BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
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Part 1
Part 2 & 3
Part 4
"My brother was imprisoned for the crime of a broken heart. This was declared in a letter he'd sent me from prison through his daughter, Little Samantha & Her Amazing Cup of Uranium. This letter I keep balled up in my closet on the floor, near my sex dolls and chest of party favorites, is one of the last few links I have to Big Bubba's Used Hoes & Shovel Sale.
Next month is my birthday. So much time has passed. I was two years old when I first learned his name. The gulf between those two events had been intoxicatingly filled with parties, mind-boggling growth, and excessive drinking. The answers my mother gave us were vague and short, but as adults, we accept whatever mom tells us and never question because she'll go on and on and on and on, ugh. I much rather avoid such disturbance. Though things unsaid suggested, we both were SOMETHING ELSE. And we were twins.
There were no ex-girlfriends or wives of Big Bubba. He was known to use women for their body parts and never settle down with any, not even as a date. Ugh. Now, if you're wondering how did Samantha come into this picture, well, that's a long story that involves her knocking at his door - declaring she's his daughter - and him accepting her without asking for verification. As if he knew he was that kind of whore. And that kind of whore is common in our family.
Mom adopted us when we were infants. She insisted for us not to call her mom, though, but Big Mama's Wet Oysters and Seafood Sale. Dad, though, Big Mama didn't care much for. bob. She wouldn't allow anyone to use an uppercase character for his name. She insisted, "It's bob! No capital letter at its beginning!" But bob left us when we outweighed him in size. He was a tiny little man. Ugh. I remember me and Big Bubba would toss him around like a ragdoll. And when it came down to giving us baths, poor bob would cry looking at our Destroyers of Worlds as he swigged on his tin flask. He convinced himself life cursed him with a tiny manhood. Perhaps, he was right. He left when we were five years old.
There are no photographs of Big Bubba on display. I visit the old shithole he calls home now and then to check up on Little Samantha and make sure she's not doing something apocalyptic. And I've been to other homes and seen the enshrined pictures families have displayed on their walls. Not Bubba's place. Not one single photograph. As if he's OCD with nothing. Ugh. Or maybe he's a Mooslum, and photos are against his religion. No telling. We were closed growing up, but during our teen years, we separated. I had to time travel; he had to build a gateway between parallel universes. Since then, we've barely kept in touch.
My brother was convicted for defending himself against his alternate reality version from what I gleaned. Big Bubba 2.0 crossed over to our universe to hang out with his duplicate, my brother. But he fell in love. Either one of us knew 2.0 was a faggot. And ugh, Big Bubba didn't care for faggots. And knowing his duplicate was one, ouch. It was war! They went at it and beat the living shit out of each other. But my brother miscalculated his kungfu flying kick and collided with the wall; 2.0 conquered him. Then raped him. Yup. He fucked himself real good. Ugh. Poor Bubba. He would never be the same again.
One night his duplicate came back to fuck himself again. Big Bubba was waiting! As 2.0 opened the door carrying a jar of petroleum jelly, Bubba filled him with bucks! He shouldn't have done that. He later found out his duplicate was an agent for the Gateway Patrol. Big Bubba helped erect after the portal was finished tethering these two worlds. He should've stayed in touch with those people, but instead, he felt his job was done and wanted to party the rest of his days with pussy and liquor. That would be his undoing.
When 2.0 didn't clock in, the GP investigated. The last known location of his phone ping led to my brother's shithole. He admitted to the crime, but his daughter, Samantha, a chemist and laboratory geek, had scrapped 2.0 up and used his biological matter in her experiments. So there was no evidence a crime ever took place. But Big Bubba admitted and was arrested and later convicted for murdering his duplicate."
The blonde-haired woman who resembled the timeless lady sat on Big Jim's bed, confused about why he told her that long, boring story. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Ugh. I felt like opening up to you for once. Knowing you're the timeless lady."
"Who?" Perplexed at what he said. She had no memory of how she got there and was utterly clueless of this timeless lady.
"Let me show you," Big Jim began punching himself in the head. But nothing happened. The blonde hurried back in fear watching this grown man hit himself like an autist.
"Please stop! You're hurting yourself!"
"No, trust me, this is how it's done." He hit himself some more, but the vortex didn't open. "My gad...we haven't created it yet."
Part 2 & 3
Part 4
"My brother was imprisoned for the crime of a broken heart. This was declared in a letter he'd sent me from prison through his daughter, Little Samantha & Her Amazing Cup of Uranium. This letter I keep balled up in my closet on the floor, near my sex dolls and chest of party favorites, is one of the last few links I have to Big Bubba's Used Hoes & Shovel Sale.
Next month is my birthday. So much time has passed. I was two years old when I first learned his name. The gulf between those two events had been intoxicatingly filled with parties, mind-boggling growth, and excessive drinking. The answers my mother gave us were vague and short, but as adults, we accept whatever mom tells us and never question because she'll go on and on and on and on, ugh. I much rather avoid such disturbance. Though things unsaid suggested, we both were SOMETHING ELSE. And we were twins.
There were no ex-girlfriends or wives of Big Bubba. He was known to use women for their body parts and never settle down with any, not even as a date. Ugh. Now, if you're wondering how did Samantha come into this picture, well, that's a long story that involves her knocking at his door - declaring she's his daughter - and him accepting her without asking for verification. As if he knew he was that kind of whore. And that kind of whore is common in our family.
Mom adopted us when we were infants. She insisted for us not to call her mom, though, but Big Mama's Wet Oysters and Seafood Sale. Dad, though, Big Mama didn't care much for. bob. She wouldn't allow anyone to use an uppercase character for his name. She insisted, "It's bob! No capital letter at its beginning!" But bob left us when we outweighed him in size. He was a tiny little man. Ugh. I remember me and Big Bubba would toss him around like a ragdoll. And when it came down to giving us baths, poor bob would cry looking at our Destroyers of Worlds as he swigged on his tin flask. He convinced himself life cursed him with a tiny manhood. Perhaps, he was right. He left when we were five years old.
There are no photographs of Big Bubba on display. I visit the old shithole he calls home now and then to check up on Little Samantha and make sure she's not doing something apocalyptic. And I've been to other homes and seen the enshrined pictures families have displayed on their walls. Not Bubba's place. Not one single photograph. As if he's OCD with nothing. Ugh. Or maybe he's a Mooslum, and photos are against his religion. No telling. We were closed growing up, but during our teen years, we separated. I had to time travel; he had to build a gateway between parallel universes. Since then, we've barely kept in touch.
My brother was convicted for defending himself against his alternate reality version from what I gleaned. Big Bubba 2.0 crossed over to our universe to hang out with his duplicate, my brother. But he fell in love. Either one of us knew 2.0 was a faggot. And ugh, Big Bubba didn't care for faggots. And knowing his duplicate was one, ouch. It was war! They went at it and beat the living shit out of each other. But my brother miscalculated his kungfu flying kick and collided with the wall; 2.0 conquered him. Then raped him. Yup. He fucked himself real good. Ugh. Poor Bubba. He would never be the same again.
One night his duplicate came back to fuck himself again. Big Bubba was waiting! As 2.0 opened the door carrying a jar of petroleum jelly, Bubba filled him with bucks! He shouldn't have done that. He later found out his duplicate was an agent for the Gateway Patrol. Big Bubba helped erect after the portal was finished tethering these two worlds. He should've stayed in touch with those people, but instead, he felt his job was done and wanted to party the rest of his days with pussy and liquor. That would be his undoing.
When 2.0 didn't clock in, the GP investigated. The last known location of his phone ping led to my brother's shithole. He admitted to the crime, but his daughter, Samantha, a chemist and laboratory geek, had scrapped 2.0 up and used his biological matter in her experiments. So there was no evidence a crime ever took place. But Big Bubba admitted and was arrested and later convicted for murdering his duplicate."
The blonde-haired woman who resembled the timeless lady sat on Big Jim's bed, confused about why he told her that long, boring story. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Ugh. I felt like opening up to you for once. Knowing you're the timeless lady."
"Who?" Perplexed at what he said. She had no memory of how she got there and was utterly clueless of this timeless lady.
"Let me show you," Big Jim began punching himself in the head. But nothing happened. The blonde hurried back in fear watching this grown man hit himself like an autist.
"Please stop! You're hurting yourself!"
"No, trust me, this is how it's done." He hit himself some more, but the vortex didn't open. "My gad...we haven't created it yet."
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