Tag: college

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Being NakedGuy

In college I was known as Naked Guy.  Every school probably has one.   It wasn’t quite the same sentiment when I showed up to a party in college as in the clip above.

The name Naked Guy was given to me as a freshman and stuck with me all through college.  Only the biggest assholes and morons are given that moniker.  In certain circles of friends I’m still addressed by that nickname.  I cringe every time I hear someone say it.

My freshman year I found it amusing to show others my balls and occasionally whip out my cock.  I’m not packing anything too substantial in my pants, so I usually ended up embarrassing myself.  I wanted attention.  Even if it was the wrong type of attention.  It was a simple formula, cock out =’s attention.

I dated a beautiful girl from New Jersey for three years in college.  I met her hometown best friends for the first time during the second semester of our freshman year.  We were at my friend’s house for a party, playing flip cup in the basement.  Within 30 minutes of meeting them I got drunk, whipped out my balls and was placed them on the flip cup table.  Then I chased people around the basement with my junk hanging out of my pants.  My girlfriend was mortified, and rightfully so.

I wore daisy dukes with the ass cut out of them to a Halloween party my sophomore year.  They were essentially a corduroy G string.  My friends and I thought it was extremely funny.  Everyone else was puzzled as to why I was showing off my hairy ass in public.

I would pull the head of my dick out my pants and shove random objects into my peehole.  Steak knives, mulch, aspirins, keys, whatever seemed to fit.  I would do other odd shit like slam my balls or dick in a door to try and get a couple of laughs.

Once, I masturbated using a massager on my dick, while still wearing pants, until I came.  That doesn’t sound too odd until I mention this occurred in my living room in front of my roommates.  I thought it was hilarious.  I loved the shock value.  Looking back it was borderline gay.

I’m not sure what the point of this post is, other than to embarrass myself by my past actions.  I had good times as Naked Guy, or occasional Nude Dude as some liked to call me.  College is a time to find yourself.  I just happened to find myself being an asshole.

 

 

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Episode 9: The Squirrel Master

Shout out to our new fans!  We are grateful for every subscriber, please keep telling your friends if you enjoy what we do.

Chris opens the show with a story about his infamous college roommate – The Squirrel Master – a man from southern Maryland with an affinity for chain-smoking Newports and cursing. On an undesirably sober snow day, unfortunate hi-jinx ensues.  We then discuss a recurring theme on the show as KRS partakes in another foolish race against no one.

ShowerThoughts includes how your search history might preclude you from getting a job at Google and elderly people over 100 making up secrets to longevity just to screw with others.  In the news we check a post from Anne Rice discussing censorship in the arts, and the (absurd) militarization of local police forces in the fight against marijuana.  We finish our middle segment with KRS’s thoughts on dating and what’s important when looking for a partner.

We close out with our final segment, Meditations, and a simple quote from Ricky Gervais: “Offense is taken, not given.”  We explore how society has become so easily spun up and offer thoughts on how to purpose your time and energy.  The message is stop being professionally offended.

This is the companion audio to Chris’s blog post: The Squirrel Master and the Pee Snowball

Blog: whythehellwouldyoucare.com
Twitter: @WhyTheHellBlog
Email: WhyTheHellWouldYouCare@gmail.com

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I’m A Scooter

Seen on the Avenida Do Mar, Madeira Island

In college my friend once told me, “Dude you’re a scooter.”

“What the fuck does that mean,” I asked.  His reply was life changing.

“You’re a scooter!  Ya know.  Scooters are fun to ride, but you don’t wanna  see your friends while you’re ridin’ one.  Chicks will sleep with you, then vehemently deny it when they’re around their friends.”

His analogy was genius.  I really was a scooter.   Girls would talk about how disgusting and scummy I was when they were around their friends.  Some of them would even say it right in front of me.  Then when the the night was winding down and the bars were closing they would be sneaking me into their house so their friends wouldn’t see us.

In my last year of college I made a career out of being a scooter.   I had just gotten out of a rocky, three year, off again on again relationship.  It had rocked my confidence and shaken my self esteem.  But there I was, free to run wild.  I attempted to sleep with almost any girl who crossed my path.  I wasn’t very selective.  I just needed to feel wanted and attractive.

After awhile I started gaining my confidence back.  I was pulling a new girl every couple of nights.  I was thrilled to be single.  Life had meaning again.  That meaning wasn’t incredibly altruistic or noble, but it worked for me at the time.  I understood my role as a scooter and I played it very well to my benefit.

Fast Forward 12 years and I find myself in a similar position.  I am once again single after a break up from a tumultuous relationship.   It took me a couple of months to figure out how to deal with being single again.  Not only have I regained confidence in myself, but I love being single right now.  I haven’t enjoyed my life this much, well, possibly ever.

This time around, I have transitioned out of being a scooter and have become an “In-betweener.”  I fill space in the lives of women who may have recently gotten out of long term relationships or are just looking for something casual.  I occupy their time until they are back on their feet and ready to meet someone more suitable to have a real relationship with.

That’s the reality of my dating life .  It’s perfect for me right now.  I couldn’t ask for much more.  I love being an In-betweener; just like I loved being a scooter.

I enjoy all the benefits of being single.  I can focus on growing my professional life and I have the ability to do whatever I please with my free time.  But, once and awhile I am able to spend my free time with the company of someone of the opposite sex.  We go to eat, grab some drinks, get our dogs together, have sex or sometimes even cuddle.  I’m able to experience all the great parts of a relationship without having to actually be involved with any one person.

When I meet a women I am very upfront with them that I am In-betweener.  I explain to them that these are relationships of convenience.  I have nothing to offer them except a good time.  We both need to go about our lives, see whoever else we want to see and do whatever it is that makes our hearts content.  Then, once a week or so, we can hang out together and enjoy each others company.

Sometimes this talk  doesn’t go over well.  But, like with business, I think it’s important to set appropriate expectations with any relationship in order to mitigate any confusion, disappointment or animosity.  I would rather have a women tell me she is not interested in the situation from the gate rather than deal with drama and craziness on the back end.

The only down side to being an In-betweener is that occasionally, even though expectations are set correctly and all parties agreed to the terms,  someone decides they are going to try and change you.  These are the “Hopefools.”

The Hopefools meet you and hear what you have to say but in their head they think, “Not Me, I’m different.”  Sometimes they can be extremely tricky to spot in the beginning.  They play the game so well.  Everyone starts out feeling really good about themselves and the situation.  Then after a couple weeks of it everything changes.

Hopefools will start off with the first thing in the morning texts of  “Good morning, I hope you have a great day.”  This is usually the beginning of the end.  It will quickly progress to a daily ritual.  Then they will start asking questions about the other people you are spending time with.  This is where you must make a decision about where you need this relationship to go.

The Hopefool has their mind set that you are going to be in a committed relationship with them.  You have become a challenge and they have thrown down the gauntlet.  If you continue along the path of this relationship ignoring the signs and think just because you explained you are an In-betweener that you are free from issues, I assure you my friend you are dead wrong.  The upfront expectations you set have been completely disregarded.  The Hopefool could give a shit less about what you said, because they feel deep down they are different and they are one to change you.

If you want to stay a drama free In-betweener you need to cut ties immediately.  It’s not always that easy to do.  The Hopefool tends to be extremely fun, endearing and is usually the one who’s down for anything in the bedroom.  It was all part of their plan!  They put on their A Game in order to leave you woozy and susceptible to their trap.  It’s sort of the way the Black Widow lures in her mate only to kill and eat him afterwards.

This is the dichtomy of being an In-betweener.  You have everything you want in the world, but you realize at some point it has to end or you wind up in a relationship again.  Which is is the death of the wonderful world you have created.  You will no longer be able to spend your free time as you choose.  It could even start effecting your work life.

Being a successful In-betweener can be extremely rewarding.  However, success in this game means making difficult choices.  You have to be able to balance treating people you date in a respectful and caring manner, but not so much that they want to date you.  You have to know how to appropriately distance yourself from situations while remaining honest to yourself and those involved with you.  I think Kenny Rogers summed it up best when he sang, “You gotta know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.

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Why Everyone Should Experience College

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Whatever happened to “go to school and get an education?”  Lately I hear so many people trying to influence kids NOT to go to college.  When I was growing up it was the complete opposite. The arguments I hear most often for not going to college:

  1. Huge Student loans
  2. Anything you learn in college you can learn on your own
  3. Opportunity cost of time spent in college vs. time spent working
  4. Kids are coming out of college struggling to find jobs because they majored in fields that are outdated or no longer exist

I’ve been in conversations where I’ve said I could’ve used the five  years I spent in school better by learning and building a business on my own.  But that’s not reality, at least for me.  I’m thankful I went to college.  If I could go back and change my decision I wouldn’t.  I’m not saying I learned a whole lot of useful information in the classroom that bettered my life, but I will say that the experience was invaluable.

I’m not going to argue the financial, or timeline, benefits or detriments of going to college.  I don’t have the facts and figure to write and intelligent and well thought out post based on those topics.  More so, I don’t care to argue those points.  I find them to be boring.  My argument is based solely on the value of my life experience in college.

College is this amazing experiment.  You take all these different people and jam them together in this social/educational setting and see what happens.  Undoubtedly a cluster fuck ensues.  People lose themselves, find themselves, lose their minds, create amazing relationships and end up becoming someone very different than who they started out as.

I’ve heard people say anything you learn in college you can learn on your own.  I agree with this to an extent.  But The fact is most people won’t learn on there own.  They want to be taught.  Its easier to have someone teach you.  People love the easy way.

The majority of people don’t have the drive or know-how to effectively teach themselves new ideas.  Having a teacher helps validate what you have learned.  It’s a structure we have become accustomed to as a culture.  I’m not saying its right or wrong I’m just stating how I see it.

College was five of the best years of my life.  I didn’t always realize it then, but my life was amazing.  I floated through college.  It was a joke for the most part.  I even tried to fail a class during my MBA so I didn’t have to leave.  I wasn’t ready to move on.  Life was too good.

There are lessons you learn in college that I know I would have never learned anywhere else.  I’m not talk about physics or accounting.  I mean amazing and irreplaceable life lessons.  Had I not gone to college I may have never: gotten stabbed, contracted the clap, gotten my car stolen,  gone to terrible frat parties, been known as Naked Guy or met the incredible people who have impacted my life many years in the future.

I learned how to act in uncomfortable social situations.  There’s not much worse than being stuck in a smoldering hot basement with 200 co-eds rubbing sweaty elbows, drinking warm beer and trying to act cool in front of girls.

I learned how to not do wash for weeks on end and still have “clean” clothes.  I learned how to live with the craziest menagerie of people and co-exist.  I learned that with $40 bucks in your pocket you are set for the weekend.  I learned that people love really shitty music, like Phish.

I learned how to sneak 30 packs and beer balls into a dorm at a dry campus.  I learned how much fun $12 worth of shitty alcohol could buy for me and a couple friends.  I learned what the freshman 15 was (The 15 lbs. people tend to gain their first year of college).

I learned how to play Rugby.  I learned Grain makes delicious jungle juice, but shooting it is asking to go to the hospital.  I learned to always wear flip flops into any public shower.  I learned people can actually live off Ramen Noodles and Spam.  I learned Kool Aid and purple drink are mainly sugar.  I learned its incredibly to tell someone to ‘go fuck themselves and their knife’ before you are about to get into a fight with them.  More than likely you will end up getting stabbed, at least in my case.

I wouldn’t give up my college experience for anything.  The actual education I received in the classroom is pretty much worthless.  But my memories are priceless.

I’m not saying everyone needs to graduate college.  But I am saying everyone should go for the experience

 

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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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The Squirrel Master and the Pee Snowball

Back in college I was your friendly neighborhood dopeman (This becomes important later in the story).  I was always resourceful when it came to making money the wrong ways.

The college was in a shitty little town in PA.  The majority of off campus students lived a few blocks behind the school.  Kids were always walking up and down the street and hanging out drinking on each others porches.  It was a small school so pretty much everyone knew each other.

Snow days were always the most fun in college.  Snow = no class = total fucking shit show.  When we would hear about snow coming we would stockpile booze and drugs for the next day.  It was like Christmas.  Sort of.  We would start drinking when we got up. Then we would head to the main bar, which was a block from my house, for shitty food and more booze.

Students ran the bar, so on snow days it would open early.  Everyone would flock there by 12-1 in the afternoon. The funniest thing is everyone bitched about the bar, saying how much they hated going there.  But every weekend it would be packed with all those same people.  There really wasn’t anywhere else to go honestly.

This snow day in particular ended up being little more special than usual.  My roommates and I got up, ate and started to drink.  I made sure to eat right away.  As soon as that meal was done I was doing my first ripper.  Eating after that became much more difficult.

The Squirrel Master and my other roommate hit me up for a bag early.  Within 45 minutes they had ripped right through it.  I knew with how hard everyone was drinking and partying they would want more really soon.

About 30 minutes after they finished their first bag the Squirrel Master came looking for another half gram. The only issue is he had no money.  Now, I was huge asshole in college.  I liked making people do shit for my entertainment.  I had the two key ingredients to make that dream a reality in college. Coke and money.

The Squirrel Master really wanted a bag.  I knew he wanted it bad enough to do something really fucked up for my enjoyment.  I told him I would figure out a way for us to barter.  Ideas went back and forth in my head, but nothing seemed worthwhile.  Then I walked outside and saw a guy walking his dog and it hit me.  I ran back inside and told him I would gladly give him the bag if he ate a pee snowball.  Without blinking he agreed.  I decided this was going to be so much fun that I went and invited the neighbors to come watch.

I walked outside and packed a cup full of snow.  I pulled out my dick and pissed on the snow just like you would if you were pouring syrup over a snow cone.  Everyone was outside waiting with anticipation to see if he would go through with this.  I walked over to him and poured the yellow snowball into his tiny little cupped hands.

Without hesitations he took the first big bite.  Everyone watching was gagging, laughing and running around.  As soon as he swallowed the first bite he gagged and spit it up everywhere.  That didn’t stop him though.  He was determined to chow down and get his prize.  People were begging him not to finish.  They were offering to give him the money for the bag if he to stopped.  Every bite he chomped down he gagged and spit right back up until he was finished.

By the time he was done most people had stopped watching.  I guess it was just too much for most people to handle.  He came up to me with biggest grin on his face and put his hand out in front of me.  It was his way of saying “fuck you pay me.”  He stepped up and met the challenge.  I don’t really remember too much else about that day.  But, the Squirrel Masters feat of strength showed his will.  College was the fucking best.

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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.

 

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The Saddest Man at Spring Break

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It was Spring Break 2003.  I was 23 years old and equal parts drunk, horny and stupid.  My friend invited me to go Cancun with him and his brother.  His parents had a timeshare at a high end resort that we rented for the week.

Staying at the resort wasn’t the best idea for college kids.  They were sticklers about noise and security guards were all over the place.   Bringing girls back to our room was like trying to sneak them into the White House.  Bribing the guards was nearly impossible.

For the most part, the trip was your typical spring break experience.  College kids everywhere drinking all day and night.  Hanging out at the pool and the beach.  Bikini contests and shots of shitty tequila everywhere we went.

The first night we went out to a club called Daddio’s.  I met this blond chick there who was a school teacher from Michigan.  We hit it off quickly in the VIP section.  I decided we needed to move to somewhere more private, like the corner of the packed club.

A couple minutes of kissing and groping quickly lead to her bent over with her skirt up.  A couple minutes later I came on her back.  She didn’t ask me to wipe it off or clean it up.  She simply pulled her skirt down and we left together.

The week proceeded along in this fashion until our second to last night in Mexico.  The night didn’t start off particularly different than the other nights.  Lots of drinking, loud music, dancing, and girls.  When things were winding down I wasn’t ready to go back to the hotel.  I was far too coked up to call it quits.  A friend and I decided to go out and hit up a local strip club.  Odd how many of my stories involve strip clubs.

We took a cab out of the main part of town to a very sketchy destination.  There in the middle of nowhere stood a strip club like a mirage in the desert.  As soon as we got inside the girls flocked to us.  They could see we were easy marks.

A young, attractive girl talked me into an private dance.  She kept saying “you so handsome” and kissed me while putting her boobs in my mouth.  She was trying to offer me sex and I was trying to accept, but The language barrier made things awkward.  She became nervous and frustrated speaking to me in English and ended up walking away.  Yes, I was turned down by a hooker.

As soon as she left another girl took her place instantly.  Her English was much better, but her looks were much worse.  At that point I was so fucked up and horny It didn’t matter to me.  She lead me up the stairs, past the guards holding guns (just in case someone acts up) to a bedroom.  Once we got into the room I did a line and we got started.

Now some of you reading this may know how coke can effect a mans ability to perform.  I remember the look of sadness and disappointment on her face as she pulled down my pants and went to blow me.  All she saw was a shriveled up, limp dick looking back at her.  She looked up at me and only said “ohhhhhhh.”   I could tell she was embarrassed for me.

That embarrassment triggered me to make one of the top five worst sexual decisions in my life.  I grabbed her, picked her up and put her on the bed.  I removed her panties and without hesitation went down on her.  I didn’t just lick it quickly and move in for sex.  No sir.  I ate her pussy and licked her ass while I furiously masturbated until I built up something resembling a hard on.

I quickly put a condom on and gave it her the best I could with 3/4 of an erection.  After about 5 minutes of her making fake sex sounds we both were bored.  I wasn’t going to be able to cum with a condom on.  I knew where this was heading.  I had to break out my signature move at the time.  I jerked off while I made her lick my balls.  After a couple of minutes of I came.

Afterwards we talked for a few minutes.  She asked why I came to a place like this and why I went down on her.  Then she took a piss into a bucket and we went upon our way back downstairs

I started to sober up and realized what I had done.  The realization I went down on a Mexican hooker’s pussy and ass came rushing in like a tidal wave.  All I wanted to do was get out of there as quickly as possible.

I was pretty certain at that moment I had most likely contracted AIDS.  I had read an article on CNN.com describing how lemon and lime juice could possibly be used to prevent AIDS in Third World Countries.  I quickly grabbed as many lime and lemon wedges from the bar as I could and rushed to the bathroom.  I was squeezing lemon juice into my mouth and swishing it around praying to kill the diseases I was sure I had.

I even went as far as to squirt the lemon juice into my dick hole.  It wasn’t an a pleasant experience I would recommend, but I was hoping this would somehow save me from diseases.

As we left in a taxi the sun was coming up on the horizon like a big fuck you from the universe to me.  I was half in tears thinking about what I had done a couple minutes beforehand.  When we arrived at our room I took a xanax and went to bed.  I woke up the next day and I was extremely remorseful.  I had to tell my friends the story of what happened.  They all look horrified by my actions.

The last day I moped around refusing to drink or party.  I went out to the bars, but I didn’t indulge in anything.  I made foxhole prayers.  I begged God “Please don’t let me get AIDS; I promise I wont drink or do drugs tonight as penance.”

Thankfully I didn’t get AIDS and I’ve been able to go about my life continuing to make poor sexual decisions.