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Prose Challenge of the Week #40: Write a story about a drunken one-nighter, written out of gender. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge
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basham_lucas
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The Good, The Beer, and The Fugly

I'm writing this as catharsis to try and piece together what happened last night, and this morning (hopefully it's still morning. The time of day doesn't really matter when you're trying to find an Uber that will take home somebody thats mostly naked). Call it a grasping-at-straws "oh shit" list, I guess. 

I could still feel the beer chugging its way into my intestines, so I figured I had about five minutes before I had to go pray for mercy in the bathroom. I thought to myself actually...where is my bathroom? More importantly, where the fuck am I? I never saw this room in my life, and I've seen a lot of rooms in my day. I looked out the window just trying to find a landmark of where I could possibly be, but I recognize nothing. *flush* Ahh, there's the toilet. The door bursts open "Finally you're awake! I've been trying to get your ass up for over an hour, you need to go like NOW. I'm already late for work". Who the hell works on a Saturday morning? Whatever. I asked what happened. "I wish I knew. We were at the bar, I saw you from across the way and struck up a conversation, we hit it off, we separated from our friends, and then shit got weird". Yeah, weird is a good way to put it, seeing as how theres two ball gags and a jar of mayonnaise sitting next to what I could only assume was at one point a wooden horse; now just splinters of painted wood on the ground. I had no complaints on getting out of there as quickly as possible. I grabbed whatever stuff I could find (oh jesus, why is it so sticky) and made my dash for the door. However, my stomach seemed to disagree with my departure time. Failure to launch, buddy. I turned around and sprinted towards the bathroom, barely having enough time to pull my pants down before I sprayed down the entire toilet (you heard me right; the entire toilet. Like when you turn on a hose and it starts running before you have a chance to put it into a bucket and goes everywhere). After soiling the place for a considerable amount of time, I wipe my ass as best I could and tried to devise an escape plan. I grabbed my clothes and considered going out the window. I'm not 14 years old trying to escape from nagging parents. I'm an adult now, I have to act like one. So I decided to basically breach the room with whatever things I could grab in one hand and ran out the door. 

Now here I sit, on a curb in a busy city, waiting for a ride in little more than underwear. The breeze feels pretty good in my hair; I actually wouldn't mind sitting here for a while if every person on the planet would stop looking at me like I just escaped from prison or a mental hospital. Thank god, I can see my ride coming now. They're pulling up to the curb.

Oh shit

So that's who works on a Saturday. 

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