Living With Hams is a Helluva Thing! Part one: The Hammates Today, FPH, I went out a-visiting. A few friends and I were meeting up to go out, and seeing as how her car is currently in the shop, and she lives near me, I offered to drive my friend and fellow shitlord to and from. No big deal. For the sake of privacy, let's call her Tracey. Tracey is five foot nothing and very petite. Deceptively strong, though. She looks like a strong wind could blow her over, but there's definite definition goin' on. Now Tracey, against her will and wishes, lives with a pair of hams. One is an agoraphobic weirdo with an anime fetish, and the other is more or less your standard tubblrina. They're the bane of her existence, but our area is a cheap one to live in, so she puts up with it while she works on her degree. Up until today, I'd never had the displeasure of meeting them, or even hearing much about them. Tracey, despite her shitlordy ways, is just too damn sweet for her own good, and won't badmouth them to others. She's very much a silent shitlady in that regard. But today, she was still getting ready when I arrived, and beckoned me inside before jogging back up the stairs, fixing an earring. I was content enough to just wait at the foot of the staircase and fiddle with my phone until I felt what I can only describe as a presence lurking nearby. I chanced a glance up, and immediately regretted it. Imagine the chick from The Ring, only 220 lbs heavier and peering around a doorway at you. That was my introduction to hammate numero uno, who we'll call Sushi. Sushi is worse than I could have imagined with what little description I had of her; long, greasy, unkempt hair, some manner of anime t-shirt, an assortment of rainbow bracelets, and Converse sneakers that looked to be straining at the seams in their valiant effort to hold in her hooves. I gave a polite nod and hurriedly jogged upstairs. Sitting on the edge of the bed while Tracey did her makeup didn't seem particularly interesting, it was a damn sight better than sticking around where Sushi was lurking. She had a look in her beady little eyes that I could only describe as predatory. Whether she wanted to devour me literally or figuratively, I couldn't be sure, but I wasn't about to stick around and find out. Unfortunately, FPH, I had taken myself out of the frying pan and into the oven. As I was making my way down the hall to find Tracey's room, a second hambeast, more swollen than the first, emerged from another doorway, and directly into my path. My eyes drank it all in with horror. 330 easy, wearing a polka dot dress that looked like a tablecloth with lacy bits, skin that looked to be permanently flushed and rashy...and of course, purple hair. The bullring piercing was a charming touch besides. For irony's sake, because I'm not without a sense of humor, let's call her Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell, as I was doing the same to her, drank me in. Lean and muscular frame, white skin, obvious lack of breasts, noticable stubble. As I realized internal horror at finding a lumbering fat in my path, so, too, did Tinkerbell seem to feel similarly at the appearance of a fit, white male in her domicile. With a grunt, she took two steps back, leaning into what I now realized was Tracey's room. I had been so close. Had I taken the stairs three at a time instead of two at a time, I might have slipped in there unnoticed by this golem. "Tracey, who the hell is this?" Tinkerbell's huffing voice had all the poetic charm of a sheet of metal being slowly and tenderly ground through a woodchipper with a choir of yowling cats for accompaniment. Tracey peered out, and with a little wink at me, told a barefaced lie. Sweet? Yes. Mischievous? Incredibly. "Oh, that's my boyfriend. In here, babe." 'That's my boyfriend'. Those three words sent Tinkerbell seething. You could see it in the way her jowls wiggled. She huffed and grunted, moving her mass past me as I pressed against the wall, and heaved herself awkwardly down the stairs. Tracey was waiting, but I couldn't help staring. The gravitational pull of her fupa had to be too much. Surely with the laws of physics bearing down on her, Tinkerbell would go toppling like the boulder in Indiana Jones. I had to be there to see that. But unfortunately, her mass made it to ground level, and wobbled thickly to the kitchen. I turned to Tracey in disbelief. "I have so many questions." At that, she smirked, shrugging and turning to go back into her room. "Yeah? Well I have a lot of stories..." Now that you've been introduced, stay tuned, because I'm going to be posting some of the disgusting, not safe for life, the universe, or anything stories that Tracey finally overcame her good manners to share with me during the long drive out. Feel free to have seconds at lunch; you're gonna lose it anyway.