This New Year's I forewent the festivities and decided to stay at home for an awesome night in. Apparently that meant falling asleep in my computer room chair streaming episodes of "Two And A Half Men" at about twenty past eleven, but whatever. New Year's is for suckers...or people with lives. (I forget which...)
As nothing good happened this year, I thought I'd delight you with a story from my last year's fiasco of an evening. Here goes:
I went to some douchebag's house who was a friend of a friend of an asshole. It was, to my surprise, a pretty decent sized party. Good lady to sausage ratio, not that that was a big concertn of mine that night. A lot of interesting artsy types were there. Musicians, painters, writers, and although I can't prove it, a homeless guy. We have two universities in my town, and another four colleges, so there is no short supply of intelligent people to bring down the ratio of hole-in-the-head fucktard morons. Anyway, the party was good and the drinks were free, so I endulged to my fullest. I drank things that night that I didn't know could be mixed with alcohol. (For after-the-blog commenting's sake, no it wasn't a Tom Collins Semen Cocktail...assholes.) I got the drunkest I've ever been, and apparently passed out on the sofa at about ten thirty or so.
As every dick with a cellphone knows, cameras are never in short supply at parties. Being the first one to pass out, there is the tried and trusted tradition of taking embarassing photos of said person for future internet posting. So that's what they did. Total strangers were putting draping me with trash, writing on me with a magic marker, and tossing me about on the sofa like some drunky-ass rag doll. Someone took my pants (god knows where...that's a story for another blog in itself as I never did get them back) while people posed for photos of my passed out self in boxer shorts and a sweet ass sweater. (Give me some wardrobe credit here please.) Anyway, some smarmy fuck (probably one of those shifty artists) decided it would be funny for me to have a ball hanging out. I don't know who, but someone adjusted the boxers so that one of my vastly superior testicles (again, some credit please) was exposed. Ha ha, good times, right? Wrong.
One of my friend's friends (the asshole), almost as drunk as me but thrice as daring, decided it would be funny to snub his cigarette out of said exposed testicle.
And he did.
Everything here is a little fuzzy. Its hard to remember, but most of my recall is provided by other people's testimonies. He hit my sack with the amber, I jumped up, eyes wide and grabbed my crotch. Some laughed, most cringed and fell silent. In a drunken rage of pain and...well...drunkeness, I deducted that someone did something horrific to my ballsack and needed to be punished. Raging on alcohol and stupidity, I turned to the first person I saw laughing and socked him right in the mouth. Had I been sober, the man's sheer size would have been a deterent to spur-of-the-moment reactions. This guy was built like a brick shithouse. My had throbbed just from impacting his giant-ass jaw. Alas, a fight ensues.
I'll skip the details of the fight. For as bad as I looked, you should have seen the other guy. (Not a fucking scratch on him...unless you count my teeth indent on his knuckles.) He knocked me around a bit, and eventually my good friend jumped in to help.
He too got his ass kicked.
We were asked to leave the place at 11:45...without my pants...and without our pride. We walked back quickly to my apartment which was about a fifteen minute stroll away, which sucks cigarette-charred balls in Canadian weather. No New Year's kiss, no drink of bubbly, no Auld Lang Syne...just a large circular burn on my onion-bag and a swollen mouth and cheek.
So I hope most of you had an awesome, non-burned testicle celebration. Given my track record of New Year's enjoyment, this past one ranks up there in the top three. (Sad, ain't it?) Maybe next year I'll really tear it up with a Stargate marathon...who'se with me?!?
Thanks for reading,
-The Big Bad