Happy three-day weekend’s past. I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Or I should say, I hope you “Americans” in the audience enjoyed it, since you had Monday off from work presumably. For the rest of the world:
FUCKING SUCK IT. WE HAD MONDAY OFF!
What’s that? What do we celebrate? Uh…
It’s called “President’s Day”, so I think we celebrate, um…
COINS! THE GUYS WITH THE FACES ON THE COINS ARE CALLED “PRESIDENTS!”
AIN’T THAT RIGHT MOM? CAN I COME OUT OF TIMEOUT NOW? IT’S REALLY COLD IN THIS DUNGEON!!
The first thing you should know is, I had a date this weekend.
Yes, like an official date. Her parents made me sign a consent form beforehand.
She was an Asian girl. Because you know what? I love Asians and I’m not afraid to admit it.
JUST LOOK AT THEM! THEY ARE SO PRISTINE!
I met this girl at a party the week prior, and I gotta admit, I was a little fucked up at the time.
But when I SAW her the second time, I’m like “I don’t remember her looking like this.”
Maybe a little older than I remember, but still looking bad (good bad (not good at being bad, like when I say “bad” I mean GREAT; that “bad”)).
We went to dinner (I paid because not only am I a gentleman, but then I have an excuse to make her pay for the next date), and then we went to karaoke.
I sang nothing but ballads in her native tongue (cat), and because of that, I heard—literally—heard her vagina getting wetter. Or maybe that was the sink from the bathroom down the hall. Who’s to say?
She, an avid non-drinker, had drank a couple mini bottles of sake with me and she was, eh, about a 5 on the drunk scale (10 being maximum). But she was talking about driving back to Hollywood and I was like “bitch slow your roll.”
And she’s like “Are you inferring I am a sushi roll?”
And I was like “God that’s so hot, let’s go make out.”
So we went back to my house, where I actually DID try to make out with her, and um…
She told me ちゅうはダメ！ which means in English “kissing is NO GOOD!”
I was confused. Is making out considered a crime now? I’ve been out of the game for awhile. Things have changed in this Tinder culture, have they not?
So we didn’t kiss, but I was still laying with my head on her lap.
I was just rubbing her legs, instinctively, giving a little innocent massagee, and when I moved to her feet,
It was a super mega erogenous zone! She started getting horny from the foot massage! And as she would squirm, her foot started going up and down over me “little jimmy” and I was sure there was going to be some filthy sex going on.
And…
…there wasn’t.
At all. And no kissing. She stuck to her guns.
And then she noticed a piece of paraphernalia on the table. And oh my lord can we discuss the word “paraphernalia”? The word is ridiculously long.
Suddenly the girl, who was clearly a bit of a health nut, and had probably drank her most ever that night with me (despite not even drinking that much), and who loved martial arts and shit… suddenly she wanted to smoke buds.
I indulged her, and we just kept smoking, and smoking, and smoking, despite her claiming that she never buys it herself. As we smoked, for visual and audio stimulation, we listened to upbeat Latin music and played some motherfucking Nintendo Switch.
I should mention that Nintendo was the “lighter” option, because we tried to watch Planet Earth 2 but goddamn, that show is intense.
My date had a great time, and despite no kissing, it was an interesting and exciting date.
…I’m never calling her again though because that bitch farted near my head and a little sushi roll came out of her butt, fully intact. I mean, sure, I guess you could say it was “amazing” but it was also very disturbing. Next time it could be a whole bowl of ramen, or a 50 pack of wooden chopsticks.
Thanks for the mem’s though, date lady.
After that night, I had but one mission: I would find another girl to make out with before the weekend’s end. And since Monday was a holiday, I still had all of Sunday to find her.
And so the next night, I decided to continue my hoodlum-ism and go to an after hours party. There weren’t a ton of people there, but it was still a party happening on a Sunday night.
Then as I was leaning outside the entrance, a girl who I had saw earlier, and then made up my mind that I would compliment her hair when I saw her again, walked outside of the party and passed by my side. I opened my mouth to give her the compliment, but before I could speak she said, “I like your glasses.”
“That’s crazy because I was going to tell you I like your hair. Can I touch it?
It was kind of like when some white lady from National Geographic goes to Somalia and the little starving Somalian kids see a white person for the first time and they want to touch/sniff/eat her hair. Just like that, except the opposite.
The girl had a black woman’s hair. Kind of like a Macy Grey thing, where it’s big and wide and spirally. Only black girls can pull it off. You know that look? That one. And she looked black for the most part, but I found out later she was like Cherokee, and Welsh, and some other places I’m pretty sure are also make-believe.
I had decided 5 minutes earlier to go with my accomplice—let’s call him “Douglas”—back to his house to drink and go to a 24-hour Korean restaurant called BCD Tofu.
But now we had an extra passenger. And although she kept complaining about her sister, who was going to chew her out for reasons beyond my capabilities of understanding, she agreed pretty easily to come back to Douglas’ house with us.
As the Uber car door closed behind me, Hair Girl and I start making out heavily in the backseat. I had accomplished my goal; what other things were possible if we were already making out this soon?
Douglas eventually told us to quit making grotesque slurping noises, and we held off for the remainder of the short ride to Douglas’ place.
We get in the house and Hair Girl starts bitching about her sister again. This time I actually tried to decipher her quandary. Apparently she just moved back from Hawaii and she’s staying with the sister, who’s much older and has kids and house rules and shit. So Hair Girl just wanted to get home before she woke up. At 7 AM. It was 6.
Oh and her phone was dead so I would need to call her an Uber, and she would pay me in… a crumpled up wad of dollar bills.
Douglas calls me into his kitchen and I see him making two shots. These aren’t ordinary shots though. These are filled with something called “gee”, which apparently stands for “GHB”, which I remember my Thai mafia girlfriend used to love doing and wait a minute—OM-GEE! It’s the date rape drug!
Yes, apparently there is a crowd who like to take it recreationally, and uh… like to rape themselves? Who knows. Being in an experimental phase in my life right now, I decided that I would try it. Both the gee, and raping myself.
Me and Douglass did a cheers and down the hatch it went.
Hair Girl came over and asked for one but was promptly denied. No girls are taking an alleged date rape drug on my watch.
Besides, didn’t she have to go encounter her sister? At the mere mention of her sister, her eyes went wide, and she started begging for me to call her the Uber home. I agreed. And then clarified:
“But it’ll be an Uber pool! Because I’m economically-savvy like that.”
And she said, “Aw yeah, that’s hot. Tell me more about being thrifty.”
And I said, “I only shop at the 99 cent store. And I watch TV through my neighbor’s front window. And I steal soy sauce packets from the sushi section at the grocery store because I’m too cheap to buy the bottle!”
And she said, “Oh god, fuck me now!”
…She didn’t say any of that.
I started feeling myself slip into a lucid daze and realized that I had a growing tingling sensation in the back of my head. The gee was hitting me within five minutes of me taking the shot.
Then I look down and see Douglas and Hair Girl rolling around on the floor. And I’m like, “What happened!? That was my date! That was my make out partner! Why are you guys fucking?”
It took me a few seconds to realize what was actually going on. Douglas, a long time jiu-jitsu practicioner and a black belt, was rolling around trying to submit Hair Girl. Which isn’t really a nice thing to do to a lady you just met. But then I realized that she was the one instigating it. She was a martial artist too, and him and her are having a goddamned battle right in front of me.
And I’m sitting there watching this, tripping out on gee, and… my world is fuck. I mean that too. My world is total fuck.
My phone buzzes and it’s Hair Girl’s Uber. Praise be thy lord. I liked her, hell, I’d say I even loved her, but it was her time to go. But not without one more mini-make out session. And then she was gone.
Douglas was suddenly practicing jiu-jitsu moves on me, and I could’ve gave two shits less. I just laughed hysterically as he threw me to the ground repeatedly. The airy, tingling sensation I felt from the gee made even getting my ass whooped a heartfelt experience.
Around this time it gets hazy. I remember my eyelids feeling heavier than they ever had before, and fighting them to stay open as I read a muay thai book I found on Douglas’ shelf.
My next memory is of waking up at 10:30 AM wrapped in a blanket on the couch. I had completely blacked out.
And it was at that moment that I understood “the date rape drug”. You get so fucking exhausted that you just pass the fuck out. Then you sleep through a unshakeable slumber. Ain’t nobody waking yo’ ass up.
I ducked out of Douglas’ domain and celebrated achieving my goals with the Korean food that I so desired merely hours earlier. Which seemed like a different era at this point.
I learned nothing, and I am a disgusting human being.
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