MN Manmacker's mansploitation
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
In prison, Steel saw a documentary, and it turned out lizards drink mad water, like desert lizards when it floods, they be guzzling that! Lizards is wise motherfuckers. Drink when it floods, nigga!
“Shit… Once I get my first paycheck, nigga, I’mma get so much liquor — we gonna be drinking like lizards after our first leave, Lem.” In prison, Steel saw a documentary, and it turned out lizards drink mad water, like desert lizards when it floods, they be guzzling that! Lizards is wise motherfuckers. Drink when it floods, nigga!
From Steel the Roughneck
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
“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
“I been to prison, I was the only white guy in my cell-block, Lem. Believe me, I know ’bout the downlow. I seen it, I heared it, I smelled it, I had a bunk nexta it, usedta get splashed by the downlow on the reg’lar.”
“I been to prison, I was the only white guy in my cell-block, Lem. Believe me, I know ’bout the downlow. I seen it, I heared it, I smelled it, I had a bunk nexta it, usedta get splashed by the downlow on the reg’lar.”
From Buck on the Oil Rig
Well, more like fifty, but he seemed ancient to Buck, and he smelled like a soggy newspaper.
Not much to do upon Rig E19 but play ’round with the only other American. T’was this old black feller named Lem. He was like a hundred. Well, more like fifty, but he seemed ancient to Buck, and he smelled like a soggy newspaper.
“You nevuh in yo’ life read a newspaper!” Lem said with a cackle and a jab with his cigarette. “You dunno nuffin’, whiteboy.”
He wagged his dick in Mason’s direction. “Cain I do a complaint? Lem got a dirty dick.”
He wagged his dick in Mason’s direction. “Cain I do a complaint? Lem got a dirty dick-“
“Nuh-uh, I cleans it. I’mma do a complaint ’bout Buckums’s dick. Honky-ass whiteboy hillbilly got weak-dick syndrome, I seen that. He fat-“
“Shut ya old fool mouth, Lem, you don’t know nuttin’ ’bout whiteboy dingdong,” Buck said.
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!”
If’n you tells him, he gonna be comin’ he’uh all the time! All the time like weather!
“Hell yeah. J’st don’t tell Lem. Or anywhom, but ‘specially not Lem. Lem do it too, he steady tryin’-a jack off wit’ me. I tells him he cain get me off any way he want, but I ain’t admire touchin’ his narsty old-feller dingdong. Feels like a sad baseball bat. I done went to prison, Mason. I know ’bout gettin’ off wit’ a feller,” Buck said. “I j’st don’t admire to touch Lem’s wigwam. If’n you tells him, he gonna be comin’ he’uh all the time! All the time like weather! He like that, he is like that, Mason.” He wagged a finger at Mason as if scolding Lem.
Don’choo tell me I smell like coffee grounds, you smell like a turtle, Buckums.
Buck bunked down in that dead-end with this old black feller the color of coffee grounds, smelled like ’em too, shit he mighta been made outta old coffee grounds. Buck told that man — his name was Lem — that one evening after they day off, when they done come back to they bunk.
“You hillbilly sucka, you don’t tell me-” Lem drunk from his flask. He stayed drinking from that flask, hiding it when he could get away with it, like he thinked Buck’s hillbilly eyes don’t see. “-don’t tell me I smell like coffee grounds, you smell like a turtle, Buckums.”
From The Redneck Ex-Con, Cellmate Memories and Overwhelming Manhood