Showing posts with label laid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label laid. Show all posts

Ask HolyJuan: A Drunken Friend

Dear HolyJuan,

I’d like to continue on the topic of getting laid as initiated by Marcie.

I went out drinking this past weekend. I was about to leave the bar when I spotted a chick that I knew. I stopped by her barstool and found that she was really drunk. I had been sporting a crush on this chick for some time, and decided to sit next to her.

After a little conversation, this chick basically threw herself at me. We made out for a while and she told me that she wanted me.

I was planning on taking her home when she slurred, “I love you Scott. I really do.”

I sat back while she kissed me and thought, “This is just too easy.”

After I made sure this chick had secured a ride home from one of her friends, I went home alone.

So HolyJuan, does this unusual moment of conscience on my part signal a new age of maturity and respect for others?, or is it an early sign of gayness? I trust your judgment implicitly. Please advise.

Best Regards,
Sleepy Scott

Dear Sleepy Scott,

This act of honor, thoughtfulness and chivalry is not within my capabilities to judge nor of which to make light. On my best day, I would have taken advantage of this drunken lady in two or three of her rum infused orifices. In my bestselling book, “Get Drunk, Get Wet, Sneak Out,” I describe this as the holy trinity of hook up situations: drunk friend, the barstool make-out and the “I love you” line. Maybe, at best, an average guy can get two of these criteria in a five year span at Ohio University. I’ve heard tell of someone getting an “I like you,” but this… this is completely unheard of. And on top of that, you ensure her safe departure.

Sleepy Scott… you honor me with your question, but I cannot answer your query. I can only ask a question of you: When you got home that night, did you cry yourself to sleep masturbating to gay porn or did pop in an old Transformers cartoon VHS tape and rub one out to that you big, no moist dick, wet dreaming, pussy?

Remember, regret is for the morning, not that night.



PS Oh yeah, and that “trusted friend” who drove your girl home that night… he banged her while your tears dripped on your belly and intermingled with the half-kids that filled your belly button. The light from the television and Optimus Prime’s shiny metal skin would have cast a reddish glow upon your pasty, white, unlaid skin.