If you all been wondering where the fuck I’ve been…you can say I’ve been hurtin but on a jazzroll. Meth. It’s a helluva drug. been tap dancin’ on thin fuckin ice recently. On a meth bender for the last 3 days.

My good buddy Harry X told me that he had fire and ice and I shouldn’t think twice. 3 2 1 blew the never ending smoke out and found myself dangling on the edge of the standard downtown…no one seemed to mind until I was screaming at all of the women: “Neva met a woman who wasn’t a secret government agent.” Luckily, they didnt call the dogs and I was still jazzin away outside, snapping my fingers and dancing like Jimmy McGlippy from the Gutter Area.

The problem appeared on day 2…I woke up in a pile of trash with a dirty waffle on my face. I was being half sucked off by a 67 year old chick or dude i cant remember—all i know is that I still feel queer— I think i felt stubble.

I cleaned up and stomached a BK burger and managed to get some good ol SOCO down…no reason to panic—i was still tap dancing and mcsleucing but I think I gotta take the high road back to my safehouse and watch a girls gone wild dvd and think about my sins. But instead, I find myself whirled into a cab and dropped off at Sky bar.

Let me see that PoLK A DOT BIKINI—- i was throbbing Like a dirtshackle right outta huckleberry. I found a latin broad—green eyes, gorgeous tan skin, thick butt and jet black soft hair. I pulled the old, my beer hand is somehow touching your leg routine and then here is Mr.Bullshit asking where you’re from.

Mr. Bullshit did well— he got my dog wagged and then me squeezing her thick cold juicy ass cheeks —still moist from the pool—-2 hrs later, I was munching on some fresh waffles this time-she hits the shower— I hit the door and make it back home.

NeverAgain…maybe once more

-yours truly,
GuNNeR

SOooOoOoOOOOoOOo, these bitches be gettin all up in my shit—sorry to have to use that phrase- but ITS TRUE! Give a girl a myspace name and shes fucking floggin your wall—ENOUGH! Can’t I be a pimp in peace? If you want that Gunner prize right up in your sniz then you need to know how to stay the fuck away, virally.

I meet Tracy last week and all things go smooth. I let her fuck me and I come back into the room after grabbing a klondike and ask her why the fuck she was still there. Surprise Surprise! Tracy tracks me down on facebook…why havent you called? Graffitied all over my fucking wall like stripes on a zebra—-fuckin slutbag 1990s Congo-line bitch. Stay the fuck away! She completely ruined 3 of my guarantees…Ginny, Flora and Beth. Super. Thanks.

Thus my new calling…lets just say ‘JACK’ — when I meet a chick at a bar or a nearby surf ‘n turf I have a fake name to give them. Why haven’t I done this before you ask? Because I have a fucking reputation to keep up! Why do you care then if 3-4 T.A.L.s (tits,ass and lips) find out and run for the hills? Because a mans gotta keep some chicks on backup.

So, I try things out at a nearby bar….i use my new name and it works like a charm…before you know it I was laying strips of pastrami on her back like 9 1/2 weeks—-but sadly she tossed out an ‘OMG’ so it was time for me to bounce the fuck outta there — no time for that shit and no time for chicks getting down on the Gunball. Beat the system…change the name…try it out…its the fa fun time.

Gunner

I can’t believe I’m finally admitting that I have never had sex in an elevator…until last night. Sunday nights are for champs…and tramps.
I guzzied my way over to Palihouse and met all kinds of cougars ready and dripping. Personally, sex is sex and I really wasn’t in the mood for the lizard-skin-rub-ups so I Lucy-stepped over to the elevator pretending I had a room and what do you know…we hit up floor 3 and in comes a Penelope Cruz/Scarlett Johannson mashup that Jamba Juice couldn’t even blend! Ruby Red Lips just made eye contact and barely uttered the words…Going down? I said, I hope so…she got it. We attacked each other like our plane was going down. Sure, I felt a little tidbit of Larry David paranoia but I’ve boned in public many a time but more in the comfort of an uncomfortable bush. This bitch was so tender that I really can’t even call her a bitch…her plump ass was so heartshaped and so juicy…hey bartender, I’ll take three fingers of buttcrack please!

Up and down the doors open and of course we finally hit floor 7 and Old Man River is giving us the jealous-Bush Cheney stink eye…fuck him. Finally, with the skirt raised and her pinned against the cold vator walls the doggy style got me hosing allover her ass like I was putting out the valley fires.

G

Never make the same mistake twice. Well, I’ve made that mistake 6 fuckin times! I never seem to learn…why can’t I fuckin LEARN! I was out with some gents checking out a band (i rarely do this—I ain’t a big fan of BANDS…i think they are all lame and full of tools trying to use an instrument to get laid). I figured I’d tag along in order to do some cherry picking. Boy, or should I say, GIRL — there were plenty of ripe sweeties for the Gock Unit – Gunner’s Cock Unit.

My Gock was ripe and ready and already throbbing from the sites. Left, no right, no straight ahead, no on the stage —WOOPS thats just a guy in really skinny jeans…HOLY SHIT!!! THERE SHE IS!! Her name was Tracie. Usually, I’m not a sucker for the “ie’s” but this one lured me right into her Pussy-Cave. What’s your name? Tracie asks, WHat’s yours, I respond. I buy her a few drinks (rarely do this but them strawberry lips were dripping) and we chat it up and I successfully ignore the shit band on the stage. Before we leave, I double check…no no, LET ME SEE THAT ID!!! Yep, 18…good to go. How else could I be sure? I mean, fuck..my hands aren’t a goddamn swipe machine!

(IN HER CAR)Mmm mmm mmmm. She smells like flowers and shame. SNAP! I undue the braw…slap..SLAP…FUCKIN SLAP THAT ASSS! ZIPZOOP…she’s wearing one of those real reeeeeaal string-only thongs. I LOVE THOSE!! I squeeze and her ass could not be more perfect…but then I realized what was up.

The fucking jig was up. MUTHA FUCKIN JIG IS UP! She’s NOT 18..she’s fuckin’ 16! How do I know? The lip smacking. Just them little smacks, smack …smack smack..then a couple of wild tongues—-FUCK! I can’t believe it…shit but I’m throbbing…FUCK theres that smack again…fuckin amateur—-no wonder she’s so tender! DAMNIT!!!!!! Figure it out, GUnner…FIGURE IT THE FUCK OUT!!!!! Right now I have the two devils on my shoulders….RED devil and BLACK devil…red is saying keep it dry, squirt in your pants and all is forgiven. Fucking BLACK devil is saying…well, you know what he’s saying.

My mind was racing…but then her hand was rubbing….wooops! SPLISH SPLASH we were taking a bath allll up and covered in my duck sauce.

Fuckin booked it out of there and she’s being a GossipGirl queen…

TRACIE: “where the fek are you going?”

ME: “You’re 16, bitch…shit doesn’t fly!”

TRACIE: “FEK YOU, HOW DID YOU KNOW?”

ME: “You’re TOO PURE! LATE!!!!!”

-G love and extra…special…love sauce.

11 Hours straight of cocaine. The fuck what were you thinking? Sheet karate—the McSweats..and then Oh sure—I’ll go take a chance and go into work—all I need is some red bull…no no no — I was shaking like a fucking cat in the cold. The birds chirping…the phone ringing—-the constant eye contact or lack there of—THIS WAS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

Think, Gunner…think on your toes! Shit, I can’t! I fucking CANT! My toes are cold…my toes are making me paranoid—-this fucking bullshit speedy white sauce has failed me—-I need to get out—-I can’t hang.

I Am Losing My Mind. I need to come up with something quick.

Think, Gunner. THINK!

Stomach ache—almost gonna throw up—THAT ALWAYS WORKS! Pull a quickie and roll out — thats the trick — cant sit at a desk when the comedown and paranoia is already starting…THERE’S ONLY ONE THING TO DO….

Who-da-thunk it!? I never thought a baseball game could be so fun. I never thought dime bags were tossed out like dodger dogs. Who even thought that crack-whores slump around like Larry King slithering at a Doyer game? I fucking love LA!

Lets backtrack — two hours before the game I was hungover as shit and slithering around the floor snorting pieces of lint, praying that it was leftover McLean-salt. I was dead wrong—DEAD FUCKING WRONG! I screamed, I sulked, and I morned for the loss of powder. Two good buddy droogs of mine bounced over and slapped me around like Mikey from Swingers. “Get your ass up and drink some SOCO and let’s go to the game!” Albeit — this was before Manny decided to be a fuckin asshole and fuck up the season. Sure, I love the Doyers but I ain’t one to quickly rush to a game and sit sober-headached in the bottom of the 7th cuz I’m all outta booze and love. I told them no—they bitch-slapped and I knuckle-fucked them back—one against two—I lost and I looked like a handbag carried by a pile of dogshit.

AT THE GAME…the SOCO tickled me tender and I was warming up and starting to feel that good ol’ American-DRUNK feel. I rocked a couple dogs—mustard, jalepenos and cheese and then drank some more beer. Shit—its the fucking bottom of the sixth— I know that I am in trouble—Im going to get some more beer but then Im gonna be shit outta boozeluck. But then! Like a ski-angel from Switzerland — this blonde bomb-sha-boom-boom was next to me and sniffin like the sweet cocaine princess from old drug fairy tales we all read as kids. I turn—I give her the I-WANT-COKE-SMILE—-cockeyed and bug-eyed she replies—FOLLOW ME…to my SKIRT…I reach as if trying to grab a floor-beer and her key is ready and sugar-coated…goddamn it was smooth!!! Did that for a couple more bumps and then we are in my buddies car fuckin like a couple of carnage cats. Finished up, cleaned up and got her the fuck out before my droogs came back. WHAM-BAM-THANK YOU SALLY!

Lookin’ forward to the next game—no Manny? No problem! It all happens at right field.

-G-U-n_nER