Disc one two and three went by without a hitch. We laughed, we folded clothes, and we drank. A lot. By the end of DVD three we were rock, paper, scissoring to see who would have to flip the laundry in the basement and who would go to the other side of the room to switch the DVD. I won.
Smooy would be the one to traverse the span of the house, which I haven’t cleaned in quite some time, take herself into the treacherous wasteland that was the unfinished side of my basement and mosey over to the washer and dryer to continue the laundry process. She would also be the one to climb over piles of my laundry, step on the cold concrete floor, and carry the dryer sheet scented clothing back to the living room to the waiting arms of my drunken ass for folding.
I, however, had to walk to the opposite side of the room and change a DVD.
When it was time for our various duties, Smooy got up and began to head to the beckoning laundry. I stood, on very shaky legs and crossed by the arm chair to stand in between my entertainment center and my newly purchased glass coffee table. I looked to the floor where my DVD player lay. The Family Guy DVD’s lay dormant with disc four staring at me, waiting to be played.
I was already holding onto the entertainment center for balance. The great part about staying in is that you get to drink as much as you want without worry of driving home. The bad part of staying in is that you get to drink as much as you want without standing up frequently. And let’s just say that all at once it hit me. Every last drop of booze that entered into my body stood up and started to shout. It wanted my brain to know just how much the chocolate vodka I was drinking was gaining control of every function. My brain just wanted to watch Family Guy.
I thought I was winning the argument between brain and booze; turns out the booze were just playing a horrible trick on me. It knew I was going to do something stupid and it just wanted to bear witness. I loomed over the DVD’s for a few moments. Just long enough for Smooy to get all the way to the washer. As she was opening the lid to swap loads I leaned down, bending at the waist, to acquire disc four.
The choice to bend at the waist was quickly determined as a huge mistake. The center of balance and booze in my system were on a plot against me. Wanting to see me fail, the vodka decided to trip me. Being that my bum was sticking out in attempts to acquire more of Peter Griffin, I fell, bum first, into my brand new glass coffee table.
The coffee table shattered under the pressure of my drunken self and in one fell swoop I was no longer standing contemplating if the upcoming disk had the ipecac scene on it but now I was teetering, all weight on my bum, back against one iron side of the table feet held in the air by the other. Like a turtle on its shell I was helpless in my attempts to get out of this situation. Not to mention every time I moved I felt another sharp pain in my ass.
After about 30 seconds of squirming and feeling a damaging pain in my ass, I gave up and called for Smooy. Smooy ran to help me because she had heard the crash and my screams. Upon entering the room she stopped to survey the situation. The old disc still playing on the T.V., the broken glass over the floor, the iron frame of the table situated around my body as if it had been built around me, me writhing in pain as I complain about some foreign object that is protruding into my bum in the worst way possible and instead of coming to my rescue as any friend would she started to laugh.
Standing in the doorway of the living room Smooy laughed and laughed hard. Still belly laughing she came to my rescue and helped to pick me up out of the table. As she was doing so I realized that the pain in my bum that I thought was just something poking me was actually something lodged into my upper bum lower back region. Slightly above my crack, I now felt a trickle of liquid start to head south on my skin. I did something I thought I would never do and uttered words I thought I would never say. In that instant I pulled my pants down and asked Smooy to check my ass.
I knew there was something wrong based on her reaction. A long pause followed by the words I will never forget. “I think you’ve been cut.” I wobbled to the mirror ignoring, to the best of my ability, the cut on my no-no bits. When I twisted to see my butt in the mirror I knew I wasn’t going to like what I saw. There in my butt was a huge piece of glass sticking out of my flesh. Around it were small cuts that were slowly dripping blood down my skin. In my still drunken state there was no way I could handle this rationally. I started screaming about the hospital and needing to be driven to the ER. Begging Smooy to call the ambulance didn’t work; thankfully Smooy was sober enough to drive. She was going to take me to the ER.
Walking from the mirror to the car with glass in my ass was impractical so I made Smooy take the glass out of my bum, which made it bleed, profusely. With my ass gushing blood I couldn’t rightfully sit in the car. We decided that I would kneel onto the seat of the passenger side, holding onto the head rest against my chest. Smooy would drive. I climbed into the car. Smooy started the engine and began to back out of the driveway. A short amount of time later and we were on the road flying to the hospital. Because of the booze and Mr. Toad behind the wheel I was feeling more and more drunk as the ride went on. I managed to hold myself together long enough to get to the ER.
Smooy dropped me off at the door. I walked to the doors and out came the night security guard. She offered me a seat in a wheelchair. I just laughed and kept walking. I went up to the triage center and didn’t say a word. When they asked me what I was there for I simply tuned around. The nurse at the desk ushered me into a waiting room where two of the hottest guys I had ever seen came in to assess the damage I had caused myself. They took me to an actual hospital room. Then I had four more male nurses, three female nurses, and two male doctors come in to look at my shredded bum.
After many jokes with the staff about how I really had a tail removed on the black market and the deal went sour, they came to a decision: I was to get stitches in my booty. I honestly feel that at this point I cannot end this story justly with only words. I need to show my readers exactly what happened to my lower bits. I can’t just describe what happened to me. For your benefit, I’ve attached two photos- one picture is my ass with stitches, one is me in the hospital bed.
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Large, cut in my ass needing nine stitches Drunk in a hospital bed.
Now that you have also witnessed the horror that was my Family Guy night with Smooy, let me share what I have learned. ONE: Never drink and watch Family Guy, no matter how tempting. TWO: No matter how tempting it is to stay put, always offer to do the laundry. And THREE: If you want to land a hot doctor, the way to go about meeting him is not to cut your ass in the middle of the night. The staff will laugh at you, and so will your friends. All in all, it was a good learning experience for me.
Oh yeah, one more thing.
I have also learned that I don’t ever want anything to poke me in the ass again.
The first, and last, time left with a wicked scar.
Stumble It!