You can only tell the generic “wow, did I get fucked up last night” story so many times before people begin to hate you. It’s cliche, stupid, and no one really gives a fuck.
Luckily, my drunken stupor always seems to find new ways to get me into trouble, or at least to this point in my life, has yet to fail me–
I can’t fight people (I don’t like jail). No matter how pissed I get, no matter how drunk I get, my only option is to bend over and take it up the ass. I was at the bar just last weekend, and for no fucking reason some guy bumps into me. I look over thinking, hey accidents happen this guy couldn’t possibly be a maniacal fuckwitted frat boy.
Sure enough, I couldn’t have been more wrong. What are the odds at a bar within stumbling distance from a college campus? Why couldn’t they have just stayed in their fucking frat house, jerked off to their game cube games and drank a keg of lukewarm beer. It would have made the world a better place. No, their sister sorority wouldn’t suck them off, so they wanted me to be miserable with them.
There were three giggling in a circle, glancing back my way. I don’t know why they did it, I don’t care why they did it. I hope all their children have birth defects.
I shoulder fucked him in the back, I wasn’t sure which one it was, but they all deserved it. One walks back my way.
FratFuck “Dude, why did you do that”
Me “Shit, who knows”
FratFuck “Dude, why did you do that”
Me “Accident?”
I’m surprised after this conversation my ass did not hurt the next morning. If I had been of the legal age to drink that dialogue would have been three lines shorter.
Ha, thanks for nothing Obama!
