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The Blackout Slam Session

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The Blackout Slam Session

It is 8:30 in the morning as your body begins to awaken, and you’re still moderately intoxicated from the night before. The sunlight creeping through the window is skull-fucking you with the pain of 1,000 punches for participating in the previous night’s debauchery. As your brain attempts to reboot, and you realize that you have no idea who the naked chick is next you, the only thought that comes to mind is, “What the fuck did I do last night?”

Well, my friends, with years of research and a broad assortment of compiled evidence, we are going to re-trace what most likely happened last night. Shall we begin?

The Pregame

The night has officially started. You have assembled a group that would make the devil himself tremble with fear if he was forced to keep up with them. Naturally, there is way too much alcohol, and nobody is leaving until all of that intoxicating nectar has been consumed. Beers are being slammed harder than bombs over Baghdad, and the whiskey is flowing faster than the grand rapids. Yes sir, you are now drunk, though you would never admit it because that is for pussies and pledges. Time for the bar.

The Place Where Golden Decisions Are Made

Waiting in line? No thanks. Cover? Not since your balls dropped. You say hello to a few future slam prospects and make your way to the bar. “Jack ‘n Coke, double.” You know the bartender, of course, so what he hands you is a cup of whiskey with a negligible amount of Coke. Tastes like bad decisions. Awesome.

Fast Forward To The Blackout

You are talking to a group of provocatively dressed sorority girls. One is sober, because she’s a cock-blocking feminist virgin. A few are mildly entertaining and quite attractive, but why pursue? Their 115 pound blonde friend already has a death grip on your crotch. As you initiate the “homeward bound” maneuver, the best line that your booze-drowned brain can come up with is “the force is strong with this one.” Fuck. You just quoted Star Wars. Oh well, this girl has already roared into your ear what she plans on doing to you when you get back to the house. Initiate tractor beam. “Lrsts juzt go backed to meh playze sweethurt.” You truly are a beacon of hope for the drunk and horny.

Arrival At Destination

You finally get the door open after contemplating just kicking it down, but you remembered how last time you almost drunkenly donkey-kicked a pledge brother in the nuts, so you refrain. Door opens. You’re in.

Immediately she grabs your face as though she is trying to suck it off. This blonde sucks a mean face. The sound of you attempting to get her to your bedroom is similar to the running of the bulls, and somehow after multiple opened doors you find your bed.

Bed. Your clothes are already gone. You get her in the sack, and ponder if you should even attempt to pee in her butt. Meh, vagina will do. After 45 minutes you finally blow a load on your sheets. Drunken aim must suck, or not enough fucks were given. All seems to be a success until she vomits on your clothes.

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