Post by leroy on Jun 10, 2010 3:43:16 GMT -5
LEROY KANE BELL
FULL NAME: leroy kane bell
NICKNAMES: elroy, lee, bell boy, bellend, bells
AGE: nineteen
PREFERENCE: straight
HOMETOWN: brighton, england
CLASS STATUS: lower
CURRENT STATUS: single
MEMBER GROUP: resident
PLAY BY: luke grimes
FAVORITE FOOD?
pie and mash
ARE YOU A VIRGIN?
no
FAVORITE COLOR?
um?
HAVE YOU EVER EMBARRASSED YOURSELF?
hasn't everyone?
FAVORITE DRINK?
carlsberg
WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS?
where i am now
FAVORITE HOLIDAY?
christmas
WHAT'S ONE THING MOST PEOPLE DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU?
i have a brother
DO YOU PREFER THE NIGHT OR THE DAY?
night
NAME A FANTASY?
me and angelina jolie playing cowboys and indians in my bedroom
There's no other pleasure as fulfilling as the one normal human beings experience when they know their actions are directly improving the lives of others. Whether it's something as basic as lending a dollar to a needy bum or something as grand as spending a year in a third world country, building homes for communities of darker-skinned individuals with no knowledge of what first world amenities they were missing out on, being charitable produces nothing less than euphoria.
Coyote didn't know that pleasure- and not because he was some sort of animal. Coyote didn't know that silly fuzzy sensation that accompanied being a Good Samaritan, because he was enlightened. That bum would spend that dollar on another bottle of alcohol or another gram of crack, while all the poor children in Brazil keeled over once your back was turned, since first world amenities can come only from the third world oppression. No, for anyone who knew the true, interworkings of the world, that sort of pleasure didn't exist. Which made exploiting the fantasies of young Mexican girls a lot simpler.
Driving through the desert in the middle of the night was less than ideal. He'd gone off the road some time ago, but following state designated tracts wasn't smart business anyway. The fence that stretched along the border was in sight, but here they were far enough off the grid that La Migra couldn't be fucked to come looking for them, or at least that was the shared hope between the other smugglers. The brakes ground to a halt quite a few meters from the fence, and this was where he got out. On the Arizona side, everything was quiet. Coyote grabbed the straw panama hat from the seat and pulled it on over his head.
There were no giant lights here, illuminating the wild dirt so border patrol could follow footprints in the early morning, only flashlights. Coyote's own sweeped the ground briefly before he clicked it off and stood against the back of the van, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark. A signal would come, he'd been here enough times to know what to look for. Where the fence was bent out of shape, and a slight hole dug in beneath it, something flashed, and the smuggler turned and opened the back doors of the van before heading over.
Over the past few years, he'd carried dozens of Mexicans in to the states. Fathers looking for work and daughters with the desire to escape maquiladora living, families with babies. Only recently did the immigrants start coming with cocaine lining their stomachs and a new sense of urgency as he drove them to the next stop. At the fence, Coyote grabbed a handfull of metal and reached under, taking the hand of the first girl as she wiggled beneath it. They were getting younger and younger, with eyes wider and wider, and this one was so confused, stayed by his side despite his orders to get in the back of the van. Coyote finally had to give her a shove as the next few children followed her example, and before long they were headed back to the van, as eerily silent as all other desert dwelling creatures were, tonight.
Coyote didn't know that pleasure- and not because he was some sort of animal. Coyote didn't know that silly fuzzy sensation that accompanied being a Good Samaritan, because he was enlightened. That bum would spend that dollar on another bottle of alcohol or another gram of crack, while all the poor children in Brazil keeled over once your back was turned, since first world amenities can come only from the third world oppression. No, for anyone who knew the true, interworkings of the world, that sort of pleasure didn't exist. Which made exploiting the fantasies of young Mexican girls a lot simpler.
Driving through the desert in the middle of the night was less than ideal. He'd gone off the road some time ago, but following state designated tracts wasn't smart business anyway. The fence that stretched along the border was in sight, but here they were far enough off the grid that La Migra couldn't be fucked to come looking for them, or at least that was the shared hope between the other smugglers. The brakes ground to a halt quite a few meters from the fence, and this was where he got out. On the Arizona side, everything was quiet. Coyote grabbed the straw panama hat from the seat and pulled it on over his head.
There were no giant lights here, illuminating the wild dirt so border patrol could follow footprints in the early morning, only flashlights. Coyote's own sweeped the ground briefly before he clicked it off and stood against the back of the van, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark. A signal would come, he'd been here enough times to know what to look for. Where the fence was bent out of shape, and a slight hole dug in beneath it, something flashed, and the smuggler turned and opened the back doors of the van before heading over.
Over the past few years, he'd carried dozens of Mexicans in to the states. Fathers looking for work and daughters with the desire to escape maquiladora living, families with babies. Only recently did the immigrants start coming with cocaine lining their stomachs and a new sense of urgency as he drove them to the next stop. At the fence, Coyote grabbed a handfull of metal and reached under, taking the hand of the first girl as she wiggled beneath it. They were getting younger and younger, with eyes wider and wider, and this one was so confused, stayed by his side despite his orders to get in the back of the van. Coyote finally had to give her a shove as the next few children followed her example, and before long they were headed back to the van, as eerily silent as all other desert dwelling creatures were, tonight.
hey, it's anna and this gal has been at it for
four years now. they are seventeen years old.
