Sunday, October 31, 2010


I need to talk about this because it is eating me up inside to the point where I'm actually nauseous. I am so ashamed of myself.

I visited Babs for Halloween weekend in her college town. The roommate and I woke up at 4 in the friggin morning to get there in time to tailgate for a football game. I immediately started drinking in the parking lot of the grocery store because as we're packing the cooler a beer hit a jagged piece of ice and started spurting the sweet nectar everywhere. I shotgunned the bad boy and the drinking commences. I had mimosas, beer, tequila, lynchberg lemonades, vodka, coke and rum... you name it, I had it. I also, intelligently, did not eat one damn thing that day. It is honest to God amazing that I didn't piss myself because I was trapped in panty hose and a leotard. As Jim Gaffigan puts it, "I make a hot cat woman." Then blackoutsville. At one point I'm dancing in the crowded bar, getting drinks handed to me left and right, the next... I'm in some strange guy's bed. Naked. Making out. Attempting to have sex, even though I'm clearly on my period and have a cork in my vag.

What the fuck.

I pass out and end up coming to to the sound of knocking. Homeboy gets up and answers the door and comes back, startled, "Uh, the cops are looking for you." I hop up out of bed. "What?"

My friends filed a missing persons report. I called the Roommate, who answers, peeved, "Where the hell are you? We've been worried sick!" I ask the dude where I'm at and he tells me, where I reiterate it to her shamefully. After I hung up the phone I got a good look at the dude and exclaimed, "Dear God." As Jersey Shore kindly puts it, I jumped on a grenade. I'm starting to get sick with myself. I feel dirty and shameful and I can't believe that I did this. I put my clothes on and try to skiddadle on out of there when the guy's phone rings and... it's my parents. They traveled an hour and a half to go looking for me. I tell them I'll meet them outside but they are adamant about going up to the door and having a talk with the guy. Apparently, they were the ones that knocked on the door saying that they were looking for me. Homeboy lied to them about me being there. They didn't take to kindly to that. He's starting to freak out, "How old are you?" "12." He didn't find the humor in this statement. "Relax dude, I'm 21." He sighs. "What's your name?" "That's not necessary. I really just want to forget this whole thing happened."

I walk out the door and my parents are outside. They try to walk in. I'm begging them to just go. Please, dear God can we get me as far away from this place as possible. I get in the car and they tell me how the Roommate and Babs called them at 3 in the morning in tears because they couldn't find me. Telling them that the last place they saw me was leaving with some dude. I apparently followed a guy back to his apartment where a party was commencing. I ended upstairs in a different apartment with the grenade.

I get home and the parents' phone rings. It's the grenade checking up on me. Making sure I was alright. Telling me that I just walked up into his apartment and into his bed. How I got naked. How he's sorry he took advantage of me. How he thinks someone probably ruffied me when I was at the bar. I tell him thanks for calling. He says if I'm even in his town hit him up. Yeah right.

I've been crying on and off today because of the shame. I can't believe I allowed a dude to do that, and without protection, and with a cork inside. I feel dirty. I don't know what to do. It's going to take me awhile to recover from this.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Ways to Torture My Cat

If my cat drops a deuce on a piece of furniture one more time I'm holding him down and doing this for Halloween. 

This is ridiculously cool looking; his ass will probably be decorated like this, bad behavior or not. 

Monday, October 18, 2010

21st Weekend

I'm hungover and still a little drunk, so bare with me on this post.

Side note: Holy shit, blogger is blindingly white. Who the hell designed this posting page? I need fucking sunglasses to type.

I've been meaning to disclose information about my 21st for a while, but I'm lazy as shit so it has been put on the back burner. Now that I feel like I'm shitting fire, and random waves of nausea come barreling at me at random points, I feel that it is a perfect time to talk about that weekend of debauchery.

I only invited my closest friends to celebrate my 21st because I planned on getting embarrassingly shithoused. I also didn't feel like putting up that fake pretense of being halfway decent towards people, like you mandatorily half to do with acquaintances/people that haven't seen your tits or heard your O-moan because they were laying right next to you while some dude's hands were drilling for oil down your pants. So, I invited my two best friends from back home, Babs and Pecker, to celebrate the fact that I could now legally do what I've been doing since I was 11.

Babs brought her friend, Liz, whose hometown is my college town. Liz is fucking crazy. The first time I ever did some Lindsay Lohan candy was because Liz gave it to Babs and I while I was visiting them. Babs and I ended up classying it up in the ole bar bathroom, and Babs walked out with stuff on the side of her face. I let her walk around for a good 15 minutes and then told her. She didn't find it as funny as I did. Anyways, Liz is crazy, and I was ecstatic to have her come up and show me a good time.

When 12 o'clock hit, we decided to head downtown to celebrate my legalism. I was already pretty lit because we had been drinking since Babs came to town. My first legal drink was a shot of Jack Daniels that some guy bought me. Babs is the perfect motherfucker to have around when it's your birthday, I paid for nothing. She simply went around the bar and yelled at scared individuals that they needed to, "Buy this girl a fucking shot. It's her 21st!" At one point I stumble (literally) across a guy who is celebrating his 21st as well. He's the last thing I remember before blackoutsville. I didn't forget the whole night, but there are some moments that have escaped my memory.

Me and the fellow 21 year old. Look at how gleeful and utterly fucked up we are. By the way, that's my cellphone and unnecessary money in my back pocket; I didn't want you to mistake that bulge as me shitting myself. 

Apparently, I get lap dances. Yes, that's right, more than one. I decided to take a breather and go and sit down on the couch located at the side of the bar/dance area. Liz approached me and started straddling me, which then lead to her shaking her ass in my face, which then lead to a lap dance. After she was done, some dude came up and decided to give it a go as well. This, from what Babs tells me because I'm fucking retarded at this point, pisses off the 21 year old that I bonded with; he decides to one up the other guy and shove his crotch in my face as well. I'm disappointed in myself for not remembering any of this. I do have documentation though.

I think, technically, this is more of a face dance than a lap dance.

After having people rub their groins on me, I take to the dance floor and show all those bitches that white people seriously cannot fucking dance. I started to scare my friends because I was wearing high heels and had reverted back to infancy; coordination was not my strong suit at the time. At one point Pecker announced, "We need to get food in this bitch before she dies." We leave the bar and head down the street to a local pizzeria that stays open all night. I scarfed down a few slices (a few means Babs bought me and her a slice, I ate mine, half of hers, and then stole A-holes when she was preoccupied with talking to the roommate). This is when my memory starts to come back. After the food I'm thinking, 'let's continue drinking!' But apparently the bouncer outside the bar was thinking, 'this bitch is a fucking wreck' because he told my ass to go home. I think almost breaking my ankle in front of him blew my cover.  Since I was too drunk to function, my friends thought it would be a good idea to just head on home.

We get back, and I end up hopping in the shower with Liz (nothing more than a little nipple tweak happened). While I'm in the shower, Babs is outside smoking a cigarette and some douchebag took it upon himself to yell the n-word at her. Shit got real. Babs is a big, black amazon woman. She's the friend that I like to start shit around so when bitches are about to give me a five finger kiss I simply point to her and say, "Before you do that, she's with me." This dude was obviously jonesing for some pain in his life.

Babs hopped over my patio railing and started yelling at the dude. "What the hell did you just say, motherfucker?" He started backpedaling, trying to say he was singing a song; quoting a movie; reciting a poem. Babs layed into him and at one point a neighbor of mine comes out and yelled, "Shut the fuck up. You guys are so immature." Babs simply turned, looked at that twatwaffle and said, "Get the fuck inside." Liz ends up getting out of the shower before me, and noticing that no one was in the apartment, she heads outside to investigate where the hell everyone went. As soon as she walked out on the patio, Babs yelled, "Liz, this motherfucker called me the n-word." Liz wrapped her hair up in a towel, hopped the railing, ran over to the dude and kicked him in the balls. 

When I get out of the shower they tell me what happens and I'm livid. I walked outside, but the dude was off icing his testicles by then. This was my first night.

To be continued...

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

"You didn't show me how to love properly."

I'm friends with my mother on Facebook and I haven't exiled her from seeing any of my activity; I know, I'm fucking retarded. I torture the woman anyways by not shying away from details of my life. "Yeah, I offered to show my friends my butthole, but no one took me up on my offer. I bleached it and everything, it's like staring at the holy land or some shit," I'll casually say to her as she gags on the other end of the phone. She's heard stories about me making out with a fat chick, getting lost in an apartment complex's parking lot for hours and barfing on someone's SUV, and waking up in some dude's athletic shorts and dress shoes that I apparently stole after I pissed myself one night. I've even threatened her with the statement that she's getting a phone call right as some dude's meat sword enters my holy grail for the first time. "Please, for the love of God, don't call me," she begs me every phone conversation. There's no need to shun her from my Facebook realm; or so I thought.

My friends have made the mistake of expressing to my mother that she's "awesome" and "fucking way cooler than any other parents that they know." With this new found "hipness" (as she likes to state) she feels that she's witty enough to comment on the banter between my friends and I. At first I accepted it, because I guess it's better than the alternative, which is her trying to squeeze into my clothes and going to Applebee's to get drunk and hit on middle-aged men. But, with time, the asshole adolescent inside of me has reared her ugly head, and I find myself fucking with my mother to the point where it's just cruel. I wanted to share with you, my blog friends, a glimpse into the Facebook relationship between my mother and I. I hope you enjoy. 

Orange = Batman's Mom
Blue = Tiny
Purple = Batman

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

"Dry Those Tears Up, Pussy. That's Why Daddy Left."

Last night we were visited by a young fellow, let's call him Tiny. Tiny is a lithe little man-child, with an adorable stoner outlook on life. He's all about kindness, and peace, and tree-fucking; basically, the anti-Batman. But, I enjoy his company because he tells me stories like this: "I used to have a hermit crab when I was younger. My dad said that after two months it died, but he kept it in the cage for another three months because it pleased me. I was just looking at a shell and some rocks everyday for three months. I like the fact that a hermit crab can die but it still looks alive." 

Tiny decided, for whatever reason, to spend the eve of his birthday with A-hole, the roommate, and I. We all have a few drinks, and pretty soon Tiny's loose off the goose. At one point his friend texted him and he went outside to talk. When he returned, he rushed to the bathroom and stayed in there for roughly half an hour. "Yo, what the hell is your friend doing…yanking it in the bathroom?" I charmingly say to A-hole as we watched a Lifetime movie. "I have no idea," she said as she got up to knock on the bathroom door. When she returned she simply shrugged, plopping her big ass back down on the couch. 

Eventually, Tiny emerged from the bathroom and… he's crying. All three of us, in our awkward non-maternal ways, decided to simply ignore it; continuing to watch a girl get her ass beat on t.v. Then he begins to sob. During commercial breaks I'm looking at A-hole and going, "Psst. Psst. Go check on your boy." She shook her head back and forth determinedly and mouthed "HELL. NO." After about  25 minutes of blubbering I'm good and uncomfortable enough to approach him. "Uhh… so, what's up, homie?" I said, while trying to place my hands in my imaginary pant's pockets. "You don't care!" he wails, causing me to take a step backwards and look around the room for somewhere to retreat. "Uhh… suuuure I do," I stammered out. "You're over hear crying and shit, something is obviously not good." He sobs, "My friiiiend! He… he almost OD'd tonight." "Wait, almost? As in, the motherfucker isn't dead?" I said, looking at him as if he took a dump on my couch cushions. "You're crying over an almost?" A-hole (the bitch) finally comes over to check out the blubbery mass of male, and I take the opportunity to dipset on out of there. 

A-hole ends up holding him for about an hour while he complains and cries; all the while, she's watching Lifetime over his shoulder. I woke up this morning and found out that A-hole almost had sex with him. "Wait, you mean to tell me that after watching a grown man cry… for hours, you still were going to have sexy times with him? You just don't love yourself. And what the fuck do you mean by almost had sex?" I asked. A-hole replies, "I felt bad for him. By 'almost' I mean he couldn't get it up." Poor blubbering, erectile dysfunctioned Tiny.

Lessons learned: Tiny's a drunk crier. Batman will not be getting dunk with Tiny anytime soon. My future spawn are not allowed to cry.

Monday, October 11, 2010

"Let me pack your crack"

My roommate has had a strong desire to peg a man for as long as I've known her (roughly 3 years). If you're like me, and this is your first time hearing the word 'peg', then you probably would like a definition of some sort. 

Pegging (defined by Batman): the act of a woman sticking her expensive ass strap-on into the bunghole of a (hopefully) voluntary man. 

The fascination with butt-play started off innocently enough for my roommate. At first, she simply threatened our guy friends with the possibility that they'll get anally raped if they slept on our couch. Then she started pricing strap-ons. Then she purchased a strap-on. Then she posted an ad on Craigslist asking for men with "slender hips" to reply for a night of hide the sausage. What I'm about to tell you now scares me the most; numerous men that replied were married, and seeking this extracurricular activity while their wives were out of town. What. The. Fuck. 

Ok, I get it. Some things you can't share with your significant other because you will most definitely freak them the fuck out. Not many people can say the perverse things they want to do in everyday conversation. "Hey baby, I get turned on while watching bitches puke into one another's twats and letting a dog eat them out; by the way, we need new tires on the Honda." Okay, I took it a bit far there, but you get my drift, some things you have to keep to your demented self. But, to cheat is going a little bit far don't you think? I'd at least suffer through the impending, awkward as hell conversation to get my spouse to do some freaky things to me before answering Craigslist ads. 

So, she sorts through some weirdoes. A couple of married tricks. And settles on a marine named Thomas. He seemed the least likely of the inquiries to skin her and leave her for dead afterwards. They set a date to meet, and she expresses to A-hole and I that she would like for us to go with her when she meets him. We both readily agree, because we want to fuck with this guy, and make the roommate as uncomfortable as possible.

The day comes and we were waiting outside the restaurant that we told Thomas to meet us at. The roommate was sweating bullets, A-hole was giggling like a school girl, and I was sitting down on the bench making statements like, "I hope he's not distinct* looking," or "Will you still bang him if he has a lazy eye?" Five minutes passed and Thomas arrived. Not bad, not great, just meh. We were seated at a booth at the back of the restaurant, with the roommate and Thomas on one side and A-hole and I on the other.

The conversation, at first, was a bit awkward; we were all struggling to come up with useless banter. I, not being one to shy away from the obvious, immediately launched into inappropriate sexual questions, "So, Thomas, do you like to have your salad tossed?" He looked taken aback and mumbles, "Uh…" The roommate comes to his rescue, "I'm sorry about her. Batman does not have a censor; she's crude." I smiled sheepishly and the waiter, almost instinctively, approached us. The roommate, A-hole, and I all placed our food orders and Thomas simply ordered water, which caused me physical pain to not comment on. I swallowed down the word vomit, "So, you're not eating, huh? Is that because you're going to have your hidey-hole plowed later tonight?" And instead, because the roommate was giving me the side eye, I simply leaned back in the booth and allowed everyone else to talk. 

After dinner, the roommate deemed Thomas acceptable to peg, and he followed us back to the apartment. Right as he entered, he asked where the bathroom was located so he could "wash off real quick." He shut the bathroom door and the roommate proceeded to freak her shit. "What the fuck am I doing? Holy shit, I'm actually getting ready to do this. Am I crazy? He's not bad looking, right? I mean… right?" I reply with, "It doesn't look like you have much of a choice. Homeboy is ready to go. Yeah, he's alright, if you squint while you're looking at him. Now get in there." He opened the door to the bathroom and approached us with just a towel leisurely wrapped around his hips, "You ready?" The roommate tensed up and followed him into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind them. 

I rushed to my bedroom and pressed my ear to our adjoining wall. Silence. Then talking. After ten minutes of them talking, I get bored and go talk to A-hole. I return to my bedroom and… still talking. Holy shit, this was a bit ridiculous. I decided to get them in the mood by playing this song.

Then this song. After playing these gems I pressed my ear to the wall one last time and… talking. I gave up because even though I'm a huge pervert, I have the attention span of a gnat. I take a shower and when I get out I find the roommate jumping up and down in the living room.

"We pegged!" she announced with vigor. "No shit?" I question. "All I heard was you two yapping your suck-holes." She laughed, "Yeah, he's a fucking talker. But we did it. I pegged a man. My life goal has been achieved. I need to clean the lube off my walls." "You can die now," I replied and then walked into her room to take pictures of the lube handprints on her walls; I wanted to send them to my mother to make her uncomfortable.  

And that, my friends is the first time that my roommate pegged. She did it again with the same dude a week later. He took a laxative beforehand and ended up shitting on her and himself in the process. While cleaning herself in the shower homeboy got an erection and they boned hetero style; she bled because no one has entered that holiest of holies in a hot minute (roughly 2 years). Afterwards, they decided to go to a fine dining establishment (Waffle House) and on the way she found out that his name is not actually Thomas. So now we call him non-Thomas. 

El Fin. 

*'distinct looking' is my politically correct way of saying a person is one fugly s.o.b.