Thursday, October 16, 2014

Morning After

            “Oh, fuck, my head hurts. What happened?” I mumble to myself, unwilling to open my eyes.
            “You mean you don’t remember, Broseph?” I hear, much to my surprise, somewhere else in the room. Only guys call me ‘Broseph’, I think to myself, that narrows it down to 50% of the population, at least. Keeping my eyes closed, I sit up and lean against the wall. At that point, I realize I’m on the floor.  I wonder if the mystery guy is on the bed, or on the floor, too. I don’t care enough to open my eyes just yet, though.
            “Remember when I asked ‘What happened’? That would be a good indicator that I don’t have a fucking clue what happened, or that I don’t remember. So, I’m on the floor. Did I fall, or did I do this on purpose?” I try to open my eyes, to see where this guy is, and maybe figure out who he is without asking him. Immediately, pain shoots through my eyes and my head like a lance. I mumble “… Shit…”, grab my head, and roll back onto the floor, belly-down.
            The guy laughs a bit, and says (too loudly, in my opinion), “Dude, you were so awesome! No one knew you could pole dance like that! I thought it was gonna be gay as hell at first, but you fuckin ROCKED, dude! I don’t even know where that pole went, but we need to get it back. You could be, like a professional, man! Seriously! And, by the way, next time you play beer pong, just stick with beer, please, man. For our sake. You tried to stab that one guy… Karl, I think, you tried to stab him with the table, dude, you got so pissed. I didn’t think anyone could move a table like that, but you did. It was balls, dude! But, seriously, no Bacardi Pong for you, bro. That scared the shit out of the chicks. You see how you’re on the floor by yourself? That’s why, man. No stabbing people with tables, bro.”
            “Who’s Carl?” I wonder aloud. I’ve never known a Carl in my life.
            “No, bro. His name is Karl. You’re gonna know him if he runs into you again. You don’t forget that stuff, man.”
            “That’s what I said, Carl. His name is Carl, isn’t it?”
            “No, bro. His name is Karl. Get it right.”
            “You seriously said that exact same thing last time. I get his name is Carl, right? Leave me alone about it.” I try to get up, realize it’s a bad idea, and fall back down. I’ve got to quit doing this. Hangovers just aren’t worth it, I think as I continue to cradle my head.
            “But you’re saying it wrong. His name is Karl, man. You’re saying Carl, don’t you get it? Karl, not Carl. He’s picky about that. I think he’s got a tattoo of his name on his back, or something.”
            “Just leave me alone, whoever the fuck you are. I’ll talk to Carl Not Carl, mother fucker that he is, when I have to.”  I find a random pill in my pocket, dry swallow it, and pass out again in a matter of minutes.

             

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