Big Tits McStumpy

A few years back, my good friend "Gooch" was getting ready to go back on active duty in the Marine Corps. He decided that civilian life was for, well, civilians and that he wanted to get those Major's bars and go lead some Marines through the sands in Iraq. Obviously, I couldn't let a major event like that pass without a big, blowout party and what better way to end the night than with a trip to the local house o' hoes.

We'd enjoyed the full spectrum of skankery that Nardone's had to offer, and he'd enjoyed round after round of two-girl lap dances and a full-service trip to the VIP room. (There IS sex in the Champagne room if you know the right people, Chris Rock be damned.) When he slurringly began proclaiming his love for a woman with an ass like two basketballs and a tattoo that said, "Darnell's", it was time to leave.

We stumbled into the parking lot and I slipped him into a cab for the trip home. While I don't drink much, he had more than both of our fair shares of Red Bull and Vodka followed up with Jager shooters. That poor bastard was going to have one hell of a morning. As I began the walk through the dark parking lot, I couldn't help but nearly shit myself when a crazed, screaming woman in a t-top Camaro came screeching into the parking lot with Metallica blaring from a shitty speaker system and missed hitting me by about two feet.

After I jumped back and screamed "What the fuck!", I noticed that there might be something wrong. The lump of screaming lunatic in that wanna-be sports car was drenched in blood from head to toe. There was blood all over the windshield, the steering wheel, the dash board, the window, half rolled down...every...fucking...where. Not the little puddle of blood you see in movies or even the splash of blood you see in horror movies. This was enough blood to shower in, enough blood to take a shallow bath in. It was incredible.

This chick starts wailing, "HELP ME MOTHER FUCKER!" at the top of her voice like that hadn't already crossed my mind, and pounding on the horn. As she's waving her arm at me, I notice that she's only waving the one arm and that she's cradling the other in her lap. I move to the side, just close enough to see in and wonder, for just a second how her hand is in the passenger seat and her...what the?...ok, her hand is...Oh shit! Yup, that's right folks, it was cut off. Cut off like a turkey leg at Thanksgiving dinner. Just sitting there, with the rings and nail polish still on it. I'm willing to bet that I turned blanche white, because I suddenly felt kinda light-headed.

About this time, the bouncer and a manager of the strip club come running outside, see her, see me, and head for me like they're going to kill me. The manager's yelling, "Bubbles, Bubbles, what the fuck? What happened? Did this bastard do something to you?" The bouncer isn't waiting for an answer, he's got homicide in his eyes and while I'm a big guy, this was a Newark, NJ bouncer. That boy topped 400 lbs. and about 6'8". My life flashed before my eyes as I threw my hands up and said, "I didn't have SHIT to do with this...I was just walking through the parking lot, she just got here...dude...relax, WHOA...not me!" He slowed just enough to look at her and she screams, "That MOTHERFUCKER cut my goddamned hand off!" He immediately resumed coming for me with renewed vigor and thank the Lord Vishnu, she finally says, "Not him, you fucking oaf. My boyfriend...Earl, Earl cut my goddamned hand off!" Wheeww...heart, resume beating now, please.

So, this whole time I'm on the phone with 911. The 911 operator's trying to convince me that I'm not in Jersey City and that I don't know what I'm talking about giving her a cross street even though I'm looking at a goddamned street sign. After she'd put me on hold a couple times, I finally said, "Just tell the ambulance and the fucking cops that they're coming to Nardone's. They've been here PLENTY of times!" and hung up. Not 10 seconds after the phone clicked shut, 6 cop cars screeched into the parking lot, the boys in blue jumped out with guns in hand and had me, the bouncer, the manager and a couple of the other girls who'd come outside to see the fracass on our knees with our hands on our heads. Everybody's complaining and yelling, "We didn't do shit, you fucking pigs." Then the manager says, "Put my hand on my fucking head? Fuck you, her hand's in the passenger seat." I couldn't help but busting out laughing at that one. So, I ended up in handcuffs.

After the ambulance came, they sorted out that it hadn't been any of us who'd whacked her hand off, the story came out and we got un-cuffed. Apparently, she and "Earl" had been sharing a bag of something powdery and naughty. The bag was getting low and she reached in for the last few pinches. That's when Earl grabbed his butcher's knife...that apparently he just keeps close at hand and whacked off her right hand. Then, with her starting at him in wonderment, he says..."That'll teach ya."

Well, that was enough for my evening's entertainment. But I had to return to Nardone's a week or so later to get the scoop. Sure enough, there was Bubbles, AKA Big Tits McStumpy on her first night back after the hospital. The hand was gone, but she was on the floor, doing a table dance with her stump in a bandage. When she saw me, she jumped off the lap at her earliest opportunity and made her way over to thank me. She told me how thankful she was that I was there and asked if there was anything she could do to make it up to me. "Well", I told her, "I've never fucked an amputee."

Alas, no sex for Johnny, and the handjob wasn't all that good either...