The Pocket Dial

It's 4:00AM and I'm drunk driving two friends home. Just as I begin telling a slew of terrible stories, I simultaneously pocket dial Jennifer (a friend's cousin who admittedly liked me). Had I pocket dialed her five minutes earlier or later, Jennifer would likely have heard nothing but idle conversation. Instead I left her a lengthy voice mail in which I somewhat remember describing the following events.

ME:
So I'm at this party and some Chinese kid ( Editor's note: In
actuality I have no idea whether he wasn't actually Chinese or not) says
"He has a joke."
So I say to him: "Wait! Did you go pee-pee in my coke?"

The occupants of my car proceed to laugh hysterically about my racist comment. Unsatisfied, I continue to brag about another terrible endeavor.

ME:

Eddie and I went to visit James in San Francisco and he tells me
about this strip club/ peep show called the Lusty Lady. The
place reeks of jizzum and I shit you not: there are tissue paper
dispensers on the fucking wall! So Eddie and I are in adjacent
mastabatoriums eye-fucking an ass naked stipper and I yell to him:
"Dude this is weird! I can't just look someone in the eye
and jerk it! Are you jerking it?"


ME QUOTING EDDIE:
"No dude. I can't either. Check James out, he's totally jerking off!"
(Editor's note: the mastabatoriums don't actually use one-way
mirrors to prevent perverts like me from video taping them)

ME QUOTING NAKED STRIPPER:
"Look you guys are making impossible for the people who are
jerking off to jerk off.:

ME (CONTINUED)
"Sorry, WHORE!"

The car erupts in laughter again. According to the slew of angry text messages I received from Jennifer the following morning this is where my her message machine cut me off. Luckily, her message machine failed to record where I got incredibly inebriated and returned the night after. After I had drank my dignity away, I jerked off with full force, looking the stripper DEAD in the eye as I sprayed manseeds onto the wall in front of me.

The Poodunnit Mystery

A friend of mine decided to celebrate her birthday in Venice Beach. I knew beforehand that many of her friends that who would be present have decent jobs in the film industry. Being a film student myself, I decided I would do my best to make a good impression on these people. Only after a few hours of binge drinking, I instead proceeded to make a complete ass out of myself. I tried to pass off someone else's film idea as my own: only I forgot the originator was standing right next to me. This did not go over well. I also attempted to plant some pipe on a girl who was five years older than me and way out of my league. Though at first she seemed slightly interested in me, the more intoxicated I became the more I began to exude the pungent odor of vag-repellent. It was like witnessing a slow motion train wreck that I was powerless to stop.

Anyways, the real mayhem ensued sometime between the hours of 3:00 an 7:00 AM. The six of us remaining rented a suite in an upscale hotel located on the boardwalk. There are three of us in either bed of the two conjoining rooms. I am awaken promptly at 7:00 AM by my close friend, Scott

SCOTT
Everyone, wake up! You guys gotta see this.

Still drunk, we stumble after him into the other room. I see what appears to be a pile of brown vomit on the floor of the other room right next to the edge of their bed.

ME
That sucks, someone puked.

SCOTT
Not vomit. THAT'S A SHIT!

The commotion wakes a girl who was sleeping near the poop bed. She stands up directly into the human feces, which promptly squishes between her toes. Yet the strangest part is that the trajectory of smeark marks in front of the poo indicate that the suspect ass scuttled across the carpet like an animal with a dingle berry. Tensions are rising trying to find out exactly who the phantom pooper is. Logically, it would be whoever smells, or is covered in excrement. But miraculously everyone appears pretty sanitary. The investigation is further hindered because everyone was blacked out and cannot undoubtedly claim their innocence.

SCOTT
There's a $100 dollar deposit on this room,
and I don't think were getting it back.

Reluctantly, the two girls who slept on the bed with Scott clean the poo with hotel towels, but here the plot sickens. They find parsley in the poop and determine the culprit was someone who are tacos last night. I am now quite nervous, as I ate at least three last night.

SCOTT
There's a roll of toilet paper under the bed!

ME
This was a premeditated pooping!?!?

TYLER
This is poop with malice!

Tensions begin rising, but even if the guilty member remembers the event, no one is copping to it. To ease the tension, I offer a "Grassy Knoll Magical Poop Theory" in which a deranged homeless bag-lady threw a poop into our third story window. This now makes everyone suspicious that I was the culprit. True, I was blacked out, but in my defense: I'm never even had a cavity, let alone walk pass a pristine bathroom to defecate on the floor next to three passed out friends. I also have an internal hemorrhoid which gives me distinct rectal bleeding. Currently, all evidence points toward the birthday girl, Elizabeth, as she woke up without pants and her proximity to the poop was quite suspicious. She was also the only one to shower the following morning. But, in her defense, she made a bowel movement the following morning that was so massive it clogged the toilet (unless of course she was trying to flush her soiled undergarments). At this time there remain six suspects, but no leads.