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To each his own...
There comes a time in every man’s life when they happen upon a situation for which they have no preparation. There’s a wide range of scenarios that could stop a man in his tracks and rip his jaw abruptly to the ground. One such incident struck on a quiet Sunday evening during my senior year at school.
My roommates and I were living in the house from Hell. Broken beer bottles littered our carpet. Shampoo bottles literally froze in our shower. The scent of garbage, combined with a natural gas leak, made us all experts on holding our breath. I guess I should also mention something about our sewage removal problems. During bad storms, our septic system would flood over and a goopy-shit-stream would fill the basement. My mother cried the first time she came to our house. There was never a second time. We were roughing it. Some homeless lived better. All things considered, it was a shitty place to live. The upside was that we were never really sober for a long enough period of time to ever give a shit.
It was a normal enough night. I was dressed in layers and prepared for another night of braving the elements in our fortress of icicle-covered shit. I was up in my room playing some Playstation with my roommate, Dave. I don’t want to get into particulars, but we were having a discussion about one of our fellow housemates. For the sake of anonymity, I will call him Dexter. Our discussion hovered on the topic of Dave, Dexter, and I often times sharing in the purchase of various things. This worked out well, and we valued our arrangement. The only problem was that Dexter would often leave to go to his girlfriend’s house for days on end. In his absence, he would hide the things in which he only held a third of stock. This, we concluded, was bullshit.
Dave and I held a majority of the ownership for said property. It was only fair that we should get our piece of the pie. This would be the night. Dexter was at Taco Bell- not Taco Bell in the way that most of us know it. "Taco Bell" is where he told us he was going each night when he left for his girl’s house. It’s only natural that we honored his appreciation of the infamous fast-food Mexican cuisine, and labeled his girlfriend as such. We walked down the steps with a true mission at hand. Our sixty-six percent of the property would be coming back with us at the end of this night. We entered his room a little after 9 o’clock. I started searching the near end of the room while Dave scanned the far. Time passed quickly and our search was leading us through his dressers. Dexter seemed to be a master of safe keeping. He should have only hid his 33 and 1/3 percent of said property. That way, he could have avoided one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. The search continued.
I’m not sure if I can really explain what went through my head when we first found them. I had never landed on this square before in the board game of disturbing behavior. I didn’t know if I should laugh, cry, stare, or shit my pants. They were sprawled across the floor in front of us. The natural stimulus to look was only overshadowed by the disgust you felt when you did. It was bad. They shared the same title. Two recent volumes of a magazine that I never have heard of or wished to hear of looked back up at me from the floor. “Voluptuous”, the titles read.
“Voluptuous” seemed to be the leading magazine featuring dramatically overweight nude women. The nude women beckoned to your hormones and forced you to look. Roll after roll repeatedly sent chills down your spine. It was unpleasant to look at. Upon closer study, we even found women who lacked very prominent features of American feminine hygiene, like armpit shaving. Erections would be far more difficult to achieve from this point on in my life.
My original perception of Satan was way off.
After a hearty laugh, we put the magazines back and discussed how we wouldn’t tell our other roommates about this discovery. We made it about two weeks before we cracked. This kind of news eats at you and aches to be heard. Nearly everyone who learned of “Voluptuous” found it to be equally disgusting and hilarious. This is where the story should end. We found something funny about our housemate. We told everyone about it and got a good laugh in.
This was not enough for us. We wanted more.
We had a party about a week later. It was a pretty good time and everyone had their fill of booze. The night began to wind down around 3 in the morning. A small group of us carried around full beers and thought of stupid things to do. A usual favorite was to play “PIG” with a football around our shitty house. This was a great game. The first guy would whip the ball across the room and hit something. Then, the next guy would get the ball and have to hit the same object. This accounted for a high percentage of the shards of glass that sprinkled our carpet. It was an enjoyable game. However, this wasn’t really a “PIG” night. But “PIG” did bring something to mind. Dexter was once again up to his neck in beef burritos at "Taco Bell". It was time that everyone got to see the legendary “Voluptuous” magazines. We entered his room and went for the dresser. An extra cherry was thrown on the top of all this when we found a third “Voluptuous” title along with the others. They seemed to be reproducing. This fucking magazine was like a batch of gremlins.
There is only one course of action when a group of drunk college students find three separate copies of a fat chick nudie mag. We began ripping the pages out, almost in unison. We darted from the room, our fists stuffed with pictures of big, round naked women. Some seemed to be wearing hairy underwear. Our footsteps rumbled through the living room, dining room, and kitchen. When we finished, our walls became a mural of women who spent all of their time at buffets and none of it at clothing stores. Everywhere you turned, clumps upon clumps of “lovin” caught your eye. This sight would not be easily digested in a sober state of mind. It was getting late, and the recent amount of exertion took my last drop of energy. Off to bed we all went, like children waiting for Santa Claus. If we were good and quiet, we’d awaken in time to hear Dexter come home and find our new décor. My door was cracked, and I slept lightly. Well, I tried to, anyway. I woke up around 11 and jumped from my bed.
I looked down the stairway and saw that everything was as we left it. “He’s not back yet!” Dave’s voice rang out from his room. I was relieved. After a little more an hour, the moment of truth arrived.
The door crept open and footsteps trotted in. We heard them suddenly stop. He must've caught his first glimpse of a 330-lb gal in a thong, putting for birdie. I bit my lip and focused entirely on not laughing. We heard him move around for a while. Guesses bounced between us as we tried to figure out what he might be doing. After a little while, we heard the front door slam. He must have been in the mood for a Mexican Pizza or a Chalupa. We all ran down the steps as fast as we could. I remember the faint aroma of disappointment. No broken stuff. No holes in the wall. Dexter really handled emotion trauma well. A letter was addressed to us and attached to the door. I still wonder where he found tape, because we used so much of the damn stuff earlier to tape up the pictures. It said some shit about respecting his privacy and to feel bad for him and stuff like that. The letter concluded by stating that the three copies of “Voluptuous” were a gag gift from his friends back home. Hmmmmm. I guess there is nothing funnier than buying someone a gag gift, except for buying the same person the same exact gag gift a few weeks later. I bet those jokers were gearing up to buy him another copy of “Voluptuous” in another couple of weeks.
Talk about anti-climax. I'm sad. Can you post a funnier ending? Fat girls.
STEVE
HAHA
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Posted: 10/7/2005 9:04:52 AM
That was some funny shit. What kind of pussy roomate complains about "privacy". It's a fuckin party house, there is none...oh and he shouldn't have overweight porno mags either. Fuckin homo.
Mike S
Good mag
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Posted: 10/7/2005 9:20:39 AM
I get it for the articles.
Justice Waltrop
Cut to the Chase
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Posted: 10/7/2005 9:39:42 AM
Funny story, bad article... if it was have as long it would have been twice as funny.
matt
pigs
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Posted: 10/7/2005 9:45:36 AM
So Steve after you left where did you move to and are you still wacking off to them pig mags.
brian
good one
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Posted: 10/7/2005 9:47:13 AM
Bad ending though but good stuff in the beginning
Atlas
Ha
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Posted: 10/7/2005 10:18:30 AM
Matt is funny.
Cameron
Picture
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Posted: 10/7/2005 10:21:04 AM
I haven't read the article yet, but I felt the need to write a comment about how that picture of that chick made my dick go into hiding immediately.
Cameron
Anti
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Posted: 10/7/2005 10:29:35 AM
Good story but a little anti-climactic. However, at least we know it actually happened and you didn't make up bullshit to put at the end.
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