"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.