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Author Topic: The Tom Platz Wig (Part One)  (Read 7626 times)
juruth
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« on: September 10, 2012, 04:03:03 PM »

Big J walked through the putrid streets of Chinatown, the nauseating stench of dead cats and chickens blended obscenely with the cheap perfume of slanty eyed transvestite hookers. And every few feet a choking cloud of carbon monoxide drenched cigarette smoke exhaled by the busted faces of oriental slaves who spent twenty hours a day slaving over the slop known as Chinese Food and the other four playing Mahjong and picking the lice out of their pubes. In the midst of all this colourful confusion, Big J saw it in a store front window. A man's blonde wig; medium length and parted to the side with a hint of sideburn. Big J entered the shop and was met by a toothless gook who looked about a hundred and ten years old. He wanted fifty bucks for the wig and Big J countered with ten. After some loud bickering the old man said twenty and the two men shook hands. Big J walked back out into the mean streets of Chinatown with a lilt in his step. Excitedly, he entered the Dragon's Chef Authentic Mandarin Cuisine restaurant and stole into the Men's Room. The rancid odor of decades old urine didn't bother him as clumsily pulled his new prize out of it's plain brown wrapping and placed it upon his head. He looked into the mirror and froze. Tom Platz was looking back.

Big J wasn't always so big. As a child Big J-or Jonathan, as he was then known- was neither here nor there. Neither bully nor victim. A nobody who slid through through cracks. Teachers forgot his name and girls didn't know he existed. When he was fourteen all that changed. He discovered a rusty old set of weights as he played at the town dump. He dragged it home to his basement and began instinctively pressing the barbell up and down over his head, and curling it like his dad's prison friends used to talk about. He saved his paper route money and soon purchased a copy of Joe Weider's Bodybuilding System from the local bookstore. He added more exercises to his repetoire of muscle pumping movements: barbell rows, bench presses, flyes, crunches, triceps extensions and Squats. While his buddies at school seemed to focus on bench pressing and curling, Jonathan found he responded quickly to the squats. His thighs bulged bigger with every leg workout, and soon his friends were having to lift the barbell and rest it on Jonathan's shoulders. His upper body development was mediocre at best, yet his legs, or "quads" as he was soon calling them were exceptional. Jonathan changed his name to Big J and devoted his life to bodybuilding. He did it all: the gyms, the muscle mags, the supplements; the eventual introduction to orals and the graduation to the needle. His legs blew up like tree trunks and stretched the limit of his pants.

Then he found himself in the city. It looked promising at first. But then plans fell apart like houses of cards in that unforgiving wind called Reality. First he bombed in a couple of contests. The plans to own a gym crumpled. The hopes of owning a supplement store were dashed. Big J found himself hustling a couple of quick bucks in men's rooms in the back of porn theaters. A setback he called it. Hard times became Big J's companions. He was 25 then 35 then 40 but swore he felt like18. It wasn't over. He needed an angle, he told himself. And he found it. That day. In Chinatown. He found it.

The Tom Platz Wig.
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Schmoff
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« Reply #1 on: September 10, 2012, 04:25:20 PM »

some serious fucked up hilarious shit

 Grin
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Hulkotron
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The forbidden ritual of the steel palm


« Reply #2 on: September 10, 2012, 04:52:13 PM »

On the edge of my seat for Part Two.
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_bruce_
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« Reply #3 on: September 10, 2012, 04:55:45 PM »

Juruth's writing is a testament to all hilarity unified in the cosmos.
Quasi the Zen of over the top.
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[
DeketheCreep
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then does a head stand and spread his ass apart!


« Reply #4 on: September 10, 2012, 05:56:07 PM »

Ahahahah another juruth Classic  Grin
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calfzilla
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RIP little Halo


« Reply #5 on: September 10, 2012, 06:26:37 PM »

Even better than an animal pak advertisement. 
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Irongrip400
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Pan Germanism, Pax Britannica


« Reply #6 on: September 10, 2012, 07:02:10 PM »

Awesome.
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saucetradomous
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« Reply #7 on: September 10, 2012, 07:15:01 PM »

Slanty eyed tranvastite hookers has never been worded so eloquently.  Brilliant! 
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The Abdominal Snoman
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^^^SURVEILLANCE TRIBE APPROVED^^^


« Reply #8 on: September 10, 2012, 08:17:29 PM »

With a Tom Platz wig and a couple of Tom Prince's brown paper bags, he's bound to make a fortune in the bathroom stallzzz...
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Wiggs
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« Reply #9 on: September 10, 2012, 10:22:53 PM »

YES!!!!!!!!!!!

Hahahhahahahhahahhahhaha hhhahhahahhahahhahaha!!!!

MOAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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cart@@n
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« Reply #10 on: September 11, 2012, 12:20:23 AM »

Hey Juruth,
Any chance you are the writer of the Epic "Roid Gut"?
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chris-a
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fundamentalist atheist - guns + religion don't mix


« Reply #11 on: September 11, 2012, 01:14:30 AM »

skillz. a+  Grin
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snx
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« Reply #12 on: September 11, 2012, 06:16:55 AM »

This is classic Juruth. Been waiting a long time for another yarn. Juruth delivers. I will be re-reading this.
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Army of One
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« Reply #13 on: September 11, 2012, 06:22:31 AM »

The best Juruth yet
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mr.turbo
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WWW
« Reply #14 on: September 11, 2012, 06:46:30 AM »

Epic gritty post bro.  Started strong but ran out of gas after paragraph 1.
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"
Tito24
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I'm a large man but.. one with a plan


« Reply #15 on: September 11, 2012, 07:23:03 AM »

great
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juruth
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« Reply #16 on: September 18, 2012, 01:36:37 PM »

Part Two

The ad appeared in the local left-wing weekly rag that featured editorials with a liberal slant, alternative band reviews, coffee shop ratings, etc. But the real reason folks grabbed the free newspaper was the "Escort And Massage" section tucked all the way in the back. Perverts and johns would forego the esspresso machine critiques and head right for the smut. And it was here that Big J's advertisement first appeared :
                          
                                                      Muscle Power!
                                                    Tom Platz lookalike will
                                                    crush you and more with
                                                    tree trunk thighs. Blonde, blue
                                                    handsome and shredded.
                                                    Big J: 212-##3-6969

Big J was like a kid on Christmas Morning the day his ad premeired. He was up at 6 am, waiting. The phone wouldn't ring. He waited. He stood in front of the mirror in his Tom Platz wig, wondering if his jaw was big enough.
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Nails
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqVI2DmLI2Q


« Reply #17 on: September 18, 2012, 01:49:24 PM »

here you go champ you deserved it for that master piece of writing


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Hulkotron
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The forbidden ritual of the steel palm


« Reply #18 on: September 18, 2012, 01:51:08 PM »

Part Two

The ad appeared in the local left-wing weekly rag that featured editorials with a liberal slant, alternative band reviews, coffee shop ratings, etc. But the real reason folks grabbed the free newspaper was the "Escort And Massage" section tucked all the way in the back. Perverts and johns would forego the esspresso machine critiques and head right for the smut. And it was here that Big J's advertisement first appeared :
                          
                                                      Muscle Power!
                                                    Tom Platz lookalike will
                                                    crush you and more with
                                                    tree trunk thighs. Blonde, blue
                                                    handsome and shredded.
                                                    Big J: 212-##3-6969

Big J was like a kid on Christmas Morning the day his ad premeired. He was up at 6 am, waiting. The phone wouldn't ring. He waited. He stood in front of the mirror in his Tom Platz wig, wondering if his jaw was big enough.

Nice prose juruth.
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Papper
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« Reply #19 on: September 18, 2012, 02:18:14 PM »

Very good writing! No one paints a scene like jurith
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Nails
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqVI2DmLI2Q


« Reply #20 on: September 18, 2012, 03:51:46 PM »

weider getting a close birds eye view of the blond bombers balloon knot


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Wiggs
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Child of Y'srael


« Reply #21 on: September 18, 2012, 03:59:43 PM »

weider getting a close birds eye view of the blond bombers balloon knot




Haha so gay, sooooooooooo gay.
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njflex
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team guido


« Reply #22 on: September 18, 2012, 04:05:58 PM »

weider getting a close birds eye view of the blond bombers balloon knot



shmoe weider ....
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$
el numero uno
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stock trader


« Reply #23 on: September 18, 2012, 04:12:01 PM »

Big J walked through the putrid streets of Chinatown, the nauseating stench of dead cats and chickens blended obscenely with the cheap perfume of slanty eyed transvestite hookers. And every few feet a choking cloud of carbon monoxide drenched cigarette smoke exhaled by the busted faces of oriental slaves who spent twenty hours a day slaving over the slop known as Chinese Food and the other four playing Mahjong and picking the lice out of their pubes. In the midst of all this colourful confusion, Big J saw it in a store front window. A man's blonde wig; medium length and parted to the side with a hint of sideburn. Big J entered the shop and was met by a toothless gook who looked about a hundred and ten years old. He wanted fifty bucks for the wig and Big J countered with ten. After some loud bickering the old man said twenty and the two men shook hands. Big J walked back out into the mean streets of Chinatown with a lilt in his step. Excitedly, he entered the Dragon's Chef Authentic Mandarin Cuisine restaurant and stole into the Men's Room. The rancid odor of decades old urine didn't bother him as clumsily pulled his new prize out of it's plain brown wrapping and placed it upon his head. He looked into the mirror and froze. Tom Platz was looking back.

Big J wasn't always so big. As a child Big J-or Jonathan, as he was then known- was neither here nor there. Neither bully nor victim. A nobody who slid through through cracks. Teachers forgot his name and girls didn't know he existed. When he was fourteen all that changed. He discovered a rusty old set of weights as he played at the town dump. He dragged it home to his basement and began instinctively pressing the barbell up and down over his head, and curling it like his dad's prison friends used to talk about. He saved his paper route money and soon purchased a copy of Joe Weider's Bodybuilding System from the local bookstore. He added more exercises to his repetoire of muscle pumping movements: barbell rows, bench presses, flyes, crunches, triceps extensions and Squats. While his buddies at school seemed to focus on bench pressing and curling, Jonathan found he responded quickly to the squats. His thighs bulged bigger with every leg workout, and soon his friends were having to lift the barbell and rest it on Jonathan's shoulders. His upper body development was mediocre at best, yet his legs, or "quads" as he was soon calling them were exceptional. Jonathan changed his name to Big J and devoted his life to bodybuilding. He did it all: the gyms, the muscle mags, the supplements; the eventual introduction to orals and the graduation to the needle. His legs blew up like tree trunks and stretched the limit of his pants.

Then he found himself in the city. It looked promising at first. But then plans fell apart like houses of cards in that unforgiving wind called Reality. First he bombed in a couple of contests. The plans to own a gym crumpled. The hopes of owning a supplement store were dashed. Big J found himself hustling a couple of quick bucks in men's rooms in the back of porn theaters. A setback he called it. Hard times became Big J's companions. He was 25 then 35 then 40 but swore he felt like18. It wasn't over. He needed an angle, he told himself. And he found it. That day. In Chinatown. He found it.

The Tom Platz Wig.

LOL
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juruth
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« Reply #24 on: September 18, 2012, 04:15:21 PM »

Part Two (Cont.)

By noon Big J was dejected. He had failed at life. Again. He slumped on the couch, reached up and tossed the blonde Tom Patz wig onto the floor, where it looked vaguely like a rat. His ruminations were abruptly interrupted by the piercing ring of the phone. Jumping up, he ran across his cluttered shithole apartment toward the now animated telephone. With his meaty weightlifter's hand he ripped the receiver off it's cradle and answered cautiously, "hello?" A muffled voice responded "Big J please?"
"This is he, I mean him."
"I saw the ad in the paper....", the voice was stifled and creepy. A voice calling from beyond the abyss.
"Okay, what can I tell you?", asked Big J.
"I want to be put in a head scissors. Maybe roughed up some."
"Okay," said J, "what's your name?"
"Donnie."
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