"Jesse, wake up," she hissed, her voice like sandpaper from years of a 5-pack-a-day smoking habit. "Wake up you fat son of a bitch!"

Stirring and mumbling something about "polishing his knob like a good little slut," GM Jesse awoke slowly. He winced as had fallen asleep with his cheap sunglasses on again and inadvertantly shoved them into his face in a failed attempt to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

"What the fuck!?" he exclaimed as he groggily looked around. He gasped as he saw Susie Anne Lou; he had forgotten that he had "seduced" (bought her 7 beers at the bar) and fucked her earlier that night. He had been dreaming about Sarah Jessica Parker's perky Jewish tits and her shaven Jewish pussy. He had "messed her pussy up" all night long in his dream and waking up to Susie Anne Lou was in sharp contrast to his fantasy.

"You were snoring and farting. You God-damned pig, I don't expect to deal with shit-smell and grunting after I fuck," Susie Anne Lou said pointedly. "God dammit!"

Without hesitation, GM Jesse bitchslapped Susie Anne Lou. "Fuckin' cunt, God-damn bitchin' an' whinin' after I got my balls in you," he berated. "Next time you want this God-damned meat pole you're gonna get down on your knees and kiss my balls first, you fuckin' hag!"

The next morning, Susie Ann Lou, the GM plant-slut, was nowhere to be seen. Neither was GM Jesse's guitar (untouched since '78), his Journey records (last listened to yesterday), his beer (all 5 cases of it, chilled), and a stack of porno mags (Open Legs, Hustler, and Shaved).

"Fuckin' slut stole all my shit, God dammit!" GM Jesse exclaimed angrily. "Fuckin' fuck-hole walked off with all my favotire shit!"

He grabbed his jean jacket and waddled out the door. It was a warm summer morning in Kansas City and he was wearing his finest red cut-off jogging pant shorts, a stained white tshirt, and a flannel shirt overtop of that. His shoes were imitation leather with Velcro straps. GM Jesse didn't have time to fuck around with tyin' his shoes!

His belly hung out from his tshirt, and though he didn't notice, his dirty cock was hanging limply from a hole he had cut in the front of his jogging pant cut-off shorts so he woulnd't have to pull them down to piss. He'd done this while trying to piss in a beer bottle in his reclining chair late one Wednesday night. It was quite hard to piss in a beer bottle sitting down with your dick aimed down and over the top of an elastic band!

His '78 Camaro peeled out of his driveway and down the gravelly road toward I-70 and the GM plant.

His buddies from the line were drinking in the parking lot before work, per tradition every work day, and he didn't want to be late.