Drunk driving isn’t the greatest idea in the world, but it was certainly an idea that I was quite known for. Once alcohol was in my system there was no telling what could happen. I was the guy that woke up with a hangover, listening to the atrocious stories of embarrassing events that took place the night before. Alcohol used to be my coping mechanism when shit got rough. It was the way I was able to calm myself down and live deep within the confines of my own depressions. I would wallow away for days on end sipping on Jack Daniel’s and Bourbon while I listened to cheesy club bangers like Cher’s Love after Love, and Jennifer Lopez’s Waiting for Tonight. I would sit in my apartment thinking of the things that I could have done with my life. I thought about my parents, and how they hated me. My sister, Serenity, and how she’s grown to see me for the washed up, alcoholic that I truly am. I am happy that she sees me for what I truly am. It puts my heart at ease to know that I fucked up the one chance I had at being her hero. I hate false hope. She no longer has anyone to look up too, especially when Bliss and Hope died. Bliss and Hope were three years older than me. They were my older sisters; twins. They died in an accident two years ago. It was weird for me because their accident happened a week after my first drunk driving incident. I remember the police telling me that they knew nothing of the person responsible, they simply wrote it off as a hit and run; a road rage. My parents never acted the same after the night, especially toward me. They looked at me with disgust every time I came home. It got to the point where arguing with them was a routine thing. I then did what I do in all situations that are too hard to figure out, I say “fuck it” and start tipping bottles again. That hasn’t been the most successful philosophy for me to live by but who the hell cares, nothing else works.
It was a Saturday night. That’s the fuckin’ night, man. It’s the night where high school girls flaunt about in their skanky, slutty clothing and walk about the dance floor beckoning older men to pounce like the fuckin’ wild lions that they are. And she was my gazelle, and what a sweet gazelle she was. She screamed tenderness and firmness. She bore the sex appeal all too well, as if she was experienced in the field. Though I loved this game of cat and mouse, it made me to realize something. All these girls were less than human. I found this out by analyzing this cat and mouse game. How does the mouse give up in futility? What impresses these fine specimens to give it all up to a guy they barely know? Well, I made a list. Look at me, Mr. Effeciency. I’ve seen guys sweet talk their way into shit, like myself. We are a pack of suaves that skillfully conceal our inner desperate hungers and desires and recreate the image to make us look cocky and self-centered. I loved that shit too, it was all too easy. There was nothing better than knowing you had that girl wrapped tightly around your finger. It was a solid achievement. The other type of guy is the extremely devilish good looking guy, like my friend Yosh. Those are the guys who can walk into a room and make everyone melt due to the multitude of sexiness that comes with each glance. Their bodies would have to be equally as gorgeous obviously. They had eyes of Gods and sensitive features of Goddesses. Yosh was half Scottish and half Japanese but he was born here. He had features that would make even Brad Pitt and David Beckham look like hobos. If you really got to know Yosh you would see that there wasn’t much to his personality. He was extremely shallow and very unintelligent. He was the type of guy that always said he was doing good rather than well.
The last kind of guy is the funniest kind in my book. I’m talking about the guys with money. The ones that flip that wallet quicker than lightning. They live by the overzealous philosophy that green strips of paper hold the power of compensation for their amazingly bland personalities. They didn’t know how to hold conversation very well. You think they’d take that money and enroll themselves in conversation classes, but who the fuck needs conversation when old Ben Franks can do all the talking for you, right? That was my friend Matt. Matt loved flipping his wallet open to show his bills off to the ladies. Every weekend, like routine, he spent large sums of money on food, drinks, taxis, and anything else the ladies wanted. It was usually the same group of girls that hopped aboard the mooch train heading toward blowjob city. They were called the Jap Squad Five, or at least that’s what we called them. The foxy feminine fancy fallacious fuck-tacular fivesome tagged along almost every weekend. They knew if they wanted something, they could always come to Matty for it. The Jappy jubilants consisted of Elenor “reach-around” Schwartz, Jennifer “dome loving” Connoly, Tiffany “Vir Gina” Wellington, Allison “ZJ” Fernberg, and Liza “KAY Lube” Sommers. The nicknames are pretty much self explanatory. The only one that is open for questioning is the nickname of Allison Fernberg. A ZJ is when the gazelle plays a crafty game of tug-of-war on your thunder-dome while you’re sleeping. I know, it’s fuckin’ weird.
I must give Matty some credit though. Matt knows the game very well. His consistent philosophy was: If he’s loanin they better be bonin’, no questions asked. The Jap Squad Five were fully aware of his notion and they agreed with it just as long as they were financially taken care of. As for us, as long as we were ridin’ strap with Matt, we got some too, so it was all good. It felt dirty though, I must admit. We rotated and switched Japs each week and told no one of our arrangement. It was dirty that we were basically paying for sex. Actually Matt was paying for our sex. It was no different than prostitution. That’s when I decided to only take part in his little game of prostitution when the thunder-dome needed washing. Think about it, how many relationships in the world are based on money. How many gold digging bitches are out there flocking outside law firms and hospitals like fucking vultures waiting to swoop up a wealthy successful man in power? How many young whores are out there tearing away married men from their families and feeding their inner most desires with sheer wickedness and atrocities? It’s the wickedness and temptation that closely resembles that of the Devil in the book of Genisis. You know what I’m talking about, Adam and Eve? We, as a people, cut our imaginations short as to what society portrays. Fuck that, because prostitutes aren’t just the women working the streets at night in broken down ghettos with nothing but sleazy two pieces with glittered designing, mismatching colored high heels and exotic names like Candy, Lexus, Chandelier and Champagne. You can find a prostitute anywhere. You’ve heard the Kanye song, Gold Digger, haven’t you? Prostitutes can be found anywhere in any type of neighborhood and clothing. It isn’t just limited to the ghettos, ladies and gentlemen. Soccer moms, house wives, single women, divas, hoes on the side, one night stands, teenage girls, college chicks, secretaries, waitresses, teachers and even nuns can all very well be prostitutes. I guess it’s safe to say that a vast majority of women are prostitutes. But think about it some more, we’ve all played that “would you ever” game. We would all do things for large sums of money. We have all gotten that question with the same damn format, “Would you ever eat out Kanya Lickmabalz for $100,000?” We all know full and well that Kanya’s got a dirty vajayjay but we say yes anyway because we all know how awfully greedy we are. In a sense, we are all prostitutes in our own creative sense. And the prostitute infested world keeps spinning with a majority of its people in absolute denial.
I was standing in the corner of the room nervous and unsure of myself. I usually burn with confidence but tonight it was weird because it was the first time, in a long time, that I was hunting for fresh prey rather than the tamed pussy of the Jap Squad Five. I knew I needed help and with Yosh and Matt already getting ladies I had to turn to my friend Jack Daniels. Jack Daniels was an odd friend. He always wore black, he was extremely and unnecessarily strong and he came in all sizes. Jack was really reliable when shit got tough. He somehow always convinced me that nothing matters, that we can act whichever way we choice and nothing will happen. There won’t be any consequences. Walking over to the table I whipped out my UPenn shot glass and screamed out my infamous three worded question: “Who wants shots?” I shot a look across the dance floor and caught the eye of several ladies. I flicked my index finger, beckoning them over just as they beckon me with their coquettish attire. Three gazelles approached Jack and me. One was blonde with blue eyes. She was wearing a black, very low-cut, tank top complimented with a pink hoodie that bore Victoria’s Secret pink labels all over the sleeves. This heart racing combo was then finished off with tight spandex leggings that hugged the ass tightly as if its life depended on it. I could tell I knew where she wanted my thunder-dome to go. “What’s your name sweet heart,” I ask.
Sex.
Pure Bliss.
Juvenile.
Innocence.
Intolerable fantasy.
She looked at me with a guilty glance, as if she did something wrong. “My name is Paulina Stevens, I’m a sophomore.” I already made her nickname in my mind and rewound it a hundred times as if it were here actual name. Just by looking at the size of her nose and the way she flicked her golden blonde hair I can read that she likes it up the bum hole. I had two good nicknames in mind and it was pretty damn close. Her new name was Paulina “up the bum” Stevens with Paulina “rectum-requesting” Stevens a close second. Her rush to tell me that she was a sophomore came along with the worry of her being younger than what she had previously indicated. Being a freshman in college I have done away with high school freshman girls all together but she clearly wanted me. I was so wasted it kind of didn’t matter because I was ready to make an exception. However, kind of wasn’t good enough for me. I needed to make this completely ok and I think a couple of shots of Svedka would do the trick.
So I made a proposal, “Hey Paulina. Wanna take shots? I’m in the mood for some vodka, straight up, no shit.” Even I could tell my body language was a bit off. I’m sure she could tell I was smashed.
“Are you sure you can have more to drink? You look like you’ve had a lot already.” Her adorable innocence didn’t directly match up with the portrait of seduction she previously displayed. It was ok though, her childish innocence turned me on. It made me want her even more. Her clear concern and lackluster conviction set a spark off in my mind. I want her.
“No, no. Don’t worry about me, beautiful. I can manage. Come with me, let’s go take some shots.” She still seemed unconvinced that I was ok. Maybe it had to do with the fact I knocked down a vase in the process of my explanation. “Seriously, I’m ok. I promise,” I continued.
With much authority she walks toward me and grabs my hand. She leads me away from the living room and into the hallway. God lives in the hallway, and I’m sure of it after seeing the blinding lights omitting from the bathroom doorway. I was in heaven now, I’m sure of it. Paulina closes the door and sits me down on the toilet seat. It was as if I was God now, and this seat was my throne. Opening the cabinet, up the bum Stevens takes out eight shot glasses, “If we’re going to do this, then we are going to do this right, ok?” Jesus, she fuckin’ means business. Completely convinced by her overzealous enthusiasm, I pull out the bottle of Svedka from under the bathroom sink. “Let me pour, I don’t want you spilling it ever where,” she says laughingly. She sets each shot glass adjacent from the next, filling each of them to the brim. “Let’s go, sexy,” she says.
I rise from my godly throne, in heaven, feeling the most wonderful of jubilant feelings. It was a good mixture in between happiness, curiosity and horniness. This angel glances at me one last time and then fixes her gorgeous eyes upon the glasses before her. Four glasses sat on my side of the sink counter and four on her side. We both rose our glasses and she said, “What should we toast to?” What should we toast to? What the fuck kind of question is that. This isn’t a fancy dinner, woman. This is me on the verge of completing my journey to virginity-city and conquering its inhabitants.
I panicked and didn’t know what to say. The first thing that came to mind sprung out of my mouth, “Fuck bitches, get money.” Dammit. I thought I had fucked up for a moment but she didn’t care, she just wanted to get plowed.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise up. This situation began to speak to me. I almost felt guilty for annihilating any small amount of innocence she had left over. The glass came up to my mouth. It was too late.
Fuck, am I a monster?
Shot one down.
No, I shouldn’t feel guilty right?
Shot two down.
Fuck no, it was her decision.
She didn’t have to come here.
Shot three down.
I’m not a monster.
I’m just a man on a mission.
Shot four down.
It’s time to pounce like the fuckin’ lion that I am.
She was horny and ready. How do I know that? Knocking all the shot glasses to the floor and hopping on the counter could have been a vital sign. She un-zippered her soft small pink, sweat-shirt without hesitation and said, “Fuck me here, fuck me now. Take me!” Who the fuck was I to not fulfill her request. She’s requesting now. Do we have time to change her name to Paulina “Rectum-Requesting” Stevens?
I caressed her with passion. Our bodies attracted like magnets and resembled that of true lovers. It was as if our bodies know each other long before her and I were acquainted. We were made for each other and our bodies fit together perfectly. It was a sigh of relief for both of us. It was like that missing puzzle piece you struggled to find, that needle in the haystack, the river in the desert. Her breasts were the epitome of perfection. Her pale white skin complimented the heavenly light of the room. Everything fell into place in a blissful manner. Her soft skin ran goose bumps down my spine. Her fingers, stroking the smalls of my back, made this seem so surreal. The kissing and caressing was then taken to a higher level.
I took her shirt off.
She pulled my pants down.
I unbuckled her jeans.
She unbuttoned my shirt.
Matt walks in with a red plastic cup in hand.
“Matt, what the fuck are you doing in here, man,” I exclaimed.
“Dude, we need to go. It’s an emergency!”
“I’m a little busy right now, Matty. Go throw some money on some bitches outside.”
“Dude, the fuckin’ cops are here shutting shit down! We need to leave now! They have the whole front door blocked off. People are panicking, trying to find a way out.”
My heart was beating faster and I knew my sexcapade had to be put on hold. I pulled my jeans up from my ankles in a hurry. Just then I remember Yosh isn’t with us. “Matt, where the fuck is Yosh?”
“He left a half an hour ago, don’t worry about him. Open the bathroom window, we’re going to get out that way.” Before I knew it Matt was pushing both me and rectum-requesting Stevens out the window. The scene outside was sheer chaos. It was an illustration of mass confusion. People screamed and scattered about in fear and dismay. The yellow parking lot lights complimented the bewilderment of the night. The sounds of sirens drown out the peoples’ screams. The bewildering yellow light was overshadowed by the blue and red lights of the cops cars. Those lights were a national symbol that meant: get the fuck out of there now.
All in a single moment my heaven came crashing down and immediately turned into hell. My sweet angel remained at my side, now fully clothed. Her wet mascara running down her face reminded me of my mother crying at my sisters’ funeral. Her chest rose just as quickly as it fell. Each inhale and exhale contained the fear and innocence of a child. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She panicked. “I need to get out of here, I need to leave! I can’t be here right now, I was supposed to be at church!” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why religion does you no justice. My sweet angel turned back into a gazelle and ran off into the darkness of the night letting out a loud scream that faded with light. I turned around and saw that Matt was no longer next to me. He fuckin’ left me here!
I hop in my car, a shitty black Toyota Camry, and drive away from the scene. I didn’t know where I was going, I just floored it down the fuckin’ street. Heading down a long path my vision began to blur. I realized I couldn’t see anything but the color of the lights that were on the street. A barrage of yellows, reds and greens bombarded my vision and took over my focal view. My car hits several bumps on the way down the street and my tail light hits the concrete. Shit, I’m doing it again. Before I noticed I was driving intoxicated once again. I was fulfilling that expectation and putting my life in danger. I just need to get my car to a safe spot and I’ll stop. The hill began to steepen and the orgy of colors meshed together in a union. My car drifted to the left and my eyesight came back into focus for a moment to see a big yellow sign that read: No Trespassing. Less than a second later my car crashes through the barricade and it continues down a dirt road. I am still unable to see anything and suddenly feel a crash. The airbag pops out of the steering wheel and pushes my face backward against the head rest.
Getting out the car I stumble on the gravel several times until regaining my footing. I see something in the distance but I can’t quite make out what it is. I’m starting to sober up a bit more but my vision hasn’t regained its usual prestige. I hear whispering, I think someone is coming so I hide behind the car. My heart begins pumping harder than the pistons on a car. The whispers get louder and louder as they approach. The sound of the man’s voice almost puts me in cardiac arrest. “Come out! I know you’re there! I saw you run behind the car! If you don’t show yourself I will shoot you!” I don’t move.
A shot is fired into the gravel near my foot and sprays rocks in all directions.
“I’ll give you one more chan---”
“Ok! I’m coming out, now! Don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot,” I plead.
“Alright, but puts your hands where I can see them!”
I raise my hands in the air as if I were in at a Run DMC concert and rise to my feet. Rounding the back of the car I cautiously say, “Don’t sho—” The sight that I had saw stopped me in my tracks. It was a group of midgets dressed in state trooper police officer attire. There were about seven or eight of them all approaching me. Their beige state trooper uniforms all bore their names embroidered in gold lettering. The front midget had brown spiky hair and was holding a hand gun at my face. Where the fuck am I, I thought to myself. I couldn’t help but laugh loudly at this ridiculous spectacle before my eyes. They all look at each other in confusion as to why I was laughing so hard. I put one of my hands down to grasp my stomach from all the laughing. “You guys are…midgets!” My laughter continued. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me! Oh my god! Where the fuck am I?”
“What’s so funny, asshole,” the lead midget asks. “Are you laughing at our height? If you are I can blow your fuckin’ head off right now and I wouldn’t have the slightest bit of remorse about it.”
Ignoring his initial threat I continued on my drunken bantering, “Wowzers, I didn’t know they made costumes your size, man. Wait, wait, you must have gotten those little ensembles at Party City, right? Let me guess, the kids section?”
“I’m warning you! One more fuckin’ word out of your mouth and I’ll destroy you. You think you’re so fuckin’ special because you have longer legs and arms than we do? You deserve nothing more than to burn in hell!” As he finished his little “pity me, I’m a midget” rant three little figures hopped out of the two trees in the distance. The figures approached the adorable little police squad. They all wore blue over coats with furry flapped collars. They complimented this weird look with hats that were equally as odd.
One of the three spoke, “Hey Jeremy, is that bastard bothering you?” With that little blue overcoat and the blonde hair he actually looks a lot like Hermie the elf from the fuckin’ Rudolph the red nose reindeer movies. Jeremy turned around to look at the three elves that joined the fray.
“Hey man! Don’t worry, I’ll handle this,” Jeremy explains.
“Wait a minute,” I begun. “When the fuck did Hermie the elf get here? Of course with the way you dropped from the trees I could have sworn you were Snap, Crackle and Pop. Did you three make me some rice krispie treats? I freakin’ love rice krispie treats.” They looked angry now. Each one of the krispie brothers grinded their teeth in a fitting rage. “Actually the way you dropped out of the tree I could have sworn you were Keebler Elves.” Jeremy walked toward me, and I could tell I wasn’t making things better. “I have a question thought. What is it like to live in a tree? And I’ve always wanted to know how you make the cookies in the tree. That seems like a hard job to have, but damn your cookies are delicious." Jeremy arrived at my feet and looked up to me. “Oh, aren’t you cute with your little uniform. Big bad toddler cop. You’d look cute on my lawn.” In an instant Jeremy lifts his stubby little leg of the ground and kicked me in the balls. I dropped to my knees and he hit me across the face with the butt of his gun. The peanut gallery of midgets in the background all began laughing as they saw me brought down to the floor.
This mad me awfully angry. Wiping the blood off my mouth I sized up Jeremy, ready to make a move. He was too busy laughing with his fellow elves to see me get up off the floor. I quickly rose from my knees and grabbed little Jeremy from his brown spiky hair. I then proceeded to apprehend the gun from his hand and I pull his hair back so that my lips nearly touch his left ear. “You think your so funny you little shit! You leprechauns are causing all these shenanigans and St. Patrick’s Day isn’t even for another five fuckin’ months.” Before I knew it this became a hostage situation. I have never fired a gun before, let alone hold one. Though I was inexperienced I still used what I saw in modern-day American cinema and I pointed the gun at the group of midgets. “Back the fuck up. I don’t want any trouble. I’m not here to steal your lucky charms or your secret Keebler cookie formula! I accidently drove here and I don’t want any trouble. I’m just going to get back into my car and get out of here. I need to get home.” I took a quick glance to my car and saw that the front end was nearly wrapped around the tree. There was no way I was going to be able to drive that. It was totaled. How the hell am I getting out of here? I have no idea what I’m going to do. The only way out of here would be to run for it and hope I make it out of these woods alive.
I redirect the gun to Jeremy’s head and slowly back away. When I get to the edge of the road I let go of Jeremy’s hair and kick him in the back so that he falls forward onto the gravel. I then sprint wildly and aimlessly into the night, like a gazelle, as up the bum Stevens did before. My heart then returned to its previous beating rhythm of a million beats per second. I panicked because I had no food, no water and no means of transportation. My only option was to continue running until I found an exit. If I don’t find one I’ll be forced to sleep here tonight.
It was a Saturday night. That’s the fuckin’ night, man. It’s the night where high school girls flaunt about in their skanky, slutty clothing and walk about the dance floor beckoning older men to pounce like the fuckin’ wild lions that they are. And she was my gazelle, and what a sweet gazelle she was. She screamed tenderness and firmness. She bore the sex appeal all too well, as if she was experienced in the field. Though I loved this game of cat and mouse, it made me to realize something. All these girls were less than human. I found this out by analyzing this cat and mouse game. How does the mouse give up in futility? What impresses these fine specimens to give it all up to a guy they barely know? Well, I made a list. Look at me, Mr. Effeciency. I’ve seen guys sweet talk their way into shit, like myself. We are a pack of suaves that skillfully conceal our inner desperate hungers and desires and recreate the image to make us look cocky and self-centered. I loved that shit too, it was all too easy. There was nothing better than knowing you had that girl wrapped tightly around your finger. It was a solid achievement. The other type of guy is the extremely devilish good looking guy, like my friend Yosh. Those are the guys who can walk into a room and make everyone melt due to the multitude of sexiness that comes with each glance. Their bodies would have to be equally as gorgeous obviously. They had eyes of Gods and sensitive features of Goddesses. Yosh was half Scottish and half Japanese but he was born here. He had features that would make even Brad Pitt and David Beckham look like hobos. If you really got to know Yosh you would see that there wasn’t much to his personality. He was extremely shallow and very unintelligent. He was the type of guy that always said he was doing good rather than well.
The last kind of guy is the funniest kind in my book. I’m talking about the guys with money. The ones that flip that wallet quicker than lightning. They live by the overzealous philosophy that green strips of paper hold the power of compensation for their amazingly bland personalities. They didn’t know how to hold conversation very well. You think they’d take that money and enroll themselves in conversation classes, but who the fuck needs conversation when old Ben Franks can do all the talking for you, right? That was my friend Matt. Matt loved flipping his wallet open to show his bills off to the ladies. Every weekend, like routine, he spent large sums of money on food, drinks, taxis, and anything else the ladies wanted. It was usually the same group of girls that hopped aboard the mooch train heading toward blowjob city. They were called the Jap Squad Five, or at least that’s what we called them. The foxy feminine fancy fallacious fuck-tacular fivesome tagged along almost every weekend. They knew if they wanted something, they could always come to Matty for it. The Jappy jubilants consisted of Elenor “reach-around” Schwartz, Jennifer “dome loving” Connoly, Tiffany “Vir Gina” Wellington, Allison “ZJ” Fernberg, and Liza “KAY Lube” Sommers. The nicknames are pretty much self explanatory. The only one that is open for questioning is the nickname of Allison Fernberg. A ZJ is when the gazelle plays a crafty game of tug-of-war on your thunder-dome while you’re sleeping. I know, it’s fuckin’ weird.
I must give Matty some credit though. Matt knows the game very well. His consistent philosophy was: If he’s loanin they better be bonin’, no questions asked. The Jap Squad Five were fully aware of his notion and they agreed with it just as long as they were financially taken care of. As for us, as long as we were ridin’ strap with Matt, we got some too, so it was all good. It felt dirty though, I must admit. We rotated and switched Japs each week and told no one of our arrangement. It was dirty that we were basically paying for sex. Actually Matt was paying for our sex. It was no different than prostitution. That’s when I decided to only take part in his little game of prostitution when the thunder-dome needed washing. Think about it, how many relationships in the world are based on money. How many gold digging bitches are out there flocking outside law firms and hospitals like fucking vultures waiting to swoop up a wealthy successful man in power? How many young whores are out there tearing away married men from their families and feeding their inner most desires with sheer wickedness and atrocities? It’s the wickedness and temptation that closely resembles that of the Devil in the book of Genisis. You know what I’m talking about, Adam and Eve? We, as a people, cut our imaginations short as to what society portrays. Fuck that, because prostitutes aren’t just the women working the streets at night in broken down ghettos with nothing but sleazy two pieces with glittered designing, mismatching colored high heels and exotic names like Candy, Lexus, Chandelier and Champagne. You can find a prostitute anywhere. You’ve heard the Kanye song, Gold Digger, haven’t you? Prostitutes can be found anywhere in any type of neighborhood and clothing. It isn’t just limited to the ghettos, ladies and gentlemen. Soccer moms, house wives, single women, divas, hoes on the side, one night stands, teenage girls, college chicks, secretaries, waitresses, teachers and even nuns can all very well be prostitutes. I guess it’s safe to say that a vast majority of women are prostitutes. But think about it some more, we’ve all played that “would you ever” game. We would all do things for large sums of money. We have all gotten that question with the same damn format, “Would you ever eat out Kanya Lickmabalz for $100,000?” We all know full and well that Kanya’s got a dirty vajayjay but we say yes anyway because we all know how awfully greedy we are. In a sense, we are all prostitutes in our own creative sense. And the prostitute infested world keeps spinning with a majority of its people in absolute denial.
I was standing in the corner of the room nervous and unsure of myself. I usually burn with confidence but tonight it was weird because it was the first time, in a long time, that I was hunting for fresh prey rather than the tamed pussy of the Jap Squad Five. I knew I needed help and with Yosh and Matt already getting ladies I had to turn to my friend Jack Daniels. Jack Daniels was an odd friend. He always wore black, he was extremely and unnecessarily strong and he came in all sizes. Jack was really reliable when shit got tough. He somehow always convinced me that nothing matters, that we can act whichever way we choice and nothing will happen. There won’t be any consequences. Walking over to the table I whipped out my UPenn shot glass and screamed out my infamous three worded question: “Who wants shots?” I shot a look across the dance floor and caught the eye of several ladies. I flicked my index finger, beckoning them over just as they beckon me with their coquettish attire. Three gazelles approached Jack and me. One was blonde with blue eyes. She was wearing a black, very low-cut, tank top complimented with a pink hoodie that bore Victoria’s Secret pink labels all over the sleeves. This heart racing combo was then finished off with tight spandex leggings that hugged the ass tightly as if its life depended on it. I could tell I knew where she wanted my thunder-dome to go. “What’s your name sweet heart,” I ask.
Sex.
Pure Bliss.
Juvenile.
Innocence.
Intolerable fantasy.
She looked at me with a guilty glance, as if she did something wrong. “My name is Paulina Stevens, I’m a sophomore.” I already made her nickname in my mind and rewound it a hundred times as if it were here actual name. Just by looking at the size of her nose and the way she flicked her golden blonde hair I can read that she likes it up the bum hole. I had two good nicknames in mind and it was pretty damn close. Her new name was Paulina “up the bum” Stevens with Paulina “rectum-requesting” Stevens a close second. Her rush to tell me that she was a sophomore came along with the worry of her being younger than what she had previously indicated. Being a freshman in college I have done away with high school freshman girls all together but she clearly wanted me. I was so wasted it kind of didn’t matter because I was ready to make an exception. However, kind of wasn’t good enough for me. I needed to make this completely ok and I think a couple of shots of Svedka would do the trick.
So I made a proposal, “Hey Paulina. Wanna take shots? I’m in the mood for some vodka, straight up, no shit.” Even I could tell my body language was a bit off. I’m sure she could tell I was smashed.
“Are you sure you can have more to drink? You look like you’ve had a lot already.” Her adorable innocence didn’t directly match up with the portrait of seduction she previously displayed. It was ok though, her childish innocence turned me on. It made me want her even more. Her clear concern and lackluster conviction set a spark off in my mind. I want her.
“No, no. Don’t worry about me, beautiful. I can manage. Come with me, let’s go take some shots.” She still seemed unconvinced that I was ok. Maybe it had to do with the fact I knocked down a vase in the process of my explanation. “Seriously, I’m ok. I promise,” I continued.
With much authority she walks toward me and grabs my hand. She leads me away from the living room and into the hallway. God lives in the hallway, and I’m sure of it after seeing the blinding lights omitting from the bathroom doorway. I was in heaven now, I’m sure of it. Paulina closes the door and sits me down on the toilet seat. It was as if I was God now, and this seat was my throne. Opening the cabinet, up the bum Stevens takes out eight shot glasses, “If we’re going to do this, then we are going to do this right, ok?” Jesus, she fuckin’ means business. Completely convinced by her overzealous enthusiasm, I pull out the bottle of Svedka from under the bathroom sink. “Let me pour, I don’t want you spilling it ever where,” she says laughingly. She sets each shot glass adjacent from the next, filling each of them to the brim. “Let’s go, sexy,” she says.
I rise from my godly throne, in heaven, feeling the most wonderful of jubilant feelings. It was a good mixture in between happiness, curiosity and horniness. This angel glances at me one last time and then fixes her gorgeous eyes upon the glasses before her. Four glasses sat on my side of the sink counter and four on her side. We both rose our glasses and she said, “What should we toast to?” What should we toast to? What the fuck kind of question is that. This isn’t a fancy dinner, woman. This is me on the verge of completing my journey to virginity-city and conquering its inhabitants.
I panicked and didn’t know what to say. The first thing that came to mind sprung out of my mouth, “Fuck bitches, get money.” Dammit. I thought I had fucked up for a moment but she didn’t care, she just wanted to get plowed.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise up. This situation began to speak to me. I almost felt guilty for annihilating any small amount of innocence she had left over. The glass came up to my mouth. It was too late.
Fuck, am I a monster?
Shot one down.
No, I shouldn’t feel guilty right?
Shot two down.
Fuck no, it was her decision.
She didn’t have to come here.
Shot three down.
I’m not a monster.
I’m just a man on a mission.
Shot four down.
It’s time to pounce like the fuckin’ lion that I am.
She was horny and ready. How do I know that? Knocking all the shot glasses to the floor and hopping on the counter could have been a vital sign. She un-zippered her soft small pink, sweat-shirt without hesitation and said, “Fuck me here, fuck me now. Take me!” Who the fuck was I to not fulfill her request. She’s requesting now. Do we have time to change her name to Paulina “Rectum-Requesting” Stevens?
I caressed her with passion. Our bodies attracted like magnets and resembled that of true lovers. It was as if our bodies know each other long before her and I were acquainted. We were made for each other and our bodies fit together perfectly. It was a sigh of relief for both of us. It was like that missing puzzle piece you struggled to find, that needle in the haystack, the river in the desert. Her breasts were the epitome of perfection. Her pale white skin complimented the heavenly light of the room. Everything fell into place in a blissful manner. Her soft skin ran goose bumps down my spine. Her fingers, stroking the smalls of my back, made this seem so surreal. The kissing and caressing was then taken to a higher level.
I took her shirt off.
She pulled my pants down.
I unbuckled her jeans.
She unbuttoned my shirt.
Matt walks in with a red plastic cup in hand.
“Matt, what the fuck are you doing in here, man,” I exclaimed.
“Dude, we need to go. It’s an emergency!”
“I’m a little busy right now, Matty. Go throw some money on some bitches outside.”
“Dude, the fuckin’ cops are here shutting shit down! We need to leave now! They have the whole front door blocked off. People are panicking, trying to find a way out.”
My heart was beating faster and I knew my sexcapade had to be put on hold. I pulled my jeans up from my ankles in a hurry. Just then I remember Yosh isn’t with us. “Matt, where the fuck is Yosh?”
“He left a half an hour ago, don’t worry about him. Open the bathroom window, we’re going to get out that way.” Before I knew it Matt was pushing both me and rectum-requesting Stevens out the window. The scene outside was sheer chaos. It was an illustration of mass confusion. People screamed and scattered about in fear and dismay. The yellow parking lot lights complimented the bewilderment of the night. The sounds of sirens drown out the peoples’ screams. The bewildering yellow light was overshadowed by the blue and red lights of the cops cars. Those lights were a national symbol that meant: get the fuck out of there now.
All in a single moment my heaven came crashing down and immediately turned into hell. My sweet angel remained at my side, now fully clothed. Her wet mascara running down her face reminded me of my mother crying at my sisters’ funeral. Her chest rose just as quickly as it fell. Each inhale and exhale contained the fear and innocence of a child. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She panicked. “I need to get out of here, I need to leave! I can’t be here right now, I was supposed to be at church!” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why religion does you no justice. My sweet angel turned back into a gazelle and ran off into the darkness of the night letting out a loud scream that faded with light. I turned around and saw that Matt was no longer next to me. He fuckin’ left me here!
I hop in my car, a shitty black Toyota Camry, and drive away from the scene. I didn’t know where I was going, I just floored it down the fuckin’ street. Heading down a long path my vision began to blur. I realized I couldn’t see anything but the color of the lights that were on the street. A barrage of yellows, reds and greens bombarded my vision and took over my focal view. My car hits several bumps on the way down the street and my tail light hits the concrete. Shit, I’m doing it again. Before I noticed I was driving intoxicated once again. I was fulfilling that expectation and putting my life in danger. I just need to get my car to a safe spot and I’ll stop. The hill began to steepen and the orgy of colors meshed together in a union. My car drifted to the left and my eyesight came back into focus for a moment to see a big yellow sign that read: No Trespassing. Less than a second later my car crashes through the barricade and it continues down a dirt road. I am still unable to see anything and suddenly feel a crash. The airbag pops out of the steering wheel and pushes my face backward against the head rest.
Getting out the car I stumble on the gravel several times until regaining my footing. I see something in the distance but I can’t quite make out what it is. I’m starting to sober up a bit more but my vision hasn’t regained its usual prestige. I hear whispering, I think someone is coming so I hide behind the car. My heart begins pumping harder than the pistons on a car. The whispers get louder and louder as they approach. The sound of the man’s voice almost puts me in cardiac arrest. “Come out! I know you’re there! I saw you run behind the car! If you don’t show yourself I will shoot you!” I don’t move.
A shot is fired into the gravel near my foot and sprays rocks in all directions.
“I’ll give you one more chan---”
“Ok! I’m coming out, now! Don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot,” I plead.
“Alright, but puts your hands where I can see them!”
I raise my hands in the air as if I were in at a Run DMC concert and rise to my feet. Rounding the back of the car I cautiously say, “Don’t sho—” The sight that I had saw stopped me in my tracks. It was a group of midgets dressed in state trooper police officer attire. There were about seven or eight of them all approaching me. Their beige state trooper uniforms all bore their names embroidered in gold lettering. The front midget had brown spiky hair and was holding a hand gun at my face. Where the fuck am I, I thought to myself. I couldn’t help but laugh loudly at this ridiculous spectacle before my eyes. They all look at each other in confusion as to why I was laughing so hard. I put one of my hands down to grasp my stomach from all the laughing. “You guys are…midgets!” My laughter continued. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me! Oh my god! Where the fuck am I?”
“What’s so funny, asshole,” the lead midget asks. “Are you laughing at our height? If you are I can blow your fuckin’ head off right now and I wouldn’t have the slightest bit of remorse about it.”
Ignoring his initial threat I continued on my drunken bantering, “Wowzers, I didn’t know they made costumes your size, man. Wait, wait, you must have gotten those little ensembles at Party City, right? Let me guess, the kids section?”
“I’m warning you! One more fuckin’ word out of your mouth and I’ll destroy you. You think you’re so fuckin’ special because you have longer legs and arms than we do? You deserve nothing more than to burn in hell!” As he finished his little “pity me, I’m a midget” rant three little figures hopped out of the two trees in the distance. The figures approached the adorable little police squad. They all wore blue over coats with furry flapped collars. They complimented this weird look with hats that were equally as odd.
One of the three spoke, “Hey Jeremy, is that bastard bothering you?” With that little blue overcoat and the blonde hair he actually looks a lot like Hermie the elf from the fuckin’ Rudolph the red nose reindeer movies. Jeremy turned around to look at the three elves that joined the fray.
“Hey man! Don’t worry, I’ll handle this,” Jeremy explains.
“Wait a minute,” I begun. “When the fuck did Hermie the elf get here? Of course with the way you dropped from the trees I could have sworn you were Snap, Crackle and Pop. Did you three make me some rice krispie treats? I freakin’ love rice krispie treats.” They looked angry now. Each one of the krispie brothers grinded their teeth in a fitting rage. “Actually the way you dropped out of the tree I could have sworn you were Keebler Elves.” Jeremy walked toward me, and I could tell I wasn’t making things better. “I have a question thought. What is it like to live in a tree? And I’ve always wanted to know how you make the cookies in the tree. That seems like a hard job to have, but damn your cookies are delicious." Jeremy arrived at my feet and looked up to me. “Oh, aren’t you cute with your little uniform. Big bad toddler cop. You’d look cute on my lawn.” In an instant Jeremy lifts his stubby little leg of the ground and kicked me in the balls. I dropped to my knees and he hit me across the face with the butt of his gun. The peanut gallery of midgets in the background all began laughing as they saw me brought down to the floor.
This mad me awfully angry. Wiping the blood off my mouth I sized up Jeremy, ready to make a move. He was too busy laughing with his fellow elves to see me get up off the floor. I quickly rose from my knees and grabbed little Jeremy from his brown spiky hair. I then proceeded to apprehend the gun from his hand and I pull his hair back so that my lips nearly touch his left ear. “You think your so funny you little shit! You leprechauns are causing all these shenanigans and St. Patrick’s Day isn’t even for another five fuckin’ months.” Before I knew it this became a hostage situation. I have never fired a gun before, let alone hold one. Though I was inexperienced I still used what I saw in modern-day American cinema and I pointed the gun at the group of midgets. “Back the fuck up. I don’t want any trouble. I’m not here to steal your lucky charms or your secret Keebler cookie formula! I accidently drove here and I don’t want any trouble. I’m just going to get back into my car and get out of here. I need to get home.” I took a quick glance to my car and saw that the front end was nearly wrapped around the tree. There was no way I was going to be able to drive that. It was totaled. How the hell am I getting out of here? I have no idea what I’m going to do. The only way out of here would be to run for it and hope I make it out of these woods alive.
I redirect the gun to Jeremy’s head and slowly back away. When I get to the edge of the road I let go of Jeremy’s hair and kick him in the back so that he falls forward onto the gravel. I then sprint wildly and aimlessly into the night, like a gazelle, as up the bum Stevens did before. My heart then returned to its previous beating rhythm of a million beats per second. I panicked because I had no food, no water and no means of transportation. My only option was to continue running until I found an exit. If I don’t find one I’ll be forced to sleep here tonight.
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