Tag: funny stories

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I Have A Dick On My Face, Don’t I?

I was nursing one of the most ungodly hangovers I’ve ever had in my life, on a bus full of relative strangers, on our way to Chamonix, France.  The night before in Amsterdam had been a complete shit show.  I wanted to sleep but I felt too sick.

A group of us gathered together in the back of the bus to play a game of Who Am I.  The way the game works is that everyone writes the name of someone famous on a post-it note and sticks it to someone else’s forehead.  The person playing can’t see the name on the post-it.  They ask the group yes or no questions to try and figure out who they are.  It was super fun and it took my mind off the fact my body felt like it was shutting down from all the abuse the night prior.

After about an hour of playing I couldn’t handle it anymore.  My hangover had gotten the best of me.  I had to get some rest.  I fell asleep.  When I woke up we had arrived at our hotel in Chamonix.

I got off the bus, grabbed my bags and entered the hotel.  I checked in with the hotel clerk and made my way to the elevator.   I was still a little out of it from my nap.  But I started to notice people were staring at me as I walked by.  I didn’t pay too much attention to it.  The only thing I could think about was getting to my room and laying down.

As I got to the elevator in the lobby I saw my reflection in the steel door.  I now knew why I was getting funny looks from other hotel guests.  Thick, veiny, glorious dicks shooting jizz had been drawn all over my forehead, cheeks and chin in permanent marker.

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I turned and looked at my bus-mates as they broke into laughter.  I wanted to be mad but I couldn’t.  I was in hysterics, laughing at the massive dicks all over my face.  These assholes managed to draw all over me while I was passed out on the bus without me waking up.

Getting the dicks off my face was a huge pain in the ass.  Since they used permanent marker it became a huge ordeal. By the time I was done scrubbing my face with soap and rubbing alcohol I had pretty much forgotten about my hangover.

The part that really got me about this whole situation was the hotel clerk.  It was as if he was used to seeing people with dicks on their face come into the hotel.  He didn’t bat and eye or even smirk as he checked me in.  Nor did he bother to help me out and mention what was all over my face. Which I feel is kind of fucked up.  He just went about his day like business as usual.

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Getting High and Swimming With Sharks

In hindsight getting high and swimming with sharks may not have been the best idea.  I was bored and by myself while visiting Adelaide, Australia.  So I decided to get high and go to SeaWorld for the day.  It seemed like an exciting trip and I always enjoyed aquariums, especially stoned.

I walked around marveling at the aquatic life and taking pictures.  The shark tanks were the main attraction for me.   I noticed they had a sign posted by the tanks that said “swim with the sharks.” I quickly signed up to for the next available time and paid my fees and was ready for my adventure.  I had never swam in a shark tank so I was pretty stoked to do it.

The SeaWorld employees took a group of us back inside the inner workings of the aquarium.  They gave us our scuba gear and went over the types of sharks and sea life we would be swimming with.  The staff went over the ground rules of we could and couldn’t do in while in the tank with the sharks.  There weren’t too many rules to follow to be honest.  The main rule, and most obvious, was that touching the sea life was strictly prohibited.

None of the sharks in the tank were considered aggressive.  Which I found unfortunate at the time.  For some reason knowing that took away some of the excitement from the experience.  I’m not sure why the thought of possibly getting eaten was more appealing.  Probably because I was high and having some odd delusions of grandeur of fighting off a shark attack.

Once I got into the tank and swam around with these creatures it was a pretty amazing experience.  Having these sharks and other large fish swimming past me just inches from my grasp.  It was amazing to see them breezing through the water with ease as I struggled to get around.

After fifteen minutes of swimming around I noticed the front side of the tank had numerous people congregating at it.  People were watching all of us swimming with the sharks and taking pictures.  I swam up to the the people watching and posed a bit so they could take some pictures.  I was a bit of an attention whore.

I saw the flashes going off from the cameras of people snapping pictures for the photo albums.  I saw this as perfect opportunity for me to have some fun.  I was going to give them a memory they could laugh about and cherish for years.

A Leopard Shark had been resting on the bottom of the tank right in front of the main viewing area.  It had been there for the whole that I was in the water and hadn’t moved an inch.  I floated passed the shark several times grazing it with my hands.

sharkattackI swam up to the Leopard shark, laughing hysterically to myself.  I grabbed its dorsal fin and started to dry hump the back of the shark.  The shark still didn’t move.  The people at the window watched in disgust, while others snapped pictures.  I saw mothers putting their hands over their childrens eyes.  It caused a bit of a commotion.

I felt a hand grab my shoulder.  It was the SeaWorld employee who was in the water with us.  He signaled to me that I needed to leave the tank immediately.

Once I got out of the water I received a fierce reprimanding from the staff.  I was escorted off premises by security.  They told me that I was no longer able to set foot in the park or they would call the authorities.

I had a different view of what was acceptable and funny at 26.  Hell, I still would find it pretty funny today if I saw it happen.  Although, I probably wouldn’t be the guy humping the shark this time.  But honestly, how many people can say they got kicked out of SeaWorld for molesting a shark?!

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1 Night in Amsterdam + 1 Cialis = 14 Prostitutes

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Walking into the Red Light District felt like Disney World for degenerates. I couldn’t have been more excited.   I handed my new found Australian friends; Mike and Joe, a liter of Amstel and a Cialis.  We had meet (they were brothers) a couple hours earlier, but a few joints and beers later we were like old pals.

We continued to drink and as I got more polluted I came up with, what I thought, was a great idea.  I made up a competition to see who could have sex with the most prostitutes in one night.  When I presented them with my idea they looked at me and laughed.  I took this as a yes.

Joe was the first to take part in my game. He saw an attractive women in the window.  I could tell he was a little nervous about what he was about to do.  He looked at me with a little smile and said ” I don’t really know if want to spend the money because I cum prematurely mate”.  His brother and I laughed at him until the peer pressure was enough that he agreed to partake in the game.

I cracked a fresh liter of beer as he went into the house.  Mike and I stood outside on the street drinking and talking.  I hadn’t even finished half of my beer when Joe walked out  with his head down.  He was in the house for less than 3 minutes total and had already finished.  His brother and I couldn’t stop laughing at him.

The majority of the events over the next 10-12 hours are a bit blurry for me.  But, there are some part I remember clearly, like my trip to Skinny Alley.  Skinny Alley is exactly what It sounds like.  It was an alley in the Red Light District with barely enough room for people to walk single file in either direction.  Every 12-15 feet there was a doorway with a prostitute standing in it.

As I passed a door I felt a hand grab me and pull me inside a dark room.  When the lights went on I saw one of the most beautiful women I have ever encountered standing in front of me.  She was Portuguese and perfect; other than being a prostitute of course.  She offered me some coke, which I thought was awful nice of her.  Then she said “for you we can do this for 25 Euros.”  That’s less than taking a date out to dinner at a low end restaurant.  I’m not one to pass up a great deal. Free drugs and inexpensive sex with this Portuguese Goddess.  I felt like I was taking advantage of her.

After we had our fun, we did a little more coke and had a couple drinks.  We made small talk.  She asked about my life in the US and said she always want to travel to America.  At one point she hinted at the possibility of coming to visit me.  I took that as my cue to leave.  I gave her my E-mail address and said goodbye.

On my way out, I took a pen from her room and made a mark on my hand.  This was how I kept score for the competition.  It was like tallying votes on a chalk board as a child.

As it turns out, I was the only one competing.  The brothers were long gone. I stumbled around the Red Light District, making mark after mark on my hand.  At one point one of the prostitutes tried to dose me with GHB.  I’m not sure what she had planned for me; but I’m pretty sure it looked something like the movie Hostel.

As the night progressed I became less and less selective with my purchases.  It was a sheer numbers game for me at this point.  There was a very angry and rather large black chick who stole $20 from me.  She gave me a lackluster handjob, which she didn’t even finish.  I had sex with a couple of chicks way past their prime.  Overall, the quantity game caused me to have buyers remorse often.

The sun was starting to come up.  When I looked at my watch I realized I had to be back at my hotel and ready to leave on the bus in less than two hours.  I had no idea where I was in correlation to the hotel.  As I flagged down a taxi a guy bumped into me and tried to grab my Rolex off my wrist.   Thankfully I still had the capacity to defend myself even in my stupor.  I shrugged it off and jumped into the taxi.

Upon arriving at the hotel I went to my room, packed up all my items and headed down to the lobby.  I knew if I went to bed I wouldn’t wake up in time to make the bus and would be left behind. The next thing I remember the tour guide was shaking me to wake me up and asking if I was OK.  I was covered in sweat, sleeping on my suitcase in front of the whole tour group.

I could feel the very judgmental eyes of my fellow travelers burning into my soul.  Joe and Mike were laughing at me and making jokes.  I reached into my pocket to find I had spent about 800 Euros that night.  Then, I looked down at my hand and counted the 14 marks.  I proudly showed the brothers what I had accomplished and claimed victory.

As a side note, I learned that a blue light at a house means they are a dude dressed up as a woman.  Be careful.  I almost found this out the hard way.  No pun intended

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My Roommate in Europe, The Dungeon Master

Ten years ago I took a bus tour through Europe.  Friends of mine were supposed to join me, but they all backed out.  I flew to Europe alone to meet the people I would spend the next two weeks traveling with. The tour started in Amsterdam.  Which meant bad news for making a first impression on my fellow travelers.

The first day in Amsterdam we all met at our hotel.  We were introduced to our tour guide and our roommates. The tour guide explained the trip and the ground rules.  The main rule we had to know was the bus would leave each city at a certain time and place.  If you were not there on time they would leave without you.  It actually happened to several people.  It almost happened to me.

Most people had roommates they knew because they booked the trip with them.  I on the other hand was roomed up with a shy, awkward, creepy Canadian who I called “The Dungeon Master.”   I don’t recall his real name, but the moniker I gave him seemed to fit.  I pictured him living in his parents basement, dressing up, playing Dungeons and Dragons, while hurting small animals.  Eventually, everyone on the trip referred to him as The Dungeon Master.

He never said a whole lot.  I tried to be friendly, but I can be a bit overwhelming.  Minutes after meeting me for the first time, I started a conversation about drinking, smoking weed at the coffee houses and having sex with hookers in the Red Light District.  I was 25 at the time and in Amsterdam so It seemed like pretty normal conversation for the circumstances.  I guess I didn’t gauge his personality quite right.

The Dungeon Master wasn’t a huge fan of mine.  As a matter of fact, he expressed his hatred for me and my antics to anyone who would listen.  He even went as far as to proposition several people about trying to trade me as a roommate.  Unfortunately for him, no one else wanted to deal with me either.

On the last night of the trip the Dungeon Master let loose and got hammer-time drunk.  Two girls we were traveling with thought his behavior was so funny they filmed him.  They started up a conversation by asking him questions about his experience on the trip .  He went off on a tirade ripping into me and telling the girls how horrible it was to be my roommate.  He said having to room with me felt like torture.

Then out of nowhere he switched tracks and dropped a bomb on them.  He went into intimate detail discussing how he had gotten double teamed by a couple of dudes in Amsterdam.  It turned out The Dungeon Master was gay.  He came out of the closet, on film, for the first time.   His hatred for me combined with too much alcohol, allowed him to share his biggest secret with the world.

 

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Scrub and Pray

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As I raced naked into the bathroom with my spray bottle full of alcohol, the regret started to set in. I just had unprotected sex with whatever her name happened to be on that current night.  The afterthoughts of who she was and what she might have started to set in.  But I had a plan in place to keep me safe.

Spraying my balls and shaft heavily with alcohol.  Scrubbing the area really well with a towel.  Then I would go in for the most painful, but most important part.  Opening up my peehole and spraying the alcohol directly inside.  That familiar burn that gave me a nice, false sense of safety and security.  Certainly any disease couldn’t live past my thorough spraying.  Alcohol kills everything.  Right?

The difficult times were when I went back to the girls house and didn’t have my set up ready to roll.  I would be ripping through their bathroom cabinets looking for rubbing alcohol.  Tearing the place apart until I found something I could clean my dick with.

Occasionally I had to improvise and use witch hazel or Dial soap.  I am not sure how well they worked, but I gave it the college try.  I’ve been caught looking for these products and tried to explain my process.  This always made for extremely fun and uncomfortable post sex conversation.

After the scrubbing came the foxhole prayers.  I would get down on my knees in the bathroom and make a pact with God to never have unprotected sex again if he let me get through this last episode unscathed.  I would offer to do some good act as penance for my actions.  I’d think “Just keep me from getting VD and I will make sure to be a good human being from this point on.”  There were several occasions I was pretty sure I was fucked with something incurable.

My friends and I would joke about this method.  Many of them subscribed to the same idea.  One time my foolproof plan failed me.  I got the clap.  I’m not really sure who gave it to me.  However, what I do know is I gave it to 2-3 other girls because I was a giant asshole.  Then I went and got Cipro to clear it up.

One drunken night I stumbled back to one of the girls houses I had shared my gift with and slept with her again.  Jokes on Me!  I stole the clap right the fuck back from her.  Back to the doctor for my second course of Cipro.

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Freebasing with the Squirrel Master

Like Rick James said “cocaine is a hell of a drug.” The craziest thing about my coke use is that I cant recall a single time I actually enjoyed doing it. Yet I did a shit ton of it for 15 years. Coke made me twitchier , I walked around with a “cold” all the time and it guaranteed my dick wouldn’t work.

From my experience coke brings out all the shittiest people to hang out with.  People who hate each other will stay up all night ripping lines talking about saving the world. The only reason any of them are there is because one of them has coke.

The yacked up conversations are by far one of the worst parts about doing coke. It usually ends up a bunch of random assholes in a room or a kitchen all fucked up, talking about shit they most likely will never do. Just thinking about it while writing makes me feel a little sick. But Ill get off my soapbox and tell my story.

One of my college roommates was a skinny, angry redneck that chain smoked Newports. He had short little T Rex arms and kind of looked like he may have had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.  He was loud and offensive.   However, part of me found him hilarious. He always spit when he spoke and his breath reeked of smoke. We called him the Squirrel Master. The name stemmed from squirrels invading the walls of his room and his stories of making squirrel potpie when he was younger.

We used to compete in really stupid and dangerous contests. Like who could do the most coke in a given amount of time or who could do the biggest line. One night we finished an 8 ball in less than 25 minutes. I ended up laying in my bed praying not to have a heart attack. He went out partying all night. Advantage….Squirrel Master!

Sometimes sniffing coke just wasn’t enough. We would step up our game and get creative. So we would break out the tinfoil, a splash of water, a lighter and an emptied out pen. If you use all the ingredients correctly, ta-da, you can smoke freebase.

Freebasing seemed to be more of a Sunday afternoon type thing for the Squirrel Master and I. I’m not quite sure why, but its just how it went down. One Sunday afternoon we ventured upstairs to his room in the attic and got everything prepped. Tossed the water on the coke and melted it down on the tinfoil. It was time to get down! We started taking a couple pulls of the shitty metallic tasting smoke through the pen .

The Squirrel Master was really fucked up and just had that twinkle in his eye that said “Im going for it.” He lit up the lighter, hit the tinfoil and pulled a giant cloud of smoke in through the pen. He held it in for as long as he could and then it happened. His eyes rolled back in his head and he unleashed the most vicious hacking cough I have ever heard. He fell out of his chair and hit the floor. He continued coughing violently and tears started rolling down his face.

When I saw him on the floor I ran downstairs as fast as I could. Now I’d like to tell you I went to go get him some help. But, Nope! I went and grabbed the rest of my roommates to come see what had happened. My friend could have been having stroke for all we knew. But, we were too busy doubled over, half in tears pointing and laughing at him to care.

The Squirrel Master came out of his coughing fit just fine. Well as fine as you can be when your whacked out on Freebase. He joined in on the fun and started smiling and laughing as usual. The first thing he did when he got his composure was go right back to that tinfoil, take a hit and then light up a Newport.

Clearly we were shitty fucking friends.

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Fuck You and Your Knife

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13 years ago my friend Sober Joe and I were walking down the street at my Alma Matter. The bar had closed and we were going back to his house.  Out of nowhere a girl ran out of her house wearing nothing but a blood stained bra and underwear.  This seemed a bit odd, even for that college town.  She was crying and babbling about how some Townies jumped her boyfriend in the alley.

We followed her back to see what had gone down.  About 15 college kids were standing around talking a bunch of shit.  Some had some weapons, like bottles and one had some sort of stick.  I don’t know what the fuck he thought he was going to do with a stick?

They explained what happened and how their friend was beaten up pretty badly.  “Townies jumped him bro,” they shouted.  As with most college towns their is always some Outsiders type struggle between Townies and College kids.

Joe and I decided to get involved in something we had nothing to do with us and lead the charge to go look for these guys.  We found them a block away.  There were 8-10 of them.  We had double their numbers, but I knew damn well 75% of the college kids would never get involved.

My buddy Joe instantly got into an argument with one of the Townies.  Back and forth they started talking a bunch of shit.  Joe was known for running his mouth so what proceeded escalated very quickly.

The one Townie had a knife in his waistband.  He flashed it to us during the exchange of words.   Kind of like the scene from Boyz N the hood, but much less serious.  I took one look at him and said “fuck you and your knife.”  Smart, right?

Joe dropped his six-pack and charged at the guy he was arguing with.  They started fighting. Then a couple more people joined in on the melee.

I saw the guy with the knife pull it out and charge towards Joe.  As fast as I could, I grabbed the guy and threw him against a telephone pole, knocking his knife out of his hands.  He fell to the ground and I got on top of him, punching him repeatedly.

I felt one of his friends grab me and pull me off of him.  We started wrestling until I was able to hip toss him off of me.  I know, I know… I’m making myself sound like a ninja warrior.  I’m really not that tough.  This is just how it went down.

When I turned back around to the fight, the guy who had the knife swung at me wildly.  His arm went around me and hit me in the back.  I punched him square in the jaw and knocked him down.  As he fell, I saw the blade of the knife pass inches from my face.

All of the sudden the fight just kind of ended.  The adrenaline was pumping.  Everyone was staring at me.  I could tell by their faces something was wrong.  Then I heard a girl say “your back.”

I reached around to my back with my right hand, just inside my shoulder blade.  I felt nothing but wet.  When I pulled my hand back around it was covered in blood.  I looked over towards the guy who stabbed me as he and his friends were running away.  I clearly remember him yelling out “fuck you, I got kids to feed; I told you I’d stab you.”  I have no idea what his children had to do with stabbing me, but he definitely one upped me.

The fact that I had been stabbed started to set in.  I could feel the blood running down my back and legs.  I started to panic.  I decided my best course of action was to run down the street like an asshole, trying to find a ride to the hospital.  I ran into a guy we called Powder. He barely knew me, but when he saw me bleeding he offered to give me a ride.  I jumped into his car and we rushed to the hospital.

I walked into the emergency room yelling “hey I got stabbed can someone help me.”  The nurses saw all the blood and quickly took me back to a room.  They cut off all my clothes and laid me down naked on a cold steel table.

I was super nervous, naked, cold and embarrassed by my exposed shrunken penis.  I made jokes and flirted with the nurses.  I asked them if they liked my ass and promised them I was grower not a show-er.  I was scared, jokes are how I cope.

The Doctor wasn’t pleased with my behavior.  He told I was acting inappropriately and I needed to watch my language.  He went as far as to say that if I didn’t stop he wasn’t going to help me.  Being me at  23 years old I replied  “you have to help me, you took the Hippocratic Oath.”  He liked that even less.

The medical team made sure my lung wasn’t punctured and stitched me up.  The nurses allowed Joe and some friends to come back and visit me.  One of my friends was going through this “gay phase” in his life.  He kept trying to kiss me while I was doped up and defenseless in my hospital bed.  It made the night that much more awkward and uncomfortable.

Joe was crying and kept apologizing.  I was high as shit from the meds they gave me.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  The nurses told everyone they needed to leave.  Joe refused and started to cause a little scene.  I asked them to let him stay so it would defuse the situation and I could finally get to rest.

When the nurses left Joe sat down in a chair and fell asleep instantly.  I on the other hand couldn’t sleep for more than a couple minutes at at time.  Not because I was in pain or uncomfortable, but because Joe snored so loud, all night long.  It was like trying to sleep next to a buzzsaw.

To wrap this story up, Joe pissed himself while sleeping in the hospital and I was released the next day.  Explaining this to my mother was a fun time.  But at least I have street cred now.