Monday, January 07, 2008


Plop Plop Fizz Fizz

This takes a lot of courage to finally admit this, as I've shared this with only a few people, but I am a victim of GHB, aka, the Date Rape drug. It's not something I'm comfortable in discussing, but I've decided to do so to highlight the variety of different people GHB can victimize. I'm not going to use this forum to identify who did this
to me, as I don't think that will solve anything. I'm doing this to bring awareness and to hopefully prevent this from happening to anyone else.

The victimization occurred back in college. I was roommates with a few of the members of the men's varsity soccer team and frequently attended the parties that men and women's soccer team threw on Sunday nights. Because the soccer players had a schedule dictated by their games and practices, the only night they could really party without consequence was on Sunday. These Sunday night parties always seemed to have the same guests, the same conversations and a lack of new faces.

This lack of "new blood" was particularly disheartening, because after partying with the same girls over and over again, one faces the danger of becoming their friend. Not the kind of friends who gets "benefits," but the kind of friend who will guard drinks while a gaggle of girls go take a piss (or, god forbid, a poop.) Unfortunately, I became a part of this marginalized group in the eyes of the girls that I knew from these parties, so I didn't make hooking up a top priority on Sunday nights. I was content on maintaining a buzz and hanging out with my friends.

Having resigned myself to this lot, it came as a pleasant surprise to suddenly become the fancy of one of these girl friends one Sunday night. Even more surprising was that I had known this girl for a long time, dating back to high school, and I can safely say that the chemistry between us had always been non-existent. She was good-looking and nice, so we obviously had some things in common, but neither one of us was interested in being more than casual friends, if even that.

Of course, I had a change of heart in that regard when I realized she was flirting pretty heavily with me. What can I say? I'm a people person. Anyway, she was laughing at all my jokes (who can blame her?) and was being very touchy feely. It was great.

Now, I didn't think that this girl suddenly came to her good senses after years of living in denial. Naturally, I attributed my good fortune to alcohol. I knew the beer that I was drinking was making me more charming and witty, like it always does, and I assumed I was getting better looking as her beer goggles got stronger. My privates and her privates were well on their way to doing a high five.

Then I started to get cock-blocked. For those of you who have been living in a cave, this crude yet accurate
phrase describes the actions of a guy who tries to prevent another guy from hooking up with a girl so he can get the girl instead. It truly is one of the most reprehensible things a person can do. Only complete a-holes are cock-blockers. Hitler was a cock-blocker….probably.

So some jerkoff starts following us around and interjecting himself into our conversation. She knew him from soccer and I had seen him around enough to know the kid was a dickbag. I wasn't about to worry about him, so I continued spitting my A-game and tried to ignore the kid.

But then this dork starts getting visibly upset and I realize he is angry at me. I assumed that he was mad because he thought I was cock-blocking him. Well tough shit, I thought. I got to her first, and it was obvious she wasn't interested in him. I had bigger problems to deal with anyway, then to worry about Screech getting his
panties in a bunch; the girl we were both courting was beginning to get completely hammered.

Even though Dildo Baggins didn't seem to care, I did. It's one thing to be the benefit of a girl's lowered inhibitions and questionable decision-making abilities due to her alcohol intake...that's why people of both sexes love to drink. But, it's another thing to take advantage of a girl who is so drunk that she has the motor skills and
posture of an abandoned ventriloquist dummy. I know, I know, I'm quite the gentleman.

So I got her some water and wrestled her drink away from her. My competition was watching over us like a hawk, so I told him to get her friends so they can help take care of her. She seemed like she was getting worse, and I wasn't about to enter babysitting territory by myself. Unbelievably, the dickbag refuses. So I go off to find her friends so they can bear the brunt of the girl's drunkeness.

When I come back with the girl's friends in tow, she's not where I left her. She's being helped up the stairs by Dickbag. She looks drunker than Brad Pitt in "Snatch" after his mom gets killed. He explains that she needed to go to the bathroom, so he was taking her up there to help. Nice try there, William Kennedy Smith.

Her friends take over from there, and effectively box out Shady Shaderson for the rest of the night. I end up leaving the party, cursing the fact that the girl wasn't able to handle her liquor and learning the lesson that binge drinking isn't a victimless crime. The only thing worse than going to bed alone, is going to bed alone with a bad case of blue balls. Sorry to be crude, but that's just science, and you're can't argue with science. Unless you're a hillbilly Jesus freak.

At this point, you are probably asking yourself what the point of this story was. Because if I wrote about every time I didn't hook up with a girl, this website would be updated daily.

Well the next day, the girl calls a mutual friend of ours, who was also my roommate. She says she's never felt worse. I assumed she was referring to giving me blue balls. I was wrong. She says she is pretty sure that someone slipped GHB into her drink. Once I hear this, things begin falling in place like a Tetris game. That's why she got so obliterated so fast. That's why Date Rape Jones was hawking me so badly; he didn't want me to reap the benefits of his hard work. And its not like I wanted to reap the benefits of his grossness. I don't need GHB to seduce women. I'm talented enough to seduce them normally: with copious amounts of alcohol and wit and with promises of dinner at Ruby Tuesday. Because of this, I feel that I was a victim of this loser's actions. Granted, the hangover that I woke up with was my own doing, but I was still denied the opportunity to seal the
deal with a pretty sure thing. And that stings. That may sound selfish, but, hey, I was a 21 year old college kid.

Don't get me wrong; I'm glad that things worked out the way they did. I don't want to see anyone get victimized, especially in that manner. Even if that means I'm relegated to a night of solo love. The gross part is that I'm so spiteful and petty that I don't know if I was happier that the girl didn't get violated or that that asshole wasn't rewarded for his dirtbag actions.

Anyway, because I relayed what had happened to my roommate the night before, my roommate was able to let the girl know who to blame for her hellacious hangover. Of course this didn't stop my friends from warning girls - to this day - to guard their drinks whenever I enter a room. Dealing with that is fun. Hopefully the jerkoff who caused this got hit by a bus covered in AIDS.

Thursday, January 03, 2008


Brown Bagging It

Somebody at work stole my lunch last month. Someone - a coworker - went into the office refrigerator and took my bagged lunch. And no, it couldn't have been a simple mistake. My lunch was the tits, and no one would've confused it for their own shitty lunch once they saw mine.

I had a stacked turkey sandwich with cheddar and jack cheese that I hand sliced that morning from a block of each. It was on an awesome 7 grain wheat bread.

THEN, I also added a baggie full of Cookie Crisp cereal. (To the lunch, not to the sandwich.) Say what you will, but breakfast cereal makes a great lunch-time snack. I'll take some Coco Puffs or Cinnamon Life over anything those Keebler elves can come up with any day.

An ice cold can of Coke and a bag of Better Made BBQ chips rounded out the lunch.

Needless to say I was furious when I realized what happened. I wanted to firebomb the whole goddamn office for even employing an asshole who steals lunches. Who does he think he is, the bully from Billy fucking Madison?

I walked back to my workspace and declared to my coworker that some fucker stole my lunch. He shook his head in disbelief and offered the following consolation:

"Yeah, I can't believe people do that kind of thing...I mean I've thought about doing it a couple times, but you never know the hygiene of the people that made it, ya know?"

Really? You've thought about stealing peoples lunches, and the only thing that stopped you was the possibility that the person who made it didn't wash their hands first? And you're telling this to someone who just got their lunch stolen? Wow, that's awesome. Thanks for calming me down, Kennard.

After my coworker admitted to his low class ways, it gave me an idea. I think I should set up a sabotaged lunch, and hope that it gets stolen by the same piece of shit that stole my first lunch.

I think I should cut some pubic hair off my groin-al area and hide it right in the middle of the sandwich, in between slices of lunch meat. Ideally, he (or she - there are some large ladies at my office) would swallow the hair, but I'd be satisfied if he stops mid-bite when he realizes that its not sprouts that are stuck in his teeth.

I shared my plan with my friends KL, Grod, Bubs, and Willi. They had additional suggestions. KL thinks I should bake cupcakes and place my pubic hair in the middle of the batter once its in the baking sheet. That way it will be hidden and instead of cream filling he'll get some of my short and curlies.

Another suggested that I should run a mile in 3 pairs of sweatpants after not showering for 2 days before I cut the pubic hair to use for the sabotage. Just to ensure that there it contains a good amount of fermunda cheese.

We also discussed the trouble I might get in from HR. Grod thinks that no one would report it to HR, because they would have to a) admit they routinely steal people lunches, which could be a fireable offense, and b) admit they tasted someone else's pubes. Bubs said it might worth getting fired if thats what someone had to go through to get me in trouble and the story I could tell afterwards. Willi said I can just claim that I enjoy eating my own pubic hair for lunch, and it wasn't meant for anyone else, and that I can't help it if someone decided to steal it for themselves. Personally, that is my favorite defense. I can only imagine what is added to my HR file after I say that in a meeting.

I'd also have to never make the same lunch again, because I wouldn't want some random dude walking by me eating my lunch and recognizing my cookie crisp snack and beating the shit out of me.

My buddies also warned me that I should be careful, because the coworker I initially told may have told other people too, or might even be a co-conspirator. And if I do it, and the word goes out that someone
sabotaged a lunch, this guy might flip on me and then I'd be screwed.

They are probably right, and I definitely learned my lesson;
from now on I'll go out of my way to avoid talking to my coworkers. And I'll sure as hell never leave my lunch out for the taking. Talk about asking for it.

God, it was such a good lunch.

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