Quote:
Originally Posted by Wonton Prejudice
I live vicariously through ANYONE who created tales of hedonism in their formative years.
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Well then...here's the tale.
At a party Homecoming weekend of my sophomore year, and I'm your general inebriated, obnoxious 19 year old. I start talking to these two girls on the deck. They are cute enough, especially where I went to school. I start to ply my sociopathic charm, swilling Natural Lights, taking the occasional pull from their bottle of Peppermint Schnapps. The subject turns to food, more specifically, cookies. I say "cookies sound good". They say, "come over to our dorm and we'll make you some."
(This is point one in the story that certifies me as a fool who is all brains and not enough cock and balls)
I respond not with "yes", but "I'll take you over to my place and make you pasta."
Huge tactical error. Eventually, we leave. The girl I'd rather hook up with is in the backseat. I drive our drunk asses not to my place to strip mine their asses and drill for ejaculate, but to the ****ing grocery store, where I purchase a bottle of spaghetti sauce and angel hair pasta.
As we get back near my place I hear the hotter girl in the back tell me to roll down the window. I do. She doesn't make it. Bitch pukes on my leather jacket.
I throw her over my shoulder like the 150 lb. caveman I was at the time, drop her ass on my thinly carpeted concrete floor, and slam the door of my room, turning my full attention to girl number two.
At this point I sit her on the couch and begin cooking the ****ing pasta, because, again, I'm a ****ing moron. I've never made spaghetti before. I don't boil water, I just heat up a thin tin Wal-Mart pot, throw in the sauce and pasta, and wait for it to bubble, assuming it's finished.
We "eat" the pasta. It ****ing sucks. I take a bite and throw it in the sink.
We eventually go into my room. Girl #2 is still passed out on the floor. Eventually we start fooling around after I make some kind of suave move like, "Well...derrrr....wanna make out...derrr..."
So we're doing our thing, we finish, start going at it again. She notices a video camera on top of my television.
Tactical mistake #3 coming:
She asks me if I want to film it, I hem and haw and then say "nah...better not."
Then, I say, "We could have girl #2 film it," at which point she says, "we could have her join in,"
And, with the dumbassery approached historically only by Neville Chamberlain, Rich Kotite, or Nero, I say, "We probably shouldn't."
Eventually we are lying on my bed bareassed. Girl #2 wakes up from her drunken stupor and says, "I'm cold," to which I respond, "Here, warm up with this," throwing her a towel I had placed beneath us, covered with various wet and dried bodily secretions.
We eventually pass out. The next morning girl #2 has disappeared. Girl #1 thinks she has missed her Homecoming parade and will have hell to pay. Turns out someone set their sorority's float on fire overnight.
As the cherry on top, some weeks later she invites me to her formal, and despite having no ass on the immediate horizon I tell her I'll call her back, then never do so, passing up easy sex.
Many times I have the sense of a suicide bomber who straps Black Cats around his waist.