On my list
me and my new “limited edition” retro Caguioa jersey.
Erick’s photo gift for our 32nd month. And so I asked, “Why don’t you try that blow-up lady beside you?” He said, “The thought is enough to make my dick turn flaccid.” LOL (Taken with Instagram)
I have been working under the Dubai Municipality for a couple of years now. I’m the overall in charge of the yard where confiscated vehicles are kept: those which violated road rules, like using over-tinted windows, and those being towed. I’m the only one assigned to this area, and there’s not much to do here most days. My routine is to accept the vehicles coming in, check if the papers are complete, and then wait for the owners to collect their vehicles from me. That’s just it—a routine, boring task.
I can clearly remember what happened that very day. Everything seems dreary, as usual, until the Director phoned me up, and asked if I still have space in my yard. I said, yes, it was early afternoon and half of my yard was still empty. He then declared that they will bring a wrecked vehicle into my yard because the yards intended for accident vehicles were all full. Dubai road accidents are one of the most prevalent and dangerous in the world; thus, his declaration didn’t come as a surprise.
A few hours have passed, and the truck, loaded by the wrecked vehicles, arrived at my yard. I have seen so many road accidents before, but never something like this. Two heavy trailer trucks collided head-on! Their front ends are fused, almost like being welded together, probably because of the heat created when they crashed into each other. The truck driver told me that no one survived the crash—not very surprising considering the nature of the accident.
Before the day ended, I made sure to clean my yard. This is what I do every morning, and before I call it a day. I have a medical condition called anosmia, which means that I don’t have a sense of smell. I have to make sure everything is spotlessly clean, so as not to receive any complaints from nearby buildings. My condition is pretty rare, in fact, most of the doctors I’ve been to have claimed that it doesn’t exist at all, and that I’m a liar—which was rather frustrating. Actually, I found out about it from a McDonald’s “Trivial Pursuits” promotional card they had about ten years ago. You can verify this by looking up the word in a standard (i.e. not medical) dictionary.
As I was passing near the wrecked vehicles, picking up junk and scraps in the sands, I felt something weird. I don’t know what it is, but the peculiar feeling of being in front a vehicle where someone had died freaks me out. I inched closer to the wreckage, and I noticed some long strands of blonde hair beside it. My instincts demanded for me to pick it up, and put it inside a plastic bag, but I didn’t know what came to me, I put the strands of hair inside my pocket instead.
I have my own porta-cabin inside the yard; this is what I considered home for the past 3 years I have been staying in Dubai. The unusual thing that happened earlier was out of my mind at the moment, I was ready to savor the night with my mistress, a young, Chinese lady. As I was removing my pants to get ready to indulge myself in the ecstasy, I noticed the hair strands tucked in my pocket. I remember putting it down on my bedside table before jumping on my mistress’s naked body.
By midnight, I was awaken by the sound of a woman’s voice counting very slowly … 11 … 12 … 13 … 14 … I thought it was the Chinese lady counting her way to sleep; I let out an irritated groan and went on with mine. By early morning, I can still hear the woman’s voice counting … 875 … 876 … 877 … 888 … I stood up exasperated, and followed the voice. I noticed a few blonde hairs at the floor; I tracked the trail of hairs which lead me to the bathroom. The counting continues … 892 … 893 … 894 … I saw more strands of blonde hairs at the bathroom floor, and for an instant, I was dumbstruck with the realization that my mistress, who immediately left after the deed, has black hair. I saw someone at the other side of the shower curtain… she was still counting … 897 … 898 … 899 … I pull out all the guts I have; I approached the tub slowly, and reached for the shower curtain. I pulled, forcefully, as soon as I got hold of it, and there she was—a blonde-haired lady, pulling her hair one by one… 900 … 901 … 902 … 903, and then the counting stops. She looked directly into my eyes, and I saw a distorted face, if you can still call it a face, full of blood. I was stunned at the insanity of the moment, and I don’t know what to do; it feels like I’m carrying a heavy load and I can’t even move an inch. She continued to stare at me; her eyes, unblinking, were boring deep into my soul. Then she stood up, eyes still fixed on mine. I was trying to scream, but nothing came out. She can’t stand completely; her legs, together with her hands were decapitated from her torso. Then at a blink of an eye, she screamed, and jumped straight onto me…
I woke up, trembling, by the sound of my alarm. What a nightmare it was. I turned on my bedside table and grabbed the hair strands I found at my yard, and quickly flushed it in the toilet.
Early morning, as I was doing my routine of cleaning the yard, I can’t help but contemplate on what happened to me last night. The nightmare felt so real that I can even feel her touching my body as she jumped at me. I found myself standing in front of the wrecked vehicles once again. And to my surprise, long strands of blonde hair surrounded the wreckage. I don’t believe in premonitions, but I guess, this could be one of those, and I have to follow my hunch and find out what it is. I immediately called my Director, and asked him if there was a woman who died during the accident. He told me that the only casualties were two Indians, the drivers of both trucks, and clearly mentioned that no other bodies were found. I shrugged off the strange feelings I’m having, and thought that maybe, someone was just trying to scare me for fun.
The next day, the watchman, from the nearest building, approached me, complaining of a rotten smell coming from my yard. I told him that I make sure to keep my yard clean at all times, and that the smell was definitely not from my yard but from somewhere else, but still, he insisted on checking it out. I explained to him that I’m suffering from anosmia, and asked for his assistance to locate the source of the smell. We roamed the vast of my yard only to stop in front of the wreckage; he said he was quite sure the rotten smell was coming from this part of my yard. We called the Dubai police that sent the wrecked vehicles to investigate. They brought a cutting device to separate the two trucks. A few moments later they found where the smell was coming from:
I personally love this story. A long read, but worth it.
the best rings are the ones that mean something. the silver on these rings rub off after time, and reveals the 18 karat gold ring beneath the silver.
the point of the ring is to show that the longer love lasts, the more powerful and beautiful it is.
That’s pretty dope
Imma get a subscription.
i need a fucking intercourse
Based on our current situation, JILL is the only acceptable alternative, love.