Prepare for your beating

So since the best part of this story is the part he doesn't remember, I'll be glad to fill in the blanks. Ken likes to beat me upside the head when he's good and drunk. I'm not sure why he's chosen me as his whipping boy. Luckily I don't take misdirected aggression personally. I let him swing and swing back occasionally but it's all in good fun and mostly we're too trashed to feel it anyway.

Flash forward to Saturday night out front of the local Piano Bar. I'm fleeing from Ken's swinging hand and we both tumble out into the street to see his ex Tom, and the new whore boyfriend Scott standing there like Nancy priss ass Ken dolls. (They're known by first names at the local Deisel store . . . how enthralling).

Ken's ex Tom takes in the skirmish and makes the mistake of saying, "He probably wants to be hitting me". I reply by saying that that would be less than optimal because I may actually have to get involved to break it up . . . and that it would probably turn into sex between them anyway. It takes me a few seconds to realize how grossly inappropriate this is but I quicky dismiss any protest that the spineless jellyfish may have made regarding the sex comment with the perfunctory, "whatever Scott". Ken on the other hand, immediately recognizes the wisdom of his ex husbands comment and basically begins whaling on him . . . hard. I stood fast, proudly enjoying the moment that had been such a long time coming, while one of our more prudent friends whisked Ken away to the nearest glass of bourbon. I'm still giggling to myself at the sheer satisfaction on Ken's face when I told him this story the next morning :)

The Dance of Social Graces

I imagine it will be difficult to hang out with two guys I've referred to as nothing but "The Whores" for the last 18 months without saying something inappropriate (referring to my ex, Tom and his bf Scott).   To make matters worse, due to my own recent bout of whorishness, I've been taking antibiotics for the last few weeks and won't be to drink myself stupid....  On second thought, that might be for the better... Even if it is St Patty's day.

In my defense, at least I wasn't married when I fucked 8 guys in a month... (so what if it was in the first two days of that month... I like sex like I like football, two teams of eleven...)

Armed with a sharp tongue, a roommate who thinks his insults are veiled and a slew of shallow alcoholics there's no way I'm going to be able to forget this day unless I black out.