Friends Don’t Let Friends…
By howardcosell, with some fun from Sparkle and OMG
{Hi. My name is bobbifighter and this is my first story on the message board. I hope you enjoy it.
My mum and I had an disagreement and I told her bitch, I get to jack off my cousin. She had jack im off last Tuestursday and it was my tern to do the deed. We have to fight if she ins’t going to lissen to what I say. I am 5’6” 122 lbs with brown hair and blue eyes 36-26-36. My mum is 6’ 230 lbs with blonde hair and blue eyes and 79 years old. She looks like Cindy Brinkley. I toll my mum that she jack off my cousin one more time, I hit her in her face and squeeze her titties. She said no, so I unzipped her shirt and fire a strike to her left nipple. She cried out and I grabbed her pussy with my thumb and forefinger. Then I--}
Let me stop reading this crap right there. See, this is what I’m talking about. This is obviously another guy posing as a woman on the message board posting some story about his mom. My name is Hannah and I’m not from Montana, jackass. I have short black hair; I’m 5’6” and I weigh a toned, fit, and fine 128 lbs. I used to have longer hair and everyone said I look like Demi Moore, which was dumb because my face is rounder; her face is chiseled, especially her jaw. Maybe they meant my body; I’ve got a great set of abs and my breasts and ass are right. I’ve got Greek and Polish blood in me, but I’m straight out of Boston, Mass, where I work as a columnist for a very popular magazine, but you perverts don’t read anything but crap anyway, so it’s not like you’d know which one. I look at a story like this and I just have to comment.
{perfect10- Hey bobbifighter, your story is shitty and so are you. Why don’t you go back to your mother’s basement and drink some paint, you fucking loser? None of you writers are any good and you all need to take a class on how to not repeat the same dumb shit over and over}
I fucking love doing that; you have no idea what it feels like to log onto a message board and just shit all over people. I’ve driven so many people off this board; I crack myself up. And it doesn’t You could never do that in real life because people would get offended and jump you or jail you or maybe even kill you, hahahaha!! Oh, the blonde haired dwarf who likes to crack jokes posted a new story… I gotta see this.
{Hey, what could I do? I was only 4’11” and 90 fucking pounds!! She hoisted me above her head as I stretched my toes, looking for purchase.
“Let go of me, you bitch!!” I cried, tears welling up in my eyes and the mistake I’d made ever picking a fight with a proven fighter like her sinking in.
“No shrimp,” she retorted, pulling me into a bear hug and compacting my insides, “You messed with me and now, you’re gonna pay for it!”
“Oh please!” I cried, no longer able to hold back my tears, “I promise I’ll never put my toenail clippings in your homemade lemonade again!!”}
My turn to reply. Now, I actually like her stories; she knows what she’s doing and she’s got a lot of humor. That Cajun chick, the English chick with the silly name and the tattoos, and the self-proclaimed overweight one from Australia are good writers, but they’re wasting their time and talents. In fact, they’re better than the other geek and metrosexuals I work with. Oh, but there is one who made the dumb mistake of naming himself after a dead commentator… he gets on my nerves with his shitty ass wrestling stories and over-indulgence in belly-punching and bellybutton stuff. He’s a bitch. So, let me comment on this little girl’s story. She doesn’t seem like the type who would hold a grudge… not that I give a shit; it’s all fantasy.
{perfect10- I hate this stupid story. It sucks.}
Ha ha ha!!! I know it hurt her feelings; she has a reputation for being a little sensitive, but I don‘t care either way. And sure, some of them attack me back, but damn, it’s just for fun. It’s all fantasy; so maybe me being such a bitch to them is a fantasy too. You may ask if there was some event in my childhood or some unresolved issue that made me this way… hell no. I just like to piss people off… well, not in person. I’ve never been in a fight, but I take kickboxing classes and I figure if I had to be in one, I could hold my own. I go into the chatroom and watch people cyber fight, and I’ve even done it myself and kicked a lot of ass. The key is to land as many shots as I can before typing “your turn.” You’re not supposed to do it that way, but my online attitude is so bad ass, I could intimidate anybody. The real me? Karaoke on Fridays, church and Patriots on Sundays, work the rest of the week, except for Saturday, when I hit the bars and coffee houses. My life isn’t all that interesting and by the crap I read on these message boards I go to, neither is anyone else’s.
I’m sitting in a coffee house right now talking shit to this stupid bitch, if she’s even female, who’s claims she’s gonna come and find me after I trashed one of her stories. She gets online and posts a story that doesn’t even have a fight in it. In fact, it’s a link to another story where two girls have sex and act like they’re gonna fight. That’s just fucking stupid. And then, when she does post a fight story, it always goes the same way, except the names are different. She has no character development; she cuts to the chase without a background; she has names and no descriptions… it’s the shits. But you’ve got all these dumb asses going “oh, that’s such a good story” or “I love this! You rock, honey!” So, I call her out on it and she PM’s me telling me that she’ll come and find me. Bitch, please.
I know everybody in the coffee house, so I get up and go to the bathroom. I have on a brown sweater covering up my white button up, with some black pants with brown pinstripes and black heels. Damn I look good. I have to pull up my shirt and look at my abs. I have a cute bellybutton, but that freak author will never see it. And that’s another thing; who the fuck posts a picture of your real self online? These perverts wanted to see what I looked like, and then when I refused, they accused me of being a man… nobody in my profession would post a photo of myself on a fucking porn site; get real. Anyway, I rub my stomach and ponder whether or not to get my navel pierced. I’ve got a coffee bean shaped navel; it doesn’t stick in far at all and it’s got two ridges down the middle on the inside, like a coffee bean.
Then I see this short girl come up behind me. She’s just looking at me and I’m wondering if she’s a lesbo or something because that look she’s giving me is so weird. She’s about 5’4” tall, with really curly red hair and her eyes are so shiny, they look like they’re about to shed tears. She’s got on a purple and red Green Day sweater and a pair of acid blue jeans with Doc Martin boots.
“Could I help you with something?” I turn and look at her. I’m taller than she is and I step in because with my heels on, I tower over her.
“Are you perfect10?” she says
Now this bitch is really losing her mind.
“I don’t go that way,” I tell her, “Maybe it’s the short hair. I’m not into women, sorry.”
“Well, if I had to guess, you’d be her, you fucking cxnt,” she says, her voice low and raspy. I couldn’t believe this bitch. Who the fuck does she think she is smarting off at me. Oh well, I decide to just walk away, but she blocks the door.
“I told you I’d find you,” and she pushes me. I stumble and almost fall, but I grab one of the faucets and steady myself.
“Bitch, what the fuck is your problem?” I say to her, still trying to make myself as intimidating as possible and lowering my voice a little bit. I mean, Boston’s got its share of lunatics, but this girl was really acting like she knew me from somewhere.
“You said you were gonna kick my ass,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “You said my stories were shitty and I had nooooo creative brio.”
“I don’t know you, and honey, you don’t wanna know me!” I say, and I try to push passed her, but she grabs my right arm and slings me around. Once again, I almost go down, placing my hands on the door to one of the stalls and I can’t believe how strong she is.
“If you take your shoes off, you’ll be able to fight,” she says, pushing me back again, “otherwise, you’ll be off balance.”
I look her up and down and I laugh, trying to hide my concern. “You really want to fight me? You better leave me alone; I’m a tough kick boxer and I’ll kick your little ass.”
“Yeah,” she says, “that’s what you said on the message board. Now, you get to prove it.”
The message board? That’s where she knows me from? But that’s impossible! I didn’t put any pics of myself on the board; my e-mail is private; there’s no way she could know who I am. This is just some stupid prank by my boyfriend.
“Whenever you go onto a site,” she says, raising her fists and throwing punches from a distance in my direction, not meant to hit me, but to scare me and I know it and don’t budge, “your computer’s IP address is visible. Some people know how to go into the Run option on the start menu of the computer and delete it. And some people know how to manipulate things so that every time they log on, they’re IP address is showing a different location. I do that; one minute, I’m showing up as being in Seattle, next log in, I’m in Amsterdam, next log in, I’m in Tokyo. You, Ms. Perfect10, you don’t know how to do that.”
“You’re crazy; you fucking crazy!” I yell; I’m scared now, but I’m not above having to fight my way out of here. She’s a catfight story writer; she’s not a real fighter. She’s just like Eminem or one of those chickenshits who grew up in the suburbs and never knew anything about fighting, but walk around in Tap Out shirts and UFC gear.
“Your name is Hannah Wells,” she says, “My name is Sparkle, the same as my online name. Once I got your IP, getting your e-mail accounts was easy; hacking into all of them was easier because you use the same password for all of them, with slight variations of numbers and symbols. Real easy. I could’ve hacked your bank account, you dumb cxnt. And if I could’ve done that, then you know finding you was a piece of cake.”
“Look bitch,” I say, backing up, “it’s just a fantasy site. I’m not like that in real life, okay? I was only playing with you?”
“I wasn’t playing with you,” she says and keeps coming forward. By now, she’s got me backed against the wall. She points her finger right in my face and says, “I take my work very seriously. I put time and effort into the stuff I write and all you ever do is talk shit, to me and to everybody else. You don’t ever have a positive fucking comment for anyone and you’re just a keyboard warrior, sitting at a computer pretending to be tough. Well, I want you to show me how tough you are. Hit me.”
“Are you serious?” I’m hiding a smile inside; like I said, I take kickboxing classes to stay in shape and I’m sure I could drop this little crazy bitch.
“Are you gonna hit me, or are you gonna show me that you’re as big a coward in person as you are on the board?” she says, smiling and pointing at her chin. I smile broadly as she closes her eyes and steps back. She’s thinking I’m gonna hit her in the chin… nah! I drive a straight punch right below her breasts and she goes “UUGGHHH!!!” and drops to her knees, coughing, her sparkling eyes wide open and her hands clutching her solar plexus. I step over her, deliberately nudging her over on her side with my knee.
“Well,” I say laughing, “Too bad you came all this way just to get your ass dropped with one punch! Better luck next time, because I told you not to fuck with me and if I see you on the street or on the message board, I’m gonna fuck you up.”
Then something weird happens. She slowly gets to her feet and looks at me. Then she starts talking.
“The raven headed girl’s punch dropped me to my knees,” she says, “I gasped for air as she taunted me with her cocky words. I hated this bitch with a passion, and my hate was fueling me, but I knew she would be a challennnnnge.”
What the fuck is wrong with this nutty bitch? If this is what the message boards produce, I think I’ll just stick to my columns. She rushes in on me and I try to back up, but she rams her shoulder into my side. I grit my teeth and we fall against the wall next to the plastic paper towel dispenser. She grabs my right breast with her left hand and squeezes it. Ahhhh!!!! I can feel that shit through my sweater, my shirt, and my bra… it fucking hurts.
“I felt the softness of her left breast as I dug my long nails through her flimsy sweater and squeezed it,” she says, “I pulled up her clothes with my right hand while I gripped her, looking at her tanned belly with small coffee bean navel and slight definition, but a tad bit of softness below the navel… you know, that spot above the pubic mound that gives us women our pigeon like shape. I could smell her perfume and see the pain and anguish in her eyessssss. I fired a punch to the middle of her belly.”
“Mmmmppphhh!!” the punch hits me solid right above my bellybutton, and it hurts a lot more than I let on, but I took it. How did I get myself into this? “Ooouuugggghhhh!!!” a terrible shot to my stomach, right on my bellybutton. I just couldn’t hold that one in; the punch was fast and it caught me completely off guard. If she wasn’t standing in front of me holding me, I might double over. She has her body against mine, pinning me against the wall and moving me towards one of the stalls. With my heels on, I’m naturally off balance and I can only move with her to stop myself from falling down; I can’t believe how strong she is and if I try to step out of my heels, I may roll one of my ankles because they’re strap-ons. She just keeps on talking.
“I push her towards to wall opposite the door,” the bitch says, “I made sure that when we were near the door, that I locked it as I held her. She has no control and while she appears to be a strong girl, the two shots to her belly have weakened her. She looks at me with confusion on her face, wondering what my thoughts might be. I feel her trying to plant her feet, her strength coming back, but I focus my punches on her belly and drive her back to the wallllllll!”
Ommph!! Auugghh!! Oooof!!! Ummmm!!! Awwwfff!!! Sorry… I’m getting beat up. She punches my stomach relentlessly, all the while, making those creepy comments. And that’s when I notice something I didn’t see before… she’s talking into some earpiece on her right ear. She’s fucking recording this!! OOOOOUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!! I can’t breathe… I’m on my knees and I can’t breath. I hear her voice and then, I feel my sweater and shirt pulled over my head and off of me. I feel the cold of the air conditioner as I am in my black bra now.
“I dig a knee to her belly,” she mutters smiling, “she groans loudly, the air and the fight knocked from her, and she crumbles to her kneesssss. I pull her shirt and sweater off and marvel at her subtly large breasts and toned but bruised bellyyyyyyy. She looks up at me and I notice that she’s unstrapped her heels. I--UUFFF!!!”
I tackle the bitch as hard as I can. We both go crashing through the door to one of the stalls and I grab her by her red curls and try to stick her head into the toilet. She’s fighting hard, but she’s shorter and I’m pissed now. OUGH!!
“The elbow catches her an inch above her navel and she instantly lets me go. The area in the stall is small and as I turn, I fall onto the toilet seat. As she touches her belly and tries to grab me, I pop up and punch her square to her jaw with a right cross. I watch her land on her back on the cold tiled floor… tiled in different shades of wintergreennnnnn.”
I’m down and my head is spinning. I’ve never really been hit like that before. I’ve only been punched in sparring and that’s very light contact. Maybe if I just stay down, she’ll leave me alone. Maybe if I just let her win, she’ll go away. But what if she doesn’t play on letting me go? What if she plans on trying to rape me or something? Isn’t that what these bitches write about? Isn’t that usually what happens to the loser of one of these so-called stories? A dildo magically appears out of thin air and somebody gets fucked for six to twelve hours! I have to get back up, but I feel a weight on my stomach and look up into her sparkling blue eyes. As expected, she starts talking again.
“I sit on her belly and stare into her blue eyes,” she says, voice still raspy and sounding darker than ever, “I see fear, but still, quite a bit of the cocky bitchiness that lead us to this clash. She was far from beaten.”
“No!” I say, “I am beaten, okay? Whatever point you were trying to prove, you proved it to me. I will never bother you on the message board again. Just let me go.”
“She begs me to let her go as I rip her bra off… well, as I rip her bra OFF! As I… what’s up with this bra? Unnhhh!”
I hit her with the hardest punch I could throw from my back and she falls off of me. I mount her and try to pin her down. I start giving her a dose of her medicine and start punching her in the stomach, and she kept groaning and trying to roll over. My punches aren’t hard, but she’s very soft in the middle; I can tell she’s probably never done a sit up in her life. I pull up her sweater and slam a shot right on her funny looking outie-innie bellybutton that looks like a little brown egg sitting in a pit, not to mention, the damn thing is pierced somehow. She rakes her nails across my face and I yell, but that really pisses me off. Don’t fuck with my face… and shut the fuck up!!
“Her anger had consumed her,” she says as she pull my bra up and with a pinch that hurts my breasts bad, my breasts are out. The bitch continues as she makes me scream from squeezing my breasts with each hand, “but anger is a dangerous thingggggg. I place my hands on each of her magnificent mounds and squeeze them, drawing blood from them and feeling the tickling of her hard nipples against my palms. Her fists that were once punching me, now flailing helplessly by her sides as I turn her over onto her back, driving my knee against her vulva, crunching her and forcing a barely audible cough from her as her body goes limp for a moment… long enough for me to yank off her pants and panties.”
“Please… let me go… I’ll never do it again…” I beg her as she starts punching my stomach. I would groan, but I just don’t have any more wind; my stomach is bruised and I’m beaten. Finally, I feel her get off of me. Then the kicks to the stomach begin. I’ve never felt pain like this before; she’s destroying me and I’m crying. I’ve given up; I’ve told her that she’s beaten me, but she won’t stop. My belly is ruined; my breasts are bleeding; I’ve got scratches on my face and my pride is shattered… why won’t she just let me go? Finally, she stops.
“Let me tell you a little secret,” she says, “I go around fighting other women on the board. We make arrangements; we meet, and we fight. But you were special; you were someone I just had to get to and teach a lesson. You talk so much shit on the board and think you can’t be reached, but I found you, and if I found you, who else could? It turns out that you’re pretty famous, Hannah; you’ve even been a guest host on ‘The View.’ I’ve read your columns and you’ll probably have your own talk show one day, but just remember this, as long as you leave yourself open like this, all your critics, stalkers, and people who you pissed off can find you. No one in this world is untouchable, and let me do this as a reminder to you.”
She takes out a digital camera and takes several pictures of my naked, defeated body. Then, she’s gone. It don’t come out of the bathroom for another hour after trying to cover up my scratches and make my clothes not look so wrinkled. I don’t see her again after that. I visit the message board about a week later, as scared as I am. I see a story by sparkle88keys called “Hannah Gets Hammered” posted, and the pictures of me defeated are in the thread along with a write-up of what happened; she even posted a link to her audio… but I notice that she blocked my eyes out in the pictures, saving my identity in a way. I post my response.
{perfect10- Great story, Sparkle. Keep up the good work!}
From that point on, I don’t go to message boards anymore. I stick to my columns and every time I go out, I’m always looking over my shoulder. I thought about keeping my hair short, but I’m going to grow it out again and dye it blonde. I may start going by my middle name… I don’t know… I may just move out of Boston, maybe go to Los Angeles or someplace like that. And I’ve been treating people a lot nicer online, when I do encounter them. I have a lot of friends on facebook and I tweet relentlessly. If you are my friend, my advice to you is don’t be such a bitch to people online and always be complimentary because you don’t want to ever be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Friends don’t let friends talk shit if they can’t back it up.
The End
