Jeff Death- Jeff-Isms

Jeff’s one true genius was the obscene one-liner. He could make a statement that was so vulgar and obscene and inappropriate that it stuck out in your head for days, weeks, years. A latter day Henny Youngman, he could turn and touching tender scene into one of hard laughter and evil intent, with but a few syllables bouncing from his lips.

“Hand might be fucked up but there’s nothing wrong with the pussy.”

A Jeff classic and one repeated over and over again. It began during a Medicine Hour. Initially when we started them we planned to watch “The Greatest Films of All Time” and then discuss them over chilled glasses of wine. Of course, like everything we do, it degenerated into horror films (and beyond) so low budget and cheesy that the old Grindhouses would be embarrassed by them. This night we were watching the Italian classic House of Psychotic Women. The film contained three women characters and in our drunken state we began to divide them up between us. Brain got first dibs on the hot red- head, who turned out to be a nympho and really slept around. I, being in the bathroom when they were carved up, got stuck with the attractive ginger haired  lady who was confined to a wheelchair, but who could actually walk and turned out to the be the psychotic killer whacking everyone. Jeff took the long haired brunette with the crippled hand. It was gnarled and twisted up and seemed to be missing a few fingers. When we jibed him about his cinemagraphic love’s condition, he merely shrugged and said, “Hand might be fucked up, but there’s nothing wrong with the pussy.

“Did I ever tell you about the time my dick swelled up and turned black?”

A statement Jeff would blurt out during a lull in the conversation, or whenever he met a new person. Jeff, age settling on him, had begun to develop a paunch. Nothing overly dramatic, but to one of the body building class, a definite flaw to be looked down on with shame and disgrace. So did Jeff resort to the old school method of “eat less and exercise?” NO! He decided to go mainstream with the situation and get himself a tummy tuck. Now the problem was, when they tuck your tummy, there’s a lot of wrenching on the skin and a large portion of the lower abdomen gets bruised, including the groin area. Jeff described the aftereffects as one of the most painfully and psychological damaging things he has ever gone through. It was similar to when you burn a hotdog, and was similar to a charred cylinder sticking out. No man wants to think about this, and to actually pull down your pants and see it attached to you… ha, talk about the mother of all mind fucks. Because deep down, no matter what you’re told or how much they reassure you, you’ll always be a little afraid that it will never work again. Can I get an amen on that brothers?

“If we ever go to prison Rex, you can be my bitch!”

One of the few Jeff statements which caused me to shudder. The specific circumstances of this coming up elude me, but Jeff would blurt this out every time we came close to skirting the edge of the law. He would look me up and down, lick his lips, and gleefully spout out this line, laughing at my discomfort. When attacked on this line he would retort, “I’m not gay, but hey… it’s prison.” It reminds me of an old documentary of prison life for 60 minutes, where a grizzled old black guy states, “Some of the best sex I had was in prison.” As you can guess, I was in no hurry to test it out.

“Here it comes… right now!”

From the time when the Medicine Hours had descended into porn. We were watching a 70’s flick, “The Adventures of Candy,” purportedly based on Candide. I could hear Voltaire spinning in this grave. The main character, Candy, meets some kind of sex guru and he takes her back to his place, where there was a particularly large orgy scene, one part of which had a guy (with a typical 70’s porn mustache) felating another man. They were supposedly all attuned to each other, and the guru lifts his hand, snaps his finger, and they all ejaculate at the same time. This included the man receiving the blow job, which spurt out right onto the other man’s mustache and dripped there. Dr. I and Jeff made a few comments about how the blow-job-giver resembled me, which it did not, and insisted on watching that ejaculation scene over and over again, to the point where Jeff could time it perfectly, and when it happened he yelled, “here it comes...right now.”

“I like knockers.”

Jeff’s big line. Repeated over and over again. In this simple sentence he expressed his love for large, gargantuan breasts, and the usually large women that they are attached to. His theory was that the biggest breasts were attached to the biggest women. Which sounds plausible. Of course most people overlook the one aspect of a large woman and react to the package as a whole. To Jeff the large package was an attractive one, so it did not matter. Jeff said his simple motto wherever he went: social gatherings, weddings, bar mitzvahs, funerals. He liked knockers and the whole world needed to know that.

“Hey baby, you want to do the mammary mash?”

Jeff’s great pick up line. The mammary mash, of course, was him grabbing some lucky ladies breasts and squeezing down on them, while giggling like an idiot. It didn’t work very often, and even fat women found this line repulsive, for some strange reason. But it remains indelible upon the mind. Come to think of it, Jeff never picked up any women period, whether he used the line or not. This didn’t stop him from using it, it just always seemed to have the opposite effect than he had intended. As the wise man said, who cares about 99 rejections, he just needed the one who said, “Yes.”

“Getting a blow job from her must be like masturbating with a cheese grater.”

This was a reference to a young lady we knew with a very odd deformity, which caused her face to be twisted up and jaw set at an odd angle, where the teeth grated together. The rest of her body was actually very nice and well proportioned. She hung out with us for awhile, and several of us began discussing her attributes and obvious schizophrenia issues, upon which Jeff makes the classic statement above. None of us could disagree.
For more fun try books by Rex Hurst

Jeff Death- Dr. Jeff and the Women

Jeff was a man who loved sex, talked a lot about it, but got very little. An inverse ratio, typical of many such people. He apparently possessed a massive member, and could muster a great thrusting pressure from his penis. He once described to Brian and myself, a time when masturbating in bed, managed to arc the stream of sperm over his head and onto the wall behind him. Yet despite these attributes he was largely unsuccessful in attracting a potential paramour to his abode.

We often found that Jeff would freeze up at a crucial moment and not close the deal, or would make some memorable, but unbelievably obscene remark that put the girl off. While Brian and I often did this by design, Jeff reacted this way because he didn’t know what else to do.

Apart from Paula, “the stanky stalker“, there were few women that we could say went with Jeff. He had had at one time a fiancée. This was before we knew him, and it was safe to say that she was large and multiple chinned. Apparently she was one of those fat women who compensate for their culturally themed “ugliness,” by developing a personality of a raving bitch. I’m sure we all know a person like that. Loud mouthed, yelling, being pushy and mean to make their way. Seeing that being nice wasn’t going to get her anywhere, she found being mean worked even better, and took advantage of what she could. One of them was Jeff. Him being rather socially backwards and getting regular sex, gave in to everyone of her bitchy commands and put up with her bullshit insults to him, in order to please her, and to make a happy life for himself. The problem was that at the end of the day she was never going to be happy, because she was still going to be her, and that’s what she really hated the most. Jeff tried hard, but the more he gave the more she took, until he could give no more. He then regretfully and tearfully broke it off, towards which she made some nasty remarks to poor Jeff and waddled out of his life.

The next girl that I’ve known Jeff to be with was Emily. She was a Rocky Horror regular and 17 years his junior. Not yet 20, she and Jeff hooked up on the rebound when she broke it off with her boyfriend Sal. She was round, but not Jeff’s usual prey of a female with unbelievable amounts of excess tissue. She had a light purple birthmark on her right cheek, which in dim light looked vaguely with the Ghostbusters logo. I regularly pissed her off by asking if she’d like a washcloth to “get that crap off her face.”

          Most people saw that this was going nowhere. She broke up with a douchebag and bounced into the arms of the first guy to grin at her. A romance of forgetting. To Jeff though, this was a significant point in his life. It had been years since he had had a girlfriend and he took it with a mature aspect of building a life. She took it as 19 year old girl, who had plenty of time to look around and find someone else.

Little occurred in the relationship, he drove her around, paid for things, didn’t have sex, and then she moved on. Jeff was crushed, heartbroken, and upset. But those Germans take out their anger in the oddest ways. She broke up with him at Rocky, at the gathering afterwards, he walked outside and put his fist through the windshield. There was a huge hole in the driver’s side, and no damage to his fist.

A further story of Jeff’s attempt at love, was when he hit on The Beast. She was one of Craik’s crowd of lower intelligence individuals. She was a hideous contortion of flesh and bone. A large face that sort of dribbled down her neck, which was almost as large as her head, making it difficult to know where they joined. Her face was pockmarked with all sorts of odd growths and lesions. Needless to say I never ate while I was around her.

There was a large group of us at Denny’s. The square tables were snapped together. Brain and I were on one end, Jeff was courting the Beast on the other. Jeff sat next to her, nervous and tense. You could always tell when Jeff got nervous, because he would grab the arms of his chair tightly, as he were about to fall off. Brain and I watched in horrid fascination, muttering things like, “Don’t do it Jeff.” The situation engrossed us. Jeff glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes while engaged in conversation. He grinned in a schoolboy manner. The Beast surprisingly acted aloof and disinterested, which I was shocked at. Maybe she had never seen herself in a mirror? Coffee poured. Jeff leaned over trying to talk to her. She said a few words and turned away, a snotty expression across her face. Did she think she was too good for him? 

The night wore on, and Jeff kept talking, but making little headway. The Beast was not interested. She and the Craik crowd left soon afterwards. Jeff moved down to our end. “What the fuck were you thinking Jeff.” Was our first question. “Well just seeing what I can get.” And what can you get when you’re rejected by a retard.
For more fun try books by Rex Hurst