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party poker

Cockblock the mouth.

The thing about the cockblock the mouth macro is that it is not audible. It is not a word or set of words, but a hand gesture. One holds their hand up the way Curley does between his eyes after he has “picked two” from Moe. Except that you hold that hand in front of your mouth.

The hand phrase originated many years ago, during a massive party at a massive apartment complex that a friend of mine managed. It was a fabulous pool party barbecue that included bunches of free food & libations & had entertainment going all day like island music bands, djs, clowns, a steel drum trio and a Polynesian dance group. present at this party was a waaaay too stoned Babs (did I mention having crossed the line to too stoned?). So high was I that I had stopped speaking & could barely move a muscle in my body which sat on the ground poolside.

When it was time for Polynesian dancers to start all went quiet and a man yelled some crazy guy chant from the corridors of the massive central area of the complex. Warrior screams and chants in the distance punctuated by beats from some scary-ass drum. You could hear his bare feet stomping/dragging on the ground, approaching. Entering the view of the common area was a shirtless Polynesian warrior wearing a grass skirt, beads and bearing full face moko, a Maori warrior tattoo meant to completely psych out the enemy into thinking demons had posessed their adversary.

While the guy stalked slowly into and through the awestruck crowd towards the stage, he continued his yelling and stopped only to assault people in his island tongue. Screaming and spitting and making the ancient warrior faces of madness. he would approach someone, all wild-eyed contorting his face and mouth into demon faces beneath that black ink. Then he would pretend to slay them with a large spear he was carrying. Each person he approached just took it. Stood there and stared. Mouths agape and a blush in their cheeks. Some giggled nervously as they walked away from where they were standing if they appeared to intersect with the screaming demon on his path to the stage.

I became afraid. Being so high meant my trigonometry functions were tentative when they informed me that their guesstimate had me within his path. Adrenaline motor activated! I MUST FLEE! but I could not bring myself to stand, to move.

And then he spotted me. Locked in on my terrified eyeballs & vulnerable sitting/non-fleeing posture. He slowly approached me, spear raised for stabbiness, grass skirt swishing about, the whole time yelling his crazy words at me. My too high mind translated his grunts, growls and occasional syllables as “I will kill you where you sit. Yes. In front of alllll of the people.”

Suspension of disbelief activated! He raised his spear even higher and brought it towards my upturned face, mouth still agape, eyes glassy with adrenaline. He stomped & jumped towards me & enveloped my head in his thick authentic dried grass skirt.

By doing this, moving his body mass forward at such a velocity, he created momentum that, even though he had stopped his body within a literal few inches of me, carried forward his cock that continued forward until smacking me on my open mouth. No – this guy was authentic -­ of course he was wearing no panties under his grass skirt.

I was all violated by an island demon. But he just continued in his procession of yelling and killing towards the stage. I sat in the same frozen spot wishing that I’d had the forethought, and body moving capabilities to at least hold my hand up in front of my mouth as Curley so often does after picking two.

Babs (July 8, 2005)

Tags: ghosts | physical