"WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PEN, DAD!?" I had constant night terrors as a kid. There were times where I would find myself naked in the kitchen incoherently yelling at my dad to give me back my pen. I had them for fucking yeeeaars. I wouldn't always remember them though and I would wake up literally on the wrong side of the bed, drowning in a pool of piss and would have flashbacks of me in the kitchen talking to the fridge like he was my buddy. I don't know... I was 8, man. Night terrors are like the children's blackout, so really I was preparing myself for adulthood and alcohol-induced blackouts were an easy transition. Aaaaand my teachers always said I was a little slow... Pfft. Whatever, Miss Aboussafy.
As a questionable adult, the number of times I have woken up in a panic not knowing where the fuck I was after a night of consuming lethal amounts of alcohol, I’m surprised I’m not missing any vital organs. I mean, maybe I am, fuck, who knows, my body still functions at a relatively decent level for the punishment I’ve put it through over the years. Bodies can be extremely forgiving and my self-inflicting punching bag of one can vouch. Even though waking up in a stranger's bed, couch, floor, bathroom and so on, with no recollection of a large majority of the night, became the standard, I would still be in shock every time it happened as if it were always the first time. To add to the alcoholic amnesia, there’s everything I’ve left at random houses, like cell phones, wallets, jewellery, birth certificate, every article of clothing etc. My buddy "Jude," his dad used to sell cell phones and I would buy one off him probably every 2 months. After a while, I would call and he wouldn't even say hi anymore, just, "I got a pink Motorola Razr, it's the best I can do right now." (I loooved that pink Razr!) No joke though, I could easily fill an entire Thrift Shop with the amount of shit I have left at women’s houses. Needless to say, there hasn't really been a helluva lot of growth from 8-years-old to now. Whatever, Miss Aboussafy.
With all the clothes I have left at women's houses, I had never left wearing something that wasn't mine until two full decades into my life, 20 years ain't bad...
Alright, when I was 20, I moved into my Grandma’s house with my buddy "Strazz." Grandma had a stroke several months before and was fighting for her life in a care home, so dad figured why not have his second eldest misdirection of sperm, destroy the house his parents had spent the better part of 40 years breaking both the bank and their backs maintaining. Ya should've used a sock, pops. The parties we threw were like those high school parties in the movies; people fucking in every room, a random DJ that no one ever seemed to know and the drunkest guy at the party pissing off the balcony onto people, (Usually my buddy "DJ Stumble" who wasn't a DJ, just a drunken stumblin' beautiful buffoon.) I was constantly getting text messages and phone calls from people I didn’t know asking if they could come over. The police knew me on a first-name basis, I had them in for tea every Sunday morning and we would talk about my future. Bleak as fuck seemingly.
You know when you move out for the first time and you can’t afford the finer things life has to offer, or... fucking... anything? Well, we could hardly afford to eat, so there were times we would drink water to moderately keep our hunger pangs at bay until we passed out. I was a fucking bum, but luckily, Strazz was working at a grocery store, so occasionally he would steal bags of shredded cheese and stale bread and we would make hood-style grilled cheese. The empty cans and bottles from our parties we took to the bottle depot every Monday, subsidized our chronic alcohol abuse. Obviously, alcohol was always more important than toilet paper, so we would use coffee filters to wipe our asses, which also explains why our coffee tasted like shit. We had a couple of girls over one night and since we ran out of coffee filters, they gathered leaves from our backyard, boiled them and used them as a toilet paper replacement. It's probably why we didn't get laid, I really wish I were making this up. I had a buddy named "Neutron" and his parents lived a block away, so we would steal toilet paper from there, too. If we were really desperate though, we would take shits in the gas station down the road and I would fill my pockets with toilet paper when I was done. We became super friendly with the two east Indian attendants, “Jazz” and “Ash,” they were fucking dope and they could not care less what we did, they hooked us up. It was all a vicious cycle, dude.
I was dating this girl "Tiffani" for a short while and she had broken up with me a couple of weeks before I moved into my new place. We dated for about a month and a half, so you could imagine how distraught I was after she ended things with me. I had pretty much spent the last 14 days straight listening to Sarah Mclaughlin and Coldplay and crying manically to pictures of me and Tiffani and changing the words in the Sarah McLachlan song; Adia, from "Adia, I do believe I've failed yooouuu." To, "Tiffani, I do believe I've failed yooouuu." As I clutched at my computer screen, pretending to stroke Tiffani's beautiful hair, with hot tears streaming down my face and salty snot resting on my upper lip. Fucking get a hold of yourself, Liam! I did this hours on end with this song on fucking REPEAT. Then I would get angry and start yelling at virtual Tiffani, "Why!? You fucking bitch! I don't deserve this! Why would you do this to me, you whore!"
Why?! Well, Liam, it's because you caused a massive scene by being real brave and threatening to "kill" yourself by jumping off of a ledge no taller than you, onto the grass, nonetheless... We'll get there though.
So, my buddies, Neutron, DJ Stumble and Strazz dragged me to a kegger party, because they were tired of me sulking like a little bitch, but since it was at a mutual friend's house of me and Tiffani, I didn't want to go in fear that I might see her kissing some guy and laughing at me. Well lo, and behold, as soon as I got there I see Tiffani and all I could hear was Chris Martin singing in my ear, "Nobody said it was easyyyyy, it's such shame for us to paaartttt." I thought I could try and impress her by doing a keg-stand, but fucking Neutron and DJ Stumble purposely dropped me as I was deep throating the tap and I choked on the beer and fell on my face. Tiffani was shaking her head at me. At least I got her attention, but also, fuck her. As I was on my ass yelling at Neutron and DJ Stumble for fucking up my chances with getting Tiffani back, I spot this girl "Kat" laughing at me. I had hooked up with her a couple of times the year before. The first time I fucked her was in my buddy "McCripplewitz’" sister’s bed after one of his parties and when I woke up in the middle of the night, the light was on and she was fully clothed and sitting on the edge of the bed cackling at me like she was an organ trafficker who had one of my kidneys chilling on ice in a cooler beside her. The second and last time was at her house. Her parents were out of town and after we fucked, her evil stepsisters chased me out of the house. After not hearing from me for a few days, she called me in a panic and ended things, with me having no recollection that we ever even started things. Look, as far as I’m concerned, if I can’t tell you the exact pigment of the girl’s butthole, we aren’t dating. (Ladies, ask your men. The colours do vary even within the same ethnicity.) She was crazy in the certifiable category, which either makes me fall head over heels in love or head over heels into a woodchipper - fucked either way. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since:
(Liam) “I’d recognize that psychotic laugh anywhere,” I say as I am walking up to her spitting out grass and beer and looking at Tiffani who wouldn't give me the attention that I desperately needed.
(Kat) “Haha, hi Liam… Psychotic laugh?!” *Eye roll*
(Liam) “Yeah! Your laugh scares children, Kat.”
(Kat) “Liam, you are a child. Is that why you got scared?”
(Liam) “So… you fuck children? Who’s really losing here?”
(Kat) “WOW. Still the same old asshole...”
(Liam) “Okay, okay. Truce?” I say as I am giving her puppy dog eyes. I mean, I'm an adorable asshole, c'mon.
(Kat) “You’re cute, but you’re not that cute…” I stare at her in silence, still fully puppy-dogging it and panting.
“Fine. Ugh. Yes, fine. Truce.”
We chat for a while and she tells me that she is taking acting classes and is an aspiring actress now. Imagine that… When it hits me! A plan so genius. So childish. So... well... Liam… I tell her that I have a role for her. She will be playing a lifeguard who is saving me from drowning. She gives me a blank look and had no idea what the fuck I was talking about, so I simplify it because I even confused myself:
“I'm trying to make my crazy ex over there jealous and I need you to make out with me in front of her. Really sell it though, feel me up, throw in a compliment now and again like how big my cock is. Maybe a moan too. We good?" I smile, just an ugly smile I'm sure, I think I still had bits of grass and dirt in between my teeth, not to mention, I was reeking of cheap-ass beer, I was an undeniable disaster and noooowhere near as adorable as I thought I was.
(Kat) "You don't have a huge cock, Liam..."
(Liam) "That's why they call it acting. You're going to be a shit actor, you know that. Forget it, you failed. FAIL..."
She then gives me a look that would make the Devil blush and we start going at it as my ex is staring at us in jealousy… or disgust and pity. Most likely disgust and pity. This went on all night, in between feeble keg-stands.
The jealousy tactic didn’t work at all. Kat had no interest in fucking me either and I went home alone to jerk off to pictures of Tiffani before crying myself to sleep to, "I will remember yooouuuu la di da di da daaaaa."
At the bar: The following weekend I head to a bar called Seymour's with Neutron, DJ Stumble, Strazz and McCripplewitz, where again, I fucking see Tiffani. At this point, I had given up all hope on getting her back and since I hadn't gotten what I wanted, it was fucking on, man. Narcissistic entitlement? I'll be the first to tell you that. I never shy away from making a scene and had the boys with me and when we’re all bouncing off each other, we were more of a public disturbance than the Baldwin’s and Lohan’s combined. Real winners.
Besides, my penis was antsy and I always listen to his rationalizations:
(Liam the 1st) “Dude, if I’m not so far up a new pussy that I’m cuddling with a uterus by night's end, I’m going to be fucking pissed. We need this. Don’t drink too much and fuck it up like you always do, you degenerate.”
I had set up an appointment for an STD checkup the following week just to give myself some motivation and wasn’t going to disappoint the boss. I meet “New Girl” and we start making out right beside Tiffani. I am simultaneously dry-pile-driving this girl and yelling at Tiffani. All the boys are laughing, except Strazz, who is far too sweet to be hanging out with us. I’m not sure why he always put up with our debauchery. Unlike the rest of us, he cares what people think, he is still this way to this day. He wasn't happy though:
(Strazz) “Liam! Why do you do this shit?! Just shut the fuck up and get off that poor girl, would ya? You’re gonna get us kicked out!” He is staring around in paranoia as his face involuntarily ticks. When he is distressed, his face spasms and he makes squeaking noises, which I find fucking hilarious because I got tested for Tourettes when I was eight and was worse than he was, so I can relate to the embarrassment of it all.
McCripplewitz, who actually told Tiffani to break up with her boyfriend at the time, so she could date me, hated her and always spoke his mind and is more honest and ruthless than anyone I know says:
(McCripplewitz) “No no, man. Fuck that bitch. She broke your heart, Liam. You will fuck this girl!"
The girl I am hooking up with is significantly less attractive than my dearest Tiffani. DJ Stumble always had a thing for her and still does to this day says:
(DJ Stumble) “Hahaha, duuuude! Have you seen how hot Tiffani is?! This girl isn’t even close to as hot! You fuuuucked up!"
Stumbles was right, too. She was the most attractive girl I had ever been with at that point and I loved her.
I must destroy her...
(Liam) “Hey Tiffani, you see what you’re missing?! All this here! Me balls deep in this respectable young lady!”
Tiffani doesn't say a word and is barely even looking at me. LOOK AT ME! Then in a silent protest, walks away with her friends. How immature.
(Liam) “Who’s winning this war?! You fucked upppp!!”
Neutron, who psychologically treated women like they were the female subject of an angry Eminem song says:
(Neutron) Yeah man, she’s not as hot as Tiffani, no offence, new bitch. You’re not even hot at all in all honesty. Beat it, ho, this is boy’s night.”
(Liam) “Ahh shit, you’re right. I fucking hate you guys.”
(New Girl) “You guys are assholes.” She says as she angrily hops off me.
(Neutron) “I’m sorry, it’s hard to make out what you’re saying with Liam’s dirty-ass dick in your mouth.”
New Girl disappears into the night, which I promise you is the wisest decision she has ever made in her entire life.
Strazz is shaking his head and says, “Unlike you fucks, I actually like girls!” It’s true, he really does, and they like him, too…like a friend… We all put our arms around Strazz and squeeze his ass.
(Liam) “God bless you, Strazzberry. Respecting the womenziz. We fuckin’ love ya, pal.” We head to the bar and are nailing back shots like Steph Curry and toasting to sobriety and being si---.
Cue: The Evening's Closing Credits.
My eyes open, and everything is out of focus for a few seconds.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I still have my contacts in and they’re so dry that it feels like there is superglue in my eyes. You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I am lying vertically on a loveseat with my legs dangling off of the backrest. My head, oww, my fucking head is pounding. It feels like a crane is swinging around a wrecking ball directly at my brain repeatedly. I make sure to not make any sudden moves, so I am only swivelling my neck and darting my eyes as I look around playing inebriated detective, “Sherlock ‘Not My’ Holmes” and trying to piece everything together. Unless Strazz had craftily renovated the entire house early this morning, this is not my fucking living room. My face is on fucking fire, it has gotta be 50 degrees Celsius in here. I smell like tequila, B.O and dry piss – if shame had a scent, this is surely it. Like seriously, if I bottled up this stench, I could sell it to strict parents to use as a scare tactic so their kids never drink, or make any bad decisions. It would be revolutionary and I would be a millionaire.
I sit up as quietly as I can and am patting the pockets of my jeans, looking for my phone. My pockets are empty. Wait. These aren’t my pockets. Shit, these aren’t my jeans, they're faded light blue and I was wearing dark blue jeans last night. These are fucking chick jeans! Here is the thing about my hips, between you, me and Shakira, these motherfuckers are about as honest as they come, not to mention, I got dat ass that makes Kim Kardashian look like she has an eating disorder, so just let that one sink in. I look down at my plain white T-shirt draping over me, which is both inside out and backwards.
Wait. I don’t even own a plain white T-shirt.
I fucking hate my friends.
I am looking around in a panic and spot my shoes. What the actual fuck?! How do I only have my shoes? I smell fresh cocoa that is overpowering everything else. I sit on the edge of the couch and bend over to tie my shoes when I spot the top part of a condom wrapper, which mildly helps with putting my mind at ease. Nice, this kid fucks, yo.
Ugh, where are my clothes? My wallet? My phone? I hear movement and noises coming from the kitchen:
“You want some cocoa, Hunny??” Is the sound of a raspy voice, that sounds like a female truck-stop diner waitress. Is she talking to me? I stand up, kneel downwards and start crawling towards the kitchen, pretending I am a special agent on a mission. Shermotherfuckinglock Not My Holmes needs to crack this case!
I reach the wall that divides the kitchen from the living room where I was and peek my head around the corner into the kitchen. I see the backside of an older lady with grey hair, which is surely the raspy cocoa lady. I seriously hope I didn’t fuck her. Even I have my limits. She grabs the delicious fucking cocoa and starts walking towards a bedroom that is just feet away from the kitchen. Fuck the delicious fucking cocoa, it is December and snowing, I need my jacket at the very least!
I slide back up against the wall and slowly shimmy over to the other side of the kitchen where the bedroom is, but am still hidden enough for them not to see me. I peer my head around the corner rather impressively when I spot her... Now, I would say she had legs and ass for days, but the caboose on her could provide shelter for the crew at the end of the train, which explains why these jeans are so baggy and she’s insanely short, which explains why they look like capris on me. I quickly turn around and lose balance and knock over the lamp that was on the table next to the loveseat couch where this nightmare started. As it smashes on the ground, I book it and hide behind the couch, I am a home invader now and going to get shot on the scene. I don't know what to do so I quickly stand back up and since my current hangover-drunk is the equivalent of a normal person's casual night-drunk, I am stumbling around in circles desperately looking for an exit out of purgatory and losing my balance with every other step that I take.
(Cocoa Lady) “Helloooo. Is somebody there?!"
SHIT. I run through the room next to the living room, which has a dining table and a few chairs and I get to a hallway that leads to the front door! I fucking see it!! The golden ticket!!! It's about 15 feet away, so I make a run for it but stop when I see a staircase to God knows where on my immediate right. I am bobbing up and down and looking behind me towards the bedroom and the wonderful cocoa. The front door and the staircase are at an equal distance from where I am, but I can't make a decision.
Front door. Staircase. Front door. Staircase.
Why can't I make a decision? What the fuck is wrong with me. All I have to do is literally grab the door handle, open it and run to freedom... But instead, I run downstairs and to the basement, where I luckily find a backdoor and book it out to a lawn and an eventual sidewalk.
I am picturing neighbours peaking from their blinds to see some drunken lunatic in women’s clothing running down the slushy street and it's fucking hilarious. I look around and know exactly where I am. I am less than 5 minutes away from my house. I can’t fucking believe it, honestly, what are the chances? I run past an old lady walking her dog:
(Liam) “Good doggy,” I say while trying to pet him. The lady quickly snaps the leash, causing the dog to yelp and flail backwards. She shoots me a terrified look like I’m about to steal her purse.
(Liam) “Animal crueltyyyyyy,” I’m yelling as I continue to run home, laughing hysterically the entire way.
I had a few walk-of-shames in my pitiful sexual career at that point, but even to this day, I've never a run-of-shame, no fuck that, a Triathalon-of-shame... I had hit a low - No wallet. No clothes. No phone. No pride. What the fuck is pride anyway? Look it up in the dictionary and I promise you, you ain't seeing a picture of Liam Peters beside it, wearing female clothing, face beat-red, while he runs in the snow laughing and trying to hold up a random girl's jeans that he stole... I think of it like it's Facebook Marketplace, we simply traded pants...
I come barreling into the house laughing and talking to myself as I try and catch my breath. After composing myself, I walk into the kitchen where Strazz is waiting like a worried parent whose child didn’t come home last night and neglected to call. He looks at me in disgust, before laughing maniacally.
In between fits of laughter and wheezing, he manages to say:
(Strazz) “What the fuck happened to you last night…you disappeared, I’ve been calling you all morning, where’s your jac”--…he’s literally only wheezing at this point.
“What IN THE actual fuck are you wearing? Are those chick jeans, dude?!”
(Liam) “I’m never drinking again… No fucking idea what happened, man. I got laid though, I think anyway, fuck, maybe not, I hadn't thought about it thoroughly…”
(Strazz) “Where did you even end up? You disappeared, we were all fucking worried about you.”
(Liam) Dunno man. I'm waiting for the flashbacks to piece the night together for me. Hey, do you think Tiffani will take me back?”
(Strazz) “No, you fucking idiot. First of all, you were yelling at her as you licked some chick's face last night. Secondly, do you not remember why you guys broke up? Lemme remind you, stud. You said you loved her and when she didn’t say it back you said you were going to kill yourself and threatened to jump off like a 10-foot bank onto the grass. Remember? DJ Stumble was calling you out and laughing in your face, because you couldn’t die, let alone even sprain a fucking ankle from that.”
My desperation was fucking embarrassingly relentless and there's nothing more unattractive to women than desperate men.
(Liam) “You weren't even there and fuck you both! I have weak ankles, you know this!"
(Strazz) "Haha, dude, look at you! The lengths you go to get laid. I just... I don't know what to say anymore...
(Liam) "Just pass me a damn beer, fuck-face, would ya?"
I had only been buddies with Strazz for 2 years at this point, but in the coming years, no matter what fucked up shit I got into, he would always be there to laugh uncontrollably at my misfortunes and in a way, has always been my biggest fan, which isn't necessarily a positive thing, since he is enabling and encouraging my destructive behaviour. Over a decade later and Strazz still wheeze-laughs at this story and recently said this: "The funniest part is I just picture your long-ass dancer legs, struggling to pull some female's jeans over your fucking cock and your little ankles are exposed because the jeans are so tight. You have one hand on the waist of the jeans trying to keep them up and the other hand is waving at people, as you hobble down the snowy streets wearing what I have always imagined being heels for some reason."
Epilogue: I got my phone, wallet, and clothes back a few days later.
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