So after a long night of drinking, I wake up at six in the morning with the distinct feeling that something is not right. It takes me a couple seconds to figure out what it is, but I soon realize what the problem is.
There is someone in my bed.
To clarify, I look over to my right. Sure enough, someone's hairy leg is in my face. There is not just someone in my bed, but some DUDE in my bed. And he is not wearing any pants. I have a sickening feeling that I know who it is, and in fact I am correctit's Matt, the douchebag down the hall who always asks us to turn down our music and keeps harassing one of my female friends. And who has this unfortunate habit of wandering around drunk and naked.
My first instinct, of course, is to get the hell out of bed. Then I shake him and say "Matt. Dude. What the fuck?" Bear in mind that I am, at this point, still somewhat drunk.
No response. I continue attempting to wake him up, realizing that not only is this guy in my bed, he is PASSED THE FUCK OUT in my bed. The problem is compounded by my roommate Salvador, who has woken up and thinks that the person in our room is an entirely different guy. Eventually Matt blinks, mutters "Don't worry about it, man," and falls back to sleep.
THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.
I grab his shoulder, shake violently, and yell "MATT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BED!" This finally has some effect. Matt rolls over, looks around, and is immediately possessed by the catacylsmic shock that affects every college guy who has woken up with no clothes in a strange bed. Except this is the bed of another guy.
"Reuben? Wait...am I in East Hall?" I assure him that he is, and further assure him that his room is a mere three doors away, and then inform him that he needs to leave. Right. The fuck. Now.
Matt swings out of my bed, and he is, in fact, bare-ass naked. This is moderately unpleasant. It gets moreso when he stops in my doorway, turns around, and begins explaining and apologizing. "Matt, dude, it's okay, it's okay, just fuckin leave," is my response. This is merely to get him to go away, because this is not okay. It is not okay at all.
He finally leaves. I sit down. I look at Sal. He bursts out laughing, and I curse the cruelty of fate and college.
Then it occurs to me that I am now in possession of the greatest cock-block ever. Le Grande Cocqueblocque. Das Sehr Krieg Kokkenblokken. El Supremo Cockblock Con Quesa. "Matt? Oh, sure I know Matt. This one time he crawled into my bed naked and wouldn't leave for like ten minutes. It kinda sucked."
I, too, burst out laughing.
Today, I wash my sheets.
There is someone in my bed.
To clarify, I look over to my right. Sure enough, someone's hairy leg is in my face. There is not just someone in my bed, but some DUDE in my bed. And he is not wearing any pants. I have a sickening feeling that I know who it is, and in fact I am correctit's Matt, the douchebag down the hall who always asks us to turn down our music and keeps harassing one of my female friends. And who has this unfortunate habit of wandering around drunk and naked.
My first instinct, of course, is to get the hell out of bed. Then I shake him and say "Matt. Dude. What the fuck?" Bear in mind that I am, at this point, still somewhat drunk.
No response. I continue attempting to wake him up, realizing that not only is this guy in my bed, he is PASSED THE FUCK OUT in my bed. The problem is compounded by my roommate Salvador, who has woken up and thinks that the person in our room is an entirely different guy. Eventually Matt blinks, mutters "Don't worry about it, man," and falls back to sleep.
THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.
I grab his shoulder, shake violently, and yell "MATT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BED!" This finally has some effect. Matt rolls over, looks around, and is immediately possessed by the catacylsmic shock that affects every college guy who has woken up with no clothes in a strange bed. Except this is the bed of another guy.
"Reuben? Wait...am I in East Hall?" I assure him that he is, and further assure him that his room is a mere three doors away, and then inform him that he needs to leave. Right. The fuck. Now.
Matt swings out of my bed, and he is, in fact, bare-ass naked. This is moderately unpleasant. It gets moreso when he stops in my doorway, turns around, and begins explaining and apologizing. "Matt, dude, it's okay, it's okay, just fuckin leave," is my response. This is merely to get him to go away, because this is not okay. It is not okay at all.
He finally leaves. I sit down. I look at Sal. He bursts out laughing, and I curse the cruelty of fate and college.
Then it occurs to me that I am now in possession of the greatest cock-block ever. Le Grande Cocqueblocque. Das Sehr Krieg Kokkenblokken. El Supremo Cockblock Con Quesa. "Matt? Oh, sure I know Matt. This one time he crawled into my bed naked and wouldn't leave for like ten minutes. It kinda sucked."
I, too, burst out laughing.
Today, I wash my sheets.
