BigJimsWornOutTires
Fire
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
- Posts
- 28,036
- Reputation
- 34,534
Previously on Makes My Boy a Leader FAFO:
looksmax.org
looksmax.org
And Now
"Do it, do it, do it!" Davis rallied Wayne as he cautiously moved the metal claw above the wad of cash with full concentration. The hubbub of chatter, blaring music, and arcade machines dinging surrounded the guys at the claw machine. Neon lights danced across the faces of the hundreds of teenagers and several giggling female teachers in miniskirts. Popcorn aroma coupled with pizza, sweat, heavy cologne, and perfume captured everyone's noses. Davis reacted to the reality, "This place smells like migrants standing in line outside Ms. Paulette's apartment." The guys' attention turned to an older lady in her thirties who was across from them at the basketball game. Gina Paulette, their English teacher.
A teenage boy tossed a ball to the hoop as Gina slapped his buttocks. Quickly, she glanced around to see if anyone was looking. She returned to him and tried slapping it again, but he grabbed her wrist and furrowed his brows.
Damn, these pedophilic hot teachers are going too damn far. Leave the child alone, you sick one hundred-pound blue-eyed blonde bitch! Touch someone your own age.
Ah, yes, such a perfect day for a field trip to Dave and Buster's. This is the celebration for the male figure skaters from Chippewa County high schools. The season ended a week ago with the Sizzling Peacocks snatching the championship. And if not for Roy Rogers High School victor, Wayne Walton, the polluted park in the city would've been the host for this event. But Wayne's father was so proud of his son, he donated $20,000 from the fundraising bank to his Democratic Party.
During the finals of the Chippy Junior Grand Prix, Wayne Walton nailed a camel spin into a high loop jump and successfully landed on both of his blades. The spectators and teenagers went crazy with cheers as his dad screamed profanity and irrelevant insults, "Fuck Trump supporters!" The judges stood and declared his team the winner before even tallying up the points. Ugh, the other coaches demanded a legal count as they tossed their writing pads in the air and stamped their feet. After five tedious finger-tapping minutes, Roy Roger's Sizzling Peacocks took the Exclusive Crystal Cucumber Trophy.
Two awkward forced smiles, Wayne Walton and Davis Smith, the latter held second place, each had a hand gripped around the twelve-inch-long award as the season came to a conclusion.
The brick of cash, top bill is a Benjamin Franklin, is captured as Wayne's buddies watch with wide eyes of anticipation. Suddenly, a husky voice bellows from the machine, "Not going to happen." The claw dropped the money and returned to the station as an LCD screen, inside at the back of the glass machine, printed, IT'S OVER, GOYIM. Wayne kicked it, causing an alarm to go off. It resembled a tornado siren. They scattered away while laughing and cussing. Security manifested from the multiple doors along the wall of the game room. There were ten tall, muscular men in black strapped with stun guns and cans of bear mace. They rushed to the claw machine and fortified a defensive stance around it as a short, bearded man with a tiny hat investigated the tampering.
The boys regrouped at a VR game called Remember October 7. "Bro, the fuck is that?" Davis nudged Wayne and gestured for him to look at something across the room. The sports dining area had been transformed into a makeshift victory hall, with balloons and streamers in the colors of each participating school. The atmosphere there was equally electric, a heady mix of triumph and the promise of a great time. However, a black fellow clad in hot pink and sparkling purple of their rival school sat in Roy Rogers' reserved section. Wayne's blood pressure elevated, and his fists tightened as he took in the sight. "Motherfuckers think they can take whatever they want," Davis reminded him about life in America. Meanwhile, the claw machine inspector watched Wayne's expression at the uninvited guest, his eyebrows raised along with the corners of his mouth as he rubbed his hands together.
Usually, it takes is an angry look, and the chump quickly gets up and walks away. Dad taught Wayne this scare tactic, as he'd demonstrated countless times to his helpless mother. His sister, as well.
A few years back, during dinner at the Waltons, Wayne's mom accidentally spilled a piece of lettuce from a salad she'd placed in front of the dad. Wayne's sister, Emma, immediately stopped eating as her heart began racing. Ugh, the air flooded with tension as Dad's jaw clenched and veins in his neck bulged. The kids goggled the piece of lettuce, but Wayne would turn his attention to his dad's impressive alpha move. He watched him stare at his mom with a bone-chilling foreshadowing.
"I'm sorry, please," Mom begged. "It's just a tiny piece of lettuce. Here," she tried plucking the speck of green off the tablecloth, but couldn't get it in time.
"Too late, bitch!" Dad bolted out of his seat and grabbed her head, and slammed it into the kitchen table. Plates of food went airborne, and glasses of water scattered across the polished oak area. Emma's chair scraped against the floor as she jumped out of her seat. She backed away, her eyes wide with shock, glued on the blood beginning to ooze from her mother's mouth.
Wiping his hands with a napkin, Mr. Walton discerned his daughter. Emma wanted to run as fast as she could and never turn back. But that stare was like a monster in a nightmare. She knew she would run in slow motion—the monster always gets her. Dad hummed the napkin at his wife. She was in the midst of discovering a few things missing from inside her mouth. He said to Emma, "Looks like you'll be my salad tonight." Her heart stopped. The next thing he would say guaranteed this nightmare had just begun. "Go to my room."
As if an Arctic wind carrying the imagination of Lyle and Erik Menéndez passed through the house, Emma shivered. She crisscrossed her arms and embraced her shoulders tightly with her hands. She slowly stepped into the lit hallway. Looking back at Mom searching for her missing teeth on the floor, she expected her to offer herself as an alternative for Dad's temper. But Mrs. Walton couldn't bear her daughter's glossy eyes as she shamelessly ignored her like a coward. Wayne runs towards his sister; it looks like he'll be the hero of the hour. However, he brushed past her, and to his dad's bedroom door, he opened it. Watching his slow-walking sister shake like a leaf, he said, "Better you than me." She lowered her head and stepped inside her nightmare.
Unlike family drama at the Waltons, in this situation, the feller didn't get up but stared him back. So Wayne stomped his feet aggressively to the threat while pushing people out of his way. Now standing several feet from a slave's great-great-great grandson, with a sturdy tone, he commanded, "The fuck out of my seat, subhuman."
Ouchie mouchie, the black kid, didn't budge. Instead, he offered Wayne his own problem solver. "If you don't back your fucking cracker ass up, I'm gonna jab jab jab you."
The bully pondered a second, What would Pops do? He remembered when his frail mother crouched on the floor, cleaning up his pee-pee accident, Dad approached, and said, "Woman, you have three seconds to move!" Mom scurried away on her knees as she avoided his eyes. Meanwhile, the door to his sister's bedroom quietly shut.
Good for you, Emma. Not this time, right?
Expanding his chest, the bully stepped closer to the white-race replacement. He demanded, "You have three seconds to move. One-"
Before he could say the next number, the black guy got up and stabbed him two times while uttering, "Two, three."
Makes My Boy a Leader becomes a worm food feeder.
Next time on Makes My Boy a Leader FAFO, a bully parties with his backup buddies in Downtown. They end up in a strip joint. There's an MS-13 gang inside celebrating a rival's funeral. Oh, boogers, will Makes My Boy a Leader bitch handle the thugs? Or will he become a trophy for gang ranking? Or could the eDog save him in time with his deportations? We'll find out next time on Makes My Boy a Leader FAFO!
Breeders of Violence - Makes my boy a leader!
Every day a bully discourages a person from achieving greatness. Either in school - or at the workplace, this continues to expand. Now we can justify this as strong versus weak. Or we can see this for what it is—violent tendency. Pushing anyone around; mentally, intellectually, or forcefully is...
looksmax.org
NEW from SplatRball - Makes My Boy a Leader! Water Bead Blaster Gun
It's a water pellet gun. So you can have hours of fun shooting the 'feels like a rubberband sting' pellets at unaware innocent people for your own satisfaction and feel good amusement. Are you extraordinary in your class and academics? Makes My Boy a Leader gel gun is for you! Do you get kicks...
looksmax.org
And Now
"Do it, do it, do it!" Davis rallied Wayne as he cautiously moved the metal claw above the wad of cash with full concentration. The hubbub of chatter, blaring music, and arcade machines dinging surrounded the guys at the claw machine. Neon lights danced across the faces of the hundreds of teenagers and several giggling female teachers in miniskirts. Popcorn aroma coupled with pizza, sweat, heavy cologne, and perfume captured everyone's noses. Davis reacted to the reality, "This place smells like migrants standing in line outside Ms. Paulette's apartment." The guys' attention turned to an older lady in her thirties who was across from them at the basketball game. Gina Paulette, their English teacher.
A teenage boy tossed a ball to the hoop as Gina slapped his buttocks. Quickly, she glanced around to see if anyone was looking. She returned to him and tried slapping it again, but he grabbed her wrist and furrowed his brows.
Damn, these pedophilic hot teachers are going too damn far. Leave the child alone, you sick one hundred-pound blue-eyed blonde bitch! Touch someone your own age.
Ah, yes, such a perfect day for a field trip to Dave and Buster's. This is the celebration for the male figure skaters from Chippewa County high schools. The season ended a week ago with the Sizzling Peacocks snatching the championship. And if not for Roy Rogers High School victor, Wayne Walton, the polluted park in the city would've been the host for this event. But Wayne's father was so proud of his son, he donated $20,000 from the fundraising bank to his Democratic Party.
During the finals of the Chippy Junior Grand Prix, Wayne Walton nailed a camel spin into a high loop jump and successfully landed on both of his blades. The spectators and teenagers went crazy with cheers as his dad screamed profanity and irrelevant insults, "Fuck Trump supporters!" The judges stood and declared his team the winner before even tallying up the points. Ugh, the other coaches demanded a legal count as they tossed their writing pads in the air and stamped their feet. After five tedious finger-tapping minutes, Roy Roger's Sizzling Peacocks took the Exclusive Crystal Cucumber Trophy.
Two awkward forced smiles, Wayne Walton and Davis Smith, the latter held second place, each had a hand gripped around the twelve-inch-long award as the season came to a conclusion.
The brick of cash, top bill is a Benjamin Franklin, is captured as Wayne's buddies watch with wide eyes of anticipation. Suddenly, a husky voice bellows from the machine, "Not going to happen." The claw dropped the money and returned to the station as an LCD screen, inside at the back of the glass machine, printed, IT'S OVER, GOYIM. Wayne kicked it, causing an alarm to go off. It resembled a tornado siren. They scattered away while laughing and cussing. Security manifested from the multiple doors along the wall of the game room. There were ten tall, muscular men in black strapped with stun guns and cans of bear mace. They rushed to the claw machine and fortified a defensive stance around it as a short, bearded man with a tiny hat investigated the tampering.
The boys regrouped at a VR game called Remember October 7. "Bro, the fuck is that?" Davis nudged Wayne and gestured for him to look at something across the room. The sports dining area had been transformed into a makeshift victory hall, with balloons and streamers in the colors of each participating school. The atmosphere there was equally electric, a heady mix of triumph and the promise of a great time. However, a black fellow clad in hot pink and sparkling purple of their rival school sat in Roy Rogers' reserved section. Wayne's blood pressure elevated, and his fists tightened as he took in the sight. "Motherfuckers think they can take whatever they want," Davis reminded him about life in America. Meanwhile, the claw machine inspector watched Wayne's expression at the uninvited guest, his eyebrows raised along with the corners of his mouth as he rubbed his hands together.
Usually, it takes is an angry look, and the chump quickly gets up and walks away. Dad taught Wayne this scare tactic, as he'd demonstrated countless times to his helpless mother. His sister, as well.
A few years back, during dinner at the Waltons, Wayne's mom accidentally spilled a piece of lettuce from a salad she'd placed in front of the dad. Wayne's sister, Emma, immediately stopped eating as her heart began racing. Ugh, the air flooded with tension as Dad's jaw clenched and veins in his neck bulged. The kids goggled the piece of lettuce, but Wayne would turn his attention to his dad's impressive alpha move. He watched him stare at his mom with a bone-chilling foreshadowing.
"I'm sorry, please," Mom begged. "It's just a tiny piece of lettuce. Here," she tried plucking the speck of green off the tablecloth, but couldn't get it in time.
"Too late, bitch!" Dad bolted out of his seat and grabbed her head, and slammed it into the kitchen table. Plates of food went airborne, and glasses of water scattered across the polished oak area. Emma's chair scraped against the floor as she jumped out of her seat. She backed away, her eyes wide with shock, glued on the blood beginning to ooze from her mother's mouth.
Wiping his hands with a napkin, Mr. Walton discerned his daughter. Emma wanted to run as fast as she could and never turn back. But that stare was like a monster in a nightmare. She knew she would run in slow motion—the monster always gets her. Dad hummed the napkin at his wife. She was in the midst of discovering a few things missing from inside her mouth. He said to Emma, "Looks like you'll be my salad tonight." Her heart stopped. The next thing he would say guaranteed this nightmare had just begun. "Go to my room."
As if an Arctic wind carrying the imagination of Lyle and Erik Menéndez passed through the house, Emma shivered. She crisscrossed her arms and embraced her shoulders tightly with her hands. She slowly stepped into the lit hallway. Looking back at Mom searching for her missing teeth on the floor, she expected her to offer herself as an alternative for Dad's temper. But Mrs. Walton couldn't bear her daughter's glossy eyes as she shamelessly ignored her like a coward. Wayne runs towards his sister; it looks like he'll be the hero of the hour. However, he brushed past her, and to his dad's bedroom door, he opened it. Watching his slow-walking sister shake like a leaf, he said, "Better you than me." She lowered her head and stepped inside her nightmare.
Unlike family drama at the Waltons, in this situation, the feller didn't get up but stared him back. So Wayne stomped his feet aggressively to the threat while pushing people out of his way. Now standing several feet from a slave's great-great-great grandson, with a sturdy tone, he commanded, "The fuck out of my seat, subhuman."
Ouchie mouchie, the black kid, didn't budge. Instead, he offered Wayne his own problem solver. "If you don't back your fucking cracker ass up, I'm gonna jab jab jab you."
The bully pondered a second, What would Pops do? He remembered when his frail mother crouched on the floor, cleaning up his pee-pee accident, Dad approached, and said, "Woman, you have three seconds to move!" Mom scurried away on her knees as she avoided his eyes. Meanwhile, the door to his sister's bedroom quietly shut.
Good for you, Emma. Not this time, right?
Expanding his chest, the bully stepped closer to the white-race replacement. He demanded, "You have three seconds to move. One-"
Before he could say the next number, the black guy got up and stabbed him two times while uttering, "Two, three."
Makes My Boy a Leader becomes a worm food feeder.
Next time on Makes My Boy a Leader FAFO, a bully parties with his backup buddies in Downtown. They end up in a strip joint. There's an MS-13 gang inside celebrating a rival's funeral. Oh, boogers, will Makes My Boy a Leader bitch handle the thugs? Or will he become a trophy for gang ranking? Or could the eDog save him in time with his deportations? We'll find out next time on Makes My Boy a Leader FAFO!
Last edited:
