The Adventures Of Drunkman And The Dead Kitty Socks

Have you ever met someone for the first time and, within five minutes, realized that you had just been reunited with a part of you that had been missing - you just hadn't been aware of it until then? Such is the case with me and Juiceman. The night we met it was screamingly clear that we had been separated at birth and have the same womb-juice coursing through our veins - thus the name by which, for the purposes of this blog, he shall hence forth be known.

A couple of weeks ago I got a text on my phone from Juiceman giving me the bare bones of a story that sent me into spasms. I could hardly believe that what I was reading was actually true - given that the source has as twisted a sense of humor as I - so I called and greeted him with a screeching, "What the hell?!?!?"

Praise Jeebus - the following story is as true as my boobs are fake.

It was a beautiful June morning. Now doubt the birds were singing Disney tunes as they helped Juiceman make his bed and wash his long, curly, golden hair. He floated down the stairs on a song that screeched to a violent halt as he entered his living room to find a big, fat drunk man passed out in nothing but socks and underwear on his comfy over sized chair. As his brain was scrambling for an explanation - any explanation - all questioning of who, where, when and, most importantly, why finally blended into a single, cohesive: What the fuck???

Juiceman's girlfriend came downstairs behind him, froze, pointed at Drunkman and whispered, "Who... is that?" They stared at the intruder - finally taking in the glorious smells and sights with which he was gracing them: the alcohol that was having an American Gladiator sized competition with the other odors being emitted by his various crevices; the underwear; the crusty, dirty socks that had clearly trodden through a field of dead kittens before entering their home; and the unknown secretions now decorating the comfy chair.

They decided that he must be someone their house guest rudely invited over in the middle of the night without asking and so Girlfriend went upstairs to ask said Houseguest if said unconscious stain maker belonged to him. She returned at a run.

"Call the cops."

Police were called and Juiceman stepped out on his porch to find his doormat askew, bushes demolished, a giant hole torn in the front window screen and a pair of pants on the lawn. (Okay, can we please take a moment to celebrate the drunken thought process that led this man, clearly a fan of Robert Downey Jr, to shed his pants on the lawn, tear open a window screen and crawl into a complete strangers house?)

Drunkman finally began coming to as the police arrived. He started laughing and Juiceman shot him down with an indignant, "Dude, it's not funny."

I soooo beg to differ.

He had no idea who or where he was just that he had had a fight with his girlfriend, undoubtedly caused by her refusal to allow the dead kitty socks into her bed, which, after he was hauled off, Juiceman found neatly balled up on the chair. Quite thoughtful gesture, I'd say.

Upon closer examination of the comfy chair, it was discovered that not only was it now covered in body yuck but had become the final resting place for a nice, big, juicy booger. Buh-bye comfy over sized chair. Juiceman had a friend help him haul it out to the curb where it sat for a couple of days until (drum roll...) the exact same Drunkman came and took it! Juiceman was out doing yard work when he and a friend pulled up, checked out the chair, pointed to it and asked, "Free?"

Juiceman shook his head in amused disbelief. "Knock yourself out, Buddy."

I begged Juiceman to haul the dead kitty socks out of his garbage and take a picture of them for me to post but he refused. Apparently womb-juice is thicker than most things, but Drunkman smegma ain't one of them.