So my Neo-Nazi Girlfriend who Is Not My Girlfriend and I have perhaps had a few to many drinks at THAT bar on the Avenue that pours the mighty-strong drinks and I decide -- parking ticket be damned -- I am not going to be irresponsible and drive in this condition, so we good-naturedly stumble the eleven blocks to her place.
We fall onto her futon, and sex is soon to ensue, when I think this might not be a Good Idea. Of course, she is sucking my balls through my pants so my decision-making skills are not optimal, but I still manage to say:
"THis might not be a Good Idea."
"What?"
"Sex. We're both kinda drunk."
She stops sucking my balls through my pants and says:
"What the Fuck?"
"Well..."
"Me, I'd just like to know who in your past pussy-whipped the fuck out of you?"
"We might think different, sober..."
"When I come home drunk with a man I am a fully responsible woman, and I fully expect to wake up with one mother-fucker of a headache, a burning butt-hole, and semen in my hair."
So: we had sex.
And: in the morning she remembered none of it. None. Being a gentleman, I did nothing the previous evening that would've left her with a burning butt-hole and semen in her hair. Still.
"Are you... OK? I ask, sensitively.
"Oh God, don't turn all Bitch on me now," she says as she searches the bed for a missing nipple ring.
"I just --"
"You just want to be thought of as thoughtful -- I get it. Do you not realize that most of the great things in this world come from not giving a thought? Babies conceived in the back-seats of cars, babies conceived in the back of vans, children playing with scissors: this is What Made This Country Great."
I nod, then say:
"I don't know where my underwear is."
"I threw it out the window while I had my finger up your ass: THAT I remember."
I am Laslo.
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