I have so much bizarre shit happen, and so many inane conversations that I rarely have to delve into my checkered past if I’m looking to tell a story to curdle your mind. Occasionally though, a story of What-the-fuckery Past will push through the repression therapy and I’ll be reminded of a real gem with which I must traumatize regale you. And you all can thank Dan from Shameless Promotions for pulling this tale from the depths of repression with his last post. Make sure to go over there and thank him for the forthcoming mental assault.
The tale begins many years ago in the gay capital of northern England while walking home one Winter night from the pub with a friend. Thanks to several hours of drinking, I was in desperate need of a loo, but Eion was dawdling around and taking his time as we walked.
“Will you please hurry up! I! Have! To! Pee!” I stomped my boot on the icy ground with each word for emphasis.
“Ha! I do, too!” he replied with drunk giddiness.
“Too bad you can’t do this!” he add, and then he pulled himself out of pants and peed in the snow.
“I’m green with envy,” I said sarcastically, though I had to pee so bad that I actually was.
“That’s great Ei, you can spell your own name. And in urine no less. Any six year old would be proud. Though your penmanship is horrible.”
“I’d like to see you do better,” he zipped himself back up.
“If I had a whackado I could.”
“Fine! Let me use yours the next time you have to pee and I bet I will!” I snarled because I say the stupidest things when I’m challenged and angry.
Flash forward a few years later to me telling this story to one of the weirdest (and coming from me that’s saying a fucking lot) friends I ever knew.
Dawn’s eyes were as large as saucers as I finished the story.
“And that’s why you should always use the restroom before you leave a bar,” I took a swig of my Yuengling.
“So what was it like?” she asked.
“What was what like?”
“Holding a man’s penis while he peed?”
I nearly choked on my beer.
“Why not? You are seriously asking me that?”
“Just think about how cool that would be.”
I did think about and I didn’t think it would be cool at all. I did however erupt into hysterical laughter. For some reason this really pissed off (pun intended) Dawn and she hissed at me to keep it down because people were looking at me.
“You’re the one who told me to think about holding a guy’s peen while he pees!” I snickered.
“Well you brought it up in the first place,” she huffed at me.
And unfortunately I had. But in my defense I blurt out a lot of random things so you would think Dawn would know better than to listen.
Dawn found a boyfriend a few months later. As a result she didn’t have much time to hang out with girlfriends, and when she did, she brought her weirdo boyfriend with her. This was the case on one of the last time we ever got together before her strange habits (she liked to talk about different ways she could pretend to drown in her pool and would practice them frequently) got to me.
“Guess what I did!” she greeted me as they arrived at the local watering hole.
I could tell by the look on her face that I did not want to guess what she did.
“I held Steve’s dick while he peed!”
(Did you ever have one of those moments where you felt something trickling out of your ear, and then when you touched it you discovered it was your brain? Yeah…)
“It was so much fun!” she gushed on.
“I liked it because I didn’t have to wash my hands,” Steve smiled his freaky smile.
I knew then that I was suffering from irreparable mental damage because I’m usually pretty sharp with the comebacks, and with all of the potential hand jokes there were, I could not think of a damn thing to say.
“I told Steve that it was your idea,” Dawn informed me.
That broke my silence.
“The hell it was!” I roared, “I never told you to hold your boyfriend’s penis while he peed!”
“Shhh!” Dawn glared at me, “I was trying to thank you!”
“Well don’t! Take that credit for yourself!”
The topper of the evening though? Steve had to use the men’s room a couple of times while we were out and Dawn went with him to “help”. Every. Single. Time.