Sunday Bloody Sunday

Leggy Blonde and I hung out last night.

I wore pin striped pants, a tight white shirt, and a Mediterranean scarf that I saw Beckham and Colin Farrell wear on occasion.

I was an avatar of Europe’s high society.

Or a poser, who knows at this point.

I was starving; I was so effin hungry I may have gone done on Leggy Blonde just to get something to eat.

That last sentence was just as gross in print as it sounded in my head, I should erase it but the sentence bothers me sooo much that I never want anything to do with it ever again, so suffer bitches.

I had a work function prior to my “hang out” with Leggy Blonde so I my head was bumpin. Imagine listening to Paris Hilton sing….a duet with Lindsey Lohan…that was what my headache was like. Since I don’t believe in modern medicine I used model medicine…Marijuana.

Other Things I don’t believe in: Religion, Midgets, Man landing on the moon, American Idol, War, Fat People, Abstinence, Sobriety, Marriage, Virgins, Nostradamus, Dane Cook, and Yellow Sour Patch Kids.

Ummmmm Back to the Story

Pot=Hunger. Need Food. Shit door bell is ringing.

Leggy Blonde was at my door.

She still thinks I’m a good guy so don’t tell her that I have the munchies due to my drug problem.

We went out to eat. Sushi is good for regular dinners, but not for a food crazed high on.

I needed flaming hot Cheetos like Amy Winehouse needs a bath.

Side Note: I just thought of something funny. While typing I have some arbitrary news channel on in the background and they are talking about this Miley Cyrus fiasco. By the way who cares anymore, high school girls in my school were making soft core porn and getting pregnant at a record pace; so who cares that she showed her back in a magazine. Anyways, don’t you think Date Line NBC should film all of next season’s “To Catch a Predator” from Miley Cyrus’s home. HA.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAnnd We’re Back

Since I was having a tough time getting more food, I just drank more wine. Hello Cabernet…Good Bye Sobriety and good judgment.

I drove us back to the Einstein Mansion; and yes I was drunk, get over it. Besides, I didn’t kill anyone….I hope that was a raccoon back there.

Leggy Blonde + Sexy Einstein+ Wine+ Bedroom = Sexy Time.

This situation was replete with sexual possibilities.

Our clothes magically evaporated into the ethereal space around us.

Sexual possibilities became sexual realities.

Everything from this point on is a bit hazy. Jooooooooookin, we totally had sex.

No condom….her choice….she trusted my penis…I don’t trust my penis. But in her defense I may be impotent at this point in my life due to smoking marijuana seeds, eh who cares.

Leggy Blonde was tight, and I felt like Dirk Diggler, woo hoo.

Do you know that Leo DiCaprio was originally offered the role of Dirk Diggler, but he turned it down since he was filming Titanic, just some pointless facts.

She bled. She hadn’t had sex in such a long time that her hymen had reconstituted itself and it was in mint condition until I eviscerated it with constant jabs and pokes from my cock machine.

I am grossed out by blood, but walking into the bathroom with blood on my dick was exhilarating. I felt like I had just slayed the serpent of Carthage…too obscure a reference, OK…..it was like I had just slayed Lock Ness...still too obscure...well maybe you should read a book or a newspaper, idiots.

I felt like William Wallace. I wanted to call my parents and tell them the good news. I wanted my friends to come over and look at my bloody trophy.

Leggy Blonde was in tears due to her embarrassment over the bloody vag, but I could care less, because I was too busy dialing random numbers on my phone to tell them about making a non-virgin that was not menstruating bleed.

Sexy Einstein-1 Leggy Blonde's Vagina-0