The Evolution of Date Rape

I roofied my girlfriend one time just to see what all the fuss was about.  (OK, it was a dangerously high dose of Klonopin, which chemically is about the same exact thing....look it up.)  First of all, it was a consensual science experiment, before you go calling the cops on me. 

I was unimpressed.  If I wanted my girl to pass out on me after her not wanting to have sex despite my repeated pleas and attempts, I'd marry her.  ZING!!  Hahahahah!!  Seriously though, she just acted really drunk and fell asleep.  Then I just felt creepy.  What's the point of date raping someone who you regularly have sex with anyways?  The thing it did make me realize about this particular narcotic is that you have to be a desperate motherfucker to spike a chick's drink just for the possibility of her staggering back to your place to have sex with her lifeless, passed out body.  Is that really fun for people?  Are there REALLY guys still out there that do this?  Seriously, go fuck a fat chick if you really need it that bad.

Let's get this out of the way...I'm not making light of rape.  I think it's the most horrible, disgusting thing that can be done to someone.  I think that even in some cases, it can be WORSE than murder.  OK?  Everyone on the same page?  I'm not making jokes about rape, got it?  Great, thanks.  It's sad that I even had to type this paragraph, but fuck me if I'm not politically correct or whatever.  The last thing I need are the P.C. police knocking on my door...(that's P.C. as in Political Correctness Police, not Providence College Police...which is a story for a whole other day, but I digress.)

So now that everyone knows Vinny is not a fan of rape, let's move on.  What kind of desperate homo needs to drug a girl to get sex?  How impetuous does one have to be to make the conscience decision to say, "Ya know what...I like that girl, I think I'll drug her Appletini and drag her stumbling ass to my car and bring her home to Mom's basement for an epic 30 second romp!"

Say there is a girl hot enough out at a bar who is worth taking the chance to go to prison for date rape.  Do you really think she would be the slightest bit interested in talking to some limp dick whack job chump who needs a hot girl to be unconscious if he wants to fuck said hot girl?  So in this scenario, limp dick whack job wouldn't even get the chance to drug her drink, because she wouldn't allow him close enough to it to even give him an opportunity.  If by some miracle, this dude even had the stones to talk to a 10 anyways, she would use her super hot, level 10 hot chick superpowers to immediately know that he had a 4 inch pecker, and immediately shut him down.  Let's take it a step further, and say that Ms. 10 is alone.  (She's not, of course...as I've blogged before, 10's do not travel alone, they travel with a herd of 6's to make themselves appear even hotter....this is a fact to which there is no argument against.)  The limp dick whack job would be better off kidnapping her in the alley and going the old fashioned rape route...which of course doesn't make any sense, because limp dick whack job is not looking for a power trip, which if you go by the profile, is what legit rapists are really after.  This guy is such a pussy, that he's willing to sneak a benzo into a drink just to have sex....he is clearly not looking to outright rape anyone. 

My point is this...go on the Internet you dumb fuck.  There's plenty of free porn out there.  There's some nasty shit too!  Pretty much whatever your perverted mind can think of....just go pick whatever you want to watch or read about and fire off some knuckle children, as Peter Griffin would say.  Either that, or hit up a free dating website.  If you can't get laid hitting some ladies up on plentyoffish.com, you either have your standards set way to high for your own pathetic ass, or you should just go kill yourself, because you will never have sex.

By the way, ugly girls out there, can you chime in on how this works going the other way?  If a girl really needs to get some, but she's a totally busted swamp-donkey and is out of AA batteries and can't afford to buy more because she just spent the last of her change at the laundromat washing all of her extra huge clothes, what does she do?  See, in my opinion, it's different, because ugly girls don't usually KNOW that they're ugly, so they have more confidence and can usually snag up a dude at last call who has given up and is just looking for a cozy place to put his pecker for the night, in which case, everybody wins.  Even in the morning...the girl goes home, still thinking she's hot because some drunk dude settled for her, and the guy has a funny story about boning a fat chick.  Winning!

When it's a guy, who is all together ugly, timid, AND creepy, he's got no chance....unless he's got a script of Xanax and he's not afraid to use it.

Negligent Homicide of a Feline

When I dropped my 3 year old cat off in the woods on a cold, November evening several years ago, essentially leaving her to die, would it be considered 1st degree murder, or negligent homicide?  No shelter would take her, and I had no choice. 

Forget for a minute that she is a cat, and as we all know, cats have no souls.  Pretend it was a human and I was actually sick enough to do such a thing.  Let's also, hypothetically, of course, say that I left a handful of cat food on the side of the road where I kicked her out of the cat carrier and sped off.  I almost expected her to find her way back to my home, but she certainly either froze to death, or was eaten by a coyote, well before she would be able to make the long journey home to my condo.  Still, I found myself looking out the window or occasionally checking the front door...thinking that maybe...just maybe, it was not her time to go. 

I like to think that a nice family took her in and gave her a nice home; but unless she actually made it out in the wilderness long enough to face starvation, I'm thinking she probably would not have approached another residence.

I'm continuously haunted by the image of my cat, who had never been outside before, never mind left to fend for herself.  Maybe that's why I'm reluctant to care for another pet.  A little bit of me died that day, I think...the day I left my poor cat to die.

The question; however, remains.  1st degree murder, negligent homicide, or neither?  After all, her body was never found, and I never actually committed the direct act that ended her life.  I always wondered  that to myself, and now it's out there.  I mean, who would bring up the fact that I left another living creature alone to suffer a horrifying existence, leading inevitably to a death that I can't imagine was quick and/or pleasant in any way, shape, or form.  I can't say that I feel like a weight is off my chest.  I'm sure I'll burn in hell for many things, and this is just one of those things.  I'm beyond redemption.

I'm sorry Kiwi, I hope wherever you are....you stop fucking showing up in my dreams.  Seriously.  If I'm forced to kill you all over again in my nightmares, I'm not sure if I could live with myself.  That being said...rest well my friend.

Partying Like a Three-Year-Old

I'm a bad father.  Terrible, actually.  I guess I just can't help myself.   Case in point:  Last Saturday night when Vinny Jr. was over, we partied like fucking rock stars.  His idea, not mine.  He's about to turn 3 years old, (where does the time go?)  So with no job and no responsibilities, my son came up with the idea for a guys night.  That was the thought, anyways.  He showed me how old I really am, but at the same time brought me back to my glory days.  Here is a running diary of the night:

6:24 p.m.   "Hey Dad, since Mom already thinks you're a shitty father, why don't we really go overboard tonight?  It will be a guys night...ya know, you, me, and a few friends over the apartment.  We ARE bachelors, after all." 

"OK bud, but you're cleaning up in the morning.  You know the song, right?  Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere, clean up, clean up, everybody do their share!"

"Dad, that shit is gay, I'm almost 3 for chrissakes."

"Sorry."

6:31 p.m.   I strapped my kid into his car seat and we headed to the local packy (That's liquor store for those of you who live outside New England and say things like "pop" instead of Coke or soda.)

6:59 p.m.  We returned to my shag palace with a 30 pack of Natty Lights, a gallon jug of Poland Springs vodka, some Southern Comfort, plenty of mixers, and a bottle of Patron.  (Yeah right, I'm fucking poor and my son has no money...it was Jose Cuervo.)

7:14 p.m.   Vinny Jr. was burning up the phone lines, getting people together for our party.  I was putting the alcohol on ice and overheard some questionable phone calls.  "Dude, don't be doing anything stupid...that's my cell phone. The last thing I need is for that shit to get subpoenaed if things get out of hand."

7:21 p.m.   We each cracked a beer and did a shot of Cuervo.  "Shot for shot, old man?" he asked me.  "Fuck it."  We did 4 each in the next 20 minutes, but I had to stop if I wanted to make it past 9:00 p.m.  "Pussy...."

7:51 p.m.   Some random people showed up, no doubt friends of my boy.  He was the most popular kid in daycare, after all.  I thought it was weird that they were all in their 20's, but what the hell, I didn't ask any questions.  Jr. introduced me, even though I didn't care who they were, and then they busted out the crack rocks.  "Dad, you gotta hit this shit!"  I rolled my eyes, but proceeded to hit the crack pipe.  Whatever, it was a party.  I've never smoked crack before, but apparently Jr. had, because he took it look a champ.

8:04 p.m.   Three girls waltzed in with very little clothing.  I knew right away that one of Jr.'s calls was to an "escort company."  "Dude!"  I looked at him.  He just shrugged.  The music started cranking and the girls started doing shots and dancing around like they owned the place.  Someone put up a foldable card table in the kitchen.  Me and Jr. continued drinking beer and doing shots, like most everyone else that was there.

8:22 p.m.   I was pretty sauced, and on top of that, high on crack.  Jr. seemed to be taking it pretty well considering he's only about 35 pounds.  The little shit could hold his booze.  People were getting pretty fucked up, and the girls were losing more and more clothing.  Jr. got in on a hand of poker. 

8:33 p.m.   After a few hands at the card table.  Someone took out a revolver and put it down on the card table.  "Let's make this interesting..."  He looked like a stand-up dude, so I completely trusted him with a gun in my home and at the same table as my young son.  "Russian roulette you bitches."  Jr. picked that shit up, and I don't know if it was the crack, but he put it right to his temple and pulled the trigger.  He didn't even flinch.  It clicked, no bullet came out, and he slammed it down on the table without saying a word.  Victory.  The guy to his right spun the chamber around, (I think that's what it's called, right?  I don't know guns.)  He hesitated, but pulled the trigger and sprayed his brains all over my fridge.  "Holy fuck!"  someone shouted.  I immediately sprung into action to get control of the situation. "I'll pass it off as a fire cracker if anyone asks, just get that body into the basement.  Wrap him in something first."  One of the girls puked everywhere.  Luckily,  a few of the guys there cleaned up both messes and the party went on.  We weren't gonna let a little "suicide" take away the fun of the night, it was still early.

9:18 p.m.   The party was rocking again.  Drinks, shots, now completely naked chicks doing weird shit.  Let's just say at one time it involved a bottle of mustard, several AA batteries, a wrist watch, and an emptied out McDonalds drink cup.  A band showed up and set up shop in the living room.  They were clearly all on heroin...at least that was my guess until they all shot up right in my bathroom with the door open, negating any doubt that I previously had.  For being amazingly high and barely able to keep their eyes open, they rocked it. 

9:26 p.m.   As expected, my bitch neighbor showed up to complain about the noise.  Jr. answered the door and punched her in the stomach before she even got a word out, doubling her over so that her face reached down towards his.  He grabbed her by the hair and pulled out his pocket knife.  Holding it to her jugular, he whispered calmly in her ear.  "Listen you nosy bitch.  You're gonna go back home, turn your t.v. up, and pretend like you don't even know we're here.  If the cops show up, I'm going to immediately assume it was you.  They're never gonna bring me to the clink, I'm fucking 3 years old.  Guess where my first stop is gonna be?  Your house.  So move it on down the line."  She backed out of the doorway, white as a ghost and trembling like the prostitute with the weak stomach was about an hour ago.  "Atta girl...get on now."  We didn't hear from that old whore for the rest of the night.  I give little Vinny some knuckles and thanked him for handling her.  "She's always busting my balls...thanks buddy!"

9:58 p.m.   Vinny Jr. threw up, but only to make room for more alcohol.

10:19 p.m.  I threw up for the same reason.

10:25 p.m.  One of the hookers puked on another one of the hookers...but I think it was on purpose.  I was too fucked up to figure it out.  On the other end of the room, one of Jr.'s friends punched one of the hookers in the ear and yelled something to her, but the music was too loud for me to hear.

10:58 p.m.  Vinny Jr. walked up to me, so I bent down to hear what he had to say.  "Pretty sweet party old man...hopefully nobody's rocking their iPhone as a camera, haha!  Shots?"  I nodded.  "Let's do it, bust out the Poland Springs vodka in it's plastic jug.  Clearly must be the good shit."  We each proceeded with three shots in a row, and passed a bunch more out to random people.

11:26 p.m.  We popped the iTunes back on as the band ran out of songs to play.  Plus, I was pretty sure the bass player had overdosed.  "Hey!!"  Jr. yelled.  "Get that guy the fuck outta here, Pulp Fiction style!"  Good move Jr.  It was gonna be hard enough to get one body the hell outta the place.  The band carried him out and took off. 

11:57 a.m.   A fight broke out in the kitchen and everyone converged on the scene.  It was a bigger guy vs. a small dude.  The little guy held his own for a few seconds before he started to get pummelled.  This went on for another couple of seconds until the big guy's knees buckled, and he crumbled to the ground.  Vinny Jr. was standing behind him with my 8 iron.  "No fighting."  He slurred.  Everybody laughed and the big guy was dragged out into the parking lot, where he would surely drive home drunk and embarrassed from being cheap-shotted by a toddler.

12:34 a.m.   The hard alcohol was running out, but luckily, most people brought beer, so we had plenty of that.  A few people left, but most of us were going pretty strong.  "You know it's way past your bed time, right?"  Jr. smashed a beer bottle against a wall and held the now-deadly weapon up to my face.  "Are you fucking kidding me Pops?"  "I'm just saying, chill out!"  He laughed and threw his arm around his shoulder.  "Thanks for being cool with this party Old Man!"  I laughed for a minute.  "No worries little guy, but I'm not getting you shit for your 3rd birthday."  Jr. now laughed.  "Ahhh, you son of a bitch, don't worry about it!"

1:04 a.m.   I sat my tired ass down on the couch.  People were starting to get to the point of no return.  Then someone poured what seemed like a bag of sugar on my coffee table.  Once people started snorting the shit up their noses, I figured it out.  15 minutes later, I miraculously caught a second wind...and a runny nose. 

1:09 a.m.   Jr. and one of the hookers waltzed out of the bathroom together.  I thought for a split second about how the logistics of that might have worked, but I quickly decided not to try.

1:58 a.m.  More people filtered out.  My son and I continued to drink beers.  The night had become pretty foggy at this point.  I remember one of the hookers looking for money.  Jr. took a $20 out of my wallet and gave it to one of them.  "Here's some cash for the 3 of you to get home and stop at Wendy's." 

"What the fuck!" One of them yelled. 

"Do you really want to argue with me here?  Do you even have the slightest idea of how many felonies were committed here already tonight?  Do you want to add 3 to the total?  Get the fuck outta here."  The sluts left.  I looked at my son, puzzled.  "Why did you give them my last $20?"  He just shrugged.

I don't remember anything after that. 

6:02 a.m.   I woke up on the kitchen floor in a puddle of my own vomit.  I had pissed my pants and the place stunk to high hell.  Vinny Jr. was putting the finishing touches on cleaning the place up.  "Dad, let me borrow your keys, I gotta get rid of that package in the basement."  I nodded towards the kitchen table.  "Back in a couple hours."

"OK, but hurry up, your mother will be here to pick you up at noon." 

6:09 a.m.  I made my way to my bed, where I found a chubby chick with a decent face sprawled out on top of the covers.  I got her just conscience enough to where it wouldn't be rape, and had at it with her.  I then politely donkey punched her and kicked her out.  "I don't have a ride!"  she whined.  "Well if you were up 10 minutes ago, you could have caught one with my son...but you might have ended up like the passenger in the trunk."  She was confused, but hastily exited.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I woke up and found Vinny Jr. on the couch watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  "Morning Daddy.  I have a fruit bar a beafest....pleeeeaaasssse Daddy?" 

"I just had the most messed up dream...did you have a good sleep buddy."

"Yeah."

"What do you want to do today?"

"Go a the park!"

"You got it pal....I love you!"

"Lub you too Dada."

"I'm not drinking Mountain Dew before bed any more, especially on a day where your mother yelled at me from giving you Reese's Puffs and juice for breakfast."

A bad father?  Me?  C'mon!  A little sugar for breakfast doesn't make me a bad father, in reality.  In the dream world though?  Maybe....