Everyone On This Board Has Died, This Means I Get to Be Emperor

More, then. I told just about my only good story.

All right Lupus, fair enough...but I can only find one.

And Jane, I'm all whiney because I don't laugh at my own stories, only other people's. Particularly yours and Gucci's.

#11) When I was seven years old, I got my first record. It was the seven inch recording of "Rock Me Amadeus." I listened to it over and over and over. My family grew accustomed to this over a week. When my mom had a meeting one night and my babysitter came over, she had not.

She showed up with her boyfriend, as usual and I went up to my room. About the twelfth time I played it she came in the door. She walked over calmly, took it off the spindle and snapped it in half. She said something like "we'll be having some quiet time now." She left and I did something else, don't ask me what.

About an hour later, I went downstairs and saw my babysitter and her boyfriend naked on the couch lying down and bouncing, or something. Now I hear they call this sex. She saw me, yelled for me to go back to my room, and I did.

Later when my mom asked how things went, I told her "Heather and her boyfriend were all naked and on the couch together. And she broke my record."

A day or so later my mom told me that from now on when she worked her night job, I would be babysitting myself as an extra adventure. "It'll be fun. You'll see."

I could have given a rat's ass about the sex, I just wanted another Falco LP. I never got one, damn it...

All I do is tell stories. I have a short story about telling stories, that's how much I love stories.

Prototype. That is a story of legendary proportions. Hats off to you, my good man.

Also, for the record, I thought Gucci and my's stories were the best example of twisted humanity. Just goes to show what kind of person you are, prototype.

Embarassing one? Let me think. Hmm, that's not a very good one but the first that comes to mind. It is summer and we go to a friend's summer house for a swim (a guy that I happen to fancy). We return from the beach, his whole clan is there: parents, little brother, grandfather, grandmother, an uncle and a couple of family friends. they invite us to dinner out in the garden and we accept. I'm hitting it off fabulously with the grandpa, he finally found a girl who likes her drink. And we keep toasting each other. we run out of booze, so we cycle to the local supermarket and get some more. We keep drinking. The grandfather after a while goes to bed, I go to a quiet corner in the garden to drunkenly contemplate my love. Kid brother comes and says something along the lines she's gonna climb on the tree (I could have imagined that part, though). There is indeed a tree, some distance away from the garden wall, and I think 'what a load of crap, I have no intention to climb any fucking trees.' Next thing I do, I start climbing on the tree, and from ther go to the wall. I tightrope walk some ten meters of the wall, I do some acrobatics and land on the roof. I walk up the roof. I walk down the roof on the other side and wave hello to the dinner party. My friend's mom has a fit and pleads with her husband to get me down before I break my neck. I say no worries and come down by myself. Next thing I remember I am in the bathroom throwing up (of course) and the grandmother is making me some extra bitter coffee. Amusing note: the grandfather the next day remarked that they must've had mice in the house -he could hear them moving around the roof at night...

What happened to the crush after that?

Or for that matter, why not sleep with grandpa? I rarely get along with someone that well on first meeting.

Well, his parents still adore me. The guy loves me and from time to time falls in love/lust with me. I never did anything with the grandpa but I did snog the kid brother at Christmas...

You'll have to help me here. I know snog is a UK euphemism for something, but I can't remember what and I've got my finger on speed dial for the kiddie porn division of Interpol...

Kiss would be a good translation. Or make out. What do you mean, kiddie porn?! He was thirteen...

Yeah, I think 13 classifies as kiddie porn. But I'll hold off the call if it was just a kiss...

just a kiss, I swear! Well, since I couldn't have him, I had to find a substitute. I would go for the dad if I didn't like the mom so much...

Bingo. Natch. Game point.

I want another damn story from someone. I'm bored as hell, primed to laugh and shouldn't go to sleep.

*thinking* Incidentally, what time is over there?
*still thinking*

It's 3:45 in the morning. I have a chapter of my book to finish writing, and I don't want to do it. I have a book to read and don't feel like reading it. There are a few friends passed out in my living room, so I shouldn't go watch a movie. Bored, bored, bored....

Is this working as a guilt trip? Will I get a story out of it?

I have just realised that i have spent all night in the computer lab not doing the essay I should have handed in a month and, um, nine days ago. So feel no guilt.
As for the story I guess the drunken saga continues. And this time it involves high school reunions. I always go there with the full intent to show what a cool, serious and all-together person I have become. Instead...
Reunion#1. I didn't even know about that. I bumped across a schoolmate of mine who told me. I was having coffee with a friend, so I brought her along. We went to a really nice tavern, had oceans of lovely red wine. Apart from kissing my friend at the request of the boys, I launched into a long, abusive monologue against a guy I never really liked. Then I kind of passed out and lay slumped on the table, trying to focus at my knife for about 35 minutes before I gathered myself enough to raise my head. Not exactly the impression I'd like to give.
Reunion #2 Tavern again. Red wine again. People keep coming in, so we keep moving one place to the right. And at some point I move again one place to the right, but there is no chair and I fall down to general amusement. That night I also learn that because of my antics in the last reunion I'm now believed to be a lesbian. Normally I wouldn't care but I'm drunk and take it to heart. aftere confessing to a girl that I was marking her down as absent even though she was attending the classes (she didn't believe me) I go home, phone long distance the crush from previous story who was then studying in England, complain and demand to be told a story to go to sleep. I fall asleep still holding the phone and he keeps yelling my name to make me hang up.
Reunion #3 Guess where we went. Yes, a tavern. Guess what I did. Yes, drank red wine. There was live music and I somehow I was moved and started crying. I had never let those jerks see me cry in six years. Anyway, by the time i got a grip on myself, changes had happened. Our group had got quite pally with the next table. Someone there had his birthday and they gave us one of their birthday cakes and cigars. I found myself facing an annoying guy that was trying to hit on me. I tried to explain that it wasn't a good time for me and I would appreciate being left alone. He didn't get the hint. He insisted and at length I had to threaten him with the cake. He kept saying something like he wouldn't mind a cake in the face from a girl like me. To cut a long story short, I finally threw the cake in his face. We had to leave the tavern in a hurry...
Reunion #4 Resolved that i wouldn't get drunk and I didn't. But some innocent joke ended in one of my classmates offering me money to have sex with him. If you're wondering, I didn't accept. I think i avoid reunions in the future.
God, my storytelling skills really suck now. The stories are really lame, but then, I had no sleep or coffee. You probably fell asleep by now.

Jesus. You should maybe avoid the reds from now on. Maybe at least move on to a Chardonnay?

And how often do Scots have high school reuinions? They're only every ten years here, so unless you're 58, I'm buggered for an answer.

And I'll see that drunk story and raise you another.

#12) I used to be all new agey and stuff. This was during the drug phase of my life, so I have an excuse. I was head over heels in love with this girl named Ann who eventually became my ex-fiancee. We had been best friends for a few years and worked together. We had lived together for a while with her boyfriend, then they broke up and we both moved to other places. She invited me to her new apartment for a Christmas party.

I had been fasting for some fucking dumb hippie quasi-Buddhist poseur reason and had intended to keep it up. But when I got there it was just the two of us and there was a mistletoe incident, as cliched as that is. Just a peck for a kiss, but I was so head over heels I read into it. She begged me to have a glass of champagne with her before everyone got there. What was I going to say?

Things you should know for the future: If you have a stomach that's been completely empty for three days, one glass of champagne will fuck you right up. It will also allow your brain the room to scream through every vein of your body "HAVE ANOTHER GLASS!!!!!"

So to cut to the chase, I drank a bottle and a half of the shit. I have flashes of the night, but what I know comes to me through pictures a friend who came took, mostly.

What I do remember is when our boss showed up and started making out with Ann. She told me that they'd been together for a few weeks and she had to keep it "on the QT" because he could get fired. She actually said "on the QT," which I attribute to him because otherwise I have to believe I once was in love with a girl who said things like that of her own free will.

This fucking guy was sooooo into Nascar he had a hat.
This fucking guy was sooooo into Metallica he had a "Metalli-fuckin-ca" tattoo.
This fucking guy had a cranial ridge that just begged for phrenology to be reinstated as a scientific discipline.

So, naturally, as drunk as I was, I tried to hit him, and instead fell face first into his crotch as he was sitting down. I turned my head to the side and said "see, Ann, I bet heeee doesn't know the physics of a black hole."

I don't know if I was being poetic or literal by that. Use your discretion.

So after that it's a mystery. There are some pictures of me inside a garbage bag, a laundry bag, a sleeping bag. In all three, I'm trapped. There's a nude picture of me throwing up on myself in a bathtub. I look excited.

The next day I wake up in my own bed. I passionately HATE drunk driving. I think it's a moronic thing to do. But yet, I wake up in my own bed with my dog (who had been recently adopted and had also recently had puppies she really missed and tried to care for by effigy quite often) trying to make me suckle from her.

That, by the way, is the most disturbing way I've ever woken up.

I had a hangover so bad I thought I had taken acid. Things melted, I was that broken. I could barely walk.

My friend who took the pictures mercifully destroyed them after a year or so, and it turned out I must have crawled through the basement window to drive home. I don't remember this. No one saw me leave. And I really can't imagine how I pulled it off, the sheer mechanics of doing it, with the shape I was in the next day.

Ann? She didn't talk to me for a year.

he he, nice one. Incidentally:
-> I am not a Scot. As I have said many times before, i am Greek.
-> We do about one reunion a year. Why, i hear you ask? Beats me. It must be true love.
-> Nothing wrong with Metallica (although i would't get a tattoo)
->I'll stick to the reds. It was the huge quantity, not the quality. And I don't remember having serious hangovers afterwards (just general cringing with shame). If I switched to whites, I'd be sure to be retsina (shamelessly doing propaganda for fabulous national products)
-> more stories please? To rephrase Marla 'you have to keep me awake... all day...'

Where did I get the impression you were Scottish? Or in Scotland?

I've got more stories, I'm sure, but I can't think of any off the top of my head.

And besides, it's your turn.

OR ANY OF THE LURKERS OUT THERE.

Ahem.

I am in Scotland for a year. Going back to the sun and happiness in, let me see, 18 days

Ah. Got it.

and there are no lurkers around. Just you and me from 3.000 members. where has everyone buggered off to?

There are four anonymous members. Hiding. Lurking.

And either way, it's not my turn.

Quid pro quo, Clarice.

Ooh, I like that. Let's hope you don't end up feeding me DNT's brain.
But damn, I have to think again. Any special preferences in stories?

Nope.

Always good to make someone laugh though. Human stupidity is a plus.

Damn. Writer's block. There should be stories, I embarass myself all the time. Maybe you could write one to get me kick-started?

Cheater.

Cheater, cheater, cheater.

Fine, narrow it down a bit for me since I think I've typed out all the ones I think of right off the top of my head.

Fuck. Had just typed story and got logged out. i'll have to do it again. Daaaaaaaamn

That REALLY blows. I usually get so demoralized when things like that happen, even when Works or Word crashes on me that I don't ever redo what I did.

This has hurt my writing career immensely.

the episode's title is Pranks That Failed. Some years ago, one of my friends (let's call her K) had an affair with a guy doing his National Service in the army (it is compulsory in Greece). He was her first. They communicated by phone and letters. Her parents being conservative, she didn't want them to know, so he sent the letters to her name but my address, and I played postman. One day we were gathered at another friends house, and sure enough, she had a letter. We called her and waited for her to show up. in the meanwhile we got bored and considered opening the letter. This, however, was WRONG. And it was decided that I should forge a letter. I didn't have a stamp, so I used a... my English fail me now. Thingy like a stamp that you put on official documents and the goverment gets money. Don't even know if you have them at the states. Anyway. We didn't have a rubber stamp, so I drew one with a black marker. And I didn't know the guy's handwriting - I tried to make vaguely boyish letters and remembered to include the necessary spelling mistakes. We never expected that to work. In the letter i wrote that he didn't want to do this by text message or in person, but he wanted to break up with her. He felt that she had used him to lose her virginity and didn't care about him blah blah blah. She is a rather jealous type, so I ended with him sending kisses to the girls and especially me.
When she arrived, she demanded the letter. We played difficult a while, then gave in. She took a good look at the envelope and for a while got us worried. Turns out she was being careful not to tear up the letter as well. She starts reading and halfway through, she has trouble breathing. Then she crumbles it into a ball and bursts into tears. She is crying her heart out and we are frozen where we are, because we simply cannot believeit. One of us is hugging her, another is whispering 'Tell her! Tell her!' Finally we snap out of it and we tell her it is not true, the letter is fake, etc. but she is so worked up she doesn't understand what the hell we're talking about. It took a good quarter of an hour to calm her down. I didn't feel too good afterwards...

I've quoted it about three billion times by now, but again

"...human beings are about a thousand times dumber and meaner than they think they are." - Kurt Vonnegut

But nice one. See page two of this thread for a human cruelty story of mine, if you didn't already. Give me a minute and I'll tell another.

I'll give you the minute.

Well, I went out and did things last night just so I could have some stories to tell on this thread. It's pretty life-enrichening. Everyone should try it.

Emin and I went to the movies and I told Emin to pick out three women for me to hit on, regardless of age and attractivity. It didn't take him long.

1.) Our first victim was a girl in a Teen Girl Squad, giggling with all her idiot friends, all of them being relatively attractive [b]except[/b], of course, the girl Emin had chosen. This chick was skinny and pale, with a wierd cleft-chin and bangs cut straight across. Perhaps she was the younger sister tag-along. None of them were older than 15, I should think.
I set the plan in action, tossing very specific glances, pretending to talk casually to Emin, edging closer. Then I made my way over, using all my tricks (which include staring directly into her eyes and walking confidently with a half-smirk), and before I had even gotten to them they were all shifting their eyes in my direction and turning their bodies gradually towards one another in conspiracy. I think there was a general air of surprise when I spoke to the Cleft Chin and did not even glance at the cutest of the bunch (reminded me of American Beauty) . They became deathly silent, grinning and what-the-fuck-not.
"Listen," I began, applying all those hard-earned acting school techniques. "I've been trying to come up with a good pick-up line since I saw you, but this is really the best I've got. You are absolutely beautiful" -- I could hear Emin snickering and had to swallow my own desire to laugh -- "and if you would do me the honor, I would love to take you out sometime."
Dude, it couldn't have been any fucking better. She clamped up, turned a bright shade of pink, tried to speak and kind of just mumbled. So one of her friends, acting extremely excited for her little friend/sister/thing, told me the number, which I wrote on the back of one of those BoFlex cards. My cheek muscles hurt I was smiling so hard, and I kept trying to turn away so they wouldn't see me grinning. I suppose if they saw me they would only suspect I was giddy about the success of the encounter. (Emin was gone, I found out later that he was further back near the bathroom, desperately choking his laughter.)
I managed somehow to control my face muscles and said, "And by the way, I hope you're into midget sex."
And then I winked, shoved the BoFlex card in my back pocket and strolled away. Needless to say, they exploded with giggles and OH MY GAWDs a few seconds after I was "out of earshot" (they knowing full well that I was not).

Wow, that was longer than I expected. I'll tell you of the second and third, should you wish to hear them, when I've got more time.

Oh man, that was just fucking mean.

Bwuahahahaha. Yes. Yes, it was. Maybe I'll call the girl just to give her some lovin'. This one is the worst of the three. I've written them as clearly as I can remember, but obviously it's a little fudged. Adrenaline drowns effective memory.

2.) Second victim, Emin chooses a slutty-looking Latino woman --somewhere between 23 and 28 by the looks of her-- who is standing in line at the concession stand with an infant in her arms and a three-year old poking at her butt. From my slippery grasp of sociology I would guess that she had gotten pregnant as a teenager, been deserted, then done it all over again. I also assumed she was single, wearing a double-caked gloss of pink lipstick, a cleavage-friendly black shirt, and white capri pants two sizes too small. No wedding band on her finger that I noticed -- you wear it on the left hand, correct? Her right hand was cupped under the baby's butt, so I couldn't see.
Anyway, I didn't have the balls to pull the exact same stunt with this chick, so I just walked past her and then stopped suddenly -- as if in shock.
"What are you doing here?"
She blinked a few times and replied, "Excuse me?" or something to that effect. She had surprisingly good English, but her voice was strangely high.
I take pride in my performances, hence the reason I am an actor. I became flustered and spoke quietly, as if I didn't want anyone else to hear. "You don't call me for a week and then I find you [i]here[/i], with the kids? I thought you said you were SICK?"
She kind of grinned wryly, amused but peeved. "Oh, I get it. That's real fucking cute." -- she said that phrase exactly.
"Yeah, I try." The toddler was looking up at me with a grin and the infant was swatting at her neck. The one emotion I absolutely cannot stand is pity, which I had for them at that moment. I didn't know what to do after that, so I just smiled weakly at her son and grumbled, then walked away. "Nice kids."
She shook her head and turned back towards the concession stand.
Even Emin didn't get much of a chuckle from that one. I begged him to let me approach someone hot and someone my age, which would be an actual attempt and not a prank. He said fine, but we could not find anyone suitable at that time and so we saw the movie, The Matrix Reloaded, which I had already seen.
We found her after the movie.
On to numero tres.

I am having a salinger moment:

"I went down by a different staircase, and I saw another "Fuck you" on the wall. I tried to rub it off with my hand, but it was scratched on, with a knife or something. It wouldn't come off. It's hopeless, anyway. If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn't rub out even half the "Fuck you" signs in the world. It's impossible."

That fills me with joy.
Yes, it's certainly a serious issue!
I do believe I am a carver of Fuck You. With the last encounter, the karma came back around anyway, mirk, so you can relax. You don't have to save the world from us.

3.) Upon exiting the Matrix, both of us feeling that familiar Fight Club tingle of mischief, we spot the last target just as she disappears into Legally Blonde 2 or some shit. She was with a group.
"That one, right there. And you're coming with me this time, you pansy."
We trickle in after them. It's a big stadium-seating theater, complete with the red plush and reclinable cup-holders. It's a group of two white girls, a Spanish girl (my target) and one black guy, who have made their way to the very top row. In retrospect, I must have been high on the night's stupidity to not realize that these people were not here to see the movie.
I walked up the stairs, Emin close in tow, feeling the old familiar throb of anxiety in my gut. You'd think you would become adjusted to it and it would stop happening, but for me, the adrenaline is always there, it's just a matter of knowing how to cover it up.
They are tucked away to the far right corner, and no one else save two guys at the opposite end are on the row. Emin and I sit down next to them, the order being Emin, Me, the Latino, White Girls, Black Guy. That is when I realize suddenly that the girl is not at all Spanish, she is an extremely tan Caucasian. Disgusting, salon-brand, painted tan. Nevertheless, I had come so far...
"Hello."
Tan Girl seems at first interested, her response a soft, "Hi." Then, as the white girls and black guy lean forward in disbelief to look at us assholes, she remembers her place and becomes Insta-Ghetto. "Whut tha fuck you want?"
"Just conversation."
I can't help but smile, and then as I look them all over I realize they are up here to fuck each other, and we are intruding. Interesting. I wasn't quite ready to go yet, however.
"Maybe she doesn't want to fucking talk to you, herb," White Girl #2 says.
"That's fine. We'll watch the movie, then."
And I sit back and Emin gives me his famous nervous glance.
"Hold up. Let me sit next to this motherfucka."
Uh-oh, its Rodney King. The black guy gets up and the three girls scoot down. He sits very close to me and leans into my face. He does not look tough in any sense of the word. He has one of those stupid faces, if you know what I mean. "You betta git your ass up, nigga."
I look calmly into his eyes, which took some effort, as I was feeling the itch of violence take its hold. "I'll just watch the movie, thanks."
"Oh, you're a smart ass, huh?" He turns to the girls, making a big show of this. "He thinks he's fucking smart."
And then he takes off his shoe. "I'mma kick your ass, bitch," he declares, brandishing the shoe. If I wasn't so caught up in the moment I might have mocked him severely, for surely he did not mean to kick my ass in his socks. Beat me over the head with the sneaker, maybe? It was an act.
"Alright, man," I said, chuckling. "You got me there. You win."
And I stood up to go. I began to walk away when -- SURPRISE -- he shoves me as hard as he can and knocks me into Emin. There is something you must understand about Emin. He flares quickly. He is vicious in Cappucino. I was impressed when he did not push me aside and knock this kid in the face. He got between us instead, saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa," as is common with interluders. "You wanna get the fucking cops on us, dude?"
I was trying not to appear tousled, but I was angry. He was roughly my size. I figured with one well-landed punch I could knock him over the side into the row below us. I pictured it several times later that evening, in varying degrees of carnage. But I just looked at him and walked away, leaving him to his "bitches", as he no doubt called them.
The two guys at the opposite end of the row snickered as we passed them, which, as you can guess, made me feel plenty less angry.
We left.

Rough night, Auri?

And what's this concept of "going out" I don't understand. I'm not familiar with it. You say there are things outside of this BBS? Strange. Like science fiction.

#13) I am shy. Painfully shy. Anyone I've ever dated has been someone I'm close friends with for a while first just because I'm really too shy to make a pass at someone.

Well, more or less. When I was 18, I decided this had to change. And I've tried my luck 4 times since. The result being I am shy. Painfully shy.

The first time took a lot of drugs to bolster me. I was all coked up, but not noticably so. Cocaine is a wonderful thing for the weak of self-esteem beause it's instant confidence powder. Christ powder. I was at work, cooking this one day and there was a hostess who I had had my eyes on since I started. We'd had a few conversations over smokes in the break room, before I dropped out and then she did too, we had both gone to the same college. We were both looking for new ones. She thought I was funny. So it wasn't totally out of left field.

Later that day, even though I had resolved to do it that morning, I "happened" to casually end up in the break room smoking right when she came in. We started talking, and someone called me back to the kitchen, so I stood up. So did she.

I said "Hey, do you want to go out and get a cup of coffee sometime?"

And I've mentioned before, I'm not overweight, nor ugly. I may not be Brad Pitt, but what she did was unwarranted, I thought.

She started at my feet, and looked me from there to my face, painfully slowly, like she was mentally undressing me or something. She gets this furrowed look and says simply "No." And then she walks away.

So I'm cooking again and I should mention that I had used the same pants to cook in for three years by that point. They weren't dirty as I washed them once a day, but grease takes its toll on cotton after a while.

I bent to get some hashbrowns and all of a sudden the kitchen got a lot cooler. I was happy about this. Hot air rises, I remembered. I went on cooking.

Later I bent to get more hashbrowns and that hostess came back to tell the kitchen something and she stopped and said "did you know you have a rip all down the back of your pants?"

Let me add that at this point in my life, I was a commando. No underwear for me. And this rip was wide, WIDE open, affording a scenic view of my ass and the backside of my hanging member.

I abruptly quit my job and went home. With no ass in your pants, leather car seats are quite hot in the summer.

That was about enough embarrassment to keep me from asking someone out again for the next two years. Seriously.

You should tell that story to the ladies.

Yes.

That way I can never have sex again.

Good idea.

Actually, that's the best of the four experiences, the other three are progressively messier.

Ok, now I'm listening.

Proto,

If I lived in NY and was single, I would be all over you. Really. And I'm not the only one. Ladies?

Agreed. The 'painfully shy' thing is oddly endearing and what is better than a bloke who is not afraid of self-ridicule? away with pretentious bastards who present themslves as perfect!

Alex, you masochist.

And Mirkah, you all the way across the country tease...

#14) So two years after that I was into this girl. She was aphysically perfect specimen in my book, but that was actually secondary to how cool she was. She and I had the same birthday which got her talking to me, weird as that is, and we discovered that we were both artists, both eccentric. She seemed sooooo awesome. She was a year younger than me at the time, which meant she was 19. She got fired one day and it was my job to call her up and do the "Exit Interview." This is when I was a manager. It's a "why did you quit," "what could we have done to make you stay" type of thing.

During the interview, we broke off and started joking around and talking. After about an hour on the phone nowhere near the interview, I decided to chance it, since she was talking to me and had started the whole thing, I figured maybe this is creepy, maybe not. I asked her out. She said definitely.

The night before we were supposed to go out, a friend of mine who had joined the Marines was home for the two day break between boot camp and whatever the other thing that they do is. So we got pretty fucking drunk. There was all kinds of alcohol at my house, beer, wine, whiskey and some sort of malt liquor type stuff.

The next day she comes over, I don't know how she got there since I lived in the city and she lived with her parents in a suburb. She had no car. She just showed up. She came in and did two things.

#1) Made me feel the bumpiness of the tattoo she had gotten the month before right along her collarbone. This is an odd way to say hello, but for the record, not one I'm opposed to.

#2) Opened my fridge and slammed a beer.

Since we were both artists, and SHE HAD MENTIONED IT, we had planned to go across the street (literally) and check out the last day of the Maxfield Parrish exhibit in town.

She looked out the window after the beer and said "Screw it, let's get hammered."

Oooookay....

So she finishes the beer. I'm nursing a whiskey and coke since my head is still a little rough from last night. She moves on to the whiskey and by the time I'm on my second drink she's had nine beers four or five shots worth of whiskey and has moved onto finishing the wine.

She's not even showing a bit of tipsiness. She's talking a mile a minute though, I can't get in a word edgewise. It's more like watching a TV show than being out with someone. Or in, as the case was. Then she promptly screams

"We should go to my house and have a vegetarian picnic. There's beer there."

I figure, what the hell, whatever she wants to do is fine with me, any plan I had was shot, so why not. She fills a giant beer stein with wine and says "You don't mind if I bring this in your car, do you?"

I was so surprised by this I say "Uh, no."

We go to her house and start cooking soy nuggets, fake chicken, when she passes me a Coors in a can and I start it. She pounds hers and opens another and says "Shit! There were only three. We've got time before the nuggets are done- let's go to my mom's house and steal her beer."

At this point, I really wanted to object, but she gets all flirty and says please so I say alright. I knew that was a ploy, but what the hell. I figured I might as well see where the day was going.

We steal her mother's beer. A twelve pack.
We go back to her house, eat the mildly burnt nuggets and she drinks four or five more.

She starts asking if I have a fake ID, could we maybe go buy some more beer? I tell her I don't which is true. She tells me I [i]have[/i]to call my old roommate, who is 21, and get him to buy us some.

I tell her no, he's out of town, which he's not, but why should I call him? What the fuck is going on?

She starts dancing around and calls me back to her bedroom. At this point, I don't feel like I've made any kind of connection and I don't think I would have been all too comfortable fooling around with her anyways, but she calls me and I follow.

She starts confessing all sorts of things, how she was beaten by her dad when she was a kid, how her last boyfriend made her an alcoholic, how she was once almost dead in a car crash. She's all welled up and says she's so glad I called her, she felt like we could have something special.

This is ambiguous and I'm about to ask her what she means when she puts her hands on my thighs and says "So...why did you call me." She's all coquettish and I'm thinking maybe I could just pull this out. What harm is there in just a bit of making out or whatnot?

I blink and start to say that I was interested, and then I notice, she's fallen asleep. So I cover her up and open her bedroom door to leave and right there, right fucking there ready to knock is the father, I assume she was referring to, who used to beat her.

I just ducked and ran.

That was the second time I ever asked a girl I wasn't already close with out.

proto, your stories are wicked entertaining. i'm sure you don't want us laughing at your pain, but goddamn, i can't help myself. you really know how to tell a story.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by mirkah [/i]
[B]Proto,

If I lived in NY and was single, I would be all over you. Really. And I'm not the only one. Ladies? [/B][/QUOTE]

Agreed, Mirkah.

And moe is right, Proto, these are some of the funniest stories I have ever read. It makes me cringe to think they might all be real. I kind of pretend, in my head, that they're not. I think it makes it a little more bearable.

I feel like posting a morgue story:

So I'm going to work kind of open it was going to be an easy day. It has been raining constantly and it makes me lethargic when the weather is so shitty like this. So I get to the morgue and I am told that we have a big case today. What I didn't realize was that big was meant in a literal sense of the word. The motherfucker was 500 pounds. He was a 34 year old morbidly obese man. The fucking guy was huge. He was a med school dropout because he got depressed after seeing sick people. He basically ate himself to death.

It took 4 guys to move this fatty from the gurney to the autopsy table. I thought I was going to get poked in the eye by one of his enormous tits. The man was also not very fluent in the area of hygiene. He hadn't shaved or cut his hair in months. His beard was touching his gigantic breasts. He also had fingernails and toenails that were beginning to curl. He had feces and dirt caked onto his feet and arms. This motherfucker smelled worse than a decomp case. When we turned him over so the doctor could look at his back side, he had TWO asses. His thighs made another ass. It was horrific. This man really smelled like shit. When we cut him open, there was 6 inches of fat under his skin. That is half a foot. When the autopsy was over and he was all sewed up, it was a very close fit getting him into a body bag.

This fatty was one smelly piece of crap. I don't understand how someone can eat that much. It blows my mind.

I'm tempted to throw myself into a crematorium furnace just to avoid the embarrassment I'm sure to endure on the autopsy table. Then again I'll be dead, maybe I'll eat myself so fat I can't leave the house, so fat you can't airlift me out, that'll teach you medschool fucks a lesson. Oh to hell with it, I'll just go out the normal way, trying to fellate myself while driving.

I want to be cremated regardless, but heck, I'll be dead, they can make fun of my body if they want. I'll haunt them.

we don't make fun of everyone, but this guy was 500 damn pounds and he hadn't bathed in weeks. he deserved it