another grand ol’ weekend in tokyo! let’s review:
friday, we go out, me and some french peoples, one korean guy, we go to this french electro party and–OH MY GOD i have to talk about saturday.
there’s a very good chance…and i’m not making this up guys…there’s a really good chance that i made out with a lady boy.
FACT: he/she/Cousin It did NOT look like a lady boy. it looked like a fine ass babe. i met her outside the shibuya train station just wandering around and shit. so i did the natural thing and invited her to come out with us…which i guess isn’t the natural thing when you and your friend are already on a double date with some chicks.
so this girl/character/creature (whom i shall now refer to as lady B) comes out with us, she’s fucking drunk as shit and possibly insane, starts giving my friend a penis massage under the table at a restaurant while discreetly talking about her lesbianism and getting how she hasn’t been banged in three years, blah blah blah–let’s just cut to the chase here.
she tells our dates that we are gonna take them home and molest them which, as you would imagine, scares the shit out of them and they run home. lady B follows us back to our house and is just a fucking walking disaster. somehow me and her get together and start making out. but she’s also being really coy, in a paradoxical kinda way. i’m like “yo, what is your deal” and she’s like “i’m a lesbian.” but somehow i don’t believe her. she can’t get her story straight. now she’s saying she had sex with a dude last month. so once again, i go “yo, what is your deal.” and this time she goes “i’m a guy.”
i go flying in the other direction as if gravity just decided to start fucking with me, and start screaming. “like…like you were born with a cock!? that kind of guy?”
“nooo…like i’m like a guy on the inside.”
what the fuck does that mean? my brain turns into a fiery blaze as i try to decipher that quote, but eventually i decide “fuck it, i can’t take this anymore”, and promptly removed her from the premises. i had a hard time sleeping that night.
the next morning i tell my friend from the night before “dude, i think that…what the fuck was her name? that crazy chick last night? i think that was a dude.”
he cooly replies, “nah. couldn’t have been. i found her…ehhh, how do you say? that thing that goes into vagina?”
me: “a cock?”
him: “no no. thee little, you know the, uh…it’s kind of like a? how do you say?” (he’s french)
me: “a tampon?”
him: “yeah. i found it on the bathroom floor.”
we go and investigate, and sure enough, there’s a tampon sitting next to the toilet, and BONUS!! it’s stained with a dark reddish hue.
“well…okay. i feel a little better now. maybe that’s why i couldn’t get her pants off.” (*thinks for a minute*) “but how the fuck did the tampon get on the floor??”
“she was really drunk.”
“yeah, but who the fuck gets that drunk that they just pull a tampon out and throw it on the floor? i’ve never seen that in my life. if getting drunk affected tampon removal, don’t you think we’d see a hell lot more of this in our lives? like the occasional tampon on the ceiling, or stuck to the wall?”
so at this point, we’re totally stumped. our last chance to verify that it was a guy was to refer to the camera that i tactfully carried around with me that night, and snapped dozens and dozens of p–
OH MY GOD. she’s covering her face in EVERY picture.
oh my god. oh my god.
…
(*gets into fetal position, rocks gently*) i’m so…COLD right now.
