Sunday 31 March 2013
Saturday 16 March 2013
Friday 15 March 2013
Wednesday 13 March 2013
Saturday 2 March 2013
I Think I Had Sex With Lady Gaga Last Night
I’m not usually a big drinker. I mean, I don’t usually get shitfaced and all out of control the way a lot of chicks do when they drink. I actually can’t remember the last time I puked. Maybe high school. Yeah, it was that long ago.
Maybe it comes from working in a bar and seeing WAY TOO MANY maggots get plastered and out of their minds.
Maybe it comes from seeing way too many girls go home with guys they never would’ve looked at twice if they hadn’t been 90 degrees South of sideways. And you just know they’re banging their pretty little heads against the wall when they wake up beside that guy and realize they just let him pound on their pussy with that little ding dong of his until he blew his mind.
And then they realize they’re feeling something sticky down there, and all of a sudden they can’t remember if they made this little shit wear a condom or not, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.
And then they’re suddenly going crazy trying to get a closer look at the shmuck to see if he looks like he’s got VD, or any other STD’s, or even worse, the unthinkable "A" word.
So yeah, seeing this kind of shit go down every night kinda’ makes drinking not seem all that fun and attractive. Plus, I absolutely hate hangovers. Can’t stand ‘em. Don’t deal with ‘em well. Never forgive myself for getting one.
So that’s why I was kinda surprised, even shocked I guess, to wake up in a strange bed early this morning, with a lightning bolt crashing through my brain when my eyelids opened and the light hit them.
And oh yeah, the naked chick lying beside me was a little shocking too. I mean, it’s not that I don’t sleep with girls from time to time, but it was more the fact of who it was that was lying there naked beside me, sleeping peacefully like she’d didn’t have a care in the world (or had her mind blown apart by a series of crazy mind blowing orgasms which, from the looks of things, were most likely from my tongue being deep up inside her while she sat on my face).
Looking over at the sleeping beauty beside me, I was pretty sure it was Lady Gaga who had probably just made love to my face. Sure looked like her anyways, and since I didn’t stick around to chat, I guess I’ll probably never know for sure.
My head was pounding like a bass drum that was having the shit beat out of it by a cocaine driven, fifteen year old, Metallica drummer wannabe, and I was pretty sure I was gonna puke any second, so it didn’t seem like a good time to have a chat and exchange stories.
I’m not sure how I managed it, but I finally made it home. My head hurt even worse if that was possible, and my stomach was still threatening to go to war with my mouth even though I’d somehow managed to keep myself from puking up to this point.
When I got in the door, I stumbled into the kitchen and fumbled around in the cupboards until I found a bottle of Tylenol. The directions said to take two, so I poured six into my hand and dry swallowed them. Hell, they always understate how many you can safely take to cover their asses in case of lawsuits, and I needed the drum solo in my head to stop.
Flopping onto the couch, I covered my eyes with a pillow which seemed to help a little, and I tried to think back to how I’d got myself into this situation.
I remembered going out with a few of the other girls after work. Remembered a couple of different bars. And that was about it. My mind was blank after that. It was like somebody had jumped up inside my head and wiped out my memories after a certain point.
Blank slate. Empty wall. Nothing there.
“God Damn It!” I swore, instantly regretting it as the sound of my own voice crashing through my head brought a fresh flash of pain that came holding hands with a wave of nausea that tore through my guts. I realized in a flash of painful insight that I’d been roofied. Rohypnoled. The Date Rape Drug.
Whatever you want to call it, Lady Gaga, or her freakin' twin sister, must’ve slipped me something in my drink to get me into bed with her. I was pretty damn sure of it. There was no way I had drank anywhere near enough to feel like this, and even if I had, it still wouldn’t explain the memory loss.
I fumed for a while as I lay there suffering on the couch, and then, before I even knew what came over me, I started to laugh.
My head protested, but I laughed even harder.
My stomach threatened to let loose on me, but I just kept laughing until I couldn’t tell if my sides hurt more from laughing or from the hangover.
I still don’t know who the hell I ended up in bed with, and sadly, I don’t even know if she was any good. It might have been Lady Gaga herself, or it might have been some chick who looked just like her. Either way, the funny thing was that she wasted a roofie. I would’ve fucked her anyway. All she had to do was ask.
Maybe it comes from working in a bar and seeing WAY TOO MANY maggots get plastered and out of their minds.
Maybe it comes from seeing way too many girls go home with guys they never would’ve looked at twice if they hadn’t been 90 degrees South of sideways. And you just know they’re banging their pretty little heads against the wall when they wake up beside that guy and realize they just let him pound on their pussy with that little ding dong of his until he blew his mind.
And then they realize they’re feeling something sticky down there, and all of a sudden they can’t remember if they made this little shit wear a condom or not, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.
And then they’re suddenly going crazy trying to get a closer look at the shmuck to see if he looks like he’s got VD, or any other STD’s, or even worse, the unthinkable "A" word.
So yeah, seeing this kind of shit go down every night kinda’ makes drinking not seem all that fun and attractive. Plus, I absolutely hate hangovers. Can’t stand ‘em. Don’t deal with ‘em well. Never forgive myself for getting one.
So that’s why I was kinda surprised, even shocked I guess, to wake up in a strange bed early this morning, with a lightning bolt crashing through my brain when my eyelids opened and the light hit them.
And oh yeah, the naked chick lying beside me was a little shocking too. I mean, it’s not that I don’t sleep with girls from time to time, but it was more the fact of who it was that was lying there naked beside me, sleeping peacefully like she’d didn’t have a care in the world (or had her mind blown apart by a series of crazy mind blowing orgasms which, from the looks of things, were most likely from my tongue being deep up inside her while she sat on my face).
Looking over at the sleeping beauty beside me, I was pretty sure it was Lady Gaga who had probably just made love to my face. Sure looked like her anyways, and since I didn’t stick around to chat, I guess I’ll probably never know for sure.
My head was pounding like a bass drum that was having the shit beat out of it by a cocaine driven, fifteen year old, Metallica drummer wannabe, and I was pretty sure I was gonna puke any second, so it didn’t seem like a good time to have a chat and exchange stories.
I’m not sure how I managed it, but I finally made it home. My head hurt even worse if that was possible, and my stomach was still threatening to go to war with my mouth even though I’d somehow managed to keep myself from puking up to this point.
When I got in the door, I stumbled into the kitchen and fumbled around in the cupboards until I found a bottle of Tylenol. The directions said to take two, so I poured six into my hand and dry swallowed them. Hell, they always understate how many you can safely take to cover their asses in case of lawsuits, and I needed the drum solo in my head to stop.
Flopping onto the couch, I covered my eyes with a pillow which seemed to help a little, and I tried to think back to how I’d got myself into this situation.
I remembered going out with a few of the other girls after work. Remembered a couple of different bars. And that was about it. My mind was blank after that. It was like somebody had jumped up inside my head and wiped out my memories after a certain point.
Blank slate. Empty wall. Nothing there.
“God Damn It!” I swore, instantly regretting it as the sound of my own voice crashing through my head brought a fresh flash of pain that came holding hands with a wave of nausea that tore through my guts. I realized in a flash of painful insight that I’d been roofied. Rohypnoled. The Date Rape Drug.
Whatever you want to call it, Lady Gaga, or her freakin' twin sister, must’ve slipped me something in my drink to get me into bed with her. I was pretty damn sure of it. There was no way I had drank anywhere near enough to feel like this, and even if I had, it still wouldn’t explain the memory loss.
I fumed for a while as I lay there suffering on the couch, and then, before I even knew what came over me, I started to laugh.
My head protested, but I laughed even harder.
My stomach threatened to let loose on me, but I just kept laughing until I couldn’t tell if my sides hurt more from laughing or from the hangover.
I still don’t know who the hell I ended up in bed with, and sadly, I don’t even know if she was any good. It might have been Lady Gaga herself, or it might have been some chick who looked just like her. Either way, the funny thing was that she wasted a roofie. I would’ve fucked her anyway. All she had to do was ask.
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