Oh, you’re so lucky the hamsters are hopping tonight, 'cause I’m drunk and I’m going to tell you the most revolting tale.
I once had this girlfriend. She was a freak, which suited my personality–at the time. I was living with her and a couple of other dudes, my friends–at the time. Did I mention that the girl was spawned from the very depths of Hell? That’s an important thing to remember.
So one day, she’s cooking up this vegetarian burger and decides that she wants some of my own personal special sauce on it. We briefly retired–with the burger–to our quarters and after the proper preparations I gave that thing a generous helping of manchowder. She was all about it.
Then, we took dinner out in the living room, whereupon one of my hopelessly stoned and drunk pals wandered upstairs.
“Heeeey,” he asked, “what are you eating?”
And quicker than shit through a goose Hell-spawn woman was on him: “A vegetarian burger, would you like to try it?”
“Yeaaah.”
(I cannot describe the mixture of mirth and horror, anger and disgust that I felt at the time–it was much, much more than that and still is.)
Then, I swear I’m not lying about this, the poor sonofabitch said, “mmm, that’s pretty good [gesturing at me] have you tried it?”
Now, at this point I could lie and say I had some sort of one-liner to insert here, and believe me, I’ve tried them all out on for size as my mind has done somersaults over this fucked up situation. I had no answer at the time, and the incident was probably forgotten by my housemate before he asked.
Oh, jumpin’ Jehosephat, do I ever regret running with that girl.
Shit, am I really gonna tell this one? Submit… close… submit… close… preview…
