The Grannys

"Truckin'" Plays In The Background

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 01:50:00 +0000

It's been a while, folks. You know why? It's damn near impossible to get the image of Jimmy, pinching and rubbing his nipples in the "big-boy" pants while recounting the latest events of his life.

Me and Z went out to the Pinto ( didja know if you are a bit lysdexic 'Pinto' can be 'Pinot'), and Z got our emergency "Jimmy pants" from the trunk and wordlessly handed them over. Once, safely loaded, and I do mean LOADED, in the Funky Green Love Machine, Jimmy began to regal us with his new found royalty.

It began as such, Jimmy rubbing his nipples and grinding his ass on the seat like Axl Rose with hemorroids. "I took the sacremental Candyflip", Jimmy intoned, holding forth a silver packet. Zanna squealed "Candy!" and made a grab.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Thank the Force it was dropped out the window before she got it. Jimmy can't hang on to shit.

Enough of that, here is the story Jimmy told to us:

After he partaked of the Sacrament, Jimmy was awaiting his vision while restlessly tending his BBQ. As he reached for the charcoal, a tiny hand gripped his. Stunned, he looked down to witness a tiny, winged elf who was reaching for the same charcoal. Introductions were made, and this is how Jimmy became King of the Prairie Elves. Turns out the Prairie Elves are a Skunk-Worshipping Cult. Every year, at the heighth of the summer solstice (the real one, not that satanic thing the Wikkans do) the Prairie Elves make a pilgrimage from the plains to Moose Taint, acquiring (read 'stealing') charcoal briquets as they go. They gather, they fast, they build a huge effigy of a skunk out of said charcoal, complete with a stripe made from the undies of the resolute down its back. Then they burn it and dance all night to the flames of the stolen.

And when Jimmy did the naked macarana.....they kinged him.

When he said those words and crawled into the trunk of the Pinto to sleep, it was all good. Then, the trunk flew open, the pants flew off, and Jimmy, much like the god Nike, shot like a bolt of lightning into the woods. Winter is coming, lil' J, winter is coming.

Z and I will be on the hood of the Pinto, drinking 40's every night laughing , after dominating the corndog biz, until further notice.

We were invited, why are you throwing US out?

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 23:38:00 +0000

Z and I are back in Moosetaint county, slinging corndogs to the throngs of tourists at the 7th Annual Slosh-a-Palooza Beer Festival and Expecting Mother Doilie Blow out (down at the exhibition barn). The beer is rockin' and the new moms are crocheting their prego hearts out. Oh, I always say CROTCH-etting in my head. Good times, and good business. Drunks and hormone-crazed fuck-trophy carriers go apeshit at our stand. Z had a brainstorm and dumped pickle juice into the cotton candy machine. I swear it's like crack to the ladies.

Then we get a call from the bar, some incoherent shrieking about Jimmy and nudity. I gotsta check this out!

Arriving in a blue cloud of Pinto smoke and ICP rapping about juggalos Z and I look at each other. We can hear Jimmy ranting from the parking lot. Z exclaims "I knew I shoulda worn my fighting heels, not this damn open-toed set!"

What the fuck? Focus! We hauled-ass inside and there was Jimmy. He's Axle-dancing on the bar, throwing chunks of turkey-bologna at 3 baying hounds, swinging a mop at anyone who gets close to him. Butt nekkid. That can't be hygienic. His eyes are all pupils, and yelling something about Prairie Elves, the Sacrament and skunks. He spots Zanna, and immediately gets off the table. She has a calming effect in the melting mind of the fried. It's all those years of making our fryer her bitch, methinks.

He raises the mop like a mighty saber of the righteous (god, that tree did a number on his junk) and grandly proclaims "I am the Voice of Reason, bring a round of mead to my friends, and all shall become clear as you hear my story, good folk"

Yeah, they threw us the fuck out.

The Prodigal Corndog

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 15:16:00 +0000

We know. It's been a while. But you can smell, that right? Do you smell that? That's right...as T would say...thats the stench of whiskey and broken dreams.

You might be wondering..where have you been? Well, let's just say when you reach for the stars sometimes they'll burn you. Let's just say...what doesn't kill you, will at least take you to court and makes you wish it would kill you because it's alot cheaper to be dead than using your good funeral clothes for court. What I did right there is called foreshadowing.

Okay, so here is the deal. We were pretty successful with the corndog stand and we bought a restaurant. We called it the Corn Hole. It was going along pretty well except there was only the two of us and let me tell you....I cannot be the only one in the kitchen prepping the food by myself all the time while T is managing all the day-to-day shit like keeping a full body hairnet on Helga - and she's just a patron. He was able to muster up the finesse, though. That man can tell you to go to hell and make you look forward to the trip.

Anyhow, business had been really good. On the suck end of it, is the only time we got to spend together anymore was in the restaurant. So anyway, one night we're laying in bed and I just said, "hon...we've GOT to get a sous chef. We can't do this kitchen shit by ourselves anymore" And so T says, "what a coincidence because Jimmy told me that a bunch of sous came in from the Dakotas".

And that made me strangely uneasy because if you knew T like I knew T, he needs to think about these things first. Weigh the options...do the math.....because six dozen of one is like two in the bush or something, I don't know. He's the smart one in the family. But I digress.

So the next day I'm in the kitchen pouring the old oil into T's special "bio-fuel recycling receptacle". Then I hear the kitchen door open and in walks T with dark haired mexican looking dude. He's kind of big with long black hair. T introduces him to me as our new sous chef. I'm PSYCHED. But that lasts only momentarily.

I ask dude what his experience is. I figured he worked at LaQuinta or some shit and had some kitchen experience. I wasn't expecting much because I don't have any respect for the Dakotas or their food.

First of all....he's not Mexican. He's Indian. Feather, not dot. T didn't fully understand what I meant by soux chef...so he brought me a SIOUX chef. You've got to love the guy though. He never questioned me for one minute when he thought I requested an Indian man to help us in the kitchen. Turns out this dude is a direct decendent of Tatanka Iyotaka, more commonly known as Chief Sitting Bull. And his name was Red Bull. And he used to work at Red Robin and had a brief stint at the Waffle House.

Turns out Red Bull had a mad buffalo chicken wing recipe that he modified from Red Robin. We thought we'd take full advantage of his skill and start advertising, "RED BULL GIVES YOU WINGS".

You'd think living in a small county like Moose Taint, that Red Bull The Energy Drink wouldn't get wind of these play on words and whatnot. But like T says...when the wind blows just right...you can hear shit from miles away.

Long story short: We got sued by Red Bull the Energy Drink. Red Bull the Sioux counter-sued (or is that counter-siouxed?) Red bull the Energy Drink for stealing his name to begin with. He won. They dropped the suit on us because technically, we made no reference to the energy drink. We just happened to have a decendent of Sitting Bull with a kick ass buffalo wing recipe. There is no law against that. I mean, technically, buffalos don't even have wings. This shit could have gone on forever.

All this drama and bullshit just made T and I realize this restaurant shit is not for us. I remember sitting in the courtroom and he leaned over and whispered, "Remember when we used to lay on the pinto and drink 40's?".

So we're taking the corndog stand out of storage and I've got a couple of 40's in the fridge. Freakshow Joe is still looking for a way to make a quick buck (and still has moments of fecal incontinence after the goring incident). Jimmy still lives in the woods. Helga still has a crush on T...and rumor has it that the BinLadin brothers are still harboring a grudge against us.

Excellent.

Hindu's: The Final Re-Incarnation of the Nazi's?

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Sun, 05 Aug 2007 17:23:00 +0000

Corndog Trailer arrived in grand fashion at the Haye's, Kansas Cultural Arts Center for our most recent gig. By "grand fashion" I am refering to the massive backfire our Pinto cut loose with as we pulled into the parking lot, sending a couple of WWII vets into flashback to D-Day mode. I can't help but find octegenarians yelling "Incoming" and creeping through bushes amusing, but Z, bless her heart, ran over to help calm them down. Damn, girls got a shake that measures on the Richter scale. I filmed the old man after Zanna got him an ice-cream to sooth him.

We were in Hayes due to an invitation to sling corndogs at the Hindu Indian National Dialogue Of Native Traditions. India Indians. Dots, not feathers.

Things started out roughly, due to a translation problem with the word "corndog". We were proudly explaining that we use only the highest quality all beef franks, when the coalition head Padma Brah flipped. "Holy Vishnu, how can dogs of corn be made of beef, how is this possible!" He then lapsed into Hindu-speak, gibbering away. My mind drifted off to thoughts of Slurpee's. When I snapped back to reality, I inferred that both dog and corn were acceptable but beef was not. Padma Brah went on to explain "While researching places in the States United to hold our convention, we chose Kansas specifically because it is home to the delicious Rhode Island Red and had no real beef industry such as Louisiana and Hawaii are known for."

Riiiiiggghhhhht. I explained we had plenty of non-beef specialitys we could cook for the convention tomorrow. Later that night, sitting on the hood of the Pinto with some 40's of Old E, laughing hysterically we learned what Hindu's and H.I.N.D.O.N.T.s eat, by borrowing a bit of wi-fi from the nearby Prairie-Foof Hotel (where a Dalton Gang Died For Your Sins convention was in full swing.) Bet they like corndogs.

Well, the next day, Z and I trotted out the revised menu. Buffalo wings, corn on the cob, deep-fried macaroni and cheese bits, and.....were shocked as we carried our trays in to the Cultural Arts Center. The place was covered in swastikas, and the Indians were all wearing the swastika on their colorful clothes. Z and I pride ourselves on being sensitive to other cultures and open-minded, but....the international symbol of evil? Hindu's believe in reincarnation...could these people believe they are the final resting place of the souls of Hitler and Goebles? I decided to find out, tactfully.

When the people came up for their food, I would say "Schiece", which I think means hello in German. No reaction. Z put a white pillow case on her head for a while as she served, nothing but odd looks. When they paid us as they were leaving, I smoothly slipped into the conversation "So do you guys have a Jew and Gay problem in Bollywood?" Padma Brah advised us to seek help, and left, giving us our own swastika's on the way out.

Seemed like nice folks for a bunch of racist sociopaths.

Can't wait to tell Amy from Wak-a-Mole and Jimmy about this. Well, on to NASCAR, to serve corndogs and deep-fried snickers to throngs of drunken fans. Our people.

Sam Jackson, Always the Humanitarien...or however the fuck that is spelled

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 03:24:00 +0000

Corndog Season is here!!!

Z and I are busy like rabbits on a mix of Viagra (tm) and meth (not tm) now that NASCAR, summer, carnivals and general fun-ness are available due to the warm temps. So this is gonna be short, people. Make hay, when the sun is shining.

What I would like to say is a basic add for our Corndog business. Seeing as Z and I both have a bit o' the Wop in us, genetically, we decided to combine our sauces and throw it on some pasta. In light of S. Jacksons epic film, "Snakes on a Plane", we chose a relevant name:

"Spaghetti: with MUTHA-FUCKIN' meatballs on a MUTHA-FUCKIN' plate"

Still working on a kid friendly sign, mutha-fucka's.

Peace and shit.

The Pupa Stage

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Thu, 21 Jun 2007 12:07:00 +0000

I will come right out and say it's pretty fucking ironic that a brand new post come out on the first day of summer when Corndog Season will become full-speed ahead. It's also ironic that I'd rather sit here and write a post for the first time in ages instead of helping Helga put on her fully body hairnet.

T and I have a lot to update you all on...but I have to go make batter and the situation at hand is this: You may or may not remember the situation last year with Helga and Hannoush's death. (read here and here to familiarize yourself) . After she left Moosetaint for Auchwitz, she thought life would be better and she could get away from the tragedy. But as we know, no matter where you go, there you are and things didn't go well. So Helga came back to the town and the freaks that love her (in my case I tolerate her since she has a mad crush on T) and that's Moosetaint.

She needed a gig. Moosetaint refuses to tout a bearded lady anymore because it's synonymous with "the incident". Of course, we pitited her and hired her to help out with the stand.

It's been 3 weeks and we have hadto give back over 60% of what we've taken in because of "hair in the batter". I don't know why I put that in quotes, but there it is. Now, Hannoush's brothers are fucking PISSED she is back, let alone the fact that we hired her and it's only made the war between the Granny's and the Bin Ladins worse. So bad that those fucking camel jockey's called Health and Human Services on us. And the FDA. And the CDC.

First let me tell you...I have a shitty fucking filing system. I couldn't find readily find ANY of the paperwork I had to produce for these fucks. It took me and T an entire day to sift through the Pinto and we finally found everything stuffed in an an old G.I. Joe Thermos wedged under the driver's seat. Okay, so we get the HHS and the FDA off our jocks AFTER we proved that have stayed up-t0-date on all our shit. All we had to do is promise that we'd make a full body hairnet for Helga. Which, essentially is a pair of crotchless stockings from Fredrick's of Hollywood sewn onto mosquito netting. Have I mentiond I can't sew? So, I just velcroed the mosquito netting to the waist of the stockings. I don't give a rat's fuck...technically...we're in compliance.

Oh yea, and if you are wondering why crotchless stockings are okay....it's because ironically, the bearded lady shaves her twat. I don't know. I've never understood that since the night of the incident.

Okay, so we get that shit out of the way and now we have to deal with Helga's "emotional issues". Because some kids surrounded her when she went to use the Porta-Potty and when she came out ensconced in her fully body hair net, they asked her if she was in the Pupa stage and would she eventually turn into something beautiful.

We can't fucking win. anyway..gotta go. That batter aint' gonna bat itself.

FDA link: http://www.cfsan.fda.gov/~comm/foodbiz.html

Food safety: http://www.foodsafety.gov/~fsg/foodlaw.html

Eugene

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 01:32:00 +0000

Tranny is gone. I'm SO hating life right now. I just got done eating Chef Boyardee out of the can, standing in the dark in the pantry. Then the bell rings. I'm figuring it's Jimmy, or Amy or SOMEONE. I would even settle for Freakshow Joe at this point. I'm lonely, what can I say.

So, I opened the door and it's Tranny's cousin, Eugene. Now, I only know Eugene from pictures and Tranny's "family flatulence" stories. Eugene hugs me like he's known me for years..picked me off the ground and everything. Eugene smells like a delicate combination of onions and Old Spice. Eugene just went out the the truck to get the rest of his stuff. I took a picture of Eugene with my camera phone while he was out there. I promptly sent it to Tranny's phone. And I'm going to leave it up to you if you want to see Eugene for yourself. That way you have no one to blame for what you are about to see, but yourself.

Welcome to Hell. I'm Zanna...I'll be your hostess.

CONIFEROUS, Not CARNIVOROUS

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Tue, 05 Dec 2006 00:08:00 +0000

Damnit kids, this will likely be my last post this year. The construction company I am working for until Blessed Corndog Season starts up in the spring picked up a month-long contract. In fucking Miami. No, not that Miami. Ever see a 3000 foot deep hole in the ground, surrounded by the most god-awful cacti and inbreeders imaginable? That Miami. Miami, Arizona. I may just be a little bitter, because Zanna isn't going, at least at first.

She originally wanted to come along, as I was explaining that the entire state wasn't a blasted desert hell-hole, and I could show her some places that Arizona Highways Magazine will never find. I went on to explain that AZ has the largest coniferous forest in the United States....that's when she freaked. She kept proclaiming "no tree is gonna eat me" and "are they Ents?" and "I don't like the meat-eating forests". I eventually calmed her down, and she agreed to visit after I send her some pics of the trees NOT eating me. It will still be a long few weeks till she comes down. I'm worried there won't be cell phone reception, as well.

As a farewell gift, I tied Freakshow Joe into a mini-stuff-sack, and strapped him on the back of a train hauling short-stack pancake mix, small fries and rutting grunion. He won't find his way back to the Taint for a while. Hope he doesn't drown in his own shit before someone finds him.

Well, folks, I am off to glean my last remaining hours with Zanna, maybe have a few 40's and "put something that thumps in the boom-box."

Might as well get used to speaking spanish full time again, soooo......Hasta luego, muchachos, and Feliz Onyordog!

Freakshow Joe on Jerry Springer

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Wed, 29 Nov 2006 20:39:00 +0000

Because he only made $12.37, Freakshow has given up his month long dream of being a Michael Jackson impersonator in local train stations. His next scam to get some publicity was to take his show on the road and take care of a personal problem on Jerry Springer.

Freakshow Joe lost his girl Nicole to a stump named Josh. Me and T didn't even know he had a girl named Nicole. All I know is Amy from the Whack-A-Mole is going to be B to the Ullshit when she finds this out. But honestly, between you and me, Freaskshow has been getting a little too big for his proverbial britches and has basically been a fucking douchebag, so I don't blame her.

Remember how I told you a couple of weeks ago, he got pissed at me in the bar and got on top of the bar and took his clothes off? He does the same thing on stage at Jerry Springer. For whatever reason, he takes his clothes off, then dances on the pole and then goes and pummels poor Josh again. He also moons the audience and I wish they didn't "fuzz out" his asshole because you really need to see it to truly understand what that bull did to him. I think then it would really bring home that whole "fecal incontinence" problem he seems to only have on my couch. Little fucking fucker.

Anyway, it didn't turn out the way he planned. And now he's emotionally devastated. And guess who the fuck is on our fucking couch? Yea...you guessed it.

Thanksgiving "Gift"

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Fri, 24 Nov 2006 13:49:00 +0000

We weren't going to post anything while we were away for Thanksgiving but I just wanted to share a nice picture T's niece made for me and presented to me in front of everyone at the dinner table yesterday. And then everyone at the table got really quiet, except for T who was pretending to cough to cover up the fact he was laughing. Then all of a sudden everyone is saying at the same time, 'pass the (insert here)".

I was fucking pissed. But then I forgot about it when T said he was in the mood for some "pudding pie". But now I'm pissed again.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Leave a Message...

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Mon, 20 Nov 2006 02:19:00 +0000

I'm sorry I'm laughing so much. T said he'd be quiet while I recorded the message but he knows how to make me laugh. And my Chewbacca doll is what kills me every time. Plus he was making it dance. Happy Thanksgiving from the "Taint!

Freakshow Joe: Tour de Midgit Petite (mee-geet pa-teet)

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Sun, 12 Nov 2006 17:16:00 +0000

Well, T is still sleeping and I’m jacked on caffeine because I bought one of those old school Italian espresso makers yesterday, made a pot and drank it ALL. Aaaaaaaaaa ya ya ya yaa ya. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzing!

Anyway…Freakshow Joe has limped his sorry ass back to the Taint. I was on the couch watching Food Network and how to turn “Thanksgiving Disasters into Delightful Delights” or some shit, I don’t know. All I know is if you have enough butter and parmesean cheese, apparently you can fix anything.

So, T walks through the door, looking a little sheepish. And who jumps out behind him with his mouth wide open and his arms outstretched…like I’d be GLAD to see him. That’s right…. Freakshow. He knew I wasn’t glad to see him. I still get feel nauseus knowing his fecal dna is still engrained in my couch. I remember when I saw that Seinfeld episode when Poppi peed on Jerry’s couch and Jerry got rid of it and I was thinking, “it’s brand new…just turn the cushion over”. But, when it happens to YOU, and midget feces is on the underside of the cushion you are sitting on and the offending midget is standing before you….I can’t describe the feeling. Rage? Yes, maybe it’s rage.

So it was everything I could do NOT to bite through my own tongue and yell, “WHAT THE FUCK” because that would be rude. So, Freakshow comes in, hops next to me on the couch, plants a kiss on my cheek. I’m looking at T intently – you know because I always think if I look at him HARD he can somehow read my mind. Ha ha ha. And he’s got that, “I’m sorry, I had nothing to do with this, I didn’t KNOW” face on. It was the same face he had the time I woke up and all my panties were dipped in corndog batter. ANYWAY..

So, you know, what are you going to do, he’s here, right? I ask Freakshow, “whassup, how you been..” kind of shit….T gets us all a beer. So, Freaksow takes NO time to take out this CD and put it out DVD player…..”check it out…..this is my new gig”.

T is sitting beside me at this point and Freakshow is standing by the television. All of a sudden, we see this “little person” dressed up like Michael FUCKING Jackson…going balls out on a dance routine at some train station. And doesn’t Freakshow start dancing in our livingroom in tandem with the video. So since we really can’t just laugh out loud or say anything…T starts pressing his leg against mine. And I press back just so he knows I’m with him on this being a 10 on a scale of 1-10 for being fucked up.

When all is said and done, we’re like, “Wow..dude..that’s awesome…how did you learn to move like that.” And it turns out…his hips pop in and out now pretty easily after the “incident”

So T offers to take us out so we’re at the bar and we’ve been there awhile and Freakshow is tanked at this point and he looks at me and goes, “so…whaddayathink..you think this dance thing is going to pay off or what?’

And you know how like…if you want to hide the fact that you are smiling sometimes you can lift the drink to your face to kind of hide it before you answer? Yea, it doesn’t work well. I put my drink down and said, ‘yea..I think you’ve got mad skills, Joe”. Then he gets all pissy, leans over and kind of hisses, “you think you’re the only one that can dance, don’t you…” Then he stands up, takes ALL his clothes off except for the g-string, and gets on the bar and starts doing his Michael Jackson routine.

Holy fucking shit. T was laughing so fucking hard there was no sound was coming out. I was laughing only because he was laughing so hard. Because I’ll tell you what…it’s no laughing matter getting a glimpse of “midget junk” from the side of a g-string.

Anyway, to make a wicked long story short, he ended up going home with Amy from the Whack-a-Mole. He left his DVD here so I uploaded it to youtube so you can see his “performance”. Imagine it naked. Not pretty.

We’ve got errands to do today so I’m going to go wake up T and take advantage of “morning wood”. I love yelling “Timber” when we’re all done. Ohhh, the things that make my life worth living. ;)

Open Letter to Walrus Gumboots

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Sat, 04 Nov 2006 20:33:00 +0000

Here in the Taint we don't ususally go to these extremes. Except for that time Cock Ninja got pissy and we did a post about him after he said he was never coming back, and all he ever wanted to do was make us smile...and cry.

I didn't get T's OK on this, I usually like to because this site belongs to both of us. But I would like to say to you, Wally....on behalf of the "family". And OK, I didn't clear it with them either. I'm basically riding bareback with no panties here.

Anyway, on behalf of the "family"...and my apologies to anyone I missed..(Apache, LadyJane, Pinky Nip, Anastasia, Instant Ass Hat, Dragulf, Twzzlrgrl, Stallion, and yes..EVEN Cock Ninja). I present you this video "hallmark card" if you will.

Its cold out there in the Internet, my friend. Listen to the words of the song man...it's so fucking poingant. And when you are done wearing that "mask of false bravado," you'll know where we'll be.

Hold me, T. The glitter graphics are taking my emotions over the edge.

Public Service Announcement

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Sat, 04 Nov 2006 04:44:00 +0000

Quality Time

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Thu, 26 Oct 2006 03:36:00 +0000

It’s been a rough few weeks in the Taint. T and I haven’t been connecting like we usually do…he’s working days in construction; I’m working nights at the club. But last night, I had the night off and I was hell BENT on making sure it was “quality time”.

I see T sitting on our couch, relaxing after a long day at work. He’s leaning back into the softness of the couch, his shirt open. He has his eyes closed, half listening to something on television while absentmindedly running a hand back and forth over his chest. He doesn’t notice that I'm there at first. He didn't expect me to come until much later in the evening, but here I am.

He opens his eyes and sees me sitting across from him on the edge of the recliner, stroking my thigh with my hand. T smiles when he sees me, and I can tell from the look in his eyes that he needs what I want to give him as much as I need to give it.

Slowly, I stand, not making a sound and stroll over to him. He stands when I get there, putting his arm around my waist. I slide my hands around his neck, letting them meet on the nape of his neck and pull him closer. Our lips touch and I open my mouth, awaiting his tongue. He slides it in, casually seeking out mine. When he discovers it, he become hungrier. His lazy strokes become slightly rougher caresses.

Before we get too into kissing, I break free from his mouth, and make my way to his ear, trailing light playful kisses along your cheek. I trace the outer edge of his ear with my tongue, before licking his earlobe and taking it between my teeth and tugging gently. I continue, making my way down his neck kissing, sucking, and biting my way to his collarbone. I place a finger where his shirt opens, and slowly push it back, just a little, tracing his collarbone with my tongue. First the left side, then the right, following that. I move his shirt farther back and he shrugs it off as my lips lightly skim his shoulder.

He runs his fingers through my hair as I begin working my way on down his body. First kissing the left side of his abdomen, then his right. Moving lower, I find I have to get on my knees to reach him. Looking up at T, I give him a sly smile and unbutton his pants. I trail my finger over the bulge in his jeans before I unzip them.

I kiss the skin around his waistband, working my tongue under it occasionally. Sliding my hands around his waist, I grab his trousers near the pockets and pull them down, making them pool around your ankles. I slide my hands up his calves, under his briefs, up over his thighs and back down again before sliding them up and pulling off his underwear as well. Naked now, he steps out of your puddle clothes and recline on the couch. T lay his head back as I lean in and slowly lick the tender area of his abdomen….getting closer to what it is I’m really after.

Making a "v" with the index and middle finger on my right hand, I lick between them and slide them up and down the underside of his shaft, rubbing his bulging veins while I continue to lick. Finally, I get to the edge of skin that meets his balls. Leaning down, I lick his right ball, taking it in my mouth and gently sucking on it, while I run my left hand over his hip. I lick my way across to his left side and do the same thing, working my way down as far as I can go, before I need to turn back. I trail kissing back up his balls, in anticipation….

I slide both my hands up his thighs and then, let my right caress his hip and come to rest there, while I bring my left up and place it gently on his shaft, squeezing the base gently as I do.

Looking into his eyes, I give him a wicked grin and I lean in closer and playfully flick the head of his cock with my tongue. I pull the skin of his shaft down gently. I put my lips over it and begin to suck just the head. While I suck, I slide my hand up and down his shaft.

I begin taking more and more of him into my mouth until he touches the back of my throat. I can feel that he’s brushing against the ridges on the roof of my mouth. I begin moving myself up and down over his shaft, around the tip, sucking as I move up to increase the friction. When I reach the tip, I swirl my tongue around it once, before going back down.

Going faster now, I take my hand, which had been lightly gripping the base of his penis and make it slightly tighter. I move it up to meet my mouth on its way back down your shaft and then use it to lead my mouth back down to the base. I lightly run my free hand over his hip and around the back of your thigh, down to the bend in his knee and back up while I continue.

Feeling T start to tense up, I bring the hand that was caressing his hip up and gently cup his balls. Jiggling them slightly, I feel you stiffen even more. Moving up and down his shaft faster and faster, I feel his cock pulsing in my hand. I thrust his cock in my mouth, once, twice more and as I go down the next time, I feel him shoot your warm liquid in my mouth. I suck hard, milking T’s cock of every last drop he can give me.

When he finishes, I move up one last time, squeezing the last leftover drop from the tip of his cock, and run my tongue over the whole head again. I take my mouth off your cock and run my tongue over the veined underside one last time.

I stand up then, watching you watch me. I take a step back, and undress, first my shirt, then my short skirt, followed by my bra and panties. I smile at you and sit beside you. You put your arm around me and I put my head on your shoulder. You kiss my forehead and we sit quietly for a few minutes.

You squeeze my shoulder and say, “Hey….you wanna get those 40’s out of the fridge and sit on the hood of the Pinto and chill for a while?”

Fuckin’ right I do.

Come to Jesus

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Mon, 23 Oct 2006 15:32:00 +0000

If anyone is looking for me, I'll be getting my freak-on at the Grace Church tonight.

Love me hard and love me often,

Zanna

Stripper Down

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 18:16:00 +0000

I fucking told her she didn't have the upper body strength to do the pole. Does she listen to me? Nooooooooooo, of course not. Why listen to Zanna...she's just some silly fucked up bitch "lati-da'ing" her way through life, right?

Well, to my DELIGHT, Amy from the Wack-A-Mole took a fucking header today during pole practice. Between you and me..she fucking sucks as a dancer. Fucking sucksdonkeydickandchokesonthespunk. I mean check those moves out. I don't even like looking at her with clothes ON let alone off. Thank God when I'm in the club it's dark and I'm drunk.

And because you were a cunt to me today Amy..I'm posting this. And you're on your own putting Clearisil on your ass.

I think tonight, perhaps..I will dance to "Come to Papa" by Bob Seger. Makes me feel like grinding on a stranger's lap. Always did. Always will.

Anyway, heeeereeeeesss Amy.

Something Fishy in the Taint

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 22:06:00 +0000

As Zanna has mentioned, I am back to construction for the winter. We are building a huge house for some trust-funder punk from scratch, and today we were clearing trees on a sidehill, in an early season blizzard. The picture is my boss trying to show off in his truck, and planting it firmly between 2 trees.

The crew and I said fuck it, we'll dig it out tomorrow; then went to the bar. Chainsawing in a snowstorm sucks. Sometimes you just gotta quit early.

Anyhoo, you know how after drinking all day sometimes a story comes out that you may regret later? Our laborer, Chucky Chez Ezz, told just such a story moments ago. I hauled ass to borrow some wi-fi, while the story is fresh.

Last winter, Chucky was working at Flap-Ass Mountain Ski Resort and Bass Fishery, when in walked a woman he hadn't seen in years. Turns out she had married and had children. And was the first woman to give him crabs. They were partying one night several years ago, one thing led to another, they humped and a day or so later it was like a micro-jungle on his genitals. Chucky used the old fashioned method his granddad taught him to get rid of the little parasites.

Get 2 bricks, kerosene and a match. Cover your pubes in the kerosene, light it. When the crabs crawl up your penis to escape the flames from the enchanted forest, smash them with the bricks while they are stranded on the tip.....

Well, 2 months later he was drunk at another party when Charlize Tuna showed up. Yeah, they fucked like grunion under a full moon, and yes, she gave him crabs a second time. I mean, this girl had to keep ice in her panties to keep the little guys fresh. Chucky decided to try removing his pubes entirely this time. With Nair.

Well, after getting crabs twice from the same girl he swore off relations with her ever again. For about 3 more months. You guessed it, Chucky was drinking heavily at the Booze-O-Rama Nightclub when Charlize arrived. He was going down on her in the bathroom, when it dawned on the poor bastard he was tonguing the Tuna that gave him crabs twice. He stopped speaking for a moment.

Slowly, Chucky said "I threw up directly onto her twat." He then wiped it off, fucked her, and went home with his THIRD case of the crabs.

To paraphrase a wise man, diamonds may be forever, but you never forget the first time you eat crabs.

Just Got Me a Winter Gig

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Fri, 13 Oct 2006 04:31:00 +0000

I gotta do this quick because I'm on in about 10 minutes. But I just want to let you all know, that I've gotten my winter gig. I applied for 4 jobs.

1. Moose-Taint County short bus driver
2. Moose Taint County Bowling Alley Girl
3. Moose-Taint County Geriatric Facility and
4. Dancer at the Deja Vu. Moose-Taint County's local strip club.

I got the dancing gig.

Now, before you ask me if I'm part of the "Trifecta", as they like to call the 3 "facially-challenged" ones, I'm not (not that I feel like one of the 50 beautiful ones either-not today anyway) However, Amy from the Wack-A-Mole, is part of the "Trifecta". And man, was she bullshit about that in the "prep" room when she made me put flesh-tone Clearasil on her ass-zits before she went on tonight.

T has gotten a carpentry gig...which I'm not so sure how well it's going since I JUST got a text message which read, "motherfucking snakes on a motherfuking plane!" And when I texted back, "whaddayamean?" There was no response. It is so cryptic and yet says so much at the same time.

They just escorted some dude out because he gave Amy from the Wack-A-Mole a dollar and asked for change back.

Well, time to tuck up that tampon string and get this party started. I'm dancing to "In the Evening" by Led Zepplin (click the link if you want to hear it). I've danced before and that song makes me feel sexy as FUCK. I'm thinking it's good for my first time out at this place tonight.

I'm gonna be human for a minute. Not try to be funny or sarcastic or anything. But you know what? All of a sudden I am missing T big time. Like, it makes my chest hurt and I feel like I could choke on the lump in my throat. I'm nervous to go on and he makes me feel better and we worked together all season, and I dunno...I just wish he was here right now.

Anyway, they just "announced" me. Wish me luck...

There is No Place Like Home

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Sun, 01 Oct 2006 14:20:00 +0000

First, just let me say it's good to be back at the corndog trailer and T's very strong, muscular, tree-choppin, chainsaw usin' arms. Oh and that the wedding sucked.

The whole fucking time I had to listen to my cousin go on and on about the time T set her fake tits on fire and "I chould make T pay for new one...pesos don't grow on tress, ju know".

No, bitch, pesos DON'T grow on trees so why don't you go and pray to the " Virgin Mary in a Bathtub" thing you have in your yard and maybe there will be some kind of fucking miracle.

I would also like to say that the Mexican heat coupled with fine polyester wedding garb tend to be a lethal combination. With that said, I would like to say this. JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH ME DOESN'T MEAN I CAN'T TELL YOU ARE SCRATCHING YOUR BALLS. During conversation, just because you have made eye contact with me does not mean I no longer have peripheral vision. And I don't mean just one of those "adjustments" men make...or the patented "quick scratch"(the one where the guy's eyes dart around to see if you saw him). I mean...the kind of scratching that makes me want to mace you dead with "Tough-actin' Tinactin' and a bic lighter. I'm just saying.

Anyway, T has given me a RIGHTEOUS welcome home. Breakfast in bed has got a WHOLE new meaning, now. And I'm hoping that Wal*Mart will have something to get the "meaning" out of the sheets if you know what I'm saying (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). Ahoy, matey!

We've also got to get the Moose-Taint County Sunday paper and check out the classifieds. We need to get jobs for the winter now that corn-doggin' is gonna be on the backburner for the winter months.

In the meantime, here is a video they gave us as a "wedding keepsake". We had to dance to the song like 3 times at the reception. Where of course, my cousin, while she was dancing, had to keep pointing out how her tits don't bounce in unison thanks to the fact that, "ju husbang burn my eeeemplangts." God. Fucking GET OVER it. Sell your donkey or something.

The Cadillac of Hallucinogenic...er Spiritual Offferings

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Mon, 25 Sep 2006 21:10:00 +0000

Ok, I was just down at the laundromat, and I met some crazy Indian chick who kept babbling about yoga. She said her name was Shama, which means inner light or spiritual insanity or something....wait, that can't be a name....She must have said Shamu, like the whale. Cause that fucking fish was Spiritual, yo. So spiritual I got thrown out of Sea World for smuggling a deep sea fishing pole and some tackle into his tank. Z and I woulda eaten tons of smoked fish for a whole year! Bastards.

Where was I? Oh, right, Shamu the Indian. That would be East Indian, not an American Injun. Well she was going on and on about how you could "focus your inner light" and "get in touch with your real self" and a bunch of other shit. And you know, while I was hastily folding my underwear trying to get away from this chick, something magical happened.

The words "I must inject Zanna's Information Super-Highway with My One-Way Conduit of Information as soon as she is off the plane" emaneted from my chest in a sepulcher tone. I said thanks to Shamu and her dot and hopped in the Pinto to find Jimmy.

Together, we drove down to Little Pocks shop. For those of you who have not put my mystical experience together yet, let me spell it out for you. Little Pocks is an Injun, from the Slapaho tribe, sells KILLER bud and Zanna gets nasty when she hasn't got any in a while, especially stoned. I think I have said enough.

Pocks didn't think "Little" looked good as part of the name of his store, so he has named it "Small Pocks Blanket Army Surplus" and does a good business. We went in, the er...peace pipe was passed and some Peyote was distributed. A bout of prayer to the Native American Church, of which I am a member, and a generous re-distribution of lunch into the toilet ensued. The initial rush of this perfectly legal to Church Members cactus always leaves me a bit talkative till I settle into the whole "in touch with the world" thing peyote does. Figured I'd make small talk, and since the NFL is back for the season, I reminesced:

"Little Pocks, remember that glorious game many moons ago, when the Cowboys massacred the Redskins, on the Redskins own field?" Quothe I. "Well, I was at that game, and was jumping up and down so much that I had a Wounded Knee. Felt like an arrow in there, as if each stand would be my last" That reminded me of cold which reminded me of Frozen Custard from KFC, so I decided to expound on my love for the Colonels Custard, when Little Pocks threw me out of the store. Why is this always happening to me?

Ah well, Little Pocks always gets over his snits, I got the green and a headfull of cactus dreams and Jimmy to party with tonight, Zanna home in 4 days...life is good in the Taint.

Why I Hate Breast Implants

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Tue, 19 Sep 2006 20:00:00 +0000

The next 2 weeks may be a bit slow for new posts, Zanna is out of town.

Z is going to her favorite Uncle's wedding in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, along the banks of beautiful Elephant Butt Lake. Why, you may ask, are you not going, Tranny? The reason: I am banned from being around her second cousin. Apparently, at a barbecue a few years ago, I lit cousin Chelsea's brand new breast implants on fire. I say, hey, if I don't remember no one should hold it against me...but Chelsea doesn't seem to see it that way. And as she is the bride, I am respecting her wishes to stay away. This time.

So I plan on drinking Jim Beam straight from the bottle, throwing hot-dogs at PETA activists and lesbians for the next 2 weeks, listening to Patsy Cline and generally being miserable. Cause you all know that my life is meaningless without Zanna.

Hell, Z and I even tied Freakshow Joe up, put him in a Saltine Cracker box and sent him C.O.D. to White Castle Burgers in Minneapolis together, right before she left. Who else is gonna do that with me?

So, I will post when I am sober enough to type, and if any of ya'll would like to get stupid in Moose Taint County for the next 14 days, I will be slumped in a pile of empties behind the corndog trailer till she gets back.

Damn yous, fake titties, DAMN YOUS!!!!

The Show Must Go on...

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Fri, 15 Sep 2006 16:41:00 +0000

And by that I mean get that fucking FREAKSHOW Joe off my goddamned couch. Here is a guy who two weeks later is STILL complaining how he got "violated". I'm thinking at this point he should have considered himself lucky because if it wasn't for date rape, he'd never get laid.

Have you ever SEEN a midget in tighty-whiteys? I don't even know how to spell whiteys. I'm not even going to check. All I know is I am offended by it. I'm sitting there with my laptop, TRYING to help Spanks out by writing stuff for her blog and Joe keeps suggesting "stories". And you want to know what his voice sounds like? Like someone sucked down a entire fucking cannister of helium.

Oh and can I just mention about the "fecal incontinence" Joe has been experiencing since the incident? I don't even know why I put fecal incontinence in quotes. Because it is what it is. So those tighty-whiteys have skidmarks you can see from the outside and it's in my face everytime he has to pass me to get back on the fucking couch. WHICH, I attempted to Scotchguard heavily yesterday when T took Freakshow to his follow up appointment.

Did I mention the fecal incontinence? Did I mention I HAVE A MIDGET ON MY COUCH WHO IS SHITTING HIMSELF?

And let me tell you something about fucking SCOTCHGUARD. No where on the can does it say it say that more is not better. So what do they come home to? Me sitting on the floor Googling "Scotchguard Dangers" in the middle of a smoke filled living room with a fan blowing smoke out the window and me CRANKING Randy Newman's "Short People". Yea, they both looked a little uncomfortable when I saw them through the smoke. And T is all like, ' why do you Google "scotchgaurd dangers" AFTER you set fire to the cushions?" and suggests that perhaps smoking a joint while scotchguarding is a BAD idea. (and when I googled it I found out it supposedly causes liver damage. So when my liver shits the bed I'm not going to know if I should sue the Moose-Taint distillery or 3M. Great).

So I just turned the fucking cushions over. That's why they have two sides . Right? Right. I should have just went to the fucking dollar store and got a tarp and put it on the couch.

T says the only thing that can fix this badass mood of mine is his patented "attitude adjustment". He's calls it an adjustment.....I call it a grudge fuck. Either way it works.

End rant.

Where the Fuck is David Caradine These Days?

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Tue, 12 Sep 2006 16:31:00 +0000

The end of summer has historically been a bit crazy in the "Taint", and this year is proving to be no exception. First, Hannoush dies in a fit of mole-induced vaginal asphyxiation/neck breakage, then Freakshow Joe gets a hot-beef injection on TV, and now this: A rogue ninja assaults poor Mr. White's "family".

Over the weekend, a dazed martial artist wearing a ninja mask and the sign of his rank, a paisley belt, was seen stumbling around town. He was drinking Mad Dog and talking to himself. Jimmy reported this ninja kept speaking of "supercheeks and spanking the fish". Jimmy has completed reading the Da Vince Code recently, and is convinced this mysterious man's ramblings may be of the utmost import. Poring over these words with his magic decoder ring has led to no revelations yet.

Then the ninja came in contact with Mr. White's chicken coop. Zanna, who had been tailing the stranger to determine if he was Mexican, told me a radical change came over the man. The fog lifted from his eyes, and the words "Tom Cruise Loves The Cock" were shrieked as he sprung into action. Ancient Japanese fighting techniques and the bottle of Mad Dog were used, the hapless chickens stood not a chance. Minutes later twenty chickens lay dead and the stranger was gone, only a few pecker marks from the largest cocks scarring the hands of the lunatic.

Mr. White, seen here, was devastated by the loss of his "family" and vowed revenge. Never have I met a man who loved chicken more.

Z and I found Mr. White in the street yesterday, overdosed while drowning his sorrows. His wife, Kay "Clucks", and son Ghengis Khlan say he should be alright to continue his vendetta later this week.

Jimmy was seen scampering towards the river with a case of Mad Dog, his decoder ring and a kimono this morning, I have no doubt this mysterious "Cock-Ninja" is still lurking nearby.

Happy Birthday!!!

trannys.mexican@yahoo.com (Tranny & Zanna) — Tue, 12 Sep 2006 15:07:00 +0000

I'd like to give a big Moose Taint County Birthday shout to reader Lesli B. Ann.

We are having a clam bake in your on her.