Trust me... take a taxi (v.II)
I woke up suddenly. It was the sprinklers spraying me that wooed me out of my alcohol induced coma. "Where am I?" I thought. As I rounded the corner of the building, I began to recognize things. My head was POUNDING and my mind was engulfed in a thick fog, yet I knew I was downtown. "Musta been a rough night," I chuckled to myself.
I had, evidently, passed out in between a couple of church buildings and woke up when the sprinklers came on. I was hung over and drunk at the same time as I made my way out to the corner. As I was trying to piece the previous evening together, and look for a pay phone, a gold Cadillac pulled up next to me. The guy inside said, "Hey buddy, you need a ride?" Just so happened, I did need a ride. So like a dunken idiot (which I really was at the time), I said yes.
So I jumped into his ride, and almost immediately, he pulled out a flask and offered me a drink. It was 8:30 on a Saturday morning, mind you. Yeah, I was stunned too, especially in my condition. "Man, if I have a swig of that stuff, I will blow chunks all over your car," I said. He persisted. I refused. Then, I vaguely remember him talking about inches and cut or uncut. Huh? He was referring to my dick, or his dick, I'm not sure. I'm not even sure I knew what he was talking about at the time. If I was in a car with a strange man talking about his jimmy, I think I would say, "Whoa dude! Pull this bucket over!" But who knows, I was in pretty bad shape.
He needed gas, so I filled up his tank and gave him directions to my buddies house where I left my car. He agreed to drive me there, but said he had to swing by his place first. "No problem," I said, still totally oblivious to what the hell was going on.
We got to his house and he said, "I've got to make a phone call, come inside for a minute." So I followed him in. As I slipped into a chair in his living room, he dialed the phone and disappeared into the back of the house. A minute later, he returned and said, "Here's some reading material," as he pressed the phone to his ear with one hand, and handed me some magazines with the other. They were 1960's Playboys. "That's weird," I thought. "Why would he be giving me Play..." My thoughts were interrupted when Psycho said, "Man you have got to feel this carpet. Take off your shoes and dig your toes in this stuff. It's fantastic."
BLAM!!! It hit me like a 2-by-4 to the back of the head. The flask, the dick conversation, the Playboys, the take off your shoes bit, the phone call... oh shit. The phone call... FLASH... all I could think about was that scene in Pulp Fiction where Ving Rhames and Bruce Willis were tied up in the basement and the kidnapper called his buddy to come over for some ass raping. My mind was running wide open now. What was in that flask? What if I hadn't refused? Was he sizing up my Johnson? Did he want me to get a stiff one from the Playboys? Could I get away without shoes on? Who did he call? Why in the FUCK did I not see this before?! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....
Very politely, I said, "Look man, I have a lot of things to do today and I feel like hell. Could you just take me to my car?" Thank heaven, that's what he did.
I really don't know what the guy was planning, but I find it hard to believe that it had nothing to do with poking me in the ass. There may have been roofies in that flask, or the phone call could have been to someone looking to make a snuff film. Then again, it could have all just been coincidence. Just maybe, he always talks about male genitalia, and drinks early in the morning, and gives 1960's Playboys to his houseguests, and was on a business call, and has really nice carpet... but I wouldn't bet on it.
Moral of the story: Always, always, always, take a taxi.
Peace.
I had, evidently, passed out in between a couple of church buildings and woke up when the sprinklers came on. I was hung over and drunk at the same time as I made my way out to the corner. As I was trying to piece the previous evening together, and look for a pay phone, a gold Cadillac pulled up next to me. The guy inside said, "Hey buddy, you need a ride?" Just so happened, I did need a ride. So like a dunken idiot (which I really was at the time), I said yes.
So I jumped into his ride, and almost immediately, he pulled out a flask and offered me a drink. It was 8:30 on a Saturday morning, mind you. Yeah, I was stunned too, especially in my condition. "Man, if I have a swig of that stuff, I will blow chunks all over your car," I said. He persisted. I refused. Then, I vaguely remember him talking about inches and cut or uncut. Huh? He was referring to my dick, or his dick, I'm not sure. I'm not even sure I knew what he was talking about at the time. If I was in a car with a strange man talking about his jimmy, I think I would say, "Whoa dude! Pull this bucket over!" But who knows, I was in pretty bad shape.
He needed gas, so I filled up his tank and gave him directions to my buddies house where I left my car. He agreed to drive me there, but said he had to swing by his place first. "No problem," I said, still totally oblivious to what the hell was going on.
We got to his house and he said, "I've got to make a phone call, come inside for a minute." So I followed him in. As I slipped into a chair in his living room, he dialed the phone and disappeared into the back of the house. A minute later, he returned and said, "Here's some reading material," as he pressed the phone to his ear with one hand, and handed me some magazines with the other. They were 1960's Playboys. "That's weird," I thought. "Why would he be giving me Play..." My thoughts were interrupted when Psycho said, "Man you have got to feel this carpet. Take off your shoes and dig your toes in this stuff. It's fantastic."
BLAM!!! It hit me like a 2-by-4 to the back of the head. The flask, the dick conversation, the Playboys, the take off your shoes bit, the phone call... oh shit. The phone call... FLASH... all I could think about was that scene in Pulp Fiction where Ving Rhames and Bruce Willis were tied up in the basement and the kidnapper called his buddy to come over for some ass raping. My mind was running wide open now. What was in that flask? What if I hadn't refused? Was he sizing up my Johnson? Did he want me to get a stiff one from the Playboys? Could I get away without shoes on? Who did he call? Why in the FUCK did I not see this before?! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....
Very politely, I said, "Look man, I have a lot of things to do today and I feel like hell. Could you just take me to my car?" Thank heaven, that's what he did.
I really don't know what the guy was planning, but I find it hard to believe that it had nothing to do with poking me in the ass. There may have been roofies in that flask, or the phone call could have been to someone looking to make a snuff film. Then again, it could have all just been coincidence. Just maybe, he always talks about male genitalia, and drinks early in the morning, and gives 1960's Playboys to his houseguests, and was on a business call, and has really nice carpet... but I wouldn't bet on it.
Moral of the story: Always, always, always, take a taxi.
Peace.
Laid down by AT - 11:35 AM
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