While I don’t make it a habit of taking the advice of the comments section (if I did, I probably would’ve killed myself and/or quit long ago), I did the other day because I sincerely needed help getting out of a sticky situation.
As expected, it was a complete fucking disaster. After deciding the “you need to not be a bitch and just tell him yourself” crowd was right, I made it my mission to craft a heartfelt explanation of how his girlfriend’s snatch is seemingly always open (or at least how it used to be), even though I was filled to the brim with a sea of irresponsibly mixed substances and self-loathing.
Basically I was going with my pre-first date routine, readying myself for what could really only be an uncomfortable evening, at best. As I had neared readiness, Mark came upstairs to find me in an unsurprising state: wearing boxers and a tank, bowl on one arm of the recliner, bottle on the other, cheering audibly for the Padres. I’m not even from California, and, if you can’t tell, clearly have some vices.
“What’s up, Siblings?” he asks as he walks by headed to the kitchen. This might as well be the time. I mean, what better time than while watching the Padres get railed to tell him about the time I railed his girl?
“Mark, man do you have a minute?” I ask, hoping he says no. There’s a pause, like when you’re making a phone call you don’t want to make and by the third ring you see some hope of a voicemail. He then responded.
“Yeah man, one second. I’m grabbing Katie’s leftovers.”
I take a massive hit and the gravity of the situation lessons immensely as I start to contemplate how incredibly unimportant this couple-month-long college “relationship” really is, and how one day they’ll both undoubtedly look back on this with nothing but regret and confusion, if anything at all. I was emotionless. Maybe that was simply substance-based, but, either way, I’ll take it.
Mark walks over and sits on the couch, “So what’s up?”
“Mark, I’ve got to tell you something, man, and unfortunately, it’s not exactly what I think you’ll want to hear.” I sigh and act as if I actually feel bad.
“Ok, Siblings, what is it?”
“Well, I know you really like Katie, and yesterday I acted like I hadn’t met her before, and well that wasn’t exactly…” He cuts me off.
“Say no more, bro, I already know.”
“You do?” I respond, flabbergasted.
“Yup, and it’s not a big deal at all.” My mind is blown.
“Yeah. Look man, Katie’s a good looking girl. It definitely doesn’t surprise me.”
“Shit.” I raise my glass. “Well cheers man, I thought this was going to be fucking brutal.” We take a drink together.
“I don’t know why you couldn’t have just told me, everybody gets shot down sometimes. It’s life, and Katie’s picky as fuck.” I almost spit out my pull.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh come on bro, she told me. You slid into her DMs, snaked her number, tried to take her out, all that shit. It was a long time ago. No hard feelings, right?” Wrong.
“She told you I tried to creep her off Instagram?”
“Uh, yea. You pretended to have met her at a Houlihan’s and DM’d her a shirtless pic. You gotta work on your abs, dude. Maybe cut back on this shit” as he motions to my beer.
At this point, this bitch has made me look like every Saudi Arabian guy that follows models on Instagram. Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong now, bitch.
“You know what, Mark, that’s a really funny story. Your girlfriend has one hell of an imagination.” I realize I could go along with this farce and save my roommate the heartache… but let this tyrannical twat dirty my good name? Nope. I just can’t.
“Because, quite frankly, that little story of hers, the one she told you? Couldn’t be further from the truth.” As if Jesus himself was laughing at this mess, I hear the creak of the stairs and know Katie is on her way up. She appears on the horizon wearing my (team redacted) tank that Mark has clearly stolen from me, even though I asked him about its whereabouts multiple times after letting him wear it at a recent jersey party and he merely responded “dunno.” There’s now no stopping my anger.
“Hey Katie! I hear I creeped you on Instagram and sent you a pretty shitty pic of myself. Funny, right?” She pauses.
“Yeah. It’s been almost two years, Siblings; I think we can laugh about it now, don’t you?” She looks at me like a mother in a supermarket trying to warn her kids of the impending beating they’re going to get in the minivan if they don’t shut the fuck up.
“Oh Katie, I’m starting to think this whole thing is hilarious.” She sits down next to Mark.
“Well good, let’s just move on then. Nothing really to talk about.”
“That’s where I disagree, Katie. I think there’s a lot to discuss, because my memory is a little different. You see, while you remember laughing at my stomach, I remember my cock poking the bottom of yours.” A little brash, yes, but I’m happy with what I came up with. Mark drops his plate.
“Why don’t you tell him the real story, Katie? How this isn’t the first time you’ve been in this apartment, nor is it the first time you’ve had your mouth wide open in here?”
“Siblings, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“Mark, I’m sorry man but I can’t let her do this. Katie, tell him the truth”
“Katie?” Her calm demeanor begins to unravel.
“Mark, I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. I think he’s insane. Look how fucked up he is!” She had a point, but it wasn’t going to help her case.
“Really? Hey Mark, when you slide into her crevice does ‘oh, you are SO big’ sound familiar? She put her legs behind her head like a fucking yogi? She like her brown button pushed when on top? Yeah honey, I remember it all.”
“Katie, what the fuck!?”
“I have no idea what he’s talking about, Mark!”
“Don’t make me get the fucking nudes, Katie. I’ve got pics. I’ve got tapes. Yes honey, fucking tapes. Shit, we can ask security for another angle of the elevator blowie — sadly, my whole library is strictly POV.” Mic. Dropped. Katie bursts out crying.
“Why are you doing this?” Katie screams. Mark stands up and interjects.
“Why the fuck did you lie to me, Katie? Get out. Get the FUCK out.”
“Mark… Are you serious?” Her eyes were full puppy mode. I start to realize the disaster I have caused.
“Wait a minute guys, let’s take a step back.” Damage control time. Mark looks at me, clearly not having any of it.
“And you, you drunk fuck. You have sex tapes with my girlfriend and you tell me you’ve never met her?! Fucking sex tapes?!?”
“Well, not really sex. Mostly oral, maybe a cum shot or two, but I mean…”
Mark throws his drink in my face like a sophomore sorority girl. Katie slams the door and leaves.
“You can go fuck yourself. Nobody will tell you this, but you’re pathetic. You live off your parents. Nobody respects you. Your writing fucking blows and I hope you enjoy this life until they cut you off, you cocksucker.” Ouch.
“Mark, I was trying to tell you. I’m sorry it took a couple days. I didn’t know what to do.” Mark calmed down, if only a little bit.
“It’s whatever man, fuck.”
Mark heads for the stairs, then pauses. I’m guessing he’s going to… BAM!
Yup, he punched a hole in the fucking wall.
“Sorry Mark. Seriously.”
I hear his door slam. I guess I should be upset, but the Padres just took the lead and, well, DON’T CARE HAD SEX..