“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.
No comments:
Post a Comment