I was giong to get away with my bloody indiscretions, until the stain on my leg gave me away!

I've been hoggin' at least once or twice in my day. Okay... probably somewhere in the double digits. My least favorite happened like this:

All my roomies had class early in the morning and I wasn't too concerned about my own. So no one chaperoned me on my night out alone.

I went to one of my favorite pool halls and I came across three decent looking women. That's right, you guessed it... the ugliest one with the best body decided to be flirty. Since I had been drinking since early in the morning and after a long night of unmentionable contraband intake, I figured 'What the hell.'

All night long, she told me she had a secret. All night long, I got way too drunk/high to care. I followed her from the bar to one of the closer motels to the highway.

She paid for the room for the night.

Then she told me her secret. I won't go into details, but it had something to do with the monthly visitor being in full effect.

Me: "So... we gonna get after this or what?"
Her: "It's up to you. But I'll give you a little sample..."

Long story short... we GET AFTER IT.

Shorter story... the next morning I wake up and all the sheets have been tossed in the bathroom waste basket- and for good reason!

I shed my share of the scratchy comforter, realize my contacts have been in for more that twenty four hours and search for the nearest exit. Before I get the chance to leave, she wakes up.

It's just short of 8 A.M.

"Let's go to your place," she says putting on the clothes from six hours ago.

"Uh... okay. Gimme a sec," I reply. My eyes are killing me, I don't know where my underwear is and I don't give two shits at the time. I put on as much clothing of mine as I can find. In the back of my mind, I know it's to my benefit that I can't find my boxers nor my undershirt. "Follow me," I offer behind squinted, blood-shot eyes.

I wear my black leather shoes with the outfit I had the previous night without any sort of underwear or socks. I head back towards the direction of my house (west) away from the highway, when I realize this chick is as good of a driver as she is at giving head (for those of you females who are automotively un-inclined, this I find MORE than amazing). So, I'm less than two miles away from my house and this chick is paying more attention to my bumper than she did to my nut sack the night before (again... IMPRESSIVE).

...my pants grow tighter thinking of the special attention my ball sack received the night before.

Then I realized hottie body fugly will make it back to my house and I'll probably have to introduce her to my roomies. She has no intention of letting me go until she has an expensive band on her finger and three or four kids removed from her womb.

This will not do!

I approach a four-way stoplight and she's about a quarter mile away, playing it suave, far behind my bumper. The light is already yellow and I have my foot on the brake when it occurs to me: run the light or marry this crazy bitch.

In my 1987 Ford Bronco II, I drop the "hammer" on my 3.2 liter V6 well after my turn light is red. After almost getting hit by four different cars with engines less than half the size of mine, I check my rear-view mirror and much to my relief, she's stuck at the red light.

End result: I park and walk into my roomies half way through “Gladiator,” whacked out on whatever contraband THEY found only hours ago. I throw on some shorts and drop myself in the only Lazy-Boy left and drown myself in the movie.

Some minutes later, my newest roomie is pointing at me... more specifically my inner thigh that has been exposed after throwing a leg over one of the arm rest of the lazy boy.

It takes two of my four roomies leaving the room making wretching noises before I understand what he's pointing at.

I look down at the exposed inner thigh and realize there's a light bloody/mucusy imprint leaving nothing to the imagination as to where I've been up until that moment.

Stunned, I pull back the shorts from my opposite thigh.

Then, proudly I drop trou completely.

The bloody/mucusy imprint goes from just below my belly-button to the middle of my quads on both legs.

Shortly thereafter, trou still around my ankles I give them the 'Readers Digest' version of how I accidentally pulled out too far and re-entered, unintentionally tapping the very first and most literal POOP-CHUTE.

Some throw up... some laugh until they throw up. Some won't believe the story until they see/sniff the imprint. I pull my shorts back up, sit back down and get back to admiring one of the finest performances ever in Hollywood to date: Russell Crowe in Gladiator (a close second to Val Kilmer in “Tombstone”).

In his own moment of admiration, my newest roommate brings me a freshly poured 34 ounce beer from our Kegerator.

I haven't been left alone on a night out since.