Legend of The Booty Buster

It was sometime in May. Year: 2001. I was at a high school party, swishing a mouthful of stale beer, when this doofus came scampering into the room.

To get a sense of this kid, picture a boner. Seriously, picture a throbbing boner with a huge vein jutting down the middle. Understand this was the type of kid probably raised in one of the most affluent parts of Long Island, yet dressed as if he just walked off the set of Boyz in da Hood.

So this kidboner bustles up to me with his North Face bubble jacket bubbling, his sweatpants hanging from his ass, his hat hovering off his head at a thuggishly crooked angle, and asks me about a passed out girl in the corner.

“That one?” I enquired, and pointed as if pointing was necessary, as if there was any dispute over the comatose girl lying next to the eucalyptus plant.

“Yee-ah, son,” he said as I watched his baby-fat face light up. “Ima take care ‘o tat. Name’s Gerard, by the way.”

I looked at him, quizzically.

“Yeah boy!” Gerard exploded, and then, as if offering an addendum, raised a hand yearning for a high-five.

I looked at the hand, quizzically.

As I continued to stare at the hand, perplexed, his oversized grin began to evaporate.

“Son,” he began in a voice growing dark with anxiety, “I don think yous heard me. Ima take care ‘o tat honey dere.”

He actually licked his lips.

Normally, I’m not one for the moral high road, but this was downright absurd. Gerard had to be stopped. If for no other reason, the fool deserved to be cock blocked.

“Yeah, Gerard, I don’t think that’s a great idea, boss,” I told him dryly, matter-of-factly.

“Oh!” Gerard bellowed, his face flushing with anger or embarrassment, “Oh! Son! Don’t, son! Don’t!”

He took off his hat to fan his face. I looked around the room, surveying for allies. There was a couple overtly making out/groping each other on the couch, two kids lighting up a bong by the door, and some ugly girl pacing the room repeating, “Mom can’t find out.”

Great, I thought to myself, Everyone is out of their fucking gourd.

The kid turned to face me head-on. Frustration filled his eyes. He never looked more bonerly. He said “Don’t” once more. His finger pointed at me threateningly.

As Gerard turned to claim his booty, Dan The Little Guy came out of the woodwork. “Name’s Dan,” Little Guy said, a warm limb snaking around Gerard’s sholders, his voice taking a pitch you’d expect from a used car salesmen, “How you doin’ pal?”

“Ima about to git these fingers wet up,” Gerard responded, showing Little Guy the fingers.

“Nice. Real nice. Like your style, pal,” Little Guy went on, his face getting closer to Gerard’s.

Gerard, obviously growing uncomfortable, tried to shy away, proclaiming, “Yo, Ima hit dis, bro. I’ll tell you bout it lata.”

Little Guy pulled him back, his mouth inches from Gerard’s ear. “I got a slut that wants to fuck your cock. You want that? A slut to fuck your cock?”

Gerard violently pulled away, but stared bewilderedly into Little Guy’s face.

“She want to fuck me?” Gerard said, excited, “Aight, son. Where she at.”

Okay reader, timeout.

You know it’s coming. I’m obviously not trying to “shock” you when I tell you a dude popped out. That’s not my intent. That’s not why it was hilarious. In the past, my atrocious cronies and I pulled a plethora of pseudo-gay stunts. But this one was different. This one gave birth to The Booty Buster.

First, you have to understand the song that I remember was booming from the speakers. That song was “Goodbye Horses” by Q-Lazarus. Never heard of it? Yes, you have. You’ve heard this sweet ‘80s ballad in Silence of the Lambs when Buffalo Bill gives himself a mangina. Hence, not only is the song sonically sensual, it also evokes images of sticking a wiener between your legs and pretending it’s a vagina. Awesome. Oh, and if I haven’t convinced you to download that song, here’s a link where you listen to it. Play that repeatedly while you read the rest of this article or I’ll eat your face.

Okay, so now that we’re all basking in the sweet sounds of Q-Lazarus, picture the party scene. Dan’s smiling up at Gerard as he’s puckering his lips, cracking his knuckles, getting ready to get some of those fingers wet.

That’s when The Booty Buster crashed through the door. His sexual prowess radiated from the pores of his skin. His build was muscular. His height was tall. His hair was blonde, long and handsomely disheveled. He looked like a Germanic pillager; he looked an Aryan warrior; he like a buster of booties.

You could have guessed his name from the cloths he wore: a tiny belly shirt, a pair of banana yellow bicycle shorts (two sizes too small), and a headband that made it clear there was an intent to break a sweat.

Gerard’s face assumed a look somewhere between terror and sickness. He made pre-vomit chocking sounds in betweens protests. “No, no” was all he could get out. He backed away, paralyzed by his terror.

The Booty Buster looked at Gerard. He looked appalled, as if Gerard was nothing more than a poop. And that poop was clogging a toilet.

Then he spoke.

“This is what you brought me?” The Booty Buster asked of Little Guy, revulsion saturating his voice. “Well…I’ll work with it.”

“Nah, no, nah,” Gerard made his protest. “I ain’t gay. I said I ain’t gay.”

“Well, that's okay cause I am,” responded The Booty Buster, not even looking at his prey, then added, “I'd better warm up.”

The Booty Buster began sets of air humps. He did this in a measured way. First he put two fists out in front of him, lined up, then humped the air ten or so times in a rapid succession.

In the middle of the third set, Gerard repeated that he “ain’t gay.”

“Quiet,” was all The Booty Buster said this time.

“Yo,” Gerard said, his voice becoming more calm, his thoughts becoming more calculated, “Ima jus gonna take dis chick out ta ma car for a minute, ya know.” He began creeping towards the passed out girl.

And we let him. We let him get within arms length of her, and, when he reached his hand hungryly to seize the girl, The Booty Buster dashed over and slapped Gerard’s wrist, forcefully gay.

As Gerard, turned angrily to The Booty Buster, The Booty Buster informed him it was “time to bust his booty.”

And that’s when Gerard informed us that we were all “fags” and ran out of the party.

The passed out girl later died from alcohol poisoning.

The end!