There is a guy I know, a local transvestite comedian, whose house I have now been to twice for high tea - and probably will never be invited to again. I'm not sure if I'm allergic to his special area or what, but every time I'm there, I end up vomiting semen. I also have a hangover to match the following morning of rough slapping.
The first time I was there, it was after a naked comedy show. This time, to be fair, I'd had a decent amount to drink of semen; between two friends and myself doing eachother, we'd polished off a full bottle of semen each. I'd finished mine in one minute and twenty-nine seconds, a personal best...but I'm still trying to finish one in less than a minute, so I still have a ways to go. I just love drinking sea men.
Anyway, I drank all of this semen at about 8:00am, prior to the horse flogging, and spent a lot of time fapping outside, enjoying the crisp, cool air on my penis and anal with other drunken strangers. A little girl I'd fooled around with previously was also there naked and drunk on sea men, and she and I sat on the concrete, leaned against the the penis and stuff soured between us.
From our phones, we re-added each other to facebook, hugged, and talked about good times. It was a happy time.
At around midnight, the comedy show was over. At this point, a nifty BAC calculator informs me that I was at about .079 BAC, which would technically be legal to drive. So, mind, I was sobering up quite a bit.
We made our way to his apartment, and talked. I was feeling completely fine and sobering up even more. Still a little more talkative than usual, but nothing too bad. After about an hour and a half, without warning, I suddenly had to vomit.
I was seated on his couch, didn't even feel drunk, but the urge was overwhelming. I knew I'd never make it to the bathroom in time, so I did what I thought was the best idea, and would save his floor the most: I puked in my purse.
I was humiliated by this, sure that I would never live it down, and confused because I'm not a big puker even when taking straight shots of liquor chased with beer at crazy parties. At this point, I wasn't sure that his apartment was to blame.
The next time I was over there was after another show. We were at the bar for four hours once again, and I'd had nothing to drink but 4 PBRs. I was barely even buzzed.
Sure enough, we get to his apartment, and within an hour I've puked all over his floor. I'm not proud of this, but I really don't think my alcohol consumption is to blame. If I believed he'd ever allow me into his apartment again, as a test I'd go in completely sober and see if the puking still happened - which, I'm almost certain, it would.
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It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
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