if i break and iceberg slime with it reform

#IF I BREAK AND ICEBERG SLIME WITH IT REFORM HOW TO#

Mama said she threw everything she could lift at them. Mama finally found him thrusting mightily into a half-white waitress lying on a sack of potatoes in a storage room, with her legs locked around his back. What they didn’t con him out of he lost in the cheat crap joints.Īt the hotel one night he vanished from the kitchen. He couldn’t stay away from the high-yellow whores with their big asses and bitch-dog sexual antics. My idiot father had come to the big city and gone sucker wild.

Mama told me that even with both of them working twelve hours a day, six days a week they couldn’t save a nickel or buy furniture or anything.

#IF I BREAK AND ICEBERG SLIME WITH IT REFORM HOW TO#

My father’s father was a skilled cook and he passed his know how to my father, who shortly after getting to Chicago scored a chef’s job at a huge middle-class hotel. Her marriage meant one less mouth to feed. Her parents, with vast relief, gave their blessing and wished them the best in the promised land up North in Chicago. Mama and I had come to Indianapolis from Chicago, where since the time when she was six months pregnant, my father had begun to show his true colors as an irresponsible, white-spats-wearing bum.īack in that small town in Tennessee, their home town, he had stalked the beautiful virgin and conned her into marriage. I remember the ache of the strain on my fragile neck muscles, and especially at the root of my tongue. I couldn’t get a breath of air until like a huge black balloon she would exhale with a whistling whoosh and relax, limply freeing my head. I remember more vividly the moist, odorous darkness and the bristle-like hairs tickling my face and most vividly I can remember my panic, when in the wild moment of her climax, she would savagely jerk my head even tighter into the hairy maw. I vaguely remember, not her words but her excitement when we were alone. I have tried through the years to remember her face but all I can remember is the funky ritual. Strangely, she had a reputation in Indianapolis, Indiana as a devout Holy Roller.

Mama worked long hours in a hand laundry and Maude had been hired as a babysitter at fifty cents a day. Mama told me about it, and always when she did her rage and indignation would be as strong and as emotional perhaps as at the time when she had surprised her, panting and moaning at the point of orgasm with my tiny head wedged between her ebony thighs, her massive hands viselike around my head. Her name was Maude and she Georgied me around 1921. Most of all I wish to become a decent example for my children and for that wonderful woman in the grave, my mother. Perhaps one day I can win respect as a constructive human being. Perhaps my remorse for my ghastly life will diminish to the degree that within this one book I have been allowed to purge myself. Unfortunately, it would require the combined pages of a half-dozen books. I regret that it is impossible to recount to you all of my experiences as a pimp. The account of my brutality and cunning as a pimp will fill many of you with revulsion, however, if one intelligent, valuable young man or woman can be saved from the destructive slime then the displeasure I have given will have been outweighed by that individual’s use of his potential in a socially constructive manner. I will lay bare my life and thoughts as a pimp. In this book I will take you, the reader, with me into the secret inner world of the pimp.

If i break and iceberg slime with it reform