The Gayest Fire Alarm Story Ever

Dirty Mike and I only enforced one rule when we were home: no shirts. Now let me say this once: my former roommate and I both really like vaginas and not man-ass. But while we were home we just liked to walk around without t-shirts. Mind you, we never chilled out naked, except for the times we'd catch each other banging chicks.

Wow, I really need to preface this again by saying I only like one wanger, and that's mine.

I squeezed my nipples as hard as I could to keep from bursting out. Dirty Mike dug his nails in...Sure, he wore my socks sometimes or I'd help him shave his back, but we never touched weewees. We swam on the same college team and most of the time we spent together was underwater wearing Speedos, but I assure you all the buttpats and "you're looking less fat today" comments were as manly as Chewing Tobacco & Gunpowder Pie.

When you share such close quarters with somebody, though, you just got to let most of it out from time to time.

Now, I'm no Martha Stewart; I still leave beer cans in the shower, but otherwise I do my best to be relatively tidy. But Dirty Mike didn't earn his moniker because he pounded a lot of random tail. He just wasn't clean. I still don't believe he can get sick. He'd share cigarettes with mono-encrusted gutter skanks. He'd leave half-eaten sandwiches next to his computer, only to come back a few days later and eat them. Never once did he take out the trash. I went on a garbage strike with hopes that he'd break. I got a lung infection.

But we got along, not in a homo way.

I tolerated Dirty Mike's massive pile of laundry in our walk-in closet. We'd walk around the waist-high dump of his gym socks and boxers. I like the guy, like a friend, but I never did his fucking laundry.

We lived on the eleventh floor in a brand new dorm with freshmen. Fire alarms woke us up about three or four times a week. Every time some drunk rookie burnt his toast, the entire 20 stories filled with college kids would exit the building. Failure-to-evacuate punishments could be expulsion or fines. The Fire Department of New York takes fire alarms seriously, and so did we--for a while.

On one fateful evening the stars aligned and Dirty Mike and I furiously worked on some homework. This might have been the only time I ever saw DM study. Of course, we were clad only in boxers, which is completely normal for dudes to do in their off time. During my reading of James Joyce (or some other crap) I heard BEEP BEEP WAY-O WAY-O! Dirty and I gazed into each other's eyes and said, "It's never on our floor. Fuck this." We continued with our books.

After a few minutes, the alarm stopped. "See, these things are fucking bullshit, dude." We kept cracking the code to graduation. A slight bit more time passed and I said, "Do you smell that?" Dirty Mike replied, "I don't want to smell your farts." I shrugged it off and returned to Dubliners.

"Dude, do you hear that?" I asked my faithful roomie.

"I don't want to hear your farts either." This time I didn't return to over-intellectual Irish lit. "No dude, listen. Somebody's yelling down the hall."

"FDNY! ANYBODY IN THIS ROOM?" (Door slams)
"FDNY! ANYBODY IN THIS ROOM?" (Door slams)
"FDNY! ANYBODY IN THIS ROOM?" (Door slams)

DM: Holy fuck dude! They're on our floor!
KC: Our building really is on fire!
DM: It can't be that bad though.
KC: We might die!
DM: Damnit. This probably means I need to put on pants.
KC: Fuck that, I'm not getting kicked out of school.

With every shout the firemen closed in on us. I looked at Dirty Mike. We looked to his soiled clothes pile. He jumped first while I flicked the light off, closed the closet door and sat on his stanky t-shirts.

DM: Why'd you do that?
KC: Well, now they won't see us in the closet.
DM: No shitbrains. You turned the lights off. They'll think we didn't leave in a hurry.
KC: But they're getting so close!

I leapt out, turned the light back on and jumped back in the closet with Dirty.

New York's Bravest were next door. Just like when you played hide and seek and somebody came close, for some reason we both started laughing our asses off. I squeezed my nipples as hard as I could to keep from bursting out. Dirty Mike dug his nails into his sides for the same effect.

I heard our door open. I smiled but winced in pain at the same time.

"FDNY! ANYBODY IN THIS ROOM?!"

The firefighter seemed to be in there for eternity. What the hell was he looking for? It was a dorm, not a Scooby-Doo house with hidden trapdoors. Well, it did have two guys--hanging out in the walk-in closet.

DM: Oh God, please don't let him come in here.
KC: Oh God, please make a major explosion to make him leave.

Maybe the Bravest checked out our Christina Aguilera poster (hey, she was hot back in the day), maybe he smelled a nasty fart, or maybe he just felt something wrong. Anyway, after a while we heard him leave and go to the next room.

"FDNY! ANYBODY IN THIS ROOM?" (Door slams)

We both cracked up.

KC: We're totally going to burn alive, but it's worth not having to explain to my parents why during a fire alarm a fireman caught me in a closet with my best friend while I have bruises on my nipples and Dirty Mike has scratches up and down his back.
DM: You totally just said what I was going to say.
KC: Wow, maybe we are perfect for each other.

Then we made out.

Just kidding. We both like Motley Crüe, mass-produced American beer and heterosexual relations. Seriously. Seriously.

And luckily, the fire wasn't serious and we didn't die. Most importantly, nobody found us at our gayest.

Weekly Drunk Text: I guess I did the full monte in front of cosmo’s last night. How do I train myself not to get naked? -Wam