Slimmy Jimmy


My birth name is Jimmy Slimmy. My friends call me Slimmy Jimmy. Being as though I’m overweight, my said that the handle was an oxymoron. Whatever the fuck that meant.
My wife I hated the bitch—the irony was I loved her too. My life, my life, my life was complicated. However my love life is not the topic of this conversation.
To make a long story short, Today I killed a man! And it’s eating me alive keeping this shit a secret.
I would tell my wife, but the bitch is a broke coo coo clock. At the wrong time her tung pops itself out of her mouth, “coo coo coo coo!”
So smart the bitch is dumb. Is that an oxymoron also?
Anyway, back to the topic at hand: Today I killed a man! I’m wondering if I should go to the authorities? I’m no killer and I don’t wanna go to jail, so that may not be a good idea.
My wife said I’m soft as melting butter, and I’m a sucker for allowing my friends to run all over me. I proved that bitch wrong. Didn’t I?
So at approximately seven thirty this morning, my wife in her little ‘ninety six, green Camry, drove me to the Golden Nugget Casino, for my Tuesday bout with the blackjack table.
My wife said, “Jimmy you’re a compulsive gambler and you need to take your fat ass to gamblers anonymous.”
No gamblers anonymous could calm this pulse.
After I wagered the home and lost a few years back, my wife and I agreed that until I gained enough money to buy it back, only on Tuesdays would she drive me to Atlantic City.
Even though I paid for the home with my hard earned money, I compromised with the bitch.
And all the bitch did was tell me what to do with my money: “This bill is due Jimmy…” or “that bill was been due Jimmy…” and “Why didn’t you pay that Jimmy”
Lord knows the bitch could spend. And Lord knows how much I hated to spend. We were complete opposites. Of course her hungry ass reminded me often “You’re fat, and I’m skinny Jimmy… we don’t belong together!”
I wanted with all my heart to tell her to take her skinny ass to the end of the Steele pier, and skinny dip her bony ass into the ocean. But I never told her I have a bad habit of biting my tung.
I keep wondering away from the topic at hand: Today I killed a man!
Before my bout with the tables, I had to have a second peaceful breakfast without the nagging, fussing, irking, pestering, annoying voice of my wife, “Another bite Jimmy, and you’re sure to have a stroke…” or “All that butter… isn’t your arteries clogged enough…” and “Salt, salt, salt. When your pressure blows your heart to kingdom come I’m not dialing 911”
I was fed up with it. So, here at this breakfast buffet in the Golden Nugget I ate in peace.
If Maria (my wife’s name) caught me mopping up food in this manner the bitch would explode.
After all of the blueberry waffles, sausages, and omelettes that my three hundred and fifty pound frame could handle, I wobbled out of there full and ready to bet.
It was something about the atmosphere of a casino that made my blood rush to the tip of my fingers, then my fingers would began to tingle, then the hairs on the back of my neck would stand, the casinos scent perked the little fibers in my nose in turn these sensitive reactors sent a signal to my brain telling me to “Wager it all!”
I explained this exhilarating feeling to Maria but the dumb bitch couldn’t grasp the excitement. She would say: “Jimmy you’re just a self indulged fool… no discipline.”
The bitch knew how to kill my joy. Didn’t she?
Sometimes, well all of the time, I wondered why I’d married her? An even better question: Why not divorce her?
Maria said, “The only reason I won’t divorce your fat ass is because it’s too expensive…” and “…you need me Jimmy. If I was to divorce you your fat ass would implode… ‘ha ha ha!’”
The bitch was mistaken. I hated her.
I’m sorry. My marriage is so frustrating, it just oozes out of me whenever I have a listening ear.
What were we talking about? Oh! Today I killed a man.
Upon leaving the buffet, I stopped by the little pretzel shop to get me one of those glazed raisin pretzels. “Um!” How much I loved ‘em.
Why did I make this detour? I asked myself when I felt a slap on my back and a “Hey Slimmy Jimmy!”
I tried to conceal the pretzel by stuffing it in my mouth. For sure Leo (my friend), would tell Maria that he saw me punishing the pretzel.
“Hey Leo!” I spoke with a full mouth.
Leo was as fat as me. Maria said, “He only makes fun of you Jimmy, to make himself feel better.”
I loved Maria for having the guts to put Leo in his place. When he lost his place, she was sure t remind him: “Leo… you fat shapeless piece of lard…” or “Get the fuck outta my house… and find your prick while you’re at it…” and “If you speak to my husband in that manner again, I will blow your fat ass away!”
I know Maria meant every word she shouted. One time Leo upset her so much, she went upstairs and returned with my sawed -off double barrel pump, “I’ll turn this shit into pink slime!” Maria said sticking the pump into Leo’s gut.
Leo got the point. Now in the presence of Maria, Leo was on his best behavior.
But, when he wasn’t; “What the fuck are you eating fat ass?” Leo said slapping me in the back of my head.
I coughed up the pretzel. “Come on Leo stop it…” I cried “You know if Maria found out about this she’ll blow your fat ass away!”
Leo looked around nervously expecting Maria to rear her head. “Yea right—Slimmy Jimmy… I would love to stick my prick in your sexy ass wife.” He said humping the air.
For, I hated when Leo talked about Maria, it made my blood boil. I wanted so bad to call him a nigger. Only because I knew it would hurt him. But I didn’t. I guess this was the good part of biting my tung.
I’m no racist and I love Leo like a brother. But the chicken eating motha fucka knows how to get under my skin!
Again, I apologize for straying away from the matter at hand. Today I killed a man!
Never too far away, Billy, Leo’s black, sexy, juicy, sweetheart of a wife appeared. “Hey Jimmy.” She waved. “Let’s go Leo.” Billy said pulling Leo by the ear.”
My wife didn’t allow me to smoke cigarettes. The controlling bitch! “Those fucking cigarettes Jimmy!” She would fuss whenever I got the urge to light up.
The cocktail waitress Samantha knew my order off hand. As soon as my toe stepped on the casino floor, Samantha would have my Marlboroughs and vodka awaiting. The reason being I tipped her handsomely.
I once offered Samantha a hundred dollar bill for me to boink her. She turned me down. “Oh no Poppy me no do fat.”
From any other waitress it would have been an insult. But her… “Um!” Butter pecan Puerto Rican. I often stroked myself to visions of her naked.
Anyway, I took my seat at the blackjack table. The one all the way in the back by the restrooms. It was quiet and private in this area.
I chain smoked away. Making bet after bet, splitting aces, doubling down. Five hours later I was eight grand richer.
I would never tell Maria the actual amount of my winnings. I would tuck half in my private stash. The one that I never told Maria about.
If the ravenous bitch ever found out she would eat it… Deplete it! So No—I’ll never tell her that I have money stashed away. Maybe, even enough to buy a new home. And the bitch believed I needed her “Ha!”
So let me tell you: Today I killed a man!
Upon leaving the Golden Nugget, I jumped a number two jitney and traveled to the south side of Atlantic City. The Cesar’s Hotel, Casino, and Spa. No, not to gamble.
I had man cravings that needed to be handled. Those of the carnal type.
Maria cut me off from her wound years ago. Saying, “When you’re able to find it I’ll let you put it in.”
I could find it. Shit—I found it quite often. Every Tuesday I was boinking. If the bitch knew better she would do better.
I told you that my life is so complicated.
My bad for not sticking to the script. It’s really relieving for me to be able to tell someone all of this.
Alright, Today I killed a man!
I stepped off of the jitney and bumped (literally) into the back of José. “Yuck!” he was sweating profusely.
José turned around, “heeey, Slimmy Jimmy!” He said embracing me with a hug.
I cringed.
José backed up to get a closer look, “Dam Slimmy Jimmy, you know how to put it on.” Here we go with the fat shit.
“Slimmy I can’t believe your fat ass fit on that jitney…” then, “Another meal Slimmy Jimmy and your sure to burst.”
I bit down on my tung I wanted to call this Mexican motha fucka a jumping bean. He constantly jumped around Atlantic City doing all sorts of odd jobs.
José was a conniving, blackmailing, backstabbing motha fucka! But, he was my friend, I sure do know how to pick ‘em. Don’t I?
I hated myself for bumping into Jose’s wet back. (no pun intended). He was sure to conjure some extortionist scheme, and expect me to play a role.
Not today! I had man cravings that needed to be quenched.
When it came to José, Maria said, “That motha Fucka’s no good Jimmy! He’s a Mexican standoff waiting to happen.”
It was blazing hot, José was sweating bullets and my nuts were dripping sweat down my legs uncomfortably so. I looked around and spotted a slushy stand, and yelled “Ice!”
For some odd reason, José looked around frantically, gave me a worried expression and said, “I gotta go.” José ran off.
Hey, I was glad and on my way to Gloria.
Gloria was a prostitute whose services I procured every Tuesday. I met her on Tender, now I was her regular.
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria. She came how I liked ‘em: as Jersey as the shore, as tan as the bed, as freaky as the whore, and as fake as the silicon.
Me and Gloria’s arrangement was I cash app her the money to pay for the suite and she meets me there naked. Ready to boink.
Our time was precious, for if I was one second late to the rendezvous point with Maria, the bitch would go berserk: “Your fat ass is eating up my time Jimmy…” or “Could you waddle any slower…” and “You fat prickless motha fucka—if I had pennies for the time that it took for you to find and reach your shit I’ll be rich.”
Well it was found, and it reached inside of Gloria.
Gloria lay there limp, as if she couldn’t feel my stroke. Who cares! I paid for my satisfication! (is that a word) Maria said “That’s no fucking word Jimmy… stop using it!”
Anyway, Gloria was a twenty- four- hour convenient store, her door mat was beat loose.
Five minutes later I was afresh, reinvigorated, ready to take on another week of bull shit from the bitch known as my wife.
I squeezed into my trousers, sucked in my gut, and buttoned up my shirt.
In an instant, I was back on the number two jitney headed back to the Golden Nugget.
I pressed myself in the tight isle seat. The passenger in the window seat sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, as if I didn’t pay the same fare as her. I couldn’t help but to ask her, “am I squishing you?”
“Yes!” A curt response.
“Well good.” I’m never retaliative, but this bitch was deserving of my raft. I let out a silent death bomb.
Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it… “You fat, nasty stinkin’, motha fuckin’, ass-hole!” She screamed attempting to slide by me. I made myself fatter. She became wedged in between the seat and my gut. The fart was heavy and dense, it smelled of rotten eggs and a dead aisley cat. And I made her inhale every bit.
“Let me past you disgusting piece of shit!”
All seven passengers on the jitney were covering their noses laughing.
I let go another, this one was loud and redolent of death.
“Aggh!” The bitch screamed, wailing her hands at my face.
Maybe I deserved the cat scratches she left on my face. Oh well. It was worth it. Maria would have a fit.
I jumped off of the jitney in time to see my wife’s Camry pulling in front of the casino’s entrance. I hurried into the side door, for if she saw me get off of the jitney the bitch would go bananas. I stopped to catch my breath. Up the stairs, I stopped again. This weight was slowing me down. I was sweating like Butter Bean in the ninth round. I wobbled through the casino floor then down more steps. I needed to stop and catch my breath, but Maria was watching me through the glass doors, and the impatient bitch was beeping the horn.
The bitch was blowing my shit!
I squeezed into the little ass Camry. I constantly tell Maria that we need a bigger car. She always giggles and says, “I need a smaller husband.”
One day I’m going to up and leave the bitch. I swear I am.
“So, how much money did you win Jimmy” Maria asked, sticking out her palm. The greedy bitch.
I passed her three thousand nine hundred dollars. “I swear you’re holding out on me Jimmy” Maria said, Wheeling the Camry onto Brigantine boulevard. “And what the fuck happened to your face?”
Before I could answer Maria was pitching a fit “I can’t leave your fat ass alone for one second.”
After fifteen years of being married to Maria, I learned how to tune her out while still hearing every insult that she hurled. It was a gift.
“So what the fuck happened Jimmy?”
I feigned stupidness, “Uh… I don’t know” I mumbled shrugging my shoulders.
“You pinhead, prickless motha fucka!”
I paid the bitch no mind.
Since loosing the home, Maria and I stayed with Maria’s sister Ester and Ester’s husband Steve. Ester and Steve. These two love birds love was inspiring. They never quarrelled. I often listened in on them while they had sex, it seemed amazing!
Ester and Steve were rarely home. They were strapped with cash, and they traveled the world consistently. Today, like most days they were away.
Now that I’m in the comforts of my home, let me tell you how Today I killed a man!
I walked in the house ahead of Maria. She was still fussing something about “Fat…” and “prickless…” and “Motha fucka!”
I took a long shower to rinse Gloria’s juices off of me. Didn’t want Maria to catch a whiff of that pussy. She would go bat shit!
While in the shower, I heard Maria scream something about “going to Vanessa’s.”
Vanessa was Maria’s fat ass troll for a cousin. I hated that bitch with a passion.
It was good that Maria wouldn’t be home when I got out of the shower. I needed some me time. Some time to flick through the channels without her input. “stop I like that show Jimmy…” or “let’s watch house wives Jimmy…” and “No we’re not watching football Jimmy.”
Damn, the bitch imposed her will in all aspects of my life.
Upon drying off my ample body, I heard a ruffling coming from down stairs. It sounded as if someone was rummaging through the house. My instincts told me to forgo clothes and grab the shotgun. I did exactly that.
I eased down the steps as silently as my three hundred and fifty pounds would allow. On the third step from the landing, I saw a man scouring through our kitchen cabinets.
I was scared shitless! My fear took over my capacity to will my fat ass down the remaining stairs. I was cowering. “You have to do this Jimmy” I told myself.
The son-of-a-bitch was bent over throwing Steve’s baseball memorabilia into a duffel bag.
I took another step. The stair creaked stirring me and the would be thief. He stood straight up, “hey Jimmy!”
My quivering finger tapped the trigger, the shotgun blew, and I killed a man. The wrong man perhaps.
But, Today I killed a man!
The shotgun slug blew out Steve’s chest. “What the fuck did I do?” I screamed.
I was panicking. What was I to do? Call the cops? No! I would be sent to jail and raped. But it was an accident… Still the sawed off was illegal. So I would be sent to jail and raped.
If Maria found out… “Oh my God!” If Maria found out the bitch would go haywire. And she would be home in seconds. I looked around nervously. Where was Ester? She would freakout if she walked in and found her husband with his chest missing.
Tears were running down my face, I needed Maria to help me think.
But no! I had to think for myself today. Because Today I killed a man! And Maria would be no help. I could hear her now, “Oh my God Jimmy you killed Steve…” or “Jimmy you fuckin’ murdered Steve…” and “You fat son-of-a-gun you blew Steve’s chest out!” And the bitch was on her way home I could feel her coming.
I pulled myself together. Then pulled Steve into the garage, hoisted his dead weight over my shoulder, and dropped him in the inoperable deep freezer. “Whew!” That should keep him cool. I just needed a second to think.
I cleaned up Steve’s blood and guts with a mixture of bleach and pinesol. I threw up several times in the process. I cleaned that up also. I took a quick shower washed Steve’s blood off of me, dried off, and got dress. All the while, I was sobbing in loving memory of Steve.
Seconds later… “What the Fuck Jimmy!” Maria screamed, as she walked into the house. I froze. Did the mind reading bitch know that I killed Steve?
“Why does it smell like a chemical bomb exploded in the fucking house Jimmy?”
“Whew!” Again I was relieved.
I heard Maria cracking windows. “I spilled some bleach.” I informed her, eyeing her curiously, wondering if she had a clue that Today I killed a man!? I was freaking the fuck out noticeably.
“What’s the matter with you Jimmy you seem hungry?” Maria said, brushing past me.
I jumped out of my skin when there was a rapid, loud knock at the door. I stood there staring at the door confused. There was another harder knock.
“What the fuck are you deaf… get the fuckin’ door Jimmy!” Maria screamed from the kitchen.
I took a deep breath and opened the door. Oh My God! It was the police. I shit myself laterally.
“Can I I I hel… help you of…ficer?” I stuttered.
“Yes, we received a call of shots being fired from this home.”
They knew! Oh my God—I was going to jail to be someone’s bitch. “N no shots fired here sir.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. Seeming satisfied with my answer.
“Yes sir” I regained my composure, though shit was running down my leg.
I was closing the door when “Jimmy what the Fuck there’s a dead body in the freezer”
“Coo Coo, Coo Coo!”

Published by korymcclary1221

My name is Kory McClary, I am 34 years old. I am currently serving a lengthy sentence at the New Jersey State prison in Trenton, New Jersey. I am fighting for my freedom so that I may return to my family and loved ones. Yet, I know that it is a long, tough, and bitter battle to achieve that goal. But, with the grace of God Almighty, and for the sake of my family, I will fight on. I am using this blog as a medium to enhance my voice and to bring awareness to my unfair condition leading out of my unjust conviction. While spending almost all of my time in a cell, I chose to write so that I may voice the reality of my situation, because without awareness there can never be Justice...! To escape the harsh reality of prison, I use the pen to release my frustrations. I use the pen to manifest my imagination. And, most of all, I use the pen to Fight. I am fighting for my Life! Just by reading Kory McClary's Blog, you are giving my plight and my word's a voice. Thank you. Please, stay tuned...

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