Tag: featuring workers

It proved Mister Chow don’t know nothing about black men. Or bwack men neither.

He poked out a line of incomprehensible syllables, and Steel and Lem nodded along like agreeable eggplants.

The rig bossman Mister Chow was half a dumpling high, but he shouted loud as soybeans, swear to God. He came rampaging like a Mongol into the corridor when a brawl went boom-a-boom-boom. Steel and Lem done throw down like a dogpound at some Haitian niggas, who got liquor they ain’t share. Lem proposed a transaction, and the Haitians was receptive, till the truck ‘tween them and he and him turnt truculent.

But only a paltry packa punches got dealt on both sides before Mister Chow chopsticked in like a miniature monsoon. He carried a cricket bat. “You bwack men-ooh you ooh-shoo choo-woo-moo-choo-” or some shit. Steel couldn’t understand Mister Chow when he wasn’t batting the butter outta Haitian booty and he damn sure ain’t catch a word now. He did pick up the oughty-notty that Mister Chow thought all the black men shouldn’t fight each other.
That had a certain logic to it, but it proved Mister Chow don’t know nothing about black men. Or bwack men neither.

Soon enough, Mister Chow arrived, furying up a storm of stewed plums. He jabbed his fat little fingers in the air, and he said buncha words that Steel ain’t quite catch — Mister Chow got one helluva Chinaman accent. He poked out a line of incomprehensible syllables, and Steel and Lem nodded along like agreeable eggplants.

From Steel the Roughneck

He was a hands-off dumpling

He scolded Zon like a bossy noodle, but Zon ain’t understand a word of that ching-chong chatter, then Mistah Chow scurried back to his office.

By the time Mistah Chow strode in couple seconds later, Zon was nursing a bloody nose and ain’t no other combatants apparent. Nobody here was a snitch, and Mistah Chow ain’t care much anyways, as he was a hands-off dumpling. All he cared ’bout was that nobody got serious-hurt and that the scrap was o’er. He scolded Zon like a bossy noodle, but Zon ain’t understand a word of that ching-chong chatter, then Mistah Chow scurried back to his office.


From Buck on the Oil Rig

Arabs got good hat game

The Lebanese barrack was dappled with sheets and them nightgown-like things they wore. It smelled of obscure spices, like some sorta stank potpourri, like grandma’s kitchen if yo’ grandmama was a hairy sailor.

Waaaay too much body hair for Steel’s notions. The UN oughta shave all the Muslims. All they body hair is like pubes too. That’s what distinguishes Arabs from Persians. Persians got nice silky body hair. Arabs was like if steel wool got turned into a real boy. A unpleasant and aggressive real boy.

The Lebanese barrack was dappled with sheets and them nightgown-like things they wore, Steel don’t know what none that’s called. All them clothes was hung up to dry. It smelled of obscure spices, like some sorta stank potpourri, like grandma’s kitchen if yo’ grandmama was a hairy sailor. Steel ain’t like it one bit. And goddamn was the place a forest of chest hair. Steel could taste it from the doorway, like a copper penny baking on a sandy beach. Makes a nigga’s fillings wiggle.

One of ’em got that bristly body hair going over his shoulders and all the way down his back, like he was slowly turning into a carpet. One of ’em was wearing an Aladdin hat too, a real nice one. Arabs got good hat game. He gotsta to give ’em that one. They hat game was on point.

From Steel the Roughneck

If it ain’t Christ, it ain’t right!

They was something, and whatever they was, it wasn’t right.

“Ohh-zshoo-woo-joo!” One of ’em said, or sumpin’ similar, Steel don’t listen to no Haitian voodoo. If it ain’t Christ, it ain’t right! But Steel did watch the video about respecting diversity on the oil rig, and he ain’t tell the Haitians they was some devil-worshipping pagans. Maybe. Steel don’t actually know what “pagan” means. But they was something, and whatever they was, it wasn’t right.

From Steel the Roughneck

You know Steel stays listening to Some Nigga

Some nigga said the whole rig was counted as a boat under the law, so any alcohol was tantamount to boating under the influence, and you know Steel stays listening to Some Nigga.

A boat did come every week with fresh food, but the boat ain’t allowed to bring no booze. Rig policy. Most technically, nobody on rig was supposed to have any alcohol. It was against the rules. Some nigga said the whole rig was counted as a boat under the law, so any alcohol was tantamount to boating under the influence, and you know Steel stays listening to Some Nigga.

From Steel the Roughneck

Winston Steel explains it all

Content

Haitians

“Girlshit on yo’ dingdong, whiteboy, you is so wrong!”

Soon as Buck got to relaxing — putting out ignore ’bout Lem’s nonsense — he got tired of sitting. He put on a clean paira tight-whites and got up to work out. He jogged in place some, then did couple burpees and went thru his routine, while Lem ranted like a old black man.
“Bet it was the Haitians. Bet it. Know that, Buckums! Reagan be lettin’ ’em in left ‘nd right, lettin’ ’em in like pants! Mark my words, them Haitians done touch all my shit. You don’t believe me? I got the receipts, homeboy!”

“I ain’t a homeboy. I believes ya, Lem, Hayshuns do that, they do be like that,” Buck said, voice jiggling up and down with the heft of his chest as he did his burpees — jumping up from the floor to the stool and back again. The pouch of his tight-whites flopped up and down, and his cock popped free. “They’s one of you’uns, you should tell ’em-” Buck grinned at Lem and kept on his burpees, despite his fatty shaft barrumphing up along with his movement. Lem done emphasize numerable times that ‘Haitians ain’t proper niggas’, and sh’ore ’nuff, Buck’s comment set him off once again.

“Girlshit on yo’ dingdong, whiteboy, you is so wrong! First of all, Haitians ain’t proper niggas, I done tol’ you that. Secondmostly, these Haitians in particular, on this rig, they done — they’s racist ‘gainst American niggas, Buckums, you know that. I know you know that! Lord ‘ave mercy! And fourthly or maybe fifthly, I dunno, them’s got knives — they come from a land of cannibals, Buckums — believe that, nigga! You believe that-” He wagged a finger at Buck, who was finishing his burpees. Then he cleared out some space ‘neath a pull-up bar. “They’s French niggas, that’s diff’rent ‘an American black fellahs. Them’s longskin, you know ’bout longskin niggas?”
“I don’t care, Lem.”

“They’s different from nightcheek niggas, you know.” Lem got a whole classifiction of homeboys — nightcheeks, longskins, redbones, high yellows, duckydoos. Buck got no time fer that.
Buck gripped the pull-up bar and lifted his feet off the floor. Buck was so tall he hadta angle his feet out in order to do any pull-ups. His damn near seven-foot-tall body nearabout reached the ceiling here.

“Lem, t’is my God-given right as a white man to not learn all the diff’rent kinds of black guys.” He did a couple pull-ups while Lem lit a cigarette and fumed.
“Firstly, Haitians do that voodoo shit-” Lem started counting off upon his fingers again, having forgetted he was already counting. “They do that, they sacrifice chickens an’ all.”

From Buck on the Oil Rig

Lem Staggerman drops pearls

Content

  • Africa was the Garden of Eden till the white man came
    At least that prison cell ain’t got no honkies at that time. Couple honkies did come later, and naturally they be stirring up all kinda conflict, as a honky do, Lord have mercy!
  • Egyptians
    One them said he was from Abba-dabba-doo, and that was from the fucking Flinstones. Lem know when a A-rab is pulling his leg, cuz it’s attached to this nigga brain.
  • Haitians
    “Girlshit on yo’ dingdong, whiteboy, you is so wrong!”
  • You lick a ho pussy? You eat a nigga nut up!
    “Which one you lookin’ at?” Lem turned the magazine around, so now Steel was looking at the female Lem was looking at a second ago and vice versa. Lem sucked on his teeth. “This bitch got a played-out pussy. You can tell.”

Swordfighting

Mason saw them standing there, dicks in hand, mid-thwack upon each other.

They were swordfighting in the center of their living space.
Their soft dicks dangled afront them, but it was clear they had been swinging ’em at each other just a second ago. Both men’s hips were angled towards each other, underwear around their ankles. Wry grins popped up on both Buck and Lem. Both men’s bare asses were still dappled with shower water.

Mason stopped short, unable to tear his eyes from their bared crotches. Buck’s cock was huge, and Lem’s was knobbly and darker-skinned than the rest of him. Actually Buck’s was darker than the rest of his skin as well.
Lem’s cock was not as big as Buck’s but seemed bigger cuz Lem was rangy and ropy-muscled. His cock was as thick as his biceps, and Lem was dense like he had crammed a more muscular man inside of himself. Lem and Buck both held back laughter when Mason saw them standing there, dicks in hand, mid-thwack upon each other.
They both stood up on their chagrin.

Buck’s cheeks turned burgundy underneath his unshaved beard. He chuckled, which made his pecker jiggle and his pecs flex. He was meaty and thick all over, but Lem was dark-skinned and taut from head to toe, his muscles dotted with bluish-gray tatttoos, and he had only a smattering of ebon body hair on his sternum. Mason chuckled. “Who’s winning the swordfight, gentleman?”
“Me!”
“Nah, me! Mah hog wrecked his piglet!”
That chagrined look remained on both they faces, then Buck grinned at the same time Lem scowled, and the both them slapped dicks at each other at the same moment.

Detente broken, the swordfight resumed. Buck and Lem battled dick to dick, both of them leaning their upper halves back and their lower halves forward to get better leverage. It was unclear what the point of the competition was.
“Gotcha, Buckums-!”
“Ow, don’t hit mah balls!”
“Whiteboy, yo’ ugly dick best surrenduh, or I’mma treat it harsh-“
“You narsty, Lem!”
“You smell like velveeta, hillbilly!”

From Roughnecks Got Oral Needs

Lots of things wrinkle Buck’s brain

They learnt from a mandatory video that the most important part of drilling fer oil was respeck fer diversity.

Whatever status made Habib hafta put Buck’s and Lem’s feet in his mouth, it might as well be slavery. They ain’t ax cuz they ain’t wanna be distolerant of his culture — they learnt from a mandatory video that the most important part of drilling fer oil was respeck fer diversity.
Imagine that! The most important part! That wrinkled Buck’s brain.

From Buck on the Oil Rig