Bessy is a big girl with soft, pale pretty skin and blond hair.
She wears many rings.
She socializes with many pretty things.
Bessy was drinking with her pretty things at B-Side, a bar at 632 E. Burnside St., from which she gave the author this pack of black matches printed with yellow ink with the bar hours listed at 4:30 Pm to 2:30 AM Daily, with the phone number of 503-233-3113
Having a nice time, Bessy and her friends were interrupted by a young, skinny-legged beard boy throwing a full beer glass at his girlfriend.
The beard boy then left.
The women enlisted the bar maid to call an Uber for the girl, who was distraught but assured them that he threw stuff at her all the time and that it was “no big deal.”
Bessy went outside to make sure that the beard boy was not lying in ambush. There he was, sitting in the curb, with his backpack on, scrolling on is phone.
Bessy asked two other sissy's if they would help her move this guy along. They declined.
Bessy told the guy to move along and he cussed her and said it was none of her business.
A Latino man Bessy knew did encourage the sissy to move along. The sissy the swung on that man who ducked and tackled him and left him in the gutter.
Bessy then told the man to leave and he suggested that she was threatening him with the police, to which she scoffed and grabbed him by his pack when he stood to swing on her. He punched her in the chin to no effect and she threw him down and mounted him, placing a knee in his chest.
The gutter-tossed sissy then grabbed her shirt and she punched him five times in the eye, swelling and scuffing it and bending up her pretty rings, which upset her mildly. Though, in retrospect, Bessy said, “It was worth it, punching that dude in the eye.”
When Bessy saw that the girlfriend had been safely placed in the Uber, she permitted the sissy to rise. The sissy then stood, spoke into his wrist phone and whined, “Baby, please don't go!”
To this the gathered females and the Latino laughed and the two fellow sissies, also sitting on a curb scrolling on their phones, seemed witnesses to the tragic deflowering of one of their estrogenic kind as their patron saint of sissydom hopped upon a free municipal scooter and zipped after the Uber wailing, “Baby, please don't go!”
Yes, I think a platoon of Chicom Marines should suffice to secure Portland after the agents of The Middle Kingdom are awarded the policing contract for the largest city in this state once upon a rougher time named after the French word for hurricane.
How far hath mankind fallen.
True dat
NOT FAR ENOUGH!!!