my shit story part deux, continued
My plan at this point was to head back to the dorm, catch an hour-long nap, then go to my next class. It didn't work out that way. After getting home, I find the room empty. No Stoney. No Skank. I get into MY bed this time, and crash. A few minutes later Stoney comes in. "Hey Bro! How you feelin'?" "Euuuuuuh," was still all I could say. "Dude, I can't be-LEEEEEVE that chick was a virgin!" Still a little slow at this point, I'm like: "What chick?" "That chick I brought home last night. I fucked her, and then she tells me she was a virgin." Okay, he's telling me this WHILE I'M STILL IN THE BED WHERE THE DEFLOWERING TOOK PLACE. AHHHHHH!!!! I immediately jump out and start wiping myself off, like that would have helped. "Oh, no worries, dude. There's no blood. I checked." Great. There was just no way for me to find any reassurance in that statement. "But seriously, Dude. You've gotta get back over to the house and clean your SHIT up." Holy Fuck! The log! The underwear! As Cameron Frye would say, "Whooooooa! Ohhhhh shiiiiit!!!" "What do you mean?" I stammer. "Dude, you threw up all over the floor. And that's the rule. You puke, YOU clean it up, Bro." That I could handle. Maybe there really wasn't a log in a pair of my drawers on the floor in the shitter after all. I mean, I was drunk. Maybe I just imagined it. But I know I didn't imagine the shit on my back. That was there. No question. Oh well. I just went with the flow. It was Friday. It was all good, Bro. I told Stoney after my class I'd be over to de-puke his pals' living room floor. The Stoners were happy to see me. That was nice. After all, I was finally gonna clean up the 10-hour old puke. But more importantly, I was the entertainment. It's always good to have your entertainment back for another round. I politely declined their offer of a beer, because I didn't want to add to the puke mess I had to deal with. Much to my surprise, there wasn't that much to clean. So I got the job done fast. But I wasn't about to get out of there that easily. "Dude, when you're done, come outside and check this out." I walked past the couch and out the back door, thinking to myself "Hmmm, that's funny. What happened to that one couch cushion?" And there it was. Out on the grass in the backyard--that poor couch cushion. And my big, nasty, smashed, ground in, light-brown, refried bean-looking smeared pile on top of it getting eaten by a a bunch of flies. The stoner's little dog looked at me like, "Are you kidding me? You're a human, right? Way to be, Champ." Bracing for the worst humiliation of my life since tumbling down the stairs of a stranger's house on Halloween Night 1981 in my Big Bird costume, I hear one Stoner say to another, "You've gotta stop getting that dog stoned, Bro." "Dude, I know, I know. Such a bad one." Such a bad one, indeed. state of the log
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