Wednesday, April 8, 2009

I Ran All The Way Home, Just To Say I'm a Weekend Douche


This story actually happened to my mom in the late 70s. She and her girlfriends got trashed in the park and then went to one of the girl's houses afterward to crash, since her parents were away for the weekend. Imagine 4 stinking drunk 15 year olds passed out in their underpants in a king-size bed, drooling all over the sheets. Anyway, fast forward to about 9:00 AM, my mom's friend's Irish-Catholic parents came home early. Let's just say there was a lot of yelling, a lot of hijinks, some cursing that invoked the name of God and any number of saints and members of the holy family, and a few tears. My mom was able to find her pants, but there was no sign of her shoes. She asked her friend to help her find them, and her friend looked her square in the eye and said "GET THE FUCK OUT, NOW!" Well, Mom had to walk all the way home from the Bronx (she lived in Inwood, it's about 3 miles) with no shoes on. Class.

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