3 Manly Moments From My Life That Are Total Shams

Occasionally, a certain confluence of events will transpire in a man’s life which creates one perfect moment of manliness which forever defines or accentuates his character. If he is truly unfortunate, this event goes unseen by everyone. If, however, he has the good grace to have witnesses to his manly deed, then he can often sit back and let the natural tendency of human nature toward exaggeration create a mythos about him.

It’s odd really, how humans love to overhype and over blow what are often simple events. Frank goes hunting with Jesse, Frank lucks out and brings down a twelve point Buck with a single head shot, and later Jesse’s liable to recount the story as: “The damn beast was charging right at Frank, antlers lowered, death and all of hell it its soulless eyes. Frank though, he just swings his rifle up … not even aiming … and puts one dead center in Bambi’s forehead. Damn thing skids to a halt about a foot from Frank’s big toe. Had ta have been at least twenty … NO! Twenty-four points!”

There’s not really much wrong with this, even if the story does become silly and nigh unbelievable. I’ve just always found it amusing to hear such tales recounted when I know the truth of the details. A woman who banged a friend of mine told a gal pal that he had an above average sized penis. Then the friend went and told everyone else that her friend told her that he was packing eight inches and soon everyone in our circle was razzing our pal about his ten inch meat hammer. I’ve played hockey with the guy. I am shamefully well aware of what he’s working with, but I don’t dissuade the myth. It’d be a dick move, and hey, if you’re going to have some kind of stereotype assigned to you an exaggeration of your penis size is definitely one of the better ones to have. It’s just funny how people, some of whom know the truth, prefer a story to the reality.

I’m going to share with you now three examples of myths about myself shared amongst my friends, including both the exaggerations and the realities of each one. Try not to get too bored.

My First Threesome

I had my fair share of sex during my university years, especially during the first one when the excitement of being out on my own for the first time mixed in with the lack of standards that come with not knowing what is and isn’t quality poonanny. By my second year I had a fairly good grasp on what my sexual market value is so while the quantity went down the quality went up.

But I wasn’t in my second year when, after a wicked New Years party, I charmed two chicks so much that when I jokingly suggested they both come back to my dorm room they shrugged and actually decided to. I was surprised, much like the other people within hearing distance. I remember how shocked their faces were when the girls and I left for my residence.

I was still unsure if the girls actually intended to go through with it when we reached my room. I assumed that they’d flake out once we were inside…or worse, make out with me a little and then pass out in my bed instead. At that point I was basically expecting, as a best case scenario, that one would flake out and the other would stay for some fun.

The Reality

Yes. I had the threesome. And you’re probably (not) thinking, hey! Right on Billy! Good for you brah! Well the truth of it is that my first threesome didn’t happen exactly as I’d always fantasized. The ladies involved looked less like this:


and a lot more like this:


My first (and thus far, only) threesome was with two slightly chunky and very, very drunk girls. And it was awkward as hell. I had no idea what I was doing and neither did they. I absolutely failed at arranging and juggling them. There was no rhythm or tempo to anything we were attempting to do. It was like I had been shoved in front of one of the world’s premiere orchestras as a conductor after only having had five minutes to skim Conducting For Dummies. None of us had a good time. At one point one of the girls was sitting on the corner of the bed, just watching me and the other one with one of the most unsettling stares I’ve ever been subjected to.


To this day I still wonder how I actually managed to stay at full mast the whole time.

When we attempted the classic tripod position I was nearly choked out. The heftier girl sat down too far and forward on my face and smothered my mouth and plugged up my nose. It felt like being a water boarding victim in some weird Abu Ghraib porn parody. I was squirming underneath her, awkwardly blowing raspberries in a dual attempt to please and breathe. Down on the other end, it felt like the other girl was having the world’s laziest epileptic fit on my Johnson. I had just wanted the whole thing to end long before that point and boy, was I ever happy when the ordeal finally was over. I’m pretty sure it was the first sex I’ve ever had were I was happier it was over then that I’d had it.

Of course, the rest of the dorm never saw how unsatisfying and how utterly unsexy the threesome was, and most of those who heard the retelling did not get to see the low quality of the girls. And thus a terrible night of sex with two women you couldn’t pay me nowadays to touch created a legend of a sexual Casanova in the dorms.

The Time I Had A Gun Pulled On Me

Growing up in my hometown was a bit like being in The Outsiders, except instead of me, Patrick Swayze and Matt Dillon rumbling with rich white kids, me and my friends ambushed and beat up brown kids. If it sounds bad, don’t worry, they did the same thing to us.

Anyways, one day in junior high—I was in grade eight I think—a couple of Indians we knew from school (the woo woo kind, not the forehead dot ones) were hanging around my friend’s neighbourhood. Since there were only four of them and seven of us, we courageously ran outside and began attacking them with hockey sticks. We only managed to get in a few good hits before they ran off. Another victory for Les Nationals!

A few hours later we all headed home. I and two other kids lived on the same street a few blocks over so we were walking together when a rusty old Chevrolet screeched to a halt on the road beside us. The Indians had returned. The back window rolled down and one of them leaned out with a handgun. The other two kids with me did the smart thing and ran off immediately. I was frozen in place.

Of course my ‘friends’ who ran off fled only so far as to find a safe hiding place to watch from. What they saw was me standing beside the car talking to the Indian, with the handgun pointed squarely at myself the whole time, before he eventually ducked back inside the car and it sped off. My friends then bragged about how I (and themselves, in some versions of the story) stared down some punk natives even though they had a handgun (sawn off shotgun in later re-tellings) pointed at us. Freakin’ badass right?

The Reality

From afar, maybe I did look like Clint Eastwood.


Up close I looked a lot more like this:


I was scared shitless. I couldn’t even think about how I was about to die. Honestly, I don’t remember being able to think anything. The suddenness of the Indian whipping the gun out on me made me chomped down so hard from fear that I actually chipped a tooth (my lower left 1st molar for all five of you interested in that detail). He asked me if I wanted to die. I squeaked out a lot of begging no’s; my voice was already screechy from being in the midst of puberty and it only sounded more pathetic from my rapid fire pleading. I was about to get down on my knees and actually physically beg them to not shoot me when the Indians decided to drive away.

So far from being a stoic, steely eyed bad ass staring down my potential killer, I was a quivering and laughable mess who nearly soiled himself… and I do mean nearly. After the whole affair I found the front of my gonch was wet. I’d like to say it was just from sweat, but I’m pretty sure I pissed a little. Thankfully, that little detail didn’t make it into the Billy Bible.

Oh, and to top it all off, a week later I found out that it wasn’t even a real handgun. It was a BB handgun. In my own defence, five or six hundred shots from that bad boy might have killed me, so I was probably in the right by being scared for my life.

I Knocked Out A Professional Boxer

I worked as a bouncer during university. The job was supposed to help alleviate my student debt, but most of my paycheques went to booze, drugs and pizza.

It was my first month at the job on a very busy Saturday night. I was standing watch in a fairly solitary spot overlooking the dance floor. There were other bouncers within visual range, including one on the balcony above me, and the whole team was just a radio call away, but for the most part I was entirely in charge of that little slice of the club. I had been at the job long enough to get a good feel on who was potential trouble and my eyes were soon drawn to a roidhead in an Affliction tee. He was making quite a presence of himself on the dance floor, bumping into people, puffing his chest out at any guy who dared complain about it. I knew he was a fight waiting to happen.


Not too long after I first spotted roid-o, some scrawny little farmer looking kid accidentally bumped into him. Words were exchanged, roid-o puffed out, and surprisingly enough scrawny bro stood his ground and made his own feelings known by flipping the bird. Roid-o moved in on him but by that time I had already hopped down into the dance floor. I stepped between them, telling roid-o to relax. One of the other bouncers watching from a perch above us saw roid-o push me and start a fight with me. The bouncer then saw me snap a punch at roid-o and knock him out with one hit. By this time the bouncer above me had called all the security to the dance floor, and within a minute we had a circle cleared out around the still dazed roid-o. The other bouncers shooed me off, standard operating procedure to avoid further aggravating the victim of our aggression.

I was summoned to the boss’s office when the club shut down for the night. Other bouncers were already in there, watching security camera footage. On the crappy camera you could see me jump into the dance floor, roid-o get in my face, and then in a few seconds the dancers around us spread out as I knocked roid-o to the ground.

“Do you know who that was?” my boss asked me.

I didn’t. Nor did I care, though I was afraid that I had knocked out his nephew or someone other bouncer’s brother. It turned out roid-o was well known by others at the club. He was also supposedly a professional boxer, one of the best in the province. So for the remainder of my employment at the club I was known as the guy who fought and knocked out an actual boxer with one hit.

The Reality

After I had jumped down into the dance floor and told roid-o to relax, he told me to go and fornicate myself. Confused and, I freely admit, very intimidated by his attitude, I pointed to the club’s logo on my shirt, identified myself as security and again told him to relax. I recall really, really hoping he’d take that advice (remember, I was all alone at this point and I had no desire to fight a guy with bigger traps than a Cardassian from Star Trek).

dem traps

Obviously he didn’t take the advice.

Roid-o tried to push past me to get at scrawny bro and I shoved him back. His hands started to come up and I swung out immediately. It was, to my own credit, a solid sucker punch. There was no squaring off, he threw no punches, and his attention was completely focused on scrawny bro behind me. My hit caught roid-o square on the sweet spot on his chin and he went down limp probably without having even realized he was in a fight. Roid-o was also a regular that I had never noticed before, and when I did afterward I also noticed that he drank profusely when at the club. In hindsight, I have no doubt that he was already ten or eleven beers deep that night and was practically pre-knocked out before I tapped him.

Plus roid-o wasn’t a professional boxer. He was in a barely legitimate league. At best he could be called semi-pro and he never wound up going anywhere, languishing as just another lower mid-tier fighter wannabe in a bush league who expired in his early 20s and decided to cope by spending the remainder of his glory years getting way too drunk at a club and trying to pick fights with guys who are half his weight. If I sound a little bitter there, I am. Roid-o challenged me to fight in the ring many-a-time after that night and I made a point of never taking him up on the offer. Because I know he’d have slaughtered me.

billy the boxer

So in the future, when you hear a story about a manly man doing manly things, look at it with an objective eye. Odds are what really happened is a lot more mundane and sort of pathetic than the story that gets solidified afterward. But hey, some men need their legends I suppose.

Not that I’m saying I’m a legend* or anything.

*Though I am a legend. Just ask my friends, they’ll tell you.

Read More: 13 Things Men Should Be Shamed For, Not Celebrated

69 thoughts on “3 Manly Moments From My Life That Are Total Shams”

  1. This is a truly remarkable piece of writing.
    Here we have someone openly admitting his greatest triumphs were skewed to impress others. This is the bravest and most difficult thing for a guy to do-to admit they are not as great as they make themselves out to be.
    This also serves as the most important of reminders to all guys out there that in this day and age, EVERYONE is skewing EVERYTHING they do to impress others. I hope everyone can accept things for exactly like they are, not what they wish for them to be. Accepting and expressing yourself exactly as you are is the ultimate challenge for men

    1. Yup. The fish tales also include many a post here on ROK, including a couple of mine, with a few embellishments, to say the least.

  2. “Watch my Back,” is the true story of a night-club bouncer in a tough British neighborhood who achieves all his dreams by staying manly.
    Geoff Thompson, the author, has become something of an authority on the subject of nightclub bouncing.
    He would commend your handling of the boxer situation, and would not call it bullshit at all. The guy signaled his intention to get violent. That’s when the fight began. Beyond that, you’re under no obligation to square off with him, or pound your chest, or exchange threats. You told him to relax. When he didn’t, you knocked him out.
    That counts.

    1. Yes, quite so. Of the three incidents the bouncer one sounded mostly non-embellished and legit to the facts for the most part.

      1. Agreed, though I nearly laughed myself sick at the threesome story. The second picture helped.

  3. Billy I remember your very very first post on return of kings, which was – lets be honest : not that good. But now you’re on my top 5 of favourite returnofkings writters. Your posts are not just informative and interesting but also funny to read. Good job bro !

  4. This was a great article. If I could guess, more than half of all threesome stories are about what you described (mine is even more pathetic). Funny and entertaining – this is what we need more of around here.

    1. I know how you feel.
      My 3-some didn’t even get off the ground. It was doomed the moment the girls refused to go down on each other, and wanted me to change rubbers every time I swapped girls.

      1. Good gravy, you got two control freaks into the sack? That’s actually kind of depressing, in a funny way, heh. Condolences brother.

    2. Most threesomes are, shall we say, less than ideal in the best of circumstances. The only way it can ever work well is if you’ve got a cute regular thing and she’s ‘kind of’ (meaning she’s actually been with a woman before) bi and liked it. For guys, it’s relatively easy if you aren’t trying to direct the action like a porno director. ONE of the girls has to have an idea of how to proceed, or they end up fumbling around trying to figure shit out. Kind of like the time a virgin has sex for the first time. Oh, and too much alcohol makes it even worse.
      I got lucky and my first threesome was with a very bisexual girl who picked up another cutie, and we weren’t drunk. The next few (after the other gal and I drifted apart) were fucking terrible. Either drunk or two girls trying to figure out what they might like with another girl. That means you end up trying to help with shit you don’t really understand because, hey, you’re a guy. Oh, and one ended up with a girl that absolutely hated the taste of pussy. The other girl spent like 20 minutes eating her out, but when it was time to switch she decided she didn’t like it, generating a lot of bad feelings.
      I did spit roast (MFM) a slut with another guy. He approached in the store and was invited to a party (wink) by her. I tagged along because he said she was cute and I thought I’d see if she had cute friends. At bar time she insisted I come back to her place, and she’d “invite” a friend over. That friend was never called because as soon as we got through the door Ms. Divorced Euro Free Spirit started stripping and pawing us. We found out slut had a boyfriend at the time, but she admitted she could never keep her legs (or mouth) closed if she thought a guy was hot. We spit roasted her for a few weeks, and she took it like a champ. To this day I hear about her dating one guy and fucking a few more. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her to be 30 something with a “tween” daughter, regularly having a boyfriend, plus having a steady stream threesomes with guys she thinks are hot, fucking her senseless. Great role model, I can bet her daughter is going to be the school revolving door.

      1. “We spit roasted her for a few weeks,”,
        Damn dude, that takes superhuman stamina right there. I can only go for a few hours, tops.

        1. Don’t you know. My alter ego is only a mild-mannered reporter, but in reality I’m Erection Man! Able to have sex for weeks straight blowing gallons of splooge into willing women.

      2. The “spit roast” MFM you describe I think is every gals fantasy but the WMW 3-somes never work out unless the gals are super into each other.

  5. Assume that you like chocolate. I start eating a delicious chocolate in front of you and am enjoying it. You crave it as well. So I place the chocolate near your face and let you smell it. Just as you are about to take a bite from the chocolate, I pull it away immediately.
    What will happen now? Now that you were denied the chocolate – You will want it even more. Which means, you will now value the chocolate more. By teasing you with the chocolate, and then denying it, I was able to increase your desire for the chocolate and thus was able to increase the value of chocolate.
    Applying this principle to women –
    When you see women showing of their bodies in TV shows, movies, on the street etc, it is corresponding to you coming within striking distance of eating the chocolate and then being denied.
    Men already desire women to begin with. But when men see women and their body parts at display, they desire them even more, much like the chocolate that they were able to smell, but not eat. They want them but are unable to get them.
    So what happens? Now they crave women even more. Precisely like the aforementioned chocolate.
    Women always strive to increase the value of sex, and will continue doing so incessantly, because by increasing the value of sex, their own value is consequently increased.
    Every time women titillate, provoke and excite men by showing off their bodies, and then leave them hanging, they increase the value of sex, and therefore they increase the value of women as a whole.
    The more frequently are men stimulated, the less frequently they will have the possibility to score, and the more likely they are to be denied, hence, the more desperate they become. This results in them assigning more value to sex each time, and thus end up increasing the value of women, because women are the only ones that can satiate their desire for sex, not to mention, being the limiting factor in reproduction, they are the only ones that provoke willy-nilly.
    Conclusion – To diminish the incredible power that women hold in the western society today, it is imperative that we depreciate the value of sex, because only that would result in the diminution of the value of women, and as a consequence, their power.

      1. And your panties are in a bunch because….?
        Your IQ seems to be quite low since “celibacy” was not even in the question (If I understood it correctly).

        1. Yes of course, low IQ. That surely must be it, especially as evidenced by my numerous other posts on this site. Way to take a two sentence post and deduce so much from it, genius.
          His post was a non-sequitur to the main article, to which he was replying directly. I don’t discount his points, such as they are, he’s free to de-stress sex in his life if he wishes. My reference to celibacy was a bit of hyperbole for effect.
          And now you know…the rest…of the story.

        2. “My reference to celibacy was a bit of hyperbole for effect”
          I see. It was quite an absurd hyperbole and I am sure you’d agree. That should not have been said. As for the non-sequitur part I agree as well. But among dozens of other comments, if a single comment is referring to something else, it’s not a big deal, don’t you think? You know I have seen a lot of ‘T- word’ types pestering others this way just for fun. Yours came out the same way so I had to remark. Let’s try to be a little more refined. Anyway, it’s fine.

        3. It was apt and I enjoyed writing it. You may not have enjoyed reading it, which is fine. YMMV after all.
          What are “T-word” types, not heard that before. To be frank I generally refrain from “Letter-Word” language, the word is either expressed in full or I don’t write it, point being, I don’t catch a lot of the references people use when in that format. The best I do is “n-word” for nigger, “f-word” for fuck and “s-word” for shit, just as any three year old learned back in the day.

        4. You found it hard to understand. No worries. I’ll help you.
          “T-word” = Troll
          I was trying to be polite, Ididn’t know it would cause such a concern. You seem to be concerned about a lot of trivial matters.
          Personal issues? Life too hard?
          Anyway, I hope things get better. I always wish well for others.
          “It was apt” No it wasn’t. You admitted it already. You “enjoyed” writing it? Do you know who enjoys inflicting misery on others? Someone with serious issues.
          Probably a T-word type.
          Let it go.

        5. Ah, ad hominem. I see. Thanks for that.
          Save your pop psychology, kid, it’s the typical feminist way of arguing.
          And to save you the time, we all acknowledge that you have a huge, raging, turgid ePeen and easily frighten livestock with it.
          Clearly you have no interest in discussing or answering an honest question. Your loss. I’m done conversing with you, reply as you need to do, I’m certain.

        6. Good. You should have done this 4 comments ago. We are here to better ourselves, not to bicker among ourselves. You should take care in the future before spouting whatever you feel like. Why waste time and energy on something so counterproductive? Doesn’t make sense right? I hope this little chat helped both of us. Good day.

        7. The man was a kind, gentle voice of a much more sane world. Always enjoyed listening to him growing up.

        8. Dont you know? Ghost and his sidekick gf Hell Biker are here to help all of us poor lonely male lost souls…
          Because some married dude that married a farm girl has so many valuable things to share with us.
          Maybe someone could tell me what “Slainte” means..
          Is that like “fuck off” in Gaelic or somethin’?

        9. Sounds like guest is butthurt. Would explain the anonymity. Poor soul.
          It means “cheers” in both Irish and Scottish versions of Gaelic. Maybe you should spend less time criticizing others and more building yourself into something other than a complaining, sad human being. Just a suggestion.

        10. Lol he is now projecting on you. A few comments ago he was so butthurt that he had to attack some poster and now he says to you “Maybe you should spend less time criticizing others” The irony…

    1. ^enjoys fapping. A lot. You can get a deal on 5 gal pails of hand lube at Costco, so I hear.
      Biology sure sucks. Males find females attractive, OMFG.
      Classic beta thinking in this comment. Man it up, and take charge of those of those women, and their unsettling body parts, instead of staring at them, drooling.

      1. “Classic beta thinking in this comment.”
        You wouldn’t know an alpha from a beta even if your life depended on it fagg$t. I am pretty sure you’re an omega.

  6. It’s a function of a higher reasoning mind. It’s also the basis of all of our myths in history *cough cough Homer cough cough*, and no small amount of “objective” histories (I’m looking at you, Tacitus). It’s just how we’re wired, because the truth is usually far less exciting than the embellishment. Plus I kind of like how stories evolve from the facts they arose from, makes for great conversation around the barber shop and the impressive story telling skills some men develop are near artistry.

    1. As an example of a prime story teller in modern times, Ron White. Man can spin a yarn a mile long about a topic that only measures out to three inches and leave you wanting for more.

  7. Lol. Thw hilarious piece of writing brought a smile to my face.
    Billy Chubbs is one of the best and my favorite writers on RoK (alongwith Roosh, Tuthmosis and Sharpshooter). I always look forward for his posts because they’re often extraordinarily funny, witty with a real dose of reality.
    The article hilariously explores common men’s tendencies to exaggerate.
    Great article, Billy.

    1. Born and raised (unfortunately) in Ontario. I’m more of a Prairie mutt now. I’ve spent a good chunk of time in Manitoba, Sask and now live in Alberta.
      Honestly, for all the ribbing the so called Gap gets, I’ve had more positive experiences in the Prairie provinces than Ontario and BC. To be fair, I’ve never been to Vancouver and Ottawa was a day trip so I may not be in the best place to judge. Winnipeg and Regina are holes though. If you veer off the Number 1 in Sask and Manitoba, you find God’s country within fifteen minutes.

  8. Very entertaining, I think every man has his own stories that get hyped up with time. Great article.

  9. Well done, Billy!
    For me, it was a hurricane on a container ship in 2008, when the captain had the poor form to die of a heart attack right in the middle, and I stepped up, completely unprepared, and took over the ship in the middle of a category 5 storm. I went in my room and cried and read the bible twice that first night, claiming I was going to take a shit, but really having a series of panic attacks. Worked out OK. They gave me the ship after, and I’m still here. I never told anyone but my best friend (the other captain for when our crew was home), and he called me a pussy. The story from my crew goes that I saw the captain dead in his bedroom, and told my guys to go in my room, get my bag and ‘get that dead body out of my new fuckin’ bed.’

    1. “The story from my crew goes that I saw the captain dead in his bedroom,
      and told my guys to go in my room, get my bag and ‘get that dead body
      out of my new fuckin’ bed.’”

      Heh, that’s epic sounding.

  10. When I was a teenager, I went to an event with a youth group where someone was speaking. This dude I didn’t know came with the group, and I was in the very back along with him and some other people. Dude decided he didn’t like the way I looked at him and started talking shit, saying he was going to kick my ass right after the event was over. Pretty sure he was trying to impress some girls. I kept quiet and dude kept talking the entire time. By the time it was over everyone in the back part of the room knew what was going on. We walked out and I was scared and pumped full of adrenaline, but dude mumbled some excuse and walked off without incident. A few minutes later I was talking to a couple of friends when somebody yelled “look out”, and I turned around in time for this dude to give me a hard two-handed shove and try to pile onto me. I saw red and beat the shit out of the dude before getting dragged off. Luckily for me, he was just a punk who had no clue about fighting, but it sure made me look like a badass. Afterward, he threatened to file assault charges. Lol

    1. Lol. You sure it wasn’t a girl who did that to you? Girls are always talking shit, slapping, punching or pushing you, then threaten to call the cops on you for assault after THEY initiated it. What a pussy he is.

      1. Heheheh…
        He was a big ol’ puss for sure, but fairly certain he was biologically male.

        1. It’s the talking. Any time I’ve encountered a guy who likes to talk a big game, it’s because he’s insecure. I’ve witnessed fights where a I was quite sure the more intimidating big talker would win and then seeing the outcome, was quite confused. Where did he get all the confidence? It was never there…
          I got into a fight with a guy that thought he could punk me (I’m short and skinny), the look of horror on his face when I fought back was fucking priceless.

  11. Billy Chubbs, where did you grow up? Your Indian story reminded me of the small town where we used to live in Alberta.

    1. I grew up in Southern Ontario, where the gun pulling happened. Thankfully my family moved us a little further North not long after that.
      Currently residing in Alberta myself, though work has had me going east and west fairly consistently.
      Thanks for reading Mark!

  12. “When we attempted the classic tripod position I was nearly choked out.
    The heftier girl sat down too far and forward on my face and smothered
    my mouth and plugged up my nose. It felt like being a water boarding
    victim in some weird Abu Ghraib porn parody. I was squirming underneath
    her, awkwardly blowing raspberries in a dual attempt to please and
    breathe. Down on the other end, it felt like the other girl was having
    the world’s laziest epileptic fit on my Johnson. I had just wanted the
    whole thing to end long before that point and boy, was I ever happy when
    the ordeal finally was over. I’m pretty sure it was the first sex I’ve
    ever had were I was happier it was over then that I’d had it.”
    Dude, this paragraph cracked me the fuck up. Thanks for that.

  13. Anyone who says they weren’t shit-scared when they had a gun stuck in their face is a liar or insane. I’ve had a firearm pointed at me on two different occasions and a third time, the dude showed me he had one in his waistband. The first time was a tech-9, I froze completely, paralyzed with fear. Second time was a nickel-plated Walther, I remember because the way the sun glinted off the frame. I cant even remember what these guys looked like, I was too focused on the weapon. Third time was more recent, I had had a good decade of martial arts training under belt…. by this time, I was a lot cooler, able to read the situation better. If I was five feet closer, I could have taken his gun away from him before he could drop his hand to his piece. Idiot lifted his shirt with his shooting hand, gesturing widely with the other. I walked away and called the cops, my life is worth more to me.
    The point of all this was that I had to go through facing down a gun three times before I was able to at least keep my wits about me. If you face down a gun once, even if you shit yourself but come away whole, that’s a victory worth celebrating.

    1. I wasn’t piss my pants or frozen scared when it happened. Then again, I wasn’t exactly feeling like Rambo. I only had two thoughts going through my head, ‘Fuck, I don’t want to die.’ and ‘How the fuck do I not die.’
      Fortunately, he wasn’t high or drunk, just took the cash and ran.
      I wish I still had a copy of that videotape though: Excitable moron with a gun and there I was, scared but blank. I mean, the guy was probably so anxious because I looked like a blank slate. The cop told me I was lucky he didn’t shoot me because of how I looked. Apparently it’s not completely uncommon for some people to go into near hysterics, and others to shut down their expressions. Unfortunately, the ones who do the latter get shot far more often than the former.

      1. Your brain goes into survival mode. It will override any other thought in your head in order to keep itself alive. That’s just the way the human brain is.

  14. Best writer on this site. Entertaining and humorous read; loved the pics of how the girls really looked in the threesome, made me lol.

    1. Have to agree probably the most entertaining read in a good bit. Billy the pics alone are what had me laughing, but the hard hitting truth of the situations definitely a homerun. Very good read.

  15. I worked for the city during the summers from high school right through university. Overtime meant getting the one job that no one wanted to do. Cleaning out the inside of garbage trucks before they could be serviced. Covered head to toe in a slicker with face and hand protection, I would climb into the back and hose down the inside with a corrosive spray, so toxic the boots I wore would melt from the acid and my gloves would be eaten away before I even finished a single truck always burning my hands with that chemical poison. I would do this is a hanger type building where the temperature would climb into to 100’s and in the suit into the 130’s till the sun went down. I would come out after breathing the fumes covered in sweat, my skin wrinkled like a child’s fingers who’s been to long in the tub. I was all alone in the yard most had long knocked off for the day. As the sun went down I’d look at the sky and thank… I don’t know God? Myself? whom ever because I had the job I had and that I loved it. That’s my man story. If I ever get to thinking fucking fat chicks or bar fights against drunks is my man story I’ll know I done fucked up and missed the fucking point!

  16. The only good threesomes are in Porn ie staged. The spontaneous ones are generally a cluster fuck ( ? pun).

  17. For the threesome scenario next time this is how the dialogue should go:
    “Girl #1, get down on your knees so Girl #2 can see your asshole.”
    “Girl #2, don’t just stare at it, eat it .”

  18. Where the fuck did you grow up Billy? The retarted Indians sounds like Cote des Neiges, which means you either went to Ude M or McGill right?

  19. ” It felt like being a water boarding victim in some weird Abu Ghraib porn parody.” Billy, at the very least, your experience has allowed you to come up with this gem of a line. Funniest line I read today. Cheers

  20. Lozozlo Bozlo Dozlo
    My topz 3 manlyz momentz:
    1.Waz whenz I gotz my firstz Ukranianz blonze girlzfriend
    2. Whenz I azzfuckedz herz forz 48 hourz inz my bedzroom. She shatz andz fartedz onz my dick manyz timez
    3. I gotz a urinaryz infectionz becauz ofz azzfucking herz azz. Takingz thez shotz onz my buttz to healz me waz painzful butz I waz OK afzer zhat.

  21. “Nice affliction T-shirt! The only thing you are afflicted with is being an ***hole.”

  22. I figured threesomes were more trouble than they’re worth, but having two women blow me is great. If you want super and memorable experiences go pro; amateurs are for amateurs.

  23. Hey Chubby, great article, although all the stories about me are true, true I tells ya!!!

  24. Don’t sell yourself short man. You hung in there in a couple of tough situations and lived to fight another day. Your threesome might not have been with supermodels but hey at least you did it. Let your “legend” live on, it very well might keep you safe when trouble comes to call and then decides to give you a free pass. A “rep” may not be totally grounded in reality but in the end who cares if it keeps you whole.

  25. I’ve never understood calling people “brah.” As opposed to bro or bruh, it honestly just looks like you’re misspelling bra.

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