Friday, January 28, 2011
Well At Least I've Found A Use For The Trojan Ones
A few days (or weeks, whatever. Those of you who have worked in a restaurant know that the new people sometimes take awhile to be noticed) after she started this girl came up to me. We'll just call her Sarah for the sake of keeping her anonymous.
So I met your ex the other night, she said to me. MAN, does he hate you!
Apparently she was at a party where everyone was drunk, as they well should be. My ex was sitting outside moodily playing his guitar when she went out to smoke. He started talking to her and she told him that she had just started working at Shmupplebees.
Oh. My ex-girlfriend works there.
He then continued to berate me for awhile, telling her what a life-ruining-bitch-whore I was.
Of course she told me all about it. Why wouldn't she? It was clear that this man was crazy and I have a charming personality. I win.
Since then our bond has been enfolded in the fact that we both enjoy discussing the lengths to which this man-boy is a loser.
Even more useful is the fact that she is friends with a girl who is friends with the girl (goldfish's uncle's owner's sister, etc.) who is messing around with my ex, so she gets all of the juicy stories told to her. In turn, I get all the juicy stories told to me. I don't know the unfortunate soul's name who is stuck with that man-boy, but I'll name her Lily.
Here is the latest gem.
Lily likes to call man-boy when she's really drunk so that he can entertain her lady bits. The other night she went over there after a few too many cocktails. The only thing that she can remember before she blacked out was that he was crying. Maybe he was sad that I would never get my three years back.
When she woke up in the morning she found, on the floor, the following items:
1. A shoebox full of vomit.
2. A condom with man-juice in it.
3. A condom with bread-crusts stuffed in it.
Yeah, you heard correctly. I had to ask Sarah about five times if she was telling the story right.
I've been informed that my masturbation theory is out of the window because bread-crusts would probably not feel good on man-bits.
Fifty-cent trash can maybe?