Thursday, April 11, 2013

Naked News, or “He’s a Floggin’. . . and I’m a Bloggin!"

Over Punta Gorda way, Don Hughes was sitting around naked the other afternoon, on the front porch, on the back porch, on the left porch, on the right porch, on the roof porch, on any porch that offered the world a great view of his wonderful manly parts. 

Neighbors, of course, were concerned.  One lady testified that though it took some work she saw Hughes sauntering around in his back yard, nude as a noodle.  As she struggled to peer through a crack in the wooden fence, the woman discovered that if she stood just right and used her tippy toes, she could see Don’s ding-dong waggin’ in the wind, as well as a butterfly tattoo down there.  She was incensed.  She looked twenty more times just to make sure she saw what she thought she saw.  Another witness, some unlucky rudder on his bike, saw the proud penis from the street.  No mention if the pole was at full-staff, half-staff or at ease.

When the Perv Patrol finally arrived on their chariots drawn by snails, Don hurriedly threw on some duds, then insisted that it weren’t so; that he had been fully clothed all day.  Everyone was lying, he said, all hundred of 'em.  Why so many gawkers would make up such a disgusting story, much less several female witnesses who were able to identify minutely the butterfly tattoo down to the last detail, Don could not explain.

Since Hughes is already on probation as a child molester and rapist, perhaps a judge will see the merit of sending this nature-loving Lester back to prison for a few days, maybe even a week this time. Or perhaps not.  Not sure what kind of a sick society lets these demented pervs out in the first place to commit, recommit and multi-commit but it’s getting vastly worse, not better.


Chicken Chokin’ Chuck--Down Ft. Myers way, 21-year-old Greg Bruni went quite nutz the other day when he got into some amazing dope.  Shedding his clothes, this Tarzan wanna-be ran crazy through one of the ever-so-staid-and-near-dead retirement communities that are so numerous around these parts.  Scaling a drain pipe up to the roof of one house, Greg began to run around wildly on the hot shingles screaming like a man who had both claws of a stone crab locked on his Johnson.

Down below, under the roof in question, the startled home owner and his wife who had been at work cleaning their carpet ran out to see who or what was being butchered over head.  Imagine their reaction when they looked up and saw a stark naked man leaping off the roof right at them.  Landing hard on the home-owner, Bruni dashed straight into the home itself, followed closely by the arm-waving husband and his screaming wife.  Once inside, our naked Ape Man ripped the enormous big screen TV (6’ tall) off the wall and broke it to bits.  Spotting the carpet cleaner, the maniac emptied it all over the place then commenced eating the filth.

By this time, the terrified wife had returned from the bedroom with a pistol and began blazing away at the intruder.  Far from being worried, Greg must have become, in fact, aroused by all the shooting and attention he was receiving.  Grabbing his boner, Greg began furiously flogging his log until he had spread a million potential little Gregs all over the once-clean rug.  Finished, this flipped-out fiend then ran into another room and rubbed his face into articles of clothing.  Bruni then raced about the home defecating on the floor. 

By this time, the homeowner--no doubt thinking that the world as he knew it was coming to an end—finally located his shotgun.  With his wife, Annie Oakley, running around waving the six-shooter, the husband could not get a clear shot at the naked masturbator.  Before he could unload on the wretch—who continued to do some unloading himself on the rugs, in the hallways, on the furniture--the cops came and quickly gave Greg’s naked butt some angry volts of vengeance.

Greg Bruni was charged with two counts of criminal mischief, battery, burglary, trespassing, resisting arrest, indecent exposure, failure to handle his dope in a responsible, mature fashion,  speaking in tongues, jerkin’ his gherkin in public, and shittin’ without a license.

I have seen a picture of this mad dog miscreant.  Honestly, he looks a bit like Wally Cleaver of Leave It To Beaver fame.  I suppose when Greg isn’t druggin’, runnin’, jumpin’, screamin’, yellin', nudin’,  jackin’, and shittin’ on the rug, he’s probably a pretty decent guy.  Of course, I could say the same thing about a lot of people.

Whatever, just another day in sunny South Florida.  [yawn]