CharlotteCarrendar, Della Sachs, Humor, LadyBelz, life, music, No Limits, Pine Acres Trailer Park, Pine Acres Trailer Park November 08, red neck, Rhiannon, role play., trailers, writing, xOEsmeOx, xXxWatcherxXx
Pine Acres Trailer Park is located on the west end of town from the race track. Please request your trailer number in the requests thread.
Trailers are situated with the even numbers on the right side of the street, odd numbers on the left. If you don’t see a number listed, it’s up for grabs. It’s a big park.
#01 (Manager’s Office) – Billy-Bob Furman
#03 – Kaspars and Rhiannon Balodis
#07 – Carlos Mendoza
#09 – Della Sachs
#13 – Fleur De Prix
Billy-Bob was outside washing his current it fix it project an old ford mustang. It was found on the local craigslist. He had been trying to put an oversized motor in it. Thinking how much the ladies would love such a big block. It hadnt fit well and his friend was supposed to come down later and see what he could do to help him adjust the design. So now he was out trying to look cool for the new ladies who had moved in as they drove past. He semi-flexed as he moved around the car thinking they muct love this ride. He was gonna be the talk of the trailer park once it was done. Sipping on his beer he hoped he would get to meet some of them soon. They had stopped for the keys but other than picking up envelopes hadnt spoken to anyone. He knew before long they would need his help though. He was the manager after all.
As per usual, there was never a dull moment at Fleur’s trailer. One could hear the yelling and cursing a mile up the road, and sure enough the door to the trailer was flung open and stuff started being thrown out. First a half packed suitcase, followed by a Ford comforter and matching pillow…then a stuffed dog named Rudy. More things were flying out the window, as Fleur’s voice was reaching fever pitch.
“Don’t you be tryin’t to lie to me, Bubba Boy Brady. I know the smell of cheap avon perfume and no 69 cherry red lippy on your collar. Not..to mention the marks on your zipper. You sly son of a bitch. I don’t wear that mexican crap on my perf FACE. Get your ass outta my trailer…for I set fire to your Jimmy Dean T collection!” Fleur had caught her boyfriend out after he had come home late, and sure enough, she was armed. Marching out of her bedroom with a flame thrower armed and cocked, she pointed it at his arm full of black T’s.
“You’re being irrational!”
Suddenly a burst of flames fires out of the trailer door, as Bubba Boy Brady, ran for his life, smoldering and burnt black.
The decked-out Shelby GT500 roared through the entrance of the park, kicking dirt and gravel at the manager as he was attempting to try and woo some of the more “well-endowed” (i.e. “big breasted bimbos”) residents of the park.
The driver ignored the man’s yelling at her to “slow the fuck down!” as she sped toward home. Even though the speed limit in the park was 10 miles an hour, Della Sachs drove her personal car like she did her racecar – fast and without regard for the rules.
She narrowly avoided hitting a man, who looked like his ass might have been on fire. She made a face when she saw Fleur standing outside her home. Was that a flamethrower on her back?
“Looks like Fleur and Bubba are at it again.” she smirked to herself. Those two provided so much entertainment to the residents of the park, it was like watching a redneck version of “Days of Our Lives”. They’d make up in a day or two and then the cycle would start all over again.
Della shook her head as she screeched to a stop in front of her own home.
The mocha-skinned bombshell stepped from her car, sunglasses perched on her nose as she took in everything around her. Her cell phone rang and she looked at the display to see it was her ex, Tommy. She sent it to voicemail, not wanting to hear whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into this time. The last time it was because she had to bail his stupid ass out of jail when he got caught picking up an undercover cop dressed as a prostitute.
“Screw him.” she snapped. They had been divorced for well over 3 1/2 years, and he always called her when he was in dire straights. “Asshole.” she muttered, heading into her mobile home.
Fleetwood Mac was blaring from trailer number three, the windows open for the whole park to hear. Rhiannon stood in front of her dresser and mirror, carefully applying her layers and layers of eye make-up. Smiling as she put on her dark lipstick, she thought about just how much freedom she had to dress the way she wanted now that her parents were an ocean away. Pulling back, she seemed satisfied with her look. Today she added a streak of purple to her hair, and she loved it. It went perfectly with her black on black uniform for work. That was what made Victoria’s Secret perfect for her. Rhiannon got to wear black, wear as much make-up as she wanted…and she was surrounded by lingerie. Despite the fact that she was a virgin, she loved dressing up in lace and corsets. It was her world. As she tilted her head to examine herself, she contemplated how her racing uniform would look decked out in lace. Victoria’s Secret would be her dream sponsor and provide her with such necessities. As she silently looked over her ensemble, the sound of snorting snapped her out of her thoughts. A frown darkened her pale face as she walked out of her room and down the hallway to their tiny kitchen table. Though they lived in a trailer, it was a nice trailer. Courtesy of their parent’s money, of course. Hey, they were writing checks to them to supply Rhiannon with proper living quarters while attending her “boarding school.” Why let the money go to waste?
Seeing Kaspars sitting their rubbing his nose infuriated her. Stepping up to her brother, she snapped “What the fuck are you doing? Are you seriously snorting coke right now? You realize we’re three fucking trailers down from the goddamn park manager?”
Kaspars turned his head slowly to fixate his bright blue eyes on his sister. Smile slowly, he raised an eyebrow “Do you realize the windows are open? Now who’s the idiot.”
Rhiannon stood there spluttering with her arms crossed. He had a point. But then again, he shouldn’t be doing drugs to begin with. Shaking her head with disgust, she snapped at him again “Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone found out you were doing drugs while racing? You would lose your sponsors, everything, like that.”
Rolling his eyes, her brother just kicked his seat back to look up at her lazily “Jesus, you sound like mom. Why don’t you just run along to work like a good little girl. You still have to be back to make dinner.”
Sometimes, Kaspars was just infuriating. Shaking her head again, she brushed past him “Why don’t you run along to practice driving like a good little loser you are. It’s a wonder you haven’t won any races since being in America with all the shit you’ve been doing instead.”
Kaspars looked at his sister furiously and leaned forward dangerously. His sister backed up when she saw the look in his eyes. She knew that look too well. After staring her down for a few moments, he lifted a hand to mutter “Fuck you. Get out of here.”
Oh too willing to oblige her junkie brother, Rhiannon turned around and practically ran out the door. Climbing down the steps to their trailer, she turned to look back at their home forlornly. Why did it have to be this way? Turning to look at her baby, the love of her life, she climbed into her car and sped away.
Fixing herself some lunch, she turned on the television and sat down to watch one of her favorite channels, RaceTV. Bob Costas was doing a live segment in the conference room of one of the local hotels. She turned up the volume and bit into her chicken salad sandwich.
“Hello, Racing Fans! I’m Bob Costas and I am coming to you live from the conference room at The Renaissance Hotel, where former Formula One racer, Bobby Williams is giving a press conference. For those who don’t know who Bobby Williams is, he was recently barred from the Formula One circuit among allegations of inappropriate behavior, drug usage and gambling. He wants to try his hand at stock car racing and has entered the much anticipated Turtle Wax 3000, taking place next weekend right here on RaceTV. I see Mr Williams coming in now, so let’s go down to the floor.”
Della snorted when Bobby strolled into the room, face hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. She had done her research on this guy and didn’t think he’d be much competition. Too much booze, too much drugs and too many women. “He’d probably have slow reflexes at the wheel.” she thought to herself.
He threw up the victory sign and Della just shook her head. “What a moron.” she snorted. Bobby sat down, his agent hovering nearby and called for the first question.
“…is it true that since arriving on American soil, that you have already been arrested for possession of narcotics, after your trip to Vegas?”
“I called it.” Della smirked, sipping her soda. She chuckled when Bobby got the “deer-in-the-headlights” look on his face and was about to answer the question when his agent shoved him into his seat and snatched the microphone.
“Ahaha…that was a look a like, yes Bobby has some crazed fans that look..just like him and the whole thing was a stunt by a certain television network, who we are currently suing so we can’t comment.” the woman stated in a no-nonsense manner. Della nearly fell off her couch, laughing her ass off at that answer. Another question was tossed out and she quieted to hear.
“Bobby…how does it feel to now be downgraded from formula one to nascar…you must be pretty dissapointed.”
She watched the change come over his face as if he were thinking about his sudden fall from grace. He had been at the top of his game before drugs and booze dragged him down.
“He could be competition if he cleaned his act up.” she stated.
“Well….Mother always said, when life throws lemons at you…to suck harder. So…here I am, ready to suck it up, and show all you yanks how it’s done. If only you could drive on the right side of the road. Man…I have written off five hire cars in a week.”
“Welcome to America, dickhole!” Della yelled at the TV.
“Is it true you knocked up the Mayor’s sixteen year old daughter?” came a question from near the back of the room. There was a dull roar as the cameras and flashbulbs went insane and it was nearly impossible to see Bobby in all the chaos. He was struggling to yank the microphone from his agent’s hands as he yelled out his answer.
“She said she was 18…ENTRAPMENT…EN-BLOODY-TRAPMENT!”
Security came into the room to try and restore order and the camera panned back to Bob Costas.
“And that was Bobby Williams, newest racer on the stock circuit. He will join countless others to race for the top spot in the Turtle Wax 3000 next weekend. Join us live, right here on RaceTV for full race coverage and results. Guest commentator will be box-office movie star, Adam Sandler. I’m Bob Costas and you’re watching RaceTV.”
Della sat back in her seat.
“Oh yeah…I got this.” she smirked, anticipating a good race next weekend.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 11/08/2013 09:14PM by LadyBelz.
Billy bob finally had his friend arrive a burly looking smelly looking man. He smelled like a combination of re-fried beans and day old bacon. Luckily his mechanical genius made up for his lack of hygeine. Larry “Shit-paper” Chambers as he was called was a maintenance man and all around glorified toilet cleaner. However he was really just a well to do janitor with some really good mechanical skills. Billy-bob was glad to have him come check the motor out. As he checked over the whole design throwing poarts everywhere he hit Billy Bob a few times in the head yelling.. “Are you always such a douche, Billy Bob? This is all wrong! God damn dude! ”
Billy bob looked at his friend with digust leaning against the other end of the car, trying to get out of range of the now flying parts. The mechanic seemed pissed. ” Do you always smell so bad? ”
Realizing it was pointless he gathered the rest of the parts together fixing the rig as he could. The motor was now fitting in right but he needed to lift it properly and reset it. Using a winch he began to relift it and move the whole piece back into place. Billy bob watched the whole process like a moron, handing him tools as he needed just drinking some beer and flexing to the passing hunnies as they rode in. Larry was tired when he finally got it all in place but as the Mustang roared to life it was now a fully customed AM/21-15 GT Fastback 1965 Ford Mustang but with a much larger motor. It now had a 429 cu in (7.0 L) Boss V8 Cobra 4-barrel engine in it.
His work done the redneck handed him a quick hundred dollar bill. easy money he thought all things considered. He had got to watch the hunnies as they drove through and enjoy beer with his friend. They both sat back watching the women come and go.
As the engine roared to Life Itscared the crap out of the neighbors cat as it nearly backfired blowing out of lot of leftover carbon built up in the exhaust as a result of the larger block. Luckily the frame handled it well.
“Life is a garden, dig it?”
Fleur finally emerged from her trailer, sporting her juicy tight bum shorts, and star spangled bikini top. Her blonde curls were in two pig tails with red and blue ribbon and she was rubbing her finger across the front of her teeth, and surveying the blackened grass that now surrounded her trailer. A few garden gnomes copped a blast of the infernal heat of her flame thrower, and were now sludge like puddles in amonst her smoldering daises. She saw a few of her neighbours were already out and staring at her trailer that was always a point of interest in the park, when she sneered and placed her hands on her svelte hips.
“What’chya all lookin’ at? Ain’t ya’ll seen Cops? Nothing to look at now…go back to sexing ya cousins, assholes.” she said with her usual single finger salute, before slapping her backside. Now she was without a love….again. Well for the next week or so, till that yella belly came crawling back with his tail between his legs. No doubt, Fleur was a looker, and she had it where it counts, but boy, was she trouble when angry.
Hearing the revving of engines further up, she wondered if there was any new fine male specimens to try her tricks on, but once she saw it was the trailer park manager and his mate, she shuddered and sauntered over to her deck chair, and got ready to do some serious sun baking.
Lounging on the couch after finishing her lunch, Della thought her day would be a quiet one.
Until her cell phone rang.
She picked it up and saw her manager’s number and picture on the screen and she hit the speakerphone to answer it.
“Hey, Yvonne. What’s up?”
“What the hell do you mean, ‘what’s up?’ Yvonne’s angry voice came down the line. Della frowned.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“You were supposed to be at Pitstop an hour ago for the TV Guide interview!” Della looked up at the clock and swore.
“Shit! I forgot, Yvonne. I was running errands for Mom this morning.”
“Nevermind that. Just get your ass here ASAP.”
“I’ll be there yesterday.” Della stated, quickly hanging up. She dashed into her bedroom to change her shirt, fix her hair and touch up her makeup before she was running back out the door.
In a revving of the engine and a squeal of tires, she roared out of the park, narrowly avoiding knocking over the stop sign on the corner.