After a day of traipsing around East Boston and dining with the in-laws, Katsu and I spent last Saturday night at the estate of the domestic pirates. It started out as a normal evening; snacks and drinks at a local watering hole followed by deep conversation, video games, and Harpoon Summer back at the the house. Around midnight, however, Shannox and I started spiking out beers with tequila, and I feel as though that’s where things started to go south.
Normally at such get-togethers, bedtime falls around 2AM, the result of an afternoon spent taxing our collective livers. On this particular evening, 2AM found all four of us in the pool, freezing our tits off and running in circles to keep warm. 2AM swimming is never a good sign, and I’d suggest that if you ever find me in such a state that you pull me to shore, wrap me in a towel, and take away my credit cards.
Why should you take away my credit cards? Because I don’t want a repeat of what happened after we went inside.
I don’t consider myself a bad person, but sometimes, you know, when you’re drinking with friends, it can be funny to watch bad porn. So we decided to find some. The choices on OnDemand were less than stellar, so Shanna and I turned our husbands loose on the internet in search of some girl-on-girl. This site seemed promising, but we were dismayed to find that there was no free content. Drunk, wired, and sorely lacking in patience, we girls wheedled and moaned when the men refused to pony up for the subscription (apparently, no red-blooded hacker geek will EVER pay for porn), and after several deviations to pornotube.com, I’d reached my wits end.
“FORGET YOU GUYS” I shouted, lurching to my feet in search of my wallet, “I’LL PAY”
I don’t really want to tell you how many tries it took me to correctly enter my credit card number, never mind match the password to itself, but $25.99 later, we were in like flynn. And as much as I’d *like* to tell you that the content was well worth my 26 hard-earned dollars and the moral humiliation that comes as one types one’s full name into a site that’s blocked by work computers everywhere, sadly, I cannot do so. The best video involved the subject slapping cupcake frosting onto her bathing-suit parts (which, by the way, were covered BY a bathing suit), and the worst featured our ingenue fashioning a little man-shaped doll out of a croissant (aptly titled “Croissant Boy”). There was not a shred of porn to be found anywhere, only shaky quicktimes of what could aptly be compared to senior-thesis art film shorts.
So please, really, if I’m in a pool, after midnight, hide my wallet. Because that was probably the worst use ever of 26 bucks.
And hey, the two or three friends who woke up on Sunday morning to a 3:30am IM requesting your password to suicidegirls.com? I hold YOU personally responsible. Where were you when we needed you?
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