Back when I used to wait tables, I would always have a cheesy, canned response to most of the things that a guest would say, if they liked their food. For example, if they liked the vegetables, I'd say that I had come in early and picked them fresh that morning. If they liked the wine, I'd stomped the grapes myself. The food? I cooked it. The fish? I caught it. From distilling the spirits and brewing the beer to churning the butter and baking the bread, I was a veritable one man show and those corny lines never failed to make my guests laugh.
Don't ask about that secret ingredient.
Until that one time, when one of those corny lines became one of the most embarrassing things I'd ever said.
The restaurant that I was working at had a fresh seafood special that day, a seasonal thing that our clientele went crazy for and the place was packed to the gills. One of the tables in my section was a party of six older folks and they had all ordered the special. No big deal. I rang their order in and dropped off their drinks from the bar. When their food was ready, I dropped it off and ensured they had everything that they needed. Taking my leave, I informed them that I'd be back shortly to check that everything was to their satisfaction.
When I returned, I asked them how everything was and they were ecstatic, raving about their meals and asking just how fresh the soft shell crab special really was.
"Well, let me tell you, they're as fresh as it gets. I was out all night, working hard at it and I caught the crabs fresh, just this morning," I said.
It was only after the stupidity fell out of my mouth that I realized what I had said. Things got really awkward, really fast, after that. Everyone at the table looked stunned.
I'm like a finger in your ass. I'm either a wonderful surprise or I make everything fucking awkward and uncomfortable. Guess which one it was this time?
Silence reigned. I'd have killed for any sound, even crickets, but I have never heard a more deafening silence in my entire life. My embarrassment began at my toes and quickly crept up to the top of my bald head. I started to stutter out God only knows what, because I don't think that I was even capable of forming a coherent sentence at the time.
I stopped trying to talk and kept my mouth clamped shut, which for me, well, it sounds a lot easier than it is. The awkward silence continued to grow, flex, and stretch until one of the older guys, bless his arterial sclerosis clogged little heart, started chuckling and then he was laughing so hard, I thought he might stroke out and die on me, or something. The other two guys at the table joined in and soon enough, even the little old ladies started tittering behind their hands and I relaxed a little, knowing that they weren't going to freak out and have me fired.
I'd like to say that I learned a valuable lesson that day, a lesson in the value of keeping my mouth shut, but we all know the truth of that...
Back when I was living in West Virginia, I went fishing one day with my friend Ted and his son, Chuck. We went down to Back Creek, which was near my home and we ended up at this spot that was known locally as "The Waterfront". Yeah, you got me, but that's what the hillbillies called it. Anyway, "The Waterfront" consists of a high cliff wall that was an easy climb down to the creek below. Back Creek was deep enough in this spot to be a popular swimming hole and it was equally popular as a fishing hole. This place was about as close to hillbilly heaven as it gets.
Ted... I loved that guy and I can't help but laugh like hell, whenever I think about him. Ted had transplanted himself from Minnesota and he had the accent to boot. Ja? If you know what I mean. Ted was tall, a bit over six feet, with a curly mop of grey hair that adorned his scalp and a big, bushy porn star of a mustache that was the same steel grey as his hair. Ted was just the sweetest guy ever, just as jolly as could be, but man, that guy was fucking burnt. I'd never imagined that anyone could possibly be stoned twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and three hundred sixty-five days a year, but Ted laid my any doubts that I had to rest. That motherfucker was always fucking stoned. The amounts of alcohol and pot that Ted could consume were absolutely staggering. I was kind of in awe, to be honest.
Chuck, Ted's son, was basically just a shorter, younger version of Ted, with brown hair and without a mustache. Chuck definitely followed in his father's footsteps. Great kid.
The three of us had been at the creek for hours, drinking beer, sippin' corn likker and we probably smoked enough weed to get half of the fucking county stoned. Good times.
Ted and Chuck caught a lot of fish that day, reeling them in one right after the other. Meanwhile, I caught nothing but ridicule. Fucking assholes. Every time that Ted or Chuck would catch a fish, they would look my way, start laughing and give me a huge ration of shit. Those dirty fucking motherfuckers.
This shit was not only intolerable, it was humiliating. I really needed to catch a fucking fish.
After a while, Ted asked me to reel my line back in and I did. He told me that he knew that I was used to salt water fishing, not fresh and he told me that he wanted to check my tackle. Ted adjusted the weight on my line, changed the hook and he changed my bait for shits and giggles I guess, before handing the fishing rod back to me.
I cast my line back out and waited... And waited... And then I fucking waited some more.
Nothing. Zip. Nada.
Son of a bitch.
Those bastards kept right on laughing at me. Motherfuckers kept catching fish, too. I could have shanked a bitch.
I really, really needed to catch a fucking fish or I was never going to be able to live this shit down. It was unbelievable and it seemed that no matter what I did, no matter what I tried, I just couldn't catch a fucking fish. There were times that I cast my line out to virtually the same spots where Ted and Chuck had their hooks in the water and still those fucking pricks managed to catch all of the fucking fish. Fuck me.
Around half past three, my ex-wife showed up, with both of our sons in tow. Anthony, our oldest, was five years old at the time and he jumped out of the car and ran towards me. He was so excited. Anthony loved fishing.
"Hey Dad," Anthony yelled, "Did you catch anything yet?"
Ted and Chuck erupted with fresh gales of laughter. I felt my face burn red from embarrassment.
Fuckers.
"Not yet, buddy," I replied, "But I'm trying."
I really, really, really needed to catch a fucking fish. There was no way that I could allow myself to be humiliated like this in front of my children.
Medusa walked up holding our youngest son Dominic's hand. Dominic didn't seem very interested in what was going on and he certainly didn't give a fuck about fishing. He still doesn't. Now that I think about it, Dominic seems to have that attitude about a lot of things. The not giving a fuck, I mean.
Medusa asked how the fishing was going and those two assholes started laughing again. They told her that they were having a great time, but I evidently had the fishing skills of an old, blind goat, but even an old, blind goat would have surely caught something by now.
Medusa started laughing at me too, that traitorous bitch. Fuckers. They were all fucking fuckers. I was going to show them. Yes sir, I most certainly was. It was on like motherfucking Donkey Kong.
Yeah, why don't you guys go eat a big bag of dicks or something.
I really, really, really, really needed to catch a motherfucking fish.
Anthony asked me if he could fish for a while and I brushed him off, asking him to wait for a little bit. I was going to catch a fucking fish any second now and I just knew it was going to be a whopper, I was sure of it and there was no way in hell that I was going to give up that fishing pole, not until after I had caught my prize..
Ted caught another fish. More laughter and more insults followed. Bitches.
"Please, Daddy," Anthony asked again, "Can I please fish for a little while?"
"In a minute, buddy," I replied.
I was mere moments away from glory, I just knew it.
"Please, Daddy," Anthony said, "It's not like you're going to catch anything."
I looked at my son, startled.
Et tu, Brute?
All of those motherfuckers started laughing at me again.
I felt the sting of Anthony's betrayal like a knife piercing my heart, but I reeled in my line and I attached fresh bait to the hook. As I prepared to cast the line back out and hand the rod to Anthony, I got a queasy feeling deep in my gut. Somehow, I just knew that as soon as Anthony touched that fishing pole, he was going to catch a fish and then my humiliation would be complete. I shook off my premonition and my angst, cast the line back out and I handed the fishing rod over to Anthony.
I don't even think it took ten fucking seconds before Anthony let out a whoop of joy.
"I caught one. I caught one," he yelled excitedly.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Let's just say that someone, and I'm not going to name any names, but someone came very close to getting a combination cliff diving/swimming lesson that day.
Those fucking assholes started laughing at me again and gave me even more shit than they had previously. I felt my face grow red again. I'm sure glad that those motherfuckers were having a good time, because I sure as shit wasn't.
I remember thinking to myself, "That's okay, motherfuckers, y'all are staying for dinner and I'm going to poison your asses. I couldn't poison Medusa, though. That bitch had built up a tolerance over the years, despite my best efforts.
I helped Anthony reel his fish in. He was proud of his catch and rightfully so. Anthony had caught a fairly large striped bass and was excitedly showing it off to everyone, the little shit. Good for him and all, he's my son and I love him, but that little shit had caught what was supposed to be my fucking fish! I had been taken down by a snot nosed kid.
Meanwhile 3/4 of the supposed adults in this story were busy pissing themselves with laughter and it was all at my expense. Yeah, real fucking funny. Assholes. Had our situations been reversed, I'd never have given any of them a hard time. No sir, not me. Honest. Like, cross my heart and shit.
Dejected, I called it quits and I let Anthony continue fishing. He caught another fish and then another. Every time that he caught a fish, my pride and dignity were assaulted and brought down to a new low.
That's fine, motherfuckers, I know how to make bodies disappear.
Around five o'clock we packed it all in and headed back to my house to get cleaned up and grab some grub. Apparently, Ted and Chuck evidently had an immunity to poison as well. Lucky fuckers.
I haven't fished since that day, the scars run too deep.
Fuck fishing.
Catch this...
If you liked this story, here's a link to another one. You won't find this story anywhere else.
Before I start, I'd like to thank Lisa and Kristina, who proofread for me and catch most of my typos and grammatical errors. Ladies, I'm way too lazy to do it without you. If there ever is a book and I become rich and famous, I'll buy you each a doughnut. Fame and fortune won't change me. I promise not to forget the little people.
“You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.”
― Cormac McCarthy, No Country For Old Men
I've finally started writing my second book. I haven't actually written a first book yet, but I've been writing it and it will include quite a few of these stories. Anyway, I've actually put that first book on hold, in order to write the second book, which really isn't my second book, because there's already a second book that I haven't been writing either, so maybe this one would really count as my first book if I finished it first? Or my second? Or third? Whatever. Fuck math.
I've been writing these insane stories about my dating life, post-divorce. I'd been trying to decide which dating story to tell first and I was drinking the crazy Kool-Aid of memory, when this story popped into my mind. I haven't thought about this night in many years, in fact, I'd almost completely forgotten it, but it's a tale that's ready to be told. This story isn't really about dating, per se, it's more the tale of a hookup or a one night stand.
The 80's were young, but in full swing. It was a Halloween night in Greenville, North Carolina, a raucous college town and home of Eastern Carolina University. At the time, ECU was considered to be the number one party school in the nation, which I assure you had absolutely nothing to do with my choosing to go there. It was purely coincidental. I swear. Cross my evil little heart. My roommate and friend Mike (whom I knew from summers in Atlantic City) and I were getting ready to hit the bars along with our friend Dean and we were prepared to do some serious drinking. For us, drinking was more than just a recreational sport, it was a professional pursuit. However, we still had a bit of pre-party partying to do before we could go out. Once the three of us were well past wasted, we headed for town, walking (stumbling, staggering; whatever), because we knew that we were too impaired to drive. Once in town, we joined the line to get into Rafters, our favorite bar. I should mention that we were all wearing costumes, although I can't seem to remember what any of them were, although I do recall wearing an army cap or hat of some sort. Shit, it could have been a fucking yarmulke, for all I know.
As we were waiting in line to get into the bar, the three of us were bullshitting and passing a flask of Evan Williams back and forth. It slowly started to dawn on me that I was shitfaced drunk, so I double hit the flask and passed it on. Out of nowhere, this flash of hideous electric orange appeared between us and accosted Dean.
Dean was the pretty boy out of the three of us; blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skinned - a typical WASP dreamboat. I was the opposite; tall, dark and muscular, a typical Italian guy and I got by on bullshit and charm, ringing many a Southern Belle during my tenure at ECU. Mike was a Jewish boy from North Jersey and he looked the part. Short, stocky, pale and hairy. Mike got by on fast talk and by being a novelty item. Honestly, what spoiled, rebellious, Southern Baptist debutante doesn't want to impress her daddy with the news that his precious baby girl is fucking a Jew? Maybe her sister that's fucking the black guy? I dunno...
Anyway, let's get back to the Electric Orange. The Electric Orange was apparently a female. Surprise, surprise. I thought it might have been an invasion of the fucking pixies. The Orange was short, thin, and she had a shock of almost iridescent orange hair. My eyes traveled downward, scanning her body; decent tits, nice ass. I looked up at her face and I blanched. That face. Holy fucking shit, Batman! That fucking face. The Orange was horrifically ugly. No, she was beyond ugly, she was fugly; freckled, speckled and looking like some sort of demented, drunken pixie. She said something to Dean and he said something back to her. Dean laughed, put his hands on the Orange's shoulders and spun her around to face me.
She wasn't as ugly as I'd originally thought. No, it was much worse than that. She was so fucking ugly that she had to sneak up on a mirror. So fucking ugly that if she went to the beach, cats would try to bury her. Seriously, this girl was so fucking ugly, she could have made blind kids cry.
Dean looked at me, winked, smiled, and said, "Steve, this is Jamie Lynn."
Of course she is. There's nothing like a good ol' Southern trailer trash name to help perpetuate a stereotype.
Dean pushed Jamie Lynn towards me.
"Jamie Lynn likes you," Dean continued. "You should take her back to the dorm and fuck her,"
Gee, thanks for the intro, bro. Dean didn't really think that I was going to fuck this girl, did he? Seriously, if I was that fucking drunk and she was still that fucking ugly, how bad would she look in the harsh light of morning and the brutal truth of sobriety? My eyes scanned Jamie Lynn again. Well, she did have a decent body. Fuck it, I'm in. I quickly pushed all logic aside, as all of the blood in my brain drained into my dick, leaving my mind incapable of cohesive thought.
I laughed and said, "Hi," to Jamie Lynn.
Jamie Lynn responded by pulling down the brim of my hat.
Nothing promises hot sex like a drunken dipshit. Fuck it. I'm a guy; even bad sex is better than no sex and she met the majority of my requirements. She was female, breathing and willing. That pretty much dots all of the i's and crosses all of the t's, doesn't it?
I grabbed the flask from Dean's hand and took a deep pull. I was going to need some serious liquid courage for this shit. I hit it again. I felt the warm liquid burn down my throat. I have the power!
The four of us wandered into the bar. We had a few drinks and Jamie Lynn and I got a little friendlier, making out in a darkened corner of the bar and away from any witnesses. I'm not a whore, but my dick used to be and my dick didn't care how ugly Jamie Lynn was; he was all like, "Feed me! Feed me!" Poor Dick, he's in recovery now, it's a twelve stroke program.
Jamie Lynn and I were were starting to get a little frisky, when she whispered in my ear, "Let's go back to your room."
You didn't need to tell me twice. I made the "I'm getting laid, now fuck off and find somewhere else to sleep" secret sign to Mike, grabbed Jamie Lynn by the hand and headed out into the night with my new study buddy. It was a long walk back to campus and time, along with the cooler, late night air, was starting to have a sobering effect upon me and that was something that I didn't want to happen. Oh, hell to the no. I knew that I didn't want to be anywhere in the vicinity of sobriety for this. Thankfully, there was more booze in my room. I hoped it would be enough. Jamie Lynn and I continued the walk of shame back to my room. Usually a walk of shame is what happens when you leave in the morning, wearing the same clothes from the night before, but in my bizarro world, everything happens in reverse.
We made it back to my room and things really started to heat up. I had a few more drinks to cure my anxious feelings of sobriety and Jamie Lynn and I did the dirty deed. I gave her the batter dipped corn dog, buttered the biscuit and then cleaned the cobwebs with the womb broom. At one point, she was complaining that her face was hitting the wall and I remember thinking that it couldn't possibly do any more damage than there already was and that if anything, it might actually be an improvement, so I made sure her face hit the wall a few more times, before I eased off. When we finished opening the gates of Mordor, I chased her off, telling her that I had an early class the next day and that I needed to get some rest, which was complete and utter bullshit. The truth was that she was so damn ugly, I was afraid that I might gnaw my own arm off in the morning, trying to escape from my own bed. I planned on sleeping in, going to class and then I was scheduled to work after school was done. I figured that I'd never see her again and no one need know my secret shame. Mike and Dean might know, but the threat of their bodies being found in the river would ensure their silence. Or not.
After Jamie Lynn left, I went back downtown and found Mike and Dean. We drank and tried to talk to girls until the bar closed and then we wandered back to the dorm, where we all passed out.
I woke up the next morning and it was a beautiful and warm Fall day. Unfortunately, I was horribly hungover and couldn't appreciate it. I kissed my bong good morning, hoping for a little relief, threw on some clothes, and I ran out the door, perpetually late for class.
After I was finished with classes for the day, I headed off to my job, as a delivery driver at a local pizzeria. I worked for a a couple of brothers, Greeks, who pretended to be Italian. I had one of the most popular jobs around and people were always happy to see me. Seriously, who doesn't love the pizza guy? I met a lot of girls, got a lot of phone numbers, made mega tips (although a lot of it was in coin). and I could always count on copping some free beer or some bong hits. At eighteen, I thought I owned the world and was living the life.
My shift started off slowly, with just a few random deliveries, I only made a few bucks, but I smoked a mind boggling amount of weed. Apparently, all of the stoners had spent their money on pot and only had enough change left to cover the pizza. No worries and thanks for the buzz, bro.
I was on my third delivery of the shift and I was headed over to one of the girls' dorms, which I loved delivering to, because it always provided an excellent opportunity for me to get shot down, or not. Even a blind man can find the right
I parked at the dorm, jumped out of my car and started to walk in the door when I heard a voice yelling my name. I looked around and didn't see anyone that I knew, but then the voice called to me again.
"Hey, Steve," the voice called. "Up here."
I looked up and to my absolute horror, she was much uglier than I remembered. I stood there speechless, my mouth hanging open, as I questioned the depths of my depravity the previous evening. I shrugged. It's not like this was my first rodeo. I ducked into the building.
I don't know how it is now, but back then, if you went into the women's dorms, you had to be signed in and escorted upstairs. This usually meant that the girl(s) that ordered the food would either meet you downstairs or come down once the RA called up. I approached the counter, put the pizza down and told the RA whom she needed to call downstairs.
Jamie Lynn beat the customer downstairs. She took one look at me, yelled my name, ran over, threw her arms around me and tried to shove her tongue down my throat. I felt like I was being kissed by an iguana. I was able to escape from her flying lip lock, but she came at me again. I took a step back and put up my hands. Jamie Lynn kept coming. I was trapped against the counter.
People were staring. That happens to me a lot. Entirely too fucking much, if I'm going to be honest about it.
Jamie Lynn smiled and announced to the room, "I want y'all to meet my boyfriend, Steve. We're in love."
Boyfriend? Love? What kind of bullshit was this? What the fuck was happening? Did I miss something here?
The room actually erupted in applause. White people are so fucked up sometimes.
Some of the girls came over and said hello to me and hugged Jamie Lynn, congratulating her as if she'd won a prize or something. Was I the prize? What was the prize for? Girl most likely to never have a boyfriend, or girl most likely to never get laid? Even worse, I had just been branded, pissed on,and marked as fucking property in front of an entire room full of coeds. Word would spread and I was never going to get laid again. I would need to change my name, transfer schools, and go into hiding.
Karma. It's a motherfucking bitch.
After all of the excitement died down, the girl that ordered the food arrived and paid for her pizza. I tried to use that as a chance to escape, but Jamie Lynn blocked my way. She put her hands on her hips.
"Don't you have anything you want to say to me, Steve?" Jamie Lynn asked.
Throughout all of this, I hadn't had a chance to say a single word.
"I'm not who you think I am," I lied through my teeth.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
I quickly explained as sincerely as I could pretend to be, "I'm not Steve, I'm his brother Tony. We're twins. We both go to school here."
A look of pure embarrassment came over Jamie Lynn's face. Either she was so fucking stupid that my lie sounded plausible or she had never had someone drop such epic bullshit upon her before. Personally, I thought it was a combination of both.
"I'm... I'm so sorry...," Jamie Lynn spluttered. "I... I thought..."
"It's okay, it happens a lot. People get us mixed up all of the time."
Might as well lie some more. I couldn't believe that she was buying my bullshit.
"Would you do me a favor?" she asked me.
"Sure, Jamie Lynn, no problem."
"Would you ask your brother to call me?"
I told her that it wouldn't be a problem.
Jamie Lynn took a pen from the counter and wrote her name and phone number on the back of my hand. Fucking classic. There was even a little fucking heart over the 'i'.
I'd just been branded a second time and this time I wasn't even me.
Jamie Lynn thanked me and apologized again.
I told her not to worry about it and I turned to leave. Just as I reached my car, I heard Jamie Lynn call out, "Wait! How did you know my name was Jamie Lynn? I never told you my name."
Shit. I was busted. I pretended that I didn't hear her and I opened the door, jumped in and started the engine.
Jamie Lynn's voice called from behind me, "Steven! You stop right there you son of a bitch! You stop right there, right now, you lying bastard!"
Jamie Lynn started running.
I threw the car into gear, backed up and peeled out, narrowly missing a few stray students. Lucky motherfuckers.
I looked in my rear view mirror and that crazy bitch was chasing my car like a fucking cheetah running down a wounded wildebeest. I kept my eyes on her in the rear view mirror; Jamie Lynn seemed to be gaining on me. What the fuck? What was she, bionic? I gunned the accelerator. I was so focused on watching her chase after me that I didn't notice the curb, which I jumped, scraping metal all the way. Jamie Lynn kept coming. I turned the corner and floored it, laying down rubber and leaving Jamie Lynn in the dust.
I had escaped, but was I safe? I finished the night at work and when I got back to the dorm, I told Mike what happened. He laughed at my plight, but worried that we might be attacked by some crazy southern bitches. Southerners are not known for being reasonable people and you definitely don't want some crazy redneck bitch hunting your ass down; it's not going to end well for you. Mike thought it might be best if I left the state and possibly, the country. I feared for my life. If that girl found me, I was dead meat. Southern girls are a country mile past fucking crazy.
For the next few weeks, I lived the life of a paranoid lunatic. I refused to answer the door and whenever I had to leave my room, I checked to see if the coast was clear. I checked behind every bush and tree, inspected every nook and cranny, and pretty much grew eyes in the back of my fucking head.
It was all for naught. Thankfully, I lead a charmed life and I never saw Jamie Lynn again.
Fuck you, karma.
If you enjoyed this story, please give this one a chance:
Dogs have been known throughout history as being man's best friend and this is mostly true, but sometimes, for no particular reason at all, they do some crazy ass shit, Yes indeed, dogs are fucking lunatics. Even worse though, are those dogs that are just straight up assholes.
Back when I lived in West Virginia and not long after I married me now ex-wide Medusa (I did catch my typo on ex-wife and know that it reads as ex-wide. I corrected it, but since she has become noticeably wider since our divorce, I decided to keep it the way it was), we bought a male dalmatian puppy that we named Caesar.
Not Caesar, but pretty much spot on in the brains department.
Caesar was a beautiful dog with an amazing spot pattern. When that dog stalked (Caesar didn't simply walk, he stalked everywhere), you could watch his muscles ripple along the length of his body. Unfortunately, those were his only good attributes. That dog was just a hot mess. Other than being a complete asshole of a dog, Caesar's biggest problem was that he was almost completely deaf. Oh, he could hear you just fine, sometimes, on a good day, if the wind was blowing just right, and if his head was turned just the right way and if you were screaming at the top of your lungs. Yeah, he could hear you alright. Almost on par with Caesar's lack of hearing was his incredible stupidity. Good Lord, that dog was as dumb as he was pretty. Caesar also liked to pee everywhere.
Caesar was also insane, he would chase bugs up the walls, attack shadows and bark incessantly, just because.
Caesar was also very aggressive and could turn mean without warning. We kept him away from small children. Contrary to what the people at Disney would have you think, for the most part, dalmatians make terrible pets and are not always good with children. More than anything else though, Caesar was just a flaming asshole and a hell hound, but we loved him.
Devil Dog: Hound of Hell. The completely true story of my dog, Caesar, the sweetest dog ever.
One day, my friend Tommy came over to the house to hang out for a bit and he, Medusa and I went upstairs to my office to smoke a little weed, drink a little beer and to shoot a little shit. Tommy was a really nice guy, a bit of a hippy and he was about as laid back as a person can get without being comatose. Nothing and I mean nothing ever troubled Tommy. He had the ability to make you feel at ease and keep you laughing. Great guy.
The three of us were just hanging out, passing a joint around and engaging in true intellectual conversation by telling the filthiest of jokes. Hell, even old stone face cracked a smile or two. We were having a good time and laughing it up when Caesar made his into the room, looked at everyone as if he were sizing them up for a meal or a chew toy and then he made his way over to me and nudged me with his head. He wanted attention, so I gave him a little and then he moved on to Medusa to scam a little attention from her as well. Caesar sat down at Medusa's feet and he stared at Tommy.
Without warning, Caesar suddenly got up and padded over to Tommy, looked him up and down and started sniffing the poor guy. Suddenly, Caesar lifted his leg and pissed all over Tommy and let me tell you, that poor man got hosed.
You could see the pee dripping down his legs and flooding his sandals. It was horrible. I was so embarrassed. No, I was beyond embarrassed, I was absolutely, positively mortified.
I did the only sane and rational thing that I could do at the moment and I burst out laughing, loudly and maniacally and then Medusa joined in as well. I'm pretty sure that the dog was laughing at him too. Everyone was laughing it seemed, except for Tommy. I really didn't want to laugh at Tommy's misfortune, but I just couldn't help myself and there was no way that I could stop anytime soon. I kept trying to apologize to Tommy for what had happened, but every time that I tried to say something, more laughter erupted. I was laughing so hard that I literally couldn't breathe, I was coughing and choking; I had tears streaming down my face. I could barely make an articulate grunt, forget about trying to utter a word, a sentence or an apology.
When I could almost breathe normally again and I felt as if I might be able to form words, I tried to apologize to Tommy once more but that only served to commission a fresh round of laughter. I tried and I tried, but I just couldn't stop laughing. It was brutal.
While I'm sure that Tommy wasn't exactly jumping for joy after what had transpired, he was handling it very well. He wasn't mad, he didn't raise his voice, nothing. He just wanted to get cleaned up and I can't say that I can blame him seeing as I'm not a fan of golden showers either. Like I said, the guy's a champ.
We let Tommy use the shower to get himself cleaned up. I loaned him some clothes and Medusa took his soiled clothing down to the basement and tossed them in the washing machine. After Tommy got himself cleaned up, he hung out for a while longer and we drank and smoked a little bit more. Medusa and I couldn't stop giggling the entire time that he was there. We invited Tommy to stay and join us for dinner, which he did and afterward, we sent him home with his clean clothes and more apologies.
After Tommy left and I closed the door, Medusa and I looked at each other and started laughing all over again.
Poor guy.
Just a random memory that popped into my head.
Thanks for stopping by and reading my stories. I really do appreciate your time and I hope that you enjoy reading them. Please feel free to leave a comment or a criticism below, because writers are very insecure people and we crave feedback so that we know how well we are doing. Thanks!
If you enjoyed reading this story, please give this one a chance:
Help me out and spread the word. Please feel free to share my stories and blog. You can also find me on Facebook. Like my page and never miss an update.
Posts
