"Okay."
I show up. At 5:45. Because I'm punctual like that. Waiting,waiting, waiting. Damn, I really need to pee. But I'm in the parking lot of this fancy shmancy place that I obviously don't belong. So, I just can't wonder around and pee in a shrub. I'm patient. I'll wait...5 minutes. 10 minutes. 25 minutes. Oh God, the patience was fictional. But the urinary rage built up in my weiner is all too real.
"Snap out of it Foster!", I tell myself.
It's time for action! Not piss induced whining of a yeast infected degree! Red team, go!
So, I search the parking lot. There are people in cars, but no one looking directly at me. "Sweet." I find an empty 24 oz Speedway cup of coffee wedged between my passenger seat and emergency break. After realizing that my life has been reduced to urinating in an old coffee cup in the parking lot of a dance hall, I briefly feel as if my life hadn't turned out the way I'd planned.
Then, I realize: Wait, I'm Eric Foster. I'm never going to be a musician ever again. For the most part, I'm pretty washed up. This really IS the chronological order of how things are supposed to unfold from here
So, I begin to pee in the cup.
Warning: The actual size of my penis may or may not be exaggerated by numerous feet/inches.
Either way, everything is going as planned. Just have to pee in the cup. Not a complicated procedure.
Suddenly, everything goes South.
Not 'stars and bars' forever, kind of South.
Intercourse in a tool shed after smoking poorly cultivated marijuana at a Charlie Daniels cover band concert at the County Fair kind of South.
I don't know exactly HOW or WHAT a human male needs to drink in order to urinate over 24 ounces....But, somehow I found a way...
There are dudes reading this, right? You guys know about 'the pinch'. The pinch' has been used by men since the stone age. Everytime we need to pee, and can't. We just grab the dink, and give it the ole' pinch-a-roo.
As common of a practice as that was, I tried it. However, I was disappointed to discover that apparantly, my D was suddenly immune to the pinch.
This resulted in a powerful blast of urine projected onto:
a) My steering wheel. (Which is helpful in guiding my vehicle to it's destinations)
b) My stereo (Which provides me with funky jams, beats, and/or rythems)
c) My hand (Of VITAL importance. Seriously, vital.)
Like a garden hose on full blast, waving around the lawn. But, I'm tenacious as well as resourceful. I also like eating at Wendy's. Thus, in my center counsil of my car, I had some napkins. Napkins of salvation, if you will...
So, I quickly, wipe down everything.
"Oh God, she'll be here soon!", I say to myself with a handful of wang, and another handful of saturated, piss drenched napkins used to wipe up the liquid humiliation which will result in years and years of involentary abstinence.
I see people exiting. So, I put little Mario back in the castle as quickly as I can, and stuff the napkins right back in the center counsil alongside a pack of Newports, and some At The Drive-In CD's. The coffee cup full of pee goes out the window, in the bed of someone's black Dodge Ram. Surprise! You win the raffle, you truck driving faggot!
Thinking quickly, I grab the Axe body spray (like I had it holstered on my belt) and hose down the wheel, stereo, and whatever else I could before she opened the door.
(I love this picture, because it looks like I'm picking up a prostitute.)
"HELLO! HOW ARE YOU, THIS FINE EVENING?!" I shout, as if she's deaf, retarded, and just consumed a condom full of heroin.
"Okay!", she responds. "Thanks for picking me up....It smells good in here!"
I mentally pump my arm like Kirk Gibson rounding second base in the 1988 World Series.
"Thanks, I put a new air freshener in here."
"I like it."
Suddenly, I feel more more clever than I really am.
I take her back to my place. We watch some movies, drink some booze, yada yada.
The next morning, we hop in the ole' Mustang.
After a preliminary sniff, I remain confident in getting away with the perfect crime. I begin to mentally boast a tad. I might be the most clever person, ever, I think to myself...No. I AM the most clever person, ever. Even if I can't grow a real beard, yet. Or still live in my parents basement.
So I'm driving her home.
She sniffles."Catching a cold?", I ask.
"Yeah, I think so."
"Aww, that sucks." (Note: If a guy ever says, "Aww" before ANYTHING- We don't mean it. Our sympathy is a false attempt in a larger scheme to put our google in your crockpot. Furthermore, if you're a dude and you actually mean "Aww"...You probably have the skidmarks of another man smeared on the front of your underpants.)
Anyways, back to the story. She asks, "Do you have any Kleenex?", then opens up my center counsil.
"Oh, napkins!" She exclaims!
From here on out, everything really does occur in slow motion. I swear, time and space actually slowed. She picks up the napkins, which had time to dry, overnight.
Slowly brings them closer to her face.
Mentally, I'm screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!", with my hands firmly pressed against my cheeks, like Mackuly Culkin in 'Home Alone'.
The morbid side of me watches, as she blows her nose into the napkin.
...My soul had physically left my body. I'd become an empty shell of a jaded, bitter, and generally hopeless human being that could never ever view the world with the slightest degree of bright eyed, bushy-tailed optimism, ever again.
The rest of the car ride was her talking. I don't remember what she was saying. Infact, it didn't really matter. All I could think of was, I bet the words tasted like an amalagated combination of my own urine, with traces of bad gas station coffee.
Finally, we reached our destination. She gives me a hug, and thanks me for everything. Then, bends over to give me a kiss. Don't get me wrong-I love making out with chicks...Just, not after they'd had something I peed on, in the general viscinity of their mouths. So, I patted her on the shoulder, and verbally shuffled my feet.
"Ayyy! You!!! We'll go fishing sometime, little trooper!"
(Like I'm more like Fonzie, less like Urkel, letting her down real cool like.)
"Huh?", she exclaims.
Then, I reached out to shake her hand, like it's a totally normal thing to do with a chick you're laying the sikdaddle down on.
"Hahaha, you ARE goofy!" she exclaims.
"Yeah. That's the ticket."
I got in my car, punched the gas and then punched myself in the penis really hard twice.
It hurt, but I deserved it.
Finally I went home and took a shower. I balled up in the fetal position and resisted the urge to cry, attempt to orally satisfy myself, or ever pee somewhere there isn't a toilet, again.
0 comments:
Post a Comment