Fear the Tigerclaw

Through all the years of my life, I have come to the conclusion that I am good for two things: Getting myself into awful situations, and living to tell about it. Some of these involve alcohol, some involve medications, but ALL of them include my general dumbassery which, far outweighs the effects of anything else. These are the stories. Don’t judge me.

Not My Proudest Moment: The Subtle Mugging Skills of a City Hobo

Back when I was in high school, I was admittedly a certified asshole. My senior year, I was voted most sarcastic. The yearbook committee ended up spending an entire role of film trying to capture a picture where I wasn’t flipping them off. I, along with my friends, would go out at night and steal street signs, break windows (both in cars and houses alike), tear up people’s lawns and other asshole-ish behavior that middle class white kids partake in. I was better than everyone else, and I knew it.

One day, I took BART into the city with some friends to go get ourselves into some trouble across the bridge. After emerging from the underground platforms, I was immediately accosted by a bum. A dirty, stinky, bum.

“Gimme a sandwich,” the bum said.

“What?” I replied.

“I said gimme a sandwich, I’m hungry

“Fuck you hobo. Give ME a sandwich. I’m hungry too.”

After our brief encounter, the bum, having lived this way for a very long time, realized he had nothing coming out of me and turned around, muttering to himself as he sought out another mark. As for me, having NOT loved my life for a long time, wasn’t ready to let it go. So I did what most teenaged assholes would do. I bought a sandwich.

For me.

I walked right back up to this homeless person and proceeded to eat the sandwich in front of him. I made a show of it too. Mouth open, food falling out and letting out moans of pleasure like I was Jenna Jameson at an all boys school. The hobo stood there the entire time, not saying a word with his mouth, but telling me a novel with his eyes.

He hated everything about me, and I loved it.

After finishing about half of my sandwich, I simply announced that I was no long hungry, looked at this poor guy, and threw the leftovers into the gutter, stepping on it with my boots as I walked away to catch up to my friends. Apparently this move was so dickish that my own, equally shitty friends were disgusted and weren’t shy in telling me how they felt. It got to a point where I felt the need to prove how un-dickheaded I truly was, in order to satisfy the criticisms of these fellow, penile craniumed chums of mine.

Later that night, on our walk back to BART, we happened to stumble across more homeless people. Figuring that this was my chance to redeem myself, I quickly scanned the area to find the coldest, sickliest bum I could find. Once I spotted him, I crossed the street, took off my jacket, and offered it to the dirty gentlemen. He accepted with a confirming grunt and I hastily hiked back to my friends to bask in the glory of doing my good deed for the month. We got back to BART and I reached in my back pocket for my wallet to get my ticket. Except it wasn’t there. Or in the other back pocket. Then is dawned on me. My wallet was in my jacket pocket that I had given to the shit bum.

“Guys, I gotta go back and find that bum. My wallet is in the jacket I gave him.”

We ran back to the street where the homeless guy was, and thankfully (since he had no home to go to), he was still there. He had already put my old jacket on and was looking quite warm in my garb.

“Hey man. Remember me? I just gave you that jacket about 10 minutes ago.”

I miss my old jacket. It tied any outfit together, including the shitty butthole hanging out look

“I’ve had this jacket for years!” He said.

Uhm, sure. Listen, I need it back.”

“It’s mine! You can’t have it!

“I don’t want the jacket back to keep. I just need to get my wallet out of the pocket that I forgot was in there.”

“It’s my wallet!” he said as he reached into the pocket, clearly unaware that the wallet existed up until this point.

“Dude, just give me my wallet. Keep the jacket. I just want to go home.”

And with that, the shit bum opened my wallet, rifled through everything and took out all of the cash. All without breaking eye contact. And when he was done, he stood up and walked away. Dumping my wallet, sans the cash, into the gutter as he left. Now, I am not sure that this guy saw what I did to his fellow street neighbor earlier in the day with the sandwich, but if he had, he played this hand of human poker perfectly. I grabbed my wallet and walked back to my friends, muttering to myself at what had just happened.

“Did that guy just take all of your money?”

“Yes.”

“How much did you have in there?”

“I don’t know, about 60 bucks?”

“Damn. You just got mugged by a diseased, elderly bum and didn’t even know it.”

“I suppose I did. This sucks, lets get back home and smash some mailboxes in. It is the only thing that will make me feel better.”

/Tigerclaw

Through all the years of my life, I have come to the conclusion that I am good for two things: Getting myself into awful situations, and living to tell about it. Some of these involve alcohol, some involve medications, but ALL of them include my general dumbassery which, far outweighs the effects of anything else. These are the stories. Don’t judge me.

The Impromptu Waterbed Part 2

As  I came to the realization the my threesome was now deader than JFK in Texas, I turned my attention to being a drunken voyeur. Meaning that the girl that was now sucking down beers like they were Otter Pops on a hot day and the two idiot guy friends that cockblocked me were now my entertainment. It wasn’t how I envisioned my night, but it would have to do, all things considered.

So as the girl got more drunk, and the guys realized what they had done, the night started to wind down. Eventually the two guys took off, leaving me and “Drunky Brewster,” to polish off the 60 beers that made their way into my apartment that night. Once that was done, my old man genes kicked in and I informed the girl that I was going to bed and that if she was too drunk to drive home, that there was a perfectly comfortable couch with her name on it (this is a total lie as the couch was anything but comfortable and was inherited when another girl said I could have it if I had sex with her on it…which is a different story for a different time). I gave the girl a pair of my pants to change into, wished her a good nights sleep, and went to bed. Not more than ten minutes went by before my bedroom was flooded with the familiar yellow light of my living room, and a small, drunken voice pierced the silence.

“Can’t I just sleep in the bed with you,” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. “But I am putting pillows in between us and you better stay on your side.”

And with that, I passed out in a drunken haze, waiting for my Sunday morning hangover that would be sure to kick me in the nuts shortly. The sexy time may have failed, but the night wasn’t a total waste as I saw old friends, drank tons of beer and would be able to wake tomorrow with a nice headache to remember everything by.  Life wasn’t so bad afterall.

And then it happened.

By it, of course I mean my worst nightmare. A few hours after setting up my bed to accommodate two friends who drunkenly passed out next to each other, I was awakened out of a deep sleep suddenly to find that my bed was wet. Very wet. In fact, it was hella wet. Way to wet for a fucking bed. I immediately realized that I had pissed the bed. I start to panic as I become aware that there is a female friend right next to me who will eventually wake up, and discover that she is drowning in my urine.  Until I touch my own junk and figure out that I am dry. Needless to say, I am confused and confounded by this. How can this be? I am dry as a 78 year old woman, yet the bed is flooded and reeks of tinkle. The only other way this could be is if…no.

Impossible.

Can it be?

I move my hand into a huge puddle of pee and start to track the piss trail with my hands. I work my hands, one over the other until I am literally gripping my friend;s vagina like a bowling ball. A bowling ball that was dropped into a swimming pool.

As the realization of her pissing into my bed starts to set in, my flight response kicks in and I immediately jump out of the bed, flip on the light and stare at the disaster scene in front of me. As I stare at my friend who has soiled my comfy bed, I realize that she is also drooling all over the pillows that segregated us.

She is leaking out of every hole.

Before too long, I rip all of the sheets and blankets off of the bed, throw them in the wash, along with the clothes I was wearing and hop in the shower. I rocked back in forth, fighting off the stages of denial like a rape victim before finally getting out, toweling off and assessing the situation at hand.

I progress from the denial stage of grief to anger. I cuss my friend out, calling her a pig that deserves to wallow in her own pig filth. This doesn’t last long though as I remember that not only is this my bed, but it is fucking comfortable as all hell, and is worth being salvaged. Since everything else was in the wash, and I was pretty sure that no more bodily fluids were able to escape this girl’s body, I decided to be a nice guy and wash my own pants that I had given her to sleep in.

Now, I should point out that I tried MULTIPLE times to wake this bitch up. I tried yelling at her, shaking her violently and even throwing a couple of pairs of socks at her head. All to no avail. So as I pull my pants off of her, when does she decide to wake up? You guessed it, right when the pants are around her ankles.

“What are you doing to me?”, she asked.

Thinking quickly, I responded with, “Don’t worry about it.”

She shrugged her shoulders, fell back into a state of unconsciousness and I moved her to my couch.

Now, having suffered through this chick pissing in my bed, I was now forced to not only shower and do a load of laundry at three in the morning, but to wet vac my mattress as well. Needless to say, my neighbors must have though I was some sort of uber speed freak. all of this, while also keeping a watchful eye on Piss Queen, in hopes that she didn’t ruin another piece of furniture.

As I sat there, watching my urine friend sleeping as if she had done nothing wrong, depriving myself of sleep, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of cosmic karma for some of the shit I had done in my life. But before I could fully come to grips of what this event really meant to me, she woke up. Confused as to why she was now back on the couch and having no recollection of what had happened the night before, I didnt’t have the heart to tell her what she had done to my amazing bed.

Like a real man, I kept this secret to myself. At least until later that day when she left and I went to her work and told all of her co-workers…like a real man.

/Tigerclaw