A few months back we had our annual training. If you go to another city for a training seminar and don’t give a 100% effort at trying to bang a random whore, I don’t want to know you. It’s a simple plan. You wake up, you sign your name on the list, then you disappear for two days of debauchery, making sure to emerge to sign out the following day. I tried getting a co-worker to sign in for me, but apparently that’s a breach of CLE rules. Dickwad. So I had to at least put in 20 minutes of learning before I snuck out. Fast forward to that evening, I ended up partying with some co-workers at a blues bar because that is standard work partying protocol, lawyers love jazz and blues bars. (My suggestion of an 8 ball and hookers fell on deaf ears.) So blues bar it was.
As luck would have it I found one of the craziest whores I have ever been acquainted with, and that is a looooong list. There were about 8 of us. I won’t get into the details except to say the only other person of significance that night was my colleague Evan. He’s kinda scummy like me which comes in handy in situations like this. He has more of that meathead aggressive game, but I won’t talk shit, as he does well. He’s dating a 19 year old, which is just awesome. He grabbed Ms. Fishhook (you’ll found out why in a bit, relax) from a crowd of mostly garbage and brought her to the dance floor where I was innocently dancing to a band of really awesome black guys who probably hate my guts. I think they were called Charlie Murphy and the Love Doctors. I might be wrong. Anyway, Evan passed her off to me and I would say I was indebted to him if he wasn’t already on my shit list. (Sidenote: he told a female co-worker friend of mine at a dinner party that I told him she is a whore. I’m sure I said that, but I would have preferred he not relay that info to everyone at the firm.) So anyway, he and I are now square.
So Ms. Fishhook dances with me and mentions that she is a stem cell researcher. I shit you not. Automatically, my crazy girl alarm bells are going off. Scientists who get fucked up are really sick people, I don’t know why but that’s just a universal truth. I don’t recall why she was there, but she was with some mutated looking British slags. I tried to get her two British friends involved so they wouldn’t cockblock, but they refused to dance. I’m not sure if there some correlation between having bad teeth and not wanting to dance to blues music, but that’s the theory I’m going with. After about 10 minutes of chatting with Ms. Fishhook, it was obvious that her and I were gonna be hanging out all night, despite her mutant sidekicks. They definitely saw the glean in my eyes that said, “Don’t worry girls I’ll take care of your friend tonight. No chance of getting rid of me.” They obliged and told her they were leaving. She barely even acknowledged them. Wow, this was going rather smoothly.
I decided a change of venue was appropriate, preferably my hotel, but apparently I hadn’t put in enough good work yet. She wanted to eat hot dogs, but I suddenly pictured sauerkraut being vomited out on my penis. No thanks. We went to a glorified Denny’s, where I had the equivalent of a grand slam. We talked shit about work, life, politics, animal rights (coke will take your convo to strange places). Apparently, she adopted two guinea pigs because she felt guilty about all of the animals she slaughtered in animal testing. My penis was now throbbing for this weirdo murdering savage. I told her not to feel guilty; I murdered a homeless guy the previous night and I slept like Rip Van Winkle. It was time to get out of there. Of course, the stupid graveyard shift waitress wouldn’t come over to give me the fucking check. I feel the momentum swinging away from me so I went to the counter and left 40 dollars, assuming that was more than enough for this slop and we jumped a cab.
She says “we’re making two stops.” Time to get more aggressive. I say “wait, what?” This is where the night turns to crazy town and this girl become a hall of famer. She says “were you expecting me to go to your hotel?” I’m like “yeah.” She goes “why?” I’m like “you know why.” “What are we gonna do there?” She makes me say it. I guess she thought I was timid. Me: “Oh, you mean like am I gonna fuck your brains out? Yes.” She makes me get specific. Like I said, science chicks are nuts.
Her: “What are you into—what else besides sex?” Cleary, she is either bullshitting or this is gonna be an all-time great story. But I already know (a) that she murders chimpanzees for kicks and (b) her boyfriend dumped her a week ago. That’s right, best timing ever. I get the post-break-up rampaging whore. So I say “I’ll go down on you for an hour” She says that’s too personal. She wants to be slapped around, will I do that? I reply: “I’ll do anything you want. I have no boundaries. If you want to make a snuff porn, let me charge my video camera.” She asks me one final question that will decide my fate. “Am I inherently romantic or aggressive?” I feel like I’m on a Japanese dating game show. Based on what she already told me this is probably the easiest question I’ve ever been asked? I say “aggressive” . . . even though deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down I love poetry and Steel Magnolias. She’s like “ok good. Taxi, take me to his hotel.”
We get to the hotel, I suggest some light porn to get the mood going. Apparently in the last two years hotel porn has really gotten crazy good. I spent half the afternoon on a title called “Just Blowjobs.” It was a close call between that and “Mommy and Me” or “Cougar Hunt.” We settle on “Slut Search.” Bad choice. The women are disgusting and their p*ssies seriously need rejuvenation. Ms. Fishhook points this out and asks point blank if her genitalia needs rejuvenation. I say something like “it doesn’t, but hopefully in an hour it will.” Truthfully, I can never tell, her genitals looked like every other 34-year old’s. It looks like an old weathered vagina. I don’t really enjoy examining them. Time to get down.
She goes “dude, I’m ovulating, my period was 14 days ago.” I could have done without that little personal tidbit, but apparently that means jazzing in her babymaker is not an option. She is a scientist so I know she takes this and butchering animals very seriously.
I call the receptionist and tell her to get some fucking jimmies up here, stat! “Sorry sir, we don’t have condoms here.” NO FUCKING CONDOMS. What kind of establishment is this? She directly me to a Walgreens . . . a half mile away. My erection is gone. I have been in this situation before, and more times then not, if I leave, when I return there is no whore.
So at this point, I tell her in a tone so she knows that I will follow through: “I’m going to get condoms, when I come back, you better be here. If you are not here, I will hunt you down and kill you, I swear to God.” I feel satisfied that she will be there when I get back. So I race to find a cab, I tell him my predicament, he offers to wait outside Walgreens. I run to the back and hold the condoms up for all the workers to see, I feel like these little moments make being a Walgreens shelf stacker at 4 am tolerable. He will have a good story about some crazy white kid to tell his wife and 7 kids. Jump in the cab, back at the hotel, 12 minutes round trip. I think I sprinted the last 40 yards in 4.3. Maybe faster. I hit the elevator and contemplate whether I will really have to kill her if she’s gone. I must. It’s a matter of principle, like how Javier Barden had to kill Josh Brolin’s wife. “You know you don’t have to do this.” “Why do they always say that?”
I open the door, not only is she still there, she is laying down digitally remastering herself to Slut Search. Good times. I rip the condom open. I climb on top of her and proceed to pound. Apparently she bangs some real animals because she is now openly taunting me and telling me it’s not hard enough. She asks me to bite her back a la Marv Albert. I gladly oblige. “Not hard enough.” So I bite much harder this time, I hope she has had a tetanus shot recently. Next comes some ass slapping. She tells me to make it sting. I hit her harder than anyone I’ve ever hit before, I’ve hit probably 9 or 10 people in my life. I’m pretty sure she will wake up in pain, I’ve been paddled before, that’s how hard I was hitting her. Then she asks me to pull her hair, I start doing this, I’m still not satisfying her craving for a beating. Apparently her daddy issues are intense.
Next, she tells me to slap her face. I’m a little worried at where this is going because you just never know when you are dealing with headcases. Maybe she will ask me to stab her. Maybe she will ask if she can cut a piece of my scrotum off. Anyway, I start slapping her face. Hard. Still not satisfying her cravings. So at this point, I try some improvisational moves. One of my hands is yanking her head the other is slapping her stupid face. I take the hand from her hair and start fishhooking her. This is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. I’ve only seen it in Ultimate Fighting and extreme pornography. Never in the civilized world. She starts to moan in agony. I’m pretty sure that means she’s having a wonderful time. Finally.
After about a half hour of fishhooking and slapping and biting and hairpulling and ass smacking, I need a break. I’m out of my depth here. She asks me if I’m gonna throw up. “Me, I don’t throw up.” No more than 60 seconds letter I race to the bathroom. Apparently, even Mr. Richardson throws up. In this case, after about 8 Glenlivets and a whole bunch of buffet food. Surely, you know this story is coming to a conclusion because even for the craziest bitch, this is the kind of vomiting that will cause her to put her clothes on. I get out of the bathroom and she’s clothed and ready to go. She gives a mock salute and slinks back to wherever this monster came from.
No matter, what else could I really do to this sociopath? If she stayed, I’m pretty sure there would have been blood stained sheets, a chalk outline and maybe a 10 year stint in a federal rape den. I really don’t know if I could have stopped myself from throwing her out of my window . . . only because I know she would have wanted it. Anyway, when I got back to NY, I told all my friends this story, we went out got wasted and started fishhooking girls at the bar. It was not a pretty sight. We got thrown out of many bars and swung at by more than one angry boyfriend. Be warned, many girls in the near future will be feeling the sting of the fishhook. It’s the new ass eating.