Drunk dancing on the pole in the DC metro

David, my former anal sex partner during my brief homosexual phase in confused middle school days, and I decided to go to the great city of DC to watch comics perform at an open mic, and to possibly get a toothless blowjob from some crack-fueled, cum-guzzling prostitute who we would later discover was named Patty. David and I wrote this together because not only is he a comedic wizard, but he also has a girthy cock and I don't remember as much as him because I was blacked out (he was driving, therefore slightly less intoxicated than me).

David picked me up around 8pm, opened a beer in the cup holder, and then we proceeded to the liquor store to buy top-shelf liquor… a fifth of Burnett's. Armed with a bottle of liquor, a 12-pack of Milwaukee's Best Ice, and two packs of Magnum condoms and Trojan extra-small for David and I (respectively), we were well on our way to a very mediocre night of binge drinking. Six servings of alcohol later, we arrived at the Metro station.

It's safe to say we were the most hateable people in DC that day besides that one natural chocolate face in the White House. We picked the emptiest car we could find in order to avoid detection from non-alcoholics. We had a 45-minute train ride ahead of us so we began to chug liquor at a dangerous rate. Five minutes later a very ethnically diverse group of buzz-killers entered our train. Fortunately for us, we were now drunk enough to disregard any sort of social norms and openly continue our quest towards alcohol-poisoning.

We stumbled out of the train into what was supposed to the most powerful city in the world, but all I saw were homeless people reeking of urine and poverty. We quickly found a cozy parking garage in which David could relive his plus-size penis all over the nicest vehicle he could find. The driver's seat of a convertible BMW appeared to be a suitable urinal for David's crystal clear flow. Meanwhile, I was on lookout duty with a bottle of liquor being poured down my throat. We had arrived at our destination, yet I was nowhere near where I wanted to be in terms of drunkenness. I continued to chug as much liquor as quickly as my gag reflexes would allow, and as David will attest, I barely have any.

Picture this scene for a second: two good-looking, douchey, backwards hat-wearing shitheads parading around the streets of DC in a drunken stupor. It's safe to say we were the most hateable people in DC that day besides that one natural chocolate face in the White House.

Now that we had successfully polished off the last of the Jesus Juice, we embarked once again toward the bar hosting the stand-up comedy event. Weaving through mobs of homeless people, we eventually were approached by a tall, once athletic black man who indulged us with tales of his days as an all-American hoop-baller. After giving us keychains, he then proceeded to beg us for our parent's hard-earned money. Going against my deeply-embedded racism, I gave the colorful character literally three whole dollars. To my surprise, he was entirely ungrateful and continued to say, "C'mon mane, I know ya got moe money den dat." I replied, "Yeah, to get incoherently drunk at the bar with," and walked away.

Finally we arrived at the bar, and at that point I was coming in and out of a blackout; I was almost as drunk as I wanted to be. I confidently presented my fake ID to the greeter at the door. No problems so far. We then took a seat at a table and immediately ordered two beers, for which I would not tip the bartender. He looked way too similar to that homeless man earlier, and I had already made my annual donation to the NAACP that night. We watched a few comics perform and before I realized it my beer was gone. We signaled to the Hispanic bus boy picking up some pussy's half-full wounded soldier and requested that he give it to David and me. Like the classy gentlemen we are we split the strangers beer together. You can't get herpes twice… right?

There was a black comedian introducing the comics to the stage after delivering a quick punchline in between sets. He asked the audience if there were any racists in attendance. David promptly and proudly raised his hand and released an ignorant rebel yell. He had my vote for Grand Dragon of the Klu Klux Klan.

By this time we were both very severely intoxicated and had to drain the main vain. We went to the bathroom together, David chose a urinal, I was stuck between peeing in the sink or the trash can. I figured the trash can was more appealing. Ten seconds into probably one of the better pisses of my life, the poop-skin bartender that I had failed to tip earlier came barging in on me midstream. I continued to make awkward eye contact with him until I had finished my alcohol-induced piss. He immediately told me that I was getting kicked out of the establishment, and continued to escort me towards the door. It was awesome.

After what should have been a humiliating event, David and I took our belligerency to the streets. First target we encountered was a white male wearing a LeBron James Heat jersey. We feigned our admiration for his elite athleticism, asking for his autograph, whether he thought they would win the championship again, and also why he wasn't in South Beach.

After heckling that race-traitor, we came across another tall black man sporting a lavish red fedora hat waiting on the side of the road. David asked if he wanted to trade red hats, and the man respectfully examined David's Philly's hat before declining the generous offer. After a brief conversation, he announced that his ride had arrived just as a Metro bus pulled up to the intersection. This was a moment of genuine, unspoken racism for David and me. Much to our surprise, a Lexus SUV pulled up and picked the man up. I guess not all black people ride public transportation.

I decided I need some munchies for the train ride home so we stopped by a nearby Walgreen's. I made a single purchase of an extra-large bag of buttered popcorn, and struck up a charming conversation with the decently attractive girl behind the counter. Meanwhile, David also started flirting with a middle-aged woman who was missing a couple front teeth. My bitch's name was Brae, and David's hoe's name was Patty. Patty continued to sing us the alcoholic remix of "The 12 Days of Christmas," titled, "The 12 Days of Drinking." We found these two women to be highly entertaining and flirted with them for almost half an hour. Once I found out that their shift ended at 8am, I decided it wasn't worth the $20 for a toothless blowjob and lifetime of full-blown AIDs. I gave Brae my number and we left.

After a couple of public urinations, David and I made our way to the Metro station to journey home. While waiting for our train, we encountered a very short girl, close to being a legal midget. She was very unattractive, pale, bitchy, and had extremely skinny legs that were completely disproportionate to her top-heavy frame. We harassed her from the ticket booth all the way to the platform. She was on the opposite side of the tracks from us because she was waiting for a different train, but this did not stop us from continuing our verbal assault at a higher volume and in a much more public environment. I asked her if she was a Baggins, how Frodo was doing, and if she enjoyed living in the Shire. This was just one of many clever and witty jokes David and I attacked her with, but this particular one caused quite a few bystanders to laugh hysterically. Clearly we had won.

The train ride home was much less crowded and made it easier to pester innocent people. If you can't tell by now, David and I really enjoy making jokes at random strangers' expenses. The next unlucky person was a young acne-riddled, brace-face Asian girl. I began to hit on her very aggressively and told David to NOT make any rape jokes to impede my game. At one point I was literally dancing on the train pole like a stripper for her, making awkwardly seductive eye contact the entire time. Twenty minutes and six rape jokes later, I made the unfortunate discovery that she was 16. God dammit, that was way too old for me. I told Sophie not to pick up her Hello Kitty phone to report attempted statutory rape.

A couple stops later, David and I were completely alone in the car, except for an unconscious black man. I begin to pour popcorn all over my face and try to catch most of it in my mouth. I failed very badly and made a huge mess all over the train. I decided it was once again time to relieve my bladder all over the train.

Drunk eating popcorn on DC metro

We finally made it back to our stop where David had parked, and we called a cab.

Just kidding, David chugged a couple beers and we drove 20 miles per hour over the speed limit into oncoming traffic all the way home. David is a very good drunk driver and managed to avoid most of the pedestrians on the way home. On a side note, I forced David to stop the car at one point so that I could kick over someone's mailbox; it was one of those nights.

The next day I woke up at approximately 1pm and wondered for a full 30 minutes what I had even done the previous night. I didn't even realize I had gone to DC. Just another painfully average night for David and me.

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