So there’s this girl. She lives in Philadelphia and is getting her doctorate in psychology. She was in a serious relationship for around two years, and after a few months of fighting and general dissatisfaction, she and the boyfriend broke up. She mourned a bit and licked her wounds, but a few months later decided she was finally open to the possibility of dating. One evening she was out with some girlfriends at a concert and found herself seated next to an attractive, charming man who she had a pleasant exchange with throughout the evening. At the end of the show they awkwardly said goodbye and parted ways. The girl followed her friends to a nearby bar to have some post-concert refreshments when, low and behold, the boy from the concert arrives. (It’s unclear if this was intentional or truly just dumb romantic luck.) They continue their banter now, much more flirtatiously than before given the presence of confidence-boosting liquor. After a while most of the girl’s friends want to go home for the evening, but the girl chooses to stay and remain out with the boy. She and the boy visit a second bar, and then a third, and finally at the end of the night when they can’t bear to say goodbye, the girl gives in to the dark side and goes home with the boy.
The night was equally perfect and out of character for the young girl. When the boy woke her early in the morning she was slightly embarrassed but ever charming, the man assured her he truly did like the girl, had a great time and would like to see her again, soon. He had to be at his job early, so he told the girl to take her time getting up and leaving, and if she could just lock up and leave the apartment key in the mailbox, she could show herself out whenever she was ready. Relieved and touched by the man’s sincerity, the girl smiles and kisses him goodbye. He leaves, and she tries briefly to fall back asleep but decides it’s weird to be alone in the literal-stranger’s house, so she rises and gets ready for the day. In the bathroom she checks her hair (thrashed) and tries to salvage what little mascara is left on her face, (unsuccessfully) and then goes to the bathroom. In plain terms, she takes a shit. And, upon flushing the toilet, realizes to her horror that said shit is not going down the drain – the toilet is broken. A mild panic ensues. She looks for a plunger, and after locating one and giving a few heartfelt tugs, realizes that this is a plumbing issue beyond her expertise. She thinks of trying to flush again but worries that flooding could occur. Finally, in an act of desperation, she goes to the kitchen and locates a Ziploc bag and two spoons. She returns to the bathroom, uses the spoons in a tong-like fashion to lift her small, modest shit (thank God) out of the toilet and places it in the bag. She then closes the baggy, returns to the kitchen, vigorously scours the spoons with bleach and hot water and places them with the other dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Her pulse begins to slow and she is relieved.
She finishes getting dressed, and on her way out decides to thank the boy for both his generosity and his class. She rumbles around in the kitchen and locates a pen and some non-descript stationary, and pens a short but sweet note with her thanks and her phone number. She hesitates momentarily about including her email, but decides not to, signs the note, gathers her things, and walks out the front door locking it behind her and dropping the key in the mail slot in one swift motion, only then realizing:
She left the bag of shit lying on the counter, next to the note with her full name and phone number.
*
II.
My friend Dan is a bit of a manwhore, in the best way possible. The stories of his sexual conquests are never told from the vantage point of a misogynist, but rather an awe-struck boy who can’t believe how lucky he is to get to see boobies on a semi-regular basis.
When Dan was in college he was in a fraternity. He had a few girlfriends here and there but was by and large single, and usually pursuing multiple girls at the same time, (such is Dan.) There was one instance where he had been interested in two girls, and by happenstance one of them came to a party one night and the other didn’t, therefore sealing the immediate future of who Dan was boning. He and “the girlfriend” dated for a few months, while the “non-girlfriend” never relented on her passive-aggressive flirting with Dan.
As did most relationships in Dan’s collegiate career, he and the “girlfriend” dated for three months before calling it quits. Shortly thereafter (a week to be exact,) Dan’s fraternity decided to throw a house party with a neighboring sorority – which the “non-girlfriend” happened to be a member of. The day of the party Dan and his fraternity brothers spent their time cleaning the house to make it presentable to women, as well as drinking. Dan later estimated that by the time the actual party started at 9pm that evening, he had consumed no less than 12 beers over the last 5 hours and was maintaining what he called “a pretty good buzz.” At 9pm, the girls from the neighboring sorority arrived at Dan’s house, including the non-girlfriend. In a true display of female cunning, she simply smiled, took off her coat, grabbed a beer and walked over to Dan and, in explicit detail, whispered in his ear exactly how hard she wanted to fuck him that night. Suffice to say, Dan is not a man of self-discipline, and combined with the near-12 pack of Pabst in his stomach, he was immediate conquered.
The two left the party and tried to go up to Dan’s room, but surprisingly it was already occupied by another couple. (Dan later recounts how strange this night was, because nearly everyone in his fraternity ended up having sex that they later regretted – the couple occupying his room was an older fraternity brother and a girl that would later throw up all over Dan’s down comforter, much to his dismay.) They thought of other places to try to go but were stumped – no boys were allowed in sororities after evening house, so the non-girlfriend’s room was a no-go. After nearly giving up and resigning themselves to heavy petting in the group showers, the non-girlfriend offered the use of her car, which was parked close to the fraternity. Dan agreed, and the two took off.
Within five minutes, my friend Dan was wearing only socks and a vintage cowboy shirt as he straddled the completely-naked-except-for-a-bra girl in the front of her car; time was not wasted on sensual disrobing or even mouth-on-mouth kissing. Hair was flying, hands were everywhere, and I think it’s safe to say a fair amount of nose was being emitted both from the car’s inhabitants and the rocking of the car itself. Suddenly, without any warning, the non-girlfriend took the events to another level: she fashioned her left fist into a hitch-hiking gesture, and as hard as she could rammed her left thumb into my friend Dan’s asshole.
In the blur of the next three seconds, Dan screamed at the top of his lungs, threw his whole weight off to the right and threw the girl towards the left. The girls’ thumb, firmly lodged in Dan’s anus, made a cracking sound that was both audibly heard and physically felt by Dan’s tender ass. The girl began screaming, too, and crying.
She told Dan her thumb was broken, and she needed to go to the hospital. Dan wanted to go get her sorority sisters, since this seemed like exactly the kind of thing you join a sorority and get sisters for, but the girl hysterically refused, saying (wisely) that she would be mocked for life and couldn’t deal with it. When Dan went with option #2 and told the girl he was too drunk to drive. The girl, however, retorted that she wasn’t drunk at all, and she could drive but because of her thumb, Dan would have to help steer. Finally broken down completely, Dan then helped the girl get dressed so they could go to the hospital. She had to wear Dan’ shirt because she couldn’t get the small wrist openings of her own shirt over the frighteningly-crooked thumb. After dressing both of them, Dan sat in the passenger seat and turned the keys ignition while the girl, wailing the whole time, drove them to the local emergency room. They walked into the ER, Dan shirtless and holding a beer, the girl sobbing and clutching her crooked, shitty thumb, and walked to the nurse’s station to check in. Upon being asked the cause of the accident, my friend Dan, by now thoroughly wasted and traumatized by the evening, uttered the greatest singular sentence even spoken inside a hospital:
“I broke her thumb with my asshole.”
