I've struggled to write this for years. I hope you accept my truth. Trigger warning: rape. #metoo

[guest]

In the winter of 2017, I walked by Nikki Robinson in a Walgreens and she farted within my personal space. It stunk.

 

[captain_kamala]

That sounds traumatic

 

[Ha Ha Ha Holeee Shit!]

I’m so sorry, Prolapsed.

 

[peckafacce]

Was it a fart or a queef?

 

[bantadant]

In the winter of 2017, I walked by Nikki Robinson in a Walgreens and she farted within my personal space. It stunk.

Every available hole, you say?

 

[DanFielding]

You must have had nightmares for months.

 

[guest]

Was it a fart or a queef?

If I remember correctly, she grabbed her cheeks and stretched open her back hole so I'm pretty sure it was a fart. Then she cackled like a retard. I'm having PTSD recalling that so sorry I can't go into more detail.

 

[kingship75]

If I remember correctly, she grabbed her cheeks and stretched open her back hole so I'm pretty sure it was a fart. Then she cackled like a retard. I'm having PTSD recalling that so sorry I can't go into more detail.

I believe and honor you.

 

[CruisinColin]

In 2016, I was called out to fix a sink at the Tomlinson household. Within a second of me hitting the bell, the doorknob starts going apeshit from somebody inside. It gave me a fright so I jumped back. The door keeps going for a few seconds like somebody is trying to break out of there. I called out to see what was happening and then this fucking moaning comes back as a response. Like the moaning of somebody who is in a great deal of pain.

I was about to get the fuck out of there when the door finally opens and there stands Patrick himself. He's wearing all of his leather biking stuff and he's absolutely drenched in sweat. One of his hands is gripping his stomach like it's hurting. The guy looks like he has food poisoning. We look at each other in silence before he struggles to get a "this house has very slippy door knobs."

I tell him that I'm the guy that's here to fix his plumbing but I can come back another time. As I'm telling him this I hear this animalistic hissing noise coming from inside the house, he doesn't seem to notice. All of the curtains are drawn and it's pretty dark behind him. He says "Plumberchild, my sink is noT working and I think you're going to fix iT."

Of course, I'm a bit thrown off by how unusual the interaction has been but I figure the guy is sick so I decide to help him out. He lurched backward into the house but caught himself before fully falling. I followed.

I won't go into the smell, it was obviously terrible, but what really stood out was a mound of rags in the corner. Patrick sees me staring and and begins to grunt. Not like an aggressive grunt, but as if he's desperately trying to not take a liquid food poisoning shit in his leathers. "Eyes off Nikki, plumberchild! The sink is in the kitchen," and he points. Then he then picked up a fucking tree branch, leaves and all, and turned towards the rags.

At this point I just wanted out of there so I kept my head down and rushed to where he directed. The room has fucking six sinks in it. I have no idea which one is broken. From the room I came from, the hissing started up again coupled with what sounded like praying. I couldn't focus on the stupid sinks. I needed to know what was happening out there.

I'm not finishing this I'm going to bed.

 

[guest]

In 2016, I was called out to fix a sink at the Tomlinson household. Within a second of me hitting the bell, the doorknob starts going apeshit from somebody inside. It gave me a fright so I jumped back. The door keeps going for a few seconds like somebody is trying to break out of there. I called out to see what was happening and then this fucking moaning comes back as a response. Like the moaning of somebody who is in a great deal of pain.

I was about to get the fuck out of there when the door finally opens and there stands Patrick himself. He's wearing all of his leather biking stuff and he's absolutely drenched in sweat. One of his hands is gripping his stomach like it's hurting. The guy looks like he has food poisoning. We look at each other in silence before he struggles to get a "this house has very slippy door knobs."

I tell him that I'm the guy that's here to fix his plumbing but I can come back another time. As I'm telling him this I hear this animalistic hissing noise coming from inside the house, he doesn't seem to notice. All of the curtains are drawn and it's pretty dark behind him. He says "Plumberchild, my sink is noT working and I think you're going to fix iT."

Of course, I'm a bit thrown off by how unusual the interaction has been but I figure the guy is sick so I decide to help him out. He lurched backward into the house but caught himself before fully falling. I followed.

I won't go into the smell, it was obviously terrible, but what really stood out was a mound of rags in the corner. Patrick sees me staring and and begins to grunt. Not like an aggressive grunt, but as if he's desperately trying to not take a liquid food poisoning shit in his leathers. "Eyes off Nikki, plumberchild! The sink is in the kitchen," and he points. Then he then picked up a fucking tree branch, leaves and all, and turned towards the rags.

At this point I just wanted out of there so I kept my head down and rushed to where he directed. I start to take a look at the sink. From the room I came from, the hissing started up again coupled with what sounded like praying. I couldn't focus on the stupid sink. I needed to know what was happening out there.

I'm not finishing this I'm going to bed.

I bet the hissing was their cat trying to escape its "cage". They were probably disciplining it for trying to escape. Because they had no money for a real cage they had to improvise. Niki had that thing shoved up inside her and the cat was obviously distressed and hissing loudly at its dissatisfaction.

 

[Imager]

In 2016, I was called out to fix a sink at the Tomlinson household. Within a second of me hitting the bell, the doorknob starts going apeshit from somebody inside. It gave me a fright so I jumped back. The door keeps going for a few seconds like somebody is trying to break out of there. I called out to see what was happening and then this fucking moaning comes back as a response. Like the moaning of somebody who is in a great deal of pain.

I was about to get the fuck out of there when the door finally opens and there stands Patrick himself. He's wearing all of his leather biking stuff and he's absolutely drenched in sweat. One of his hands is gripping his stomach like it's hurting. The guy looks like he has food poisoning. We look at each other in silence before he struggles to get a "this house has very slippy door knobs."

I tell him that I'm the guy that's here to fix his plumbing but I can come back another time. As I'm telling him this I hear this animalistic hissing noise coming from inside the house, he doesn't seem to notice. All of the curtains are drawn and it's pretty dark behind him. He says "Plumberchild, my sink is noT working and I think you're going to fix iT."

Of course, I'm a bit thrown off by how unusual the interaction has been but I figure the guy is sick so I decide to help him out. He lurched backward into the house but caught himself before fully falling. I followed.

I won't go into the smell, it was obviously terrible, but what really stood out was a mound of rags in the corner. Patrick sees me staring and and begins to grunt. Not like an aggressive grunt, but as if he's desperately trying to not take a liquid food poisoning shit in his leathers. "Eyes off Nikki, plumberchild! The sink is in the kitchen," and he points. Then he then picked up a fucking tree branch, leaves and all, and turned towards the rags.

At this point I just wanted out of there so I kept my head down and rushed to where he directed. The room has fucking six sinks in it. I have no idea which one is broken. From the room I came from, the hissing started up again coupled with what sounded like praying. I couldn't focus on the stupid sinks. I needed to know what was happening out there.

I'm not finishing this I'm going to bed.

This sounds pretty far-fetched to me.

 

[CruisinColin]

I bet the hissing was their cat trying to escape its "cage". They were probably disciplining it for trying to escape. Because they had no money for a real cage they had to improvise. Niki had that thing shoved up inside her and the cat was obviously distressed and hissing loudly at its dissatisfaction.

The sink was going to be blocked up with wallets that belonged to black people.

 

[guest]

The sink was going to be blocked up with wallets that belonged to black people.

You said you weren't going to finish.

 

[Jim Norton’s Wife's Cock]

In 2016, I was called out to fix a sink at the Tomlinson household. Within a second of me hitting the bell, the doorknob starts going apeshit from somebody inside. It gave me a fright so I jumped back. The door keeps going for a few seconds like somebody is trying to break out of there. I called out to see what was happening and then this fucking moaning comes back as a response. Like the moaning of somebody who is in a great deal of pain.

I was about to get the fuck out of there when the door finally opens and there stands Patrick himself. He's wearing all of his leather biking stuff and he's absolutely drenched in sweat. One of his hands is gripping his stomach like it's hurting. The guy looks like he has food poisoning. We look at each other in silence before he struggles to get a "this house has very slippy door knobs."

I tell him that I'm the guy that's here to fix his plumbing but I can come back another time. As I'm telling him this I hear this animalistic hissing noise coming from inside the house, he doesn't seem to notice. All of the curtains are drawn and it's pretty dark behind him. He says "Plumberchild, my sink is noT working and I think you're going to fix iT."

Of course, I'm a bit thrown off by how unusual the interaction has been but I figure the guy is sick so I decide to help him out. He lurched backward into the house but caught himself before fully falling. I followed.

I won't go into the smell, it was obviously terrible, but what really stood out was a mound of rags in the corner. Patrick sees me staring and and begins to grunt. Not like an aggressive grunt, but as if he's desperately trying to not take a liquid food poisoning shit in his leathers. "Eyes off Nikki, plumberchild! The sink is in the kitchen," and he points. Then he then picked up a fucking tree branch, leaves and all, and turned towards the rags.

At this point I just wanted out of there so I kept my head down and rushed to where he directed. The room has fucking six sinks in it. I have no idea which one is broken. From the room I came from, the hissing started up again coupled with what sounded like praying. I couldn't focus on the stupid sinks. I needed to know what was happening out there.

I'm not finishing this I'm going to bed.

At first, i thought this was gonna end up with you finding out Pat had the doorknob up his ass whilst wearing his macho man leathers, and you turning up scared him making him quickly push out from the doorknob causing some kind of internal damage.

 

[MeridiaN]

This is my truth:

The worst day of my life was when Nikki Robinson ripped ass right in front of me while we were standing in line at Dollar Tree. Right before it was her turn to checkout, she took a call from who I assumed to be her husband, which sounded very cantankerous. After ending the call, she turned around, looked me dead in the eye with palpable hate and malice before her face contorted into one of intense strain as she hiked her leg, pushing a cartoonishly loud, wet, sickly fart that almost reminded me of a defense mechanism of some exotic insect from deepest, darkest Africa.

I dropped to my knees, gasping for air and pawing at my throat. The air seemed to turned to burning mustard gas, and as I lay convulsing on the floor, Nikki Robinson simply checked out like nothing happened. Like she hadn't just blew raunchy ass that smelled of gas station Indian food and two week old black person carcass into an innocent stranger's face.

It's been a year since Nikki Robinson farted in my face, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully heal, but sharing my story with other survivors has given me strength.

#MeToo
#NikkiPoo

 

[guest]

This is my truth:

The worst day of my life was when Nikki Robinson ripped ass right in front of me while we were standing in line at Dollar Tree. Right before it was her turn to checkout, she took a call from who I assumed to be her husband, which sounded very cantankerous. After ending the call, she turned around, looked me dead in the eye with palpable hate and malice before her face contorted into one of intense strain as she hiked her leg, pushing a cartoonishly loud, wet, sickly fart that almost reminded me of a defense mechanism of some exotic insect from deepest, darkest Africa.

I dropped to my knees, gasping for air and pawing at my throat. The air seemed to turned to burning mustard gas, and as I lay convulsing on the floor, Nikki Robinson simply checked out like nothing happened. Like she hadn't just blew raunchy ass that smelled of gas station Indian food and two week old black person carcass into an innocent stranger's face.

It's been a year since Nikki Robinson farted in my face, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully heal, but sharing my story with other survivors has given me strength.

#MeToo
#NikkiPoo

She can't keep getting away with it!

 

[guest]

(from the private notes of Alexis deBoqueville):


ITT 35-54-year-old white guys with jokes (and: bam, also with jokes, and: me being a bit of a jerk. I watch them with fascination and furiously fill my diary with observations of their humor-based camaraderie (at the expense of ideological and circumstantial adversaries. They laugh, but are unhappy.) I was, undercover...my opieanthony documentary is complete.

 

[guest]

(from the private notes of Alexis deBoqueville):


ITT 35-54-year-old white guys with jokes (and: bam, also with jokes, and: me being a bit of a jerk. I watch them with fascination and furiously fill my diary with observations of their humor-based camaraderie (at the expense of ideological and circumstantial adversaries. They laugh, but are unhappy.)

I'm not unhappy. I like... I like me.

 

[guest]

I'm not unhappy. I like... I like me.

 

[DominusOdium]

Word on the Milwaukee streets is, Patrick won't share and makes her live on canned vienna sausages and pickled eggs as they are cheap and he believes her stink will keep pests away from his garden