| Nudists in the Yukon... |
| It was 5 years ago today that I read a story on Hobo Village that changed my life and challenged my mental stability forever. It was a story, casually written, full of spelling and grammatical errors of the sort so as to turn the stomach of the most calloused 3rd grade schoolteacher. It was a story that I found hard to believe, and yet part of me knew that it must be so. For this story was, after all, posted on Hobo Village and I knew that everything contained in its hallowed urls could not be false. This particular story that I brought into question was one about nudists who inhabit a portion of the Yukon Territories. I found this hard to believe, as a climate such as theirs should not be particularly conducive to that calling, if you will. This horrifying conflict of sources of knowledge led, inevitably, to my 15th birthday present. "Mom, I want you to take me to the Yukon to see the nudists." Well, as you probably guessed, my mother was not too keen on the idea, but when your teenage son bawls and wails on the floor for long enough, you just have to give in. I don't blame her, it was clearly my fault that on the anniversary of my birth we crawled into the car and began the drive to meet my destiny. The hours meandered past, indifferent to our boredom, as time often is, the aloof bastard. As we turned north from Saskatoon, my doubts grew more and more. How, in this desolate wilderness of frost and prairie, could a group so blatantly open as the nudists find comfort? As we crossed the border into Nunaput my mother's crossness was plain across her once jovial features. Eventually we arrived in Yellowknife and I could tell that she had just about had it. I begged for just a few more miles, oh if only I had given up sooner my nerdy reader, things would be so much easier now. But I must continue, for all of your sakes you must hear this. About 30 miles outside the capitol city the flat horizon gave way to moving shapes. My mother sped toward them as a camel to an oasis. As we drew nearer the horrors became evident. There were naked Canadians all over the place. Some were riding elk, some were playing naked hockey, some even fashioning crude igloos out of duct tape and candy bars. But all of them were totally nude. This turned out to be too much for my poor mater. At the very sight of those bared Canadian asses, breasts, penises, and testical sacks, she began to rip her clothes off right there in the car. She became more of a sex-crazed beast than a teenaged monkey with its hands chopped off looking at a really hot female monkey, you wouldn't believe it. She began masturbating feverishly right there in the car, letting go of the wheel so one hand would be free to squeeze her middle-aged nipples while the other dug at her sloppy cunt. She found ecstasy at an amazing rate and when her orgasm began to take over her foot planted down on the pedal even harder and we flew directly into the lake. The car quickly sank into the chilly depths of what was clearly Canadian water. As I smashed the passenger side window and began to swim for what I hoped was the surface, I took one last look at my poor mother who was so hot she neglected to notice that the orgasmically deep breaths she was taking were those of water rather than air. I left her down there, half naked and coming like a madwoman and headed for the light. As I was dragged from the water by 3 naked natives, the last words I heard before blissfully passing out were, "Damn yank got the bends bad 'der, eh?" The next thing I know I was awakened in a seedy Philistinian bar in Winnipeg by a man with a baby in a shopping cart asking me if I was the check out clerk. I kindly took his money and sent him on his way, charging him a bargain of 35 Canadian dollars for his spindly child and used this for bus fare to return me safely to the good old US of A. The moral of the story is this, my dweebous friends, you must believe every single thing you read on Hobo Village as the gospel truth. I was a doubter too, at one point, but if you look up "Hardest Female Orgasm" in the Guinness Book of World Records, you will know the facts. Just be thankful you didn't have to see them firsthand. Anyway the whole point is, take this whole site very seriously and make a big deal out of every little thing that you read cause it's all really important to your pathetic lives. Oh wait you already do. Ignore everything I have said here today. |