The names have been left out to protect the guilty. Also, most of the people mentioned herein are now lawyers, and I know better than to go poking a bear.
Back in my college days, I had this friend. He was an alright guy, and like most of my other college friends, he was able to consume massive amounts of alcohol rapidly with almost no discernible effects. Having never been so "lucky" in that regard, I usually wound up passed out on the floor after six or seven beers (these days it only takes four).
One evening, I was well over my limit while partying with this particular friend. And his roommate. And about four other friends. And a dog. Anyhow, we all had a wild night (except the dog) that included the strip bar followed by some mild gutter-barfing. Truly, you would have been hard pressed to find a classier bunch of people wandering the streets at half past midnight. We finally arrived back at his apartment, and after belching up beer foam for about forty-five minutes, I managed to pass out cold on their couch.
Miraculously, my friends somehow resisted the urge to draw two dicks and a chinstrap on my face while I slept, but possibly only because of their own alcohol-induced blackouts.
OK, now you're ready to meet the governor!But in retrospect, I think I would have preferred a Sharpie-cock to what actually happened. You see, even the most permanent of markers will wash off in a few days, but nightmarish memories are immune to water and soap. Even that pumice-filled Lava soap won't make a dent in those occasional life events that stain your very soul. So filthy...I'll never feel clean again.
The above expression about "alcohol-induced blackouts" was not 100% accurate. Or perhaps the blackouts were just short lived. Whatever the case, sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I awoke because my organs had completely processed all of my beer and needed to give it back to nature. I didn't open my eyes or sit up, I was just awake and lying still on the couch, needing to take a wicked piss. But I couldn't move, because something was WRONG.
As an aside, I'd like to point out that it's a shame that humans haven't developed earlids. Want to stop looking at something? Close your eyelids, or just look in another direction. Want to stop hearing something? Tough shit. Short of sticking your fingers in your ears, there's not much you can do beyond humming a happy song in your head while praying for an end to the offending cacophony.
The first noise I noticed was the obvious sound of two people fucking. Assuming you're not high on glue, there's no mistaking that noise for anything else. As I had been roommates with both of the current occupants of this apartment, I had (sadly) become familiar with their wails and shouts and grunts, as well as those of their respective girlfriends. Only this didn't sound like either of them. In fact as I listened further, I realized that these sounds weren't muffled by walls and doors... Oh, goddammit! That's coming from in THIS room. A few more seconds passed before I pegged the noise: audio from a porn flick. Shit. I listened for a few more seconds, trying to pick out a noise I didn't want to hear. Fuck. There it is. You filthy bastard. During a lull in the porno's "dialogue" was the unique sound, like the flat side of a spatula repeatedly and rhythmically slapping a glazed ham.
Muthafucka!
Don't ask what's in the glaze. Just don't.My friend thought I was passed out, so he took advantage of the opportunity to pop in a porno, pull a kitchen chair in front of the TV, and grease the weasel. I guess I should be thankful he didn't just sit down on the edge of the couch upon which I "slept".
Stroke it, baby.So, there I am locked in the horns of a dilemma. Do I lie there, feigning sleep while he finishes hosting his own one-man crotch party? Or do I sit up and start asking questions I don't really want answered? Couldn't you do that in any other room? Or maybe just wait until after I stumble home in the morning? Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK are you thinking? As unappealing as the second option seemed, the first scenario was even worse. I couldn't just lie there. I just couldn't. No way. Too fucking weird. And I REALLY had to pee.
I quite suddenly realized the solution to the problem. Taking care to keep my eyes as closed as possible, I stood up and staggered off into the bathroom, acting like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. After I took care of my most pressing concern in the bathroom, I loitered for a few extra minutes, making fake fart noises and throwing in a few extra flushes to try and really sell it. Three or four minutes later I walked out of the bathroom and into a living room that was now empty, silent, and dark. Not wanting to endure a reprise the next time I awoke, I decided to play it safe and I trekked home.
The next day, as we all gathered to continue our wild adventures of young ignorance, I had to confront my friend, especially since there were others present to join in the ridicule. And there was much mockery and laughing and shame. Well, maybe not shame. But as soon as our throats became raw from all the taunting, one of my other friends shared another story. Apparently, this wasn't the first time my friend's chronic masturbatorial habits infringed upon the comfort of others.
About two months prior, his roommate and another friend had returned home with a few "dancers" from the skin bar. As the roommate unlocked and opened the front door, there sat my friend, passed out in a chair with his pants around his ankles in front of a TV that was blasting out Dirty Doctors Volume Four. The "ladies" had to wait on the stoop for three or four minutes while my friend was helped to his room by the shouts and sharp kicks of his roommate.
But even that tale isn't the crown jewel of his escapades. The best story came from my friend himself. To this day, WHY he chose to tell us this story remains a complete mystery. Perhaps he was able to step outside his body, and see that the story was so fantastic that it couldn't be contained. Or perhaps he was born without a sense of shame or dignity. He did become a lawyer, after all.
...
My friend was (and still is) an avid golfer, and was constantly striving to improve his game. Hours at the driving range, some coaching from a golf pro, gimmicky products...my friend tried all kinds of ways. He even went so far as to video tape himself both putting and swinging, in an effort to see where he needed to make improvements.
So, the Thanksgiving before he headed off to college, all of his extended family was at his parents house, and he and his uncle began discussing golf. My friend mentioned that he had taped his swing and his putting, and his uncle insisted that they watch the tape. Soon cousins and aunts and grandmothers were all gathered around the television in the living room, waiting to see the golf swing tape.
They all examined his golf swing, and his uncle quickly concluded that my friend was swaying his hips too much before he made contact with the ball. They (the entire family) sat and watched and waited for the swinging to give way to the putting footage.
They were then treated to a slight amount of static, followed by roughly three seconds of my friend vigorously fingering the perpetrator, followed by a bit more static, followed by putting footage.
According to my friend, nobody talked much after that. Not even during dinner. Except for his grandmother, who burst out laughing every time she looked at him.
...When my friend finished telling his story, every question we threw at him started with the word "why". I never did get an answer to my favorite question: "Why the fuck would you film yourself rubbing one out?" I mean, if you want to know what you look like when you're milking your own udder, get a damn mirror. Or just look down for christ sake.
I can understand why some guys feel the need to film themselves having sex with women: because those guys are horrible shitbags void of character. But solo? Filming your self masturbating is just retarded.
Rejected titles for this post:
Ease Up On Your Backswing
Loosen Your Grip
Widen Your Stance
Freak to this kickin' Billy Squire/Lil Kim/Fiddy mashup - The Stroke/Magic Stick
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Need a laugh? Click THIS LINK and scroll down to the part labeled Anomalous Anal Ghost Phenomena. I almost wish it was a joke. Almost. That's just about the best excuse I've EVER heard.
