Last Night

I drew this picture to help illustrate my story, which is 100% true and accurate. Admittedly I may have embellished a bit with the drawing, I don't really look like this, my boobs aren't that big.

The thing about drunk girls is this... They're drunk. And unlike their male counterparts, who you could just punch when they get out of hand, with a girl, apparently this isn't an option. So dealing with a loose, out of hand goose, is tricky- especially when the girl is nearly three times your size.

This is what happened.

I was out. A song I could vaguely enjoy played and I got my ass on the dance floor and tore that shit up. For about five minutes. The song ended, I lingered and the next thing I knew a heffalump (it's a nice way of saying a fat girl) was all up in my grill (I presume a 'grill' is a face?). I can't remember what song came on next but she was gyrating like she was trying to hula hoop. This would have been rather amusing, had the chosen object on which she was gyrating against been anything other than my leg. I felt sorry for her (God knows why). I smiled and kinda bobbed along. Then she shoved her drink in my hand and waited for me to have a sip. Reluctantly I did. I gave it back. She pushed it into my hands again, a little more forcefully this time and again, I drank. This repeated a few times. Now in between bottle thrusting, there was a lot of bottom thrusting. And in between that she would spin around and look at me, I think it was meant to be seductively, but it looked like she had something stuck in her eye. I don't know, maybe she was winking? And in between that, there were times when she, um, threw herself onto the floor, literally. Now I know what she was really trying to do. It's a dance move that goes something like: You bend over, ass out, then bring yourself back up, arching your back in, swinging your head back, and stand up straight. It's kind of like a ghetto move. It has potential. But you've got to be flexible and this unfortunate girl wasn't. So her move went more like this: She splayed herself on the floor. Picked herself up into a crouching position and, with understandable effort, stood up. I guess it was the thought right? And, although on the outside I smiled sweetly, on the inside I was like N**** please! Anyway the song couldn't have ended soon enough. But the ordeal wasn't over yet.

At one point I remember muttering something, promising I'd be right back and hot heeling it off the dance floor and into the girls' bathroom. I locked the cubicle door, and stood on the toilet seat. For a second I felt like I was in a thriller. I got this bright idea that I could stay hidden until she lost interest, but to do so I would need to have a visual of the situation, so I'd know when NOT to exit from my hiding place. I decided to try and peer over the wall to see if she had followed me. I was inching my way up the walls and just about to peer over when there came a BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM! Oh my sainted aunts she was beating at my cubicle door! I had no choice. I feebly opened the door and weakly said "Yes?" And she said "Oh it's you!" (Like she didn't know). Before I knew what was happening I had been grabbed and forced back onto the dance floor, where she sandwiched me between her gigantic ass and some guy's woo woo-who hopefully was too drunk to remember, I wish I was. There was fumbling, touching and at one point I almost burst into tears. I looked pleadingly around. No one came to my rescue, instead to my horror, the few people scattered around looked on, amused.

Finally at around two am I escaped, emotionally scathed but otherwise unharmed. Only a King Steers burger could quell the wave of thoughts and feelings from that evening...

On a lighter note. What is brown and sticky?

Answer: A brown stick!

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.