Every other Friday Chad Zumock and M. Thomas L. recount the dark details of a true story told to them involving the real life struggle for survival between Michael Knight and Paul Kersey.
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My new job...
The following story is completely true. The original chronicles, as written by Michael Knight, are being retold in the first-person, by Chad Zumock, M. Thomas L., and Charlie DeMarco who acquired Knight's journal as well as first hand accounts from several sources during a full year of traveling the United States to research this amazing tale, all while together on a tandem bicycle. This story, told to the best of our recollection and using Knight's original journal entries, outlines the terrifying battle for survival in a unique symbiotic relationship. Black and white? Predator and prey? Action and opposing reaction? We present the story to you now so that you can decide for yourself.
When we last left off, Michael Knight had altered his appearance following his serendipitous meeting with Paul Kersey. Sporting a shaved head, handlebar mustache, and a new resume he landed a new job at Staubach Pharmaceutical. But only after engaging in a raucous session with the head of the HR department.
We pick up the story in four days into Michael's new job as the night shift janitor...
CHAPTER NINE: The Girl
12 AM- Jane finally limped out after another marathon of sex in her office. My work is really suffering due to the clandestine and increasingly deviant romps with Mrs. Chitwood. My shift starts at 8PM and ends at 5AM, but for each the past four days I have arrived to find Jane alone, nude in the office. Her appetite is insatiable, and frankly, I find myself enjoying the encounters less and less as I become less of a partner and more of laborer. With all of the implements and office items she demands I insert into her, my penis has become little more than decoration.
Tonight my little soldier didn't see any fighting until almost three hours in, and by then the damage done by the fax machine's paper roll had left her battlefield destroyed. Oddly enough, when I told her I felt like I was fucking a pulled pork sandwich, she made me say it over and over while she deep throated a phallic shaped clear plastic computer speaker.
After glazing her bedraggled love folds while she stapled through the webbing between each of her toes, it was clear to me that this had to end. Not only did these four-hour hate-fueled fornicatory offenses cut into my janitorial time, I had made no progress in my plan to destroy Paul Kersey.
One of my favorite Paula Poundstone jokes came to mind: "The wages of sin are death, but by the time taxes are taken out, it's just sort of a tired feeling." Pure comic genius.
4 AM- I removed the last of the boxes marked "basura" from the hallway on the second floor and wondered what kind of thoughtless bigot assumes the cleaning staff is Mexican. My efforts to match the handwriting on the boxes to notes posted in one of the cubicles had proven unsuccessful. But I wasn't ready to give up just yet. There was still a section of the 4th floor cubicle farm I hadn't searched.
I decided to stock the bathrooms, and my car, with shit tickets before heading up there. One of the unexpected perks of this job is the free toilet paper. There is a certain confidence that comes with knowing that no matter what comes--famine, asteroid impact, viral pandemic, nuclear holocaust--I'll never have to worry about having enough two-ply to exculpate my asshole.
With my other duties completed, I resumed my quadrant search with a handwriting sample torn from the box left on my first day. I hadn't decided what I'd do if I found the culprit's desk, but I knew it would involve the massive amount of urine that had built up in my bladder.
I couldn't help but think of Kersey as I stalked the aisles. Five days had passed since I dropped his ID on the table with thunderous impact on his psyche. I wondered if he had cried that night. I cursed myself for not staking out his house that night. What I wouldn't give to know the details.
As I flipped through the papers and pocketed the loose change on a desk in the Northwestern-most row of the fourth floor cubicle farm, my heart skipped a beat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar visage staring at me. I'd know that fat, smug face anywhere. The sharp nose, the beady eyes, the weak chin--it couldn't have been. A few drops of urine trickled out and pooled in my foreskin. I pinched it off with my left hand before the full flow could escape.
I assured myself that I was seeing things. I was exhausted, after all. But as I slowly lifted my head and refocused my eyes, there it was. Involuntarily I released the vice grip on my meatus, and allowed my warm urine to soak through my jumpsuit and pool around my feet. There staring back at me from a framed photo next to the dark monitor was Paul Kersey. He was holding a beer with his right hand and had his arm around a sultry, raven-haired beauty. The sharp, ammonia stink of my own urine wafted up through my jumpsuit and pooled in the chest area. As I reached for the photo, a blast of defiled pungency jettisoned up through the neck hole and up into my nostrils.
I blinked hard trying to clear the tears from my eyes as I scanned the photograph. How could this be? Why would a photo of my mortal enemy be here in this office? Why does the specter of Paul Kersey haunt me?
I frantically searched the desk for answers. There were other photos on the desk, each contained in a small frame. There were several that featured the same woman from the Kersey photo posing with other people. In the top left drawer, I found business cards for a woman named Regina Hall. Under a pile of file folders, there was print out of an email sent to regina.hall@staubach.com. Was the dark beauty in the photo Regina Hall, and if so, how did she know Paul Kersey?
I made four color copies of the photo, and returned the framed photo to the desk.
I had to clear my head and regain some strength, so after my shift ended, I went to a diner a mile from the office. I ordered four French waffles with apples and cinnamon, whip cream, and four pads of butter, a large apple juice, four eggs scrambled with American cheese, a fresh grapefruit, four slices of limp bacon, a sausage biscuit with egg, a bowl of Lucky Charms, a hot chocolate, four slices of rye toast, a side of fried ham, a chicken Caesar salad, and four pieces of key lime pie. Transfixed by the photo and the questions swirling around in my head, I was having trouble making sense of anything.
It wasn't until my last bite of key lime pie (which was fantastic) that my head really cleared. It was only 6:15, and if I returned to the parking lot of Staubach, I might be able to catch the raven-haired beauty coming to work.
I paid the bill and headed back to work. I made a quick stop at the gas station to refill my 44oz. coffee. This was going to be a long morning. I also picked up a copy of Penthouse Forum, a bag of pistachios, a jar of nacho cheese dip, and four packs of Jack Link's Teriyaki Beef Jerky.
Chunky for your pleasure
8 AM- At 8:00AM exactly, a black Volkswagon Jetta pulled in and parked near the South entrance of the building. A perfectly shaped calf with milky-white skin, capped in black fuck me pumps was followed out of the car by the sexiest woman I had ever seen. The photo hadn't done her justice. She moved with the grace of a doe in the forest on a crisp fall morning just before the crack of 12-gauge tears through its chest. The cool morning air blew her midnight locks across her face as her hardening nipples pushed through her silk blouse. She pulled her black jacket closed, and walked briskly into the building.
I scooped a dollop of nacho cheese dip out the jar with my hand and pulled out my meat whistle. I slathered the cheese on my engorged manhood and went to town. I didn't last long, and fell asleep for four hours covered in cheese and my own fluids.
12 PM- When I woke up, the hot sun had raised the temperature in my car to an unbearable level. The cheese was caked to my stomach and dried in my pubs. The stink was incredible. I rolled down the windows and opened a bag of jerky.
At 12:44, the woman exited the building, and walked to her car. I could feel the blood rushing to my shaft, but I didn't have time for that. As she exited the parking lot, I started my car and followed her out. She even drove gracefully.
I followed her into the parking lot of a Bennigan's restaurant. As she exited her car, I almost didn't notice him. My eyes were glued to her, but as soon as he spoke the trance was broken. It was Paul Kersey.
"Where the fuck have you been?!" He shouted.
"I was waiting for a phone call." She replied.
"I'm fucking starving, and I've gotta go back to work. You could have fuckin' called me, Regina."
To be continued…
The Paul Kersey Chronicles:
Chapter I: The Meeting Michael Knight, working as the door guy at a bar, has an unpleasant encounter with the man who will become his mortal enemy: Paul Kersey.
Chapter II: The Stakeout Michael Knight, using the driver's license found at the bar, stakes out Paul Kersey's apartment. What evil gift will Knight leave?
Chapter IV: The Distraction Michael Knight heads out to learn more about Paul. A stop at highway diner turns into a night of passion.
Chapter V: The Trespass Michael Knight arrives at Paul Kersey's childhood home. A cunning ruse gains the trust of Paul's loving mother.
Chapter VI: The Fabrication Michael Knight goes to Paul's college fraternity house. Can he gain the brothers' trust and destroy another piece of Paul's history?
Fucking chain resturants...
Chapter VII: The Encounter Fired from the bar, Michael sets out to find a new job. A business seminar turns into a serendipitous encounter in the most magnificent public restroom facility he had ever seen.
Chapter VIII: The Opportunity Michael Knight shaves his head and searches for a job to fund his war with Paul Kersey.
Chapter IX: The Girl Michael Knight's fourth day on the job goes better than expected when an unexpected co-worker is revealed.
Posts: 453 Rank: 32 Joined:
4/23/2007
Location:
Jackson, MI
Posted: 5/11/2007 9:30:05 AM
"I fell asleep for hours covered in cheese and my own fluids" ----freaking priceless. I had a similar experience once, but it was onion dip. You couldn't really tell where the dip ended and my juices began, so it looked like I had cum buckets but with a serious infection.
Posts: 1714 Rank: 9 Joined:
3/13/2007
Location:
Denver, CO
Posted: 5/11/2007 10:09:37 AM
And thanks for the tip. But sadly after doing a sweep of the floor there were no phallis shaped speakers to be found. I think its safe to assume there are no closet nymphos in my office.
Posts: 2095 Rank: 8 Joined:
12/14/2006
Location:
The Wash, DC
Posted: 5/11/2007 11:05:56 AM
Change you name and avatar to Mushmouth, you twit.
---
I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that I believe Shartan has begun posting under one of his many alternate accounts. Same distinct pattern of douchery.
Posts: 1476 Rank: 17 Joined:
12/7/2006
Location:
savannah, GA
Posted: 5/11/2007 11:10:28 AM
of 3. and 3 is the mmmaaaaaaggggiiiicccccc number! HIT IT!
Three is a magic number, Yes it is, it's a magic number. Somewhere in the ancient, mystic trinity You get three as a magic number.
The past and the present and the future. Faith and Hope and Charity, The heart and the brain and the body Give you three as a magic number.
It takes three legs to make a tri-pod Or to make a table stand. It takes three wheels to make a ve-hicle Called a tricycle.
Every triangle has three corners, Every triangle has three sides, No more, no less. You don't have to guess. When it's three you can see It's a magic number.
A man and a woman had a little baby, Yes, they did. They had three in the family, And that's a magic number.
3-6-9, 12-15-18, 21-24-27, 30. 3-6-9, 12-15-18, 21-24-27, 30. Multiply backwards from three times ten:
Three time ten is (30), three times nine is (27), Three times eight is (24), three times seven is (21), Three times six is (18), three times five is (15), Three times four is twelve, And three times three is nine, and three times two is six, And three times one is three of course.
Now take the pattern once more: Three! . . .3-6-9 Twelve! . . .12-15-18 Twenty-one!. . .21-24-27. . .30
Now multiply from 10 backwards: Three time ten is (30 - Keep going), three times nine is (27), Three times eight is (24), three times seven is (21), Three times six is (18), three times five is (15), Three times four is twelve, And three times three is nine, and three times two is six, And three times one... What is it?! Three! Yeah, That's a magic number.
A man and a woman had a little baby. Yes, they did. They had three in the family. That's a magic number.
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