Fuzzy Dice
07-03-2005, 08:13 PM
I was hanging out with my buddy Bonger. For one reason or another we decided to go a local bar, properly named the Sutherland, commonly known in the uni community as the Scuz. Bit of background here: I've never been particularily fond of the Scuz. There is now a ban on smoking in all public places in my province, but pre-ban, the scuz was a dank pit, with a thick haze of cigarette smoke and a selection of the bitchiest and most self-centered women the University of Saskatchewan has to offer. Come to think of it, that's still what it's like, but instead of the most intense cig smoke the city had to offer, imagine it with the stank of a thousand first-years on a dance floor. The bar-starlets are still there. But I digress. We'll never get anywhere like this.
Bong and I go to the scuz. We made the mistake of deciding to go later in the evening and mostly sober. We took steps to fix the sobriety aspect upon our arrival, but you know how that goes. You never have as much fun at a bar if you have to properly get drunk while you're there, instead of priming yourself beforehand. The best time I ever had at a bar, I was gooned off my ass on the best moonshine and apple juice I've ever imbibed. That night, I hooked up with an amazingly good looking woman from my animal physiology class. Frankly, she was way out of my league. Dunno what she saw in me. I must have been funny or charming or something. I don't know, I was drunk. So drunk, in fact, that she went to the bathroom and I didn't notice. I turned to where she had been and asked her to dance. Except it was a man. Apparently a very angry man. I was saved from a beating of ethinic cleansing proportions by my friend Bouchard, who was working at that bar as a busboy at the time.
Fuck. Tangent again. Sorry about that. I'll try to keep that to a minimum from here on in.
Right. So. Bong and I go to the scuz. After a couple hours of drinking and such, we got bored and decided to go home. On our way out, we cut through the dance floor and Bong got stopped by a cute brunette he knew from one class or another. He stopped to talk, and the Cute One's friend, a short, dumpy blonde, started trying to dance with me. I should mention at this point that I am a card carrying Mighty Wingman. In the interest of Bong possibly hooking up with yon Hot Brunette, Fuzzy says fuck it and dances with the short, dumpy blonde. A song passed. During the lull between tracks, I got introduced to the Hot One, but her name escapes me. With the start of the next song, the stubby girl started grinding me. Again, wingman, so I ground back. This went on for some time. Then she stepped back and appraised me. She looked me the fuck Up and Down. Then, AND THEN, she reached out with one hand and Hefted. My. Nuts. Twice.
I was moderately surprised.
The she turned to the Hottie and looked at Bong and whispered - a loud kind of whisper - "I'm going to fuck your friend." At this stage, I'm caught moderately off guard. That and Stubby still has a grip on my half-a-baby delivery systems. More to the point, I hit a moral dillemma of sorts. Faced with a guarantee of 'nani, a drunker man might have abandoned his conscience in short order. However, I wasn't drunk. Not enough, anyway. She was neither my type nor particularily attractive and she was pissed three times over. This violates one of Fuzzy's Rules. Rule #1 is that a girl must weigh less than me. I'm ~190lbs. That's a lot of leeway. Rule #2 is that a girl must not remind me of my mother or sister. Rule #3 is that crazy may in no way, shape or form enter the picture. Rule #4 is that in any situation involving alchohol, I must be at least as drunk as the girl in question or I won't do it. Bear in mind that I am giggling my mother-fucking ass off. I extricated my BMU's (baby-making units) from her stump-esque grip and Bong and I excused ourselves.
Good times. Good times.
Bong and I go to the scuz. We made the mistake of deciding to go later in the evening and mostly sober. We took steps to fix the sobriety aspect upon our arrival, but you know how that goes. You never have as much fun at a bar if you have to properly get drunk while you're there, instead of priming yourself beforehand. The best time I ever had at a bar, I was gooned off my ass on the best moonshine and apple juice I've ever imbibed. That night, I hooked up with an amazingly good looking woman from my animal physiology class. Frankly, she was way out of my league. Dunno what she saw in me. I must have been funny or charming or something. I don't know, I was drunk. So drunk, in fact, that she went to the bathroom and I didn't notice. I turned to where she had been and asked her to dance. Except it was a man. Apparently a very angry man. I was saved from a beating of ethinic cleansing proportions by my friend Bouchard, who was working at that bar as a busboy at the time.
Fuck. Tangent again. Sorry about that. I'll try to keep that to a minimum from here on in.
Right. So. Bong and I go to the scuz. After a couple hours of drinking and such, we got bored and decided to go home. On our way out, we cut through the dance floor and Bong got stopped by a cute brunette he knew from one class or another. He stopped to talk, and the Cute One's friend, a short, dumpy blonde, started trying to dance with me. I should mention at this point that I am a card carrying Mighty Wingman. In the interest of Bong possibly hooking up with yon Hot Brunette, Fuzzy says fuck it and dances with the short, dumpy blonde. A song passed. During the lull between tracks, I got introduced to the Hot One, but her name escapes me. With the start of the next song, the stubby girl started grinding me. Again, wingman, so I ground back. This went on for some time. Then she stepped back and appraised me. She looked me the fuck Up and Down. Then, AND THEN, she reached out with one hand and Hefted. My. Nuts. Twice.
I was moderately surprised.
The she turned to the Hottie and looked at Bong and whispered - a loud kind of whisper - "I'm going to fuck your friend." At this stage, I'm caught moderately off guard. That and Stubby still has a grip on my half-a-baby delivery systems. More to the point, I hit a moral dillemma of sorts. Faced with a guarantee of 'nani, a drunker man might have abandoned his conscience in short order. However, I wasn't drunk. Not enough, anyway. She was neither my type nor particularily attractive and she was pissed three times over. This violates one of Fuzzy's Rules. Rule #1 is that a girl must weigh less than me. I'm ~190lbs. That's a lot of leeway. Rule #2 is that a girl must not remind me of my mother or sister. Rule #3 is that crazy may in no way, shape or form enter the picture. Rule #4 is that in any situation involving alchohol, I must be at least as drunk as the girl in question or I won't do it. Bear in mind that I am giggling my mother-fucking ass off. I extricated my BMU's (baby-making units) from her stump-esque grip and Bong and I excused ourselves.
Good times. Good times.