. But why’d you follow me? This is not cool.
Damsel: I’m sorry but I just had to talk to you. You left so fast before and….. I’m Brittany. These are my friends Rebecca and Megan.
Rebecca and Megan (together, both obviously also smitten with Señor): Hiiiiii!!!!!
Brittany: Soooooo, whaddya say? Can we hang out with you today? Pleeeeaaaaasssseeeee!!!!!!
Señor Weaselo: I guess so. But you’ll have to keep up.
Señor felt a little odd about letting the girls pay his tab for him, but they were insistent and he finally relented. He exited the little corner restaurant and began walking toward the Museum of Modern Art. He was in the mood for some culture, but taking a cab north on 5th Ave to The Met this time of day, especially with his newfound entourage….? Well, it just wasn’t worth it. Besides, he’d been meaning to take in the new Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit anyway. MoMA it is!!!!
He entered and quickly made his way. After taking in the sights for a few minutes, he moved to a kiosk playing a video depicting the preservation/restoration of some of the pieces he was now viewing.
So lost in thought was he, that he didn’t notice other girls…brainy, artsy…SEXY girls…approaching Brittany, Rebecca and Megan to ask about Señor. Aaannnnndd….their “situation”..?
But as the entourage grew, he couldn’t help but notice eventually. He’d move to a new exhibit? They’d all move with him. He’d move again? They moved too.
After this had gone on for a while, Señor finally turned to confront his stalkers, only to find that while he’d been trying not to notice them all, clothing had been shed by the now growing group of girls and things were getting….odd.
Never mind the fact that they looked less like Museum patrons now, than some of the displays themselves. But now they had a look in their eyes. A look which both excited and frightened Señor. But more frightened. Probably.
Just then, one of the girls growled just a little bit. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t very loud, but it was there.
Señor Weaselo (under his breath to himself): Yep, now I’m definitely more scared than excited. Probably.
After another moment, Señor decided to take matters into his own hands (no, not like that), and he ducked into the men’s room. He turned to watch the door as he continued to walk backwards further into the restroom, but none of the seemingly crazed women dared enter.
As he continued to back further into the bathroom, he noticed that it is the sort which loops around and has another entrance/exit on the opposite side. Señor had an idea and moved to one of the stalls. He closed the door, from the outside, then began speaking…
Señor Weaselo (excessively loudly, way to be cool man): Yep, just going in this stall to unload that breakfast!!!!! I’ll probably be in here for….oh, 10 or 15 minutes or so. No need to worry about me. AND DON’T COME IN HERE!!!! Just stay right there and I’ll be out in a bit.
Señor Weaselo then quickly moved to the opposite door, opened it slightly, and peered thru the crack. The girls were all staying at the other door. Some had even already sat down to wait him out. But still, he was going to have to move fast. He summoned his courage and made a break for it, realizing only later that it would have been better if he’d just been quiet. But he couldn’t help himself….
Señor Weaselo (exiting the bathroom, yelling and running): Wooooooo!!!!!!! You’ll never catch me!!!! (noticing all the girls rise and begin pursuit) … Ah dammit, that was stupid. Fun tho, totally worth it. WooooooooooHooooooooo!!!!!!!!
He began running again, headed for the lobby. As he ran, he began pulling items from his backpack. Yeah, he has a backpack. I forgot to mention that earlier, but he has a backpack and has totally had it with him the whole time.
When he reaches the lobby, he’s out of breath and the girls have nearly overtaken him. One last ditch effort will be required. Señor stops, turns and lobs one of the objects in his hand towards the increasingly sex crazed horde.
Señor Weaselo: Ha!!!! And people always wonder the REAL reason I always carry my own sauces. Take that crazed horde of beautiful women….who are chasing me….and apparently all want to have crazy animal sex with me. Hmmmmmmm….maybe I didn’t think this through.
The bottle sails through the air and lands on the tile. When the glass breaks, the vapors immediately begin to waft into the air. Soon it enrages the horde, and they are all growling.
Señor Weaselo: Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. Or in this case spilled….ah never mind, you get it. BYE!!!!!!!!
Señor then turned and dashed out of the lobby, through the front doors and into the street. He headed south towards Times Square. Certainly he could blend in there and lose them.
Moments later, when the pepper in their eyes cleared, the ladies filed out of the Museum as well. They saw Señor Weaselo turn a corner headed south. The group split up, but continued chasing.
Señor continued running south on 6th Avenue. As he was approaching Radio City Music Hall, he spotted a bus headed back north, the opposite way. If he could double back, he could lose them then get out of the city on the Subway.
Señor Weaselo (running and yelling): Hey hold that bus!!! Hey!!! Please!!!
But the driver did not notice Señor, and pulled away just as he was approaching the corner. Looking across the street, Señor spotted another bus. This one was heading south, unfortunately. But right now he just needed wheels and time to think. Any port in a storm, he thought to himself. He began recklessly crossing traffic across 6th Avenue, but he had to make this bus. Horns honked, cabbies cursed. Señor flipped birds at all of them as he made his way to that bus.
Just as he cleared traffic and had reached the bus, the driver began to pull away.
Señor Weaselo (banging on driver’s window): Noooooooooo!!!!
The driver jammed on the brakes and cursed. She was visibly angry as she glared at Señor. But then her eyes glazed just a bit and her expression softened. She opened the bus doors, allowed Señor to board, then moved on her way, headed south.
Señor Weaselo (to driver while finding an open seat): Thank you.
As the bus moved along, Señor plotted his next change. When the bus line ended all the way south at WTC, he’d go on foot east for just a bit. Then hit the subway back north and transfer at Grand Central Terminal. Again, that would be an easy place to blend in and…
Just then, the bus turned right, headed west on 42nd street. Señor, lost in thought, fails to notice this.
…then I can transfer back off the island if they’re not following by that point and…
The bus then turned south again on 11th, then a quick right…again, headed west. Where it briefly sat in line at a stoplight. It was at this point that Señor Weaselo came back to himself just a little bit. But it was already too late for him and he didn’t even know it yet.
Señor Weaselo (more than a little alarmed): Ummmmm….why aren’t we…? Oh shit, why are we….???? Is that what I think it is????
Bus Driver (padlocking the bus doors): You just relax, Sugar. We’re gonna take good care of you….
Señor, realization dawning on him, turned to look behind him at the passengers on the bus, all of whom were beginning to get that same crazed look he thought he’d just escaped.
As the stoplight changed to green, the bus rolled agonizingly slowly toward the Lincoln Tunnel, and entered it just as every drunken party bus girl had risen to their feet and were now converging on Señor. As the darkness of the tunnel overtook the bus…..
Señor Weaselo (resigned): Oh dear God, just don’t let it end this way. Be gentle….
The horrors seen for the next ten minutes (stop and go traffic thru the Lincoln Tunnel is a bitch) within those confines has only been rivaled in Stephen King’s The Stand (read a book you heathens….it’s an appropriate reference so shut up). When the bus again saw daylight, this time on the New Jersey side, Señor would never be the same.
[Two Days Later, Early Morning]
A Newark, NJ police cruiser pulls away from Casa di Weaselo. Just inside, in the foyer of the home, Madre di Weaselo is unleashing her fury on poor Señor Weaselo, who is still naked, aside from the official Newark, NJ Jail bedsheet wrapped around him. But he listens. He takes it.
Madre di Weaselo: Newark?? How did you get to Newark and not remember?
Señor Weaselo: I dunno, Ma. I thought we were in Secaucus.
Madre di Weaselo: That doesn’t make it better!!!!
Señor Weaselo: Really?? Not even a little??
Padre di Weaselo (storming in from living room): What’s going on in here? I’m trying to watch the report on the ’67 Jets’ camp and…. Why are you naked? And why does your ass say “Newark PD”????
Señor Weaselo (now walking toward the kitchen): ’67??? Pop, are you feeling OK? Meh, never mind. Nothing’s going on Pop, honest. We’re all good. Let’s just drop it. I’m hungry. (giggling because he knows no one will get the next reference) … No more yanky my wanky. The Donger need food!!!!
Just then, there is a knock at the door.
Padre di Weaselo: Son, I think it’s for you.
Brittany: Hi, sorry to just show up but….ummm, well we found your wallet and, well. We wanted to return it. But also, ummmm….. Look, we’re really sorry about what happened. We don’t know what was wrong with those chicks at the Museum. But we really did just want to hang out with you. When you dropped your wallet we tried to catch you but they, well…
Megan: Yeah. But I mean it was really cool what you did for Brittany on the Subway and all.
Rebecca: But not half as cool as how you held those crazy bitches off with your sauce.
Brittany: Right. Anyway, we’re sorry if we caused you any trouble. We really did just want to hang out and see the sights with you. Anyway, we’ll leave you alone now and…
Señor Weaselo: Well, if it’s sights you want to see….why don’t we start now. How about I show you Boudoir di Weaselo? I might even be able to work up a batch of my special sauce for Rebecca over there.
The girls all giggle, then follow Señor up the stairs.
Padre di Weaselo (laughing and proud): Hey, Son!!! Did you card those girls??? Whaddya want me to tell Mark Sanchez if he shows up, huh?? Hey, Son!! Try not to buttfumble!! These Sanchez/Jets jokes doing anything for ya???
Señor Weaselo (yelling down from upstairs): Not really, Pop! I got this one! Thanks tho.
Madre di Weaselo looks on in stunned silence as Señor’s door slams. Then she begins to head up the stairs.
Madre di Weaselo: Well I am putting a stop to this right n….
Padre di Weaselo catches her by the arm.
Padre di Weaselo: Leave the boy alone, Mama. He’s doing just fine on his own.