You know how all guys seem to like girl on girl action? Well I don’t. Not only do I not like it, I hate it. I mean, I don’t hate lesbians. I hate non-lesbians (or women who were not explicitly lesbians at the time of this story, I dunno what they’re into now) who are in committed relationships who just decide it’s time to cop a feel like they police the streets of our nation thank you for your service. That’s the kind of girl on girl I’m talking about.
Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
To start us off, let me give you a classic grocery store dilemma.
You’re trying to buy bananas, and the cashier really wants you to buy these bananas. Problem is, your card keeps getting declined. You really want to buy bananas for the cashier, but you actually just can’t buy them cause you’re kind of drunk and your wallet isn’t really working, you dig?
The bananas are my penis. And the wallet is also my penis. The credit card is my V card. And also my penis.
Pomegranate was her name. Well, obviously it wasn’t, but I’m not going to embarrass the poor girl. Her and I, I and her, we were attempting to do the do. The only problem was that I was absolutely shitfaced and couldn’t… Buy bananas.
Now, it would color me in a bad light if I told you that I was trying to purchase these bananas in a bathroom, and that a bunch of people were within twenty feet of said bathroom, and that someone else had just bought bananas in there, so I just won’t tell you that.
However, chivalry is not dead. So I couldn’t buy bananas, then I’ll at least eat the sacred pomegranate (hence the name). Are you keeping up with the metaphor? That’s a vagina. The pomegranate is a vagina. And the bananas are my penis.
The thing is, and this is not an insult to to the owner of said pomegranate, it’s just a general statement. Pomegranate tastes fucking disgusting. And I’ve eaten two, so I know it’s not just an isolated incident. What the fuck is wrong with dudes who like eating pomegranates? Are your taste buds broken? How do you breathe?
But I digress. In case you’re not keeping up, the bananas so happen to be my penis.
After a very poor attempt at eating pomegranate, we decided that nobody was swiping their card (the card that is the bananas that are my penis) that night.
And that’s the whole story.
I fucking wish.
Two nights later, I was drunk again (I’m not an alcoholic this was just a very party heavy phase of my life), and some fuck headed nincompoop named ‘Moderately Sized Boy Brad’ asked if we were going to ‘try again’ tonight (because unfortunately everyone knew the story), and Pomegranate says ‘if he wants to’.
That shit’s a trap. Like, to be honest, I didn’t. But I wasn’t going to be a little b with a little p, so I kind of had to at that point. A straight (haha) dude shouldn’t be giving up a chance at infiltrating the grundle hole. That’s pretty much against the dude constitution. Consti-dude-tion. Never mind.
So we went upstairs and into her room, but there was a problem. My peener weener still didn’t activate. My card was declined again and again, but I was… really trying to give away these bananas (my penis, by the way), and the cashier was pretending to really appreciate the bananas (also my penis), but the bananas (still my penis) weren’t even in the pomegranate. I’ve been pitied for many things in my life, but that’s a kind of pity that’s just painful.
I didn’t even try eating the pomegranate that time because I was straight up terrified of it, and we soon gave up once more.
You ever have an entire room of people look at you with full knowledge that you just failed to buy bananas (the bananas are my penis and buying them is intercoursing)? Again? It’s not good.
So that sucked. Unfortunately, that wasn’t even close to the worst thing that happened that night. Afterwards, a bunch of teenagers drank liquor out of a bucket, I got my hair dyed blonde and… Well, that was it for the fun stuff.
As I’m still censoring the names of people involved, I’m going to need to introduce you to a couple.
First, there’s Guy 1, we’ll call him Girl. Then we have Girl 1, or Guy.
Girl and Guy had been dating for around two years at this point, and Girl the guy was very very much the commitment type. They weren’t incredibly intimate, so if Girl the guy found Guy the girl being intimate with anybody else, that would be a fucking whammy. Like, that would suck. Especially if it was Guy the girl’s best friend who Guy the girl constantly blew off Girl the guy for. That would be, like, really bad. Just awful. Probably bad enough to ruin the party. And their relationship.
But enough of the hypotheticals. Downstairs, myself and a few others were hanging out and having a generally good time. At that point, I was drunk enough to have forgotten about my impotence, so I was big chilling. Everybody was big chilling. It was a chill moment. But every action must have an equal and opposite shmubbedy bubbedy as some tin foil hat wearing prick once said.
SoGirl the guy started yelling.
You see, Guy the girl and Pomegranate, best friends that they were, went to chat privately. Then Girl the guy wanted to talk to Guy the girl, so he went upstairs after them.
Unfortunately, Guy the girl and Pomegranate were not chatting privately, nor were they chatting publicly. It may surprise you that they were not chatting at all. Rather, like all good friends do, they were mashing their mouth muscles together like a monkey with cymbals.
Now, classically, a man would be excited about this (for some dumbass reason). However, Girl the guy was not excited. Girl the guy was fucking pissed. He came running downstairs, Guy the girl and Pomegranate closely tailing him.
This finally caught my attention, and pulled me out of the drunken haze I was quite content to stay in.
Want to know a fun anecdote? Goldfish have a three second memory. They’re probably so chill, just forgetting everything every three seconds. That was me. I was the goldfish. And then, in those three seconds, somebody took me from my tank, tossed me to the floor and pissed on my face. All over it. And I was down there begging ‘no, stop, don’t piss on my face that’s gross’ but they kept pissing on my face cause they were a huge dickhead.
Then I was on the floor and it had been three seconds, so I had forgotten what had happened and there was crying and yelling and Girl left and Pomegranate was, for some reason, the most distraught of the group and things suddenly went from chill to very not chill. Muy caliente.
Let me take a moment to say; wow. Pomegranate and I weren’t exactly in a relationship, but come on! What’s that? Like, I don’t really mind that much, but I feel like nobody ever looked at the story from my perspective. And it almost feels like my fault, cause, I mean, what if I hadn’t whiskey wanged Pomegranate? What if I had dicked her down like a pro? Dicked her up and then back down again. Dicked her all around. Just a good, solid dicking, you know? What if that was a service I could have provided? Maybe she wouldn’t have wandered over to the clam shack… You dig?
I’m going to abridge the coming events a little bit, because they weren’t exactly funny. There was some yelling, crying, wall head banging, but no music. Everything you expect at a radical party.
As for me, I sat downstairs in silence with a girl who looked like a hamster and Forest Fucker. Hamster wanted to invite Big Boy Chad over to buy (stick in) bananas (his penis) for both of them, but Forest Fucker wasn’t really interested. For some reason, Hamster didn’t want to get fucked by herself cause that was too plain or something.
Also, was this really a good time? Where would they fuck? Next to the screaming girl or the crying one? Maybe they could go to Girl the guy’s house and just do it on his table. It wasn’t a particularly saucy environment.
But every good story has a twist, and while this is not a good story, it does still have a twist. Were this a mystery novel about ‘who put their tongue in Guy the girl’s mouth first?’, Pomegranate would not be the culprit. She was Guy’s sloppy seconds.
Indeed it is so! The first woman to wrangle mouth snakes with Guy was a girl who closely resembled a small, mentally deficient wombat; the girlfriend of Moderately Sized Boy Brad, who was surprisingly chill about the whole thing.
Alas, she got away scott free, cause nobody wanted to tell Girl that his girlfriend had double dipped in the tuna can.
The next morning, we all woke up pretty early. We went out to get a rather quiet breakfast and decided we should probably keep all this shit under wraps. There’s a statute of limitations on this kind of thing, right?
Hope it’s been long enough that we can all laugh at this. If not, RIP me.
Shout out to Forest Fucker and Hamster for being the only chill people at that party. Moderately Sized Boy Brad was pretty chill as well, but I think he was trying to comfort Pomegranate for most of the night. In my defense, I tried too, but strangely enough I was not the guy she wanted to see.
By the way, two people in my friend group were missing from that party. If you’re a parent reading this, those no shows were your kid(s).