Some See A Negative, I See A "Stump Fucker"

For everyone out there that doesn't follow me on a regular basis - okay, that's everyone - I work a second job as a valet car parking running-type person.  I take your car keys, get in your vehicle, and drive around for about 45 minutes to an hour until you come back outside and ask for it back.  Only if it's a good car though.  I run Neon's and Dodge Journeys into a fucking ditch.

Here recently though, I've taken a kind of break from all of that to stay inside the cool air conditioning to get fat on snack cakes and play video games.  I keed, but I really just wanted to separate myself from that extra valet money to see if I could survive without it and continue to support my ever-growing gaming habit.  So far I've done well, and have been patient with my spending, finding ingenious ways to buy games for sweet deals and lower prices online.

One of the things I miss about valeting though is the experience of working with friends and gaining stories to tell.  If you ever feel you're stuck in a rut doing the same thing over and over again each day, go slap on the black pants and collared shirt of a valet attendant and with one weekend you'll have a plethora of stories to tell at a party.  You won't be getting into a chick's pants by any means, but you will at least have something entertaining coming out of your boring ass mouth for a change.

This is one of those stories.

I can tell this story because the person in question is better off than me.  And as you all know, that gives me the right to point this out.  Not so much to make fun of him, but to point out that it was quite odd to deal with the situation at hand.

I arrived at the valet location and parked my car in the back, then heading up to the podium to start my shift.  We were at an Audi dealership off of the Dallas tollway after my 8-5pm job, apparently valeting guest cars for the new 2012 Audi A6 unveiling.  Catering, wine, small caviar hors d'oeuvres - all were on display for the guests that were to arrive shortly thereafter.

We slowly began to take cars as they arrived, ticketed them, and showed the guests the way up the red carpet into the dealership.  For those of you that need a refresher, I'll give a little rundown on how to operate a valet attendant; and no, this doesn't mean pulling his pants down and stroking his member - although that would be awesome if you're a hot chick.  But when you pull up to the valet, they'll get the door for you and you give them your last name to be associated with your car.  Some valet companies  do this, some don't.  It all depends on a lot of different factors I won't go into, but it's part of the valet process.

So after we take your last name down, we call a few 800 numbers to access all of your information and get your credit report through Experian, Equifax, and TransUnion.  This let's us know if you're a cheap ass or might stiff us.  That's not cool.  If you tip us well, we might even call up Amazon.com and send you a gift basket from the valet company, only we used your PayPal account to pay for it.  This usually only happens if the customer takes on three or more penises at a time and jerks to completion - we call this sexual move "returning the tips".

Anyway, after we get the last name, we write that name down on a ticket and break off a piece to hand to the customer for later so they can come back and we can associate the ticket to their car.  I know I'm drawing this story out - like I always do to show off just how incredibly complex this valet system is (and it is) - but one guest in particular caught my eye in the way he took the valet ticket.

He rolled up in a very nice Audi sports car - fitting.  Probably an '08 A4 with Motegi sport wheels?  Very nice ride.  Leather inside, great high-end audio system, all the bells and whistles.  His date was gorgeous too.  I can't really go into[b] too[/b] much detail here with my wedding coming up in a few months - my fiance would kill me - but know she was in a very nice dark blue evening dress with little crimps in the fabric around the thigh area.  Oh, and Victoria's Secret tiger print thong panties.  Very nice get-up for her to go to a car dealership to look at a new car.

The point is:  this guy had it going on.  As we like to say in the hood where I'm from he was "doin' it big" and/or "ballin'".  No doubt he went home after the event, beat the hell out of his wife/girlfriend's pussy up with his 7 and a half inch penis (larger than normal), pet his Yorkshire terrier runt dog, and watered and seeded (not with his sperm) his green front lawn of his nice Plano custom-built home.  But what I saw as he stood up out of the driver's seat made me do a double-take - he didn't have any hands.

That's right.  No digits.  He could only count to two.  The hands were cut off at the wrist.  He still had everything from the shoulder on down, but he probably wasn't able to wear a watch.  Now I know what you're probably saying, "Justin, why are you making fun of this guy with no hands?" And I would answer that with, "Well, funny you should mention this, because the first thing out of my mouth after he left was 'I wonder if he nub-bangs his girlfriend in the vagina or ass with those things?'"  That's what I want to know.  Laugh all you want, there are people out there who are into weird "stump porn", that wouldn't have it any other way than to have intercourse with an amputated leg or prosthetic piece of medical-grade plastic.

That was basically it.  He gripped the ticket in between his two "hands" and was able to put it into his pocket as he made his way up to the event arm in nub with his girl.

He has it better than me, plain and simple.  He has the better car, the better living situation, the better job, the better house, the better dog, and the better dick probably.  I realize my place in this crazy world we live in as a useless peon and deem it fitting to voice my stupid, retarded opinion on this blog.  I am what you would call the peasant trash outside of the castle yelling racial slurs and calling the king stupid from a safe distance.  I'm the sweaty valet guy taking your car in the 105 degree Texas heat while you go inside an Audi dealership with your hot lady friend and enjoy a great evening looking at cars that you can afford that I'll never be able to buy and socializing with others above my pay grade.

I make fun of your deformity because it's the easy route to take for most, but I also look at the fact that the dude is better off stump-fucking his hot girlfriend/fiance in their picture perfect home.  So while some might see this blog post as a rant and picking on a deformity that's possibly a negative, I see it as a positive that should be praised.  Even with no hands in the face of adversity, this guy was able to rise above it, get the girl, the dog, the house, and the bigger dick to make himself the better person.  I applaud you sir.

But come to think of it, I don't really know if the guy was engaged or married because he didn't have a ring on.  Go figure.  Oops.  Sorry. That was the last joke.  I swear.  I should really try and market engagement bracelets or something like that for people without hands.  Just something to help the guy out even more.  That way he'd give me a shit-ton of his money, instead of giving me a measly 2 bucks when he left to go home to bang his chick-friend.