Back in my early days when I was a younger man, I was a french fryer at McDonald’s. I thought the smell I brought with me from work to the club was all i needed to be a big-ass-getter. But I was so on it, so hungry, so inexperienced, I didn’t even give bitches the chance to smell me. I just chased girls with big asses like I escaped from prison and had to bust a nut real quick before the police could catch me and send me back. I was always buying new clothes, trying to increase my swag, and hustling hard like a door to door salesman selling dick. Sometimes it worked, but man, It got tiring; it was hard work. I usually only drink Gatorade after fucking fat BBWs to replenish my electrolytes and energy/sugar-levels, but back then I had to drink that shit all the time because I was exhausting myself so much. At one point I had to smoke crack just to keep up and stay alert. Then my hair was starting to turn grey, and I had had enough. Those were the days… Then a major paradigm shift changed my game forever. One day I saw a man on TV hunting wild beasts in Africa. He took his time to wait and ambush big game beasts, and that’s when I knew that catching big game required big game. It was so much more strategic, relaxing, and intelligent than what I was doing all along. All the pieces of the big game puzzle finally came together. This ain’t checkers motherfuckers, it’s chess.
So let’s come back to the present, around last week. It was big ladies night at the Ham Hock Saloon. I weaseled my way into the VIP party room where they had an open buffet and strategically planted myself in front of it — specifically the table with the fried chicken assortment. The BBWs started waddling their way in like a stampede. I was gettin’ real excited but kept my cool with a big pitcher of beer in my hands. I stood there posted up like a soldier on guard duty, just watching them get comfortable, waiting for all that food to start digesting and sap up their strength. The time started to fly and the room got hot and sweaty, when all of the sudden I felt an intense pressure on my foot, like a truck had run over it. I thought my foot was about to be pulverized, but I held my breath to avoid screaming in public. I looked down and noticed it wasn’t someone’s foot stepping on my shoe, but instead the end of a walking cane — a fat ass woman (with severely debilitating gout) had inadvertently placed the end of her cane on my foot for support as she struggled in a lumbering waddle, on her way to the next buffet. Immediately all the anger and pain turned into excitement, because the weakest link in this procession of very big titties-n-ass had just stumbled into my clutching range.
She was short and very wide, especially her ass — no wonder she needed a walking cane, it was epic; or maybe it was because of her gout, which looked like a giant ass tumor. I had to make the first move, so I grabbed her by the love handles and pulled her closer, pretending to whisper something in her ear about how I noticed her checking me out, and how beautiful I think she is; see a little flattery goes a long way with big bitches, and it’s a great way to buy time. She smiled, and then I offered her some beer from the pitcher I was holding. She gave me a funny look and then asked me if I was just trying to get her drunk, but I was like, “baby, you serious? Just have a sip.” She looked thirsty, and I was thirsty for her epic ass and pussy, it was a win win situation. But being a black belt in big game, I also knew something else: if I could get her to drink the whole pitcher of beer, it would seriously agitate her gout. So I put the pitcher up to her lips and I started chanting, “drink! drink! finish it bitch!” and got the whole room to chant with me; the peer pressure set in and the beer disappeared. It didn’t take long for her to guzzle it down, she was born to swallow.
After drinking all that beer, it only took 2 minutes for the pain to set in. Her big ass foot with the gout was glowing red hot and lookin’ ready to explode. She could barely stand up, even with her cane for support. She started leaning on me and moaning. I knew I had her right where I wanted. “Excuse me folks, coming through. She needs help taking a shit” was all I had to say, and everyone moved out of our way as I guided her to the restroom. One hater that supposedly was her friend jumped out in front of me and asked me what I was doing, but I pulled out my wallet and quickly flashed him my health insurance card that has a blue cross on it, “I’m a nurse at the hospital, I work with obese patients. I’m a professional, I know how to handle this.” He quickly shut up and walked away. Once we made it to the restroom, I guided her toward the stall. She put up some physical resistance; and being a big woman, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to just push her in, so instead I yanked her walking cane away and she fell to the floor like a limp sack of shit. She fell into the stall perfectly, just barely fitting in with her ass hanging out. I couldn’t close the door, but it’s didn’t matter. I unzipped my pants and got to work, kneading her doughy ass with my chocolate dough roller.
It is thanks to my strategic approach to big game that I don’t have to break a sweat and waste my time if I don’t want to. Sun Tzu would approve.
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