"hi, friend!"

walking into the apartment, i thought for a moment that a cult had offed itself in the living room. sprawled figures in the most mild form of rest twitched and groaned... the couch was loaded to capacity... and my antique mirror from Ireland had become an impromptu mission control centre laying on it's back.
stepping between some legs i reached down for it to take a close look. no scratches other than what it already came with. good. and amusingly enough, there was about $80 of magic still sitting on it. not one to waste i took out my wallet to find a card to scrape it up. i left no more than 3 toots in the baggie that was crumped on top of the mirror and deftly scooped up the bulk of it into my empty dime bag. a refill! how convenient.
i looked around as the baggy snapped shut in my fingers. this was pure devastation and destruction all 'round. you know it's bad when no one wakes up as the coke gets stolen. even in my most blank of blackouts i would have roused and gone bonkers. something tells me these kids don't need any more.
down the hall my bedroom door was open and i felt the twitching start. oh no. oh god. oh please no... tell me there weren't dirty-pawed twinkies running through my room. i pulled my gordie howe hockey stick off the wall mount as I got closer to the and used it to thud the door fully open. Brad was passed out length-wise on my bed in what could only be described as a failed effort to put clothing on before he blacked out. he got a shirt on and that was about it. a big part of me wanted to take a picture. a bigger part of me wanted to spear his ass with the hockey stick and haul him off the bed like a strip of bacon. but i loved that stick and i couldn't live with myself knowing it'd always smell tangy. it'd be like fingering someone with a religious relic. might not bother some people but i couldn't live with myself.
but i did want to sleep... and the thought of having to wake up in a couple hours to a full house of rumblings didn't appeal to me much. i wondered if i had enough money to go to a hotel... then remembered that i spent it all partying for 4 days in a row. to be fair, it was work-related so i wasn't being frivolous.
hopping on the bed i realized my options were to push Brad off and potentially give him a concussion hitting the floor or attempting to share the bed with him. Both were sketchy. after a solid two days up raging and partying i was on that silky cusp of being calm or weeping like a lost child.
I grabbed a towel off the floor and tucked it around brad's bare ass before dragging his legs around to gain more real estate on the bed. thank god i have a king sized bed.
turning him around i tried to remember how you prop someone up so they don't choke on puke. i fussed for a few seconds before giving up and settling down onto the mattress.
finally, life emits from within. a groan. brad lifted his head up for a moment and it thudded back down. gone as fast as it arrived.
i propped up the hockey stick beside my bed and began rooting around in my drawer. lube, a different kid of lube, that lube for jerking off, the other lube so you can whack off for a long time... poppers? that's where that bottle went. that buttplug i really like... a vibrator... condoms. probably expired. boys that i lure in here usually bring their own anyway. more lube?? good god, for someone who gets laid once a month this sure is a drawer of hope springs eternal. note to self: don't buy more lube until the current stock is depleted.
pills! surely to god i have something in here. ativan? come on. there has to be some. i had successfully run up 4 separate prescriptions for it so there has to be a bottle kicking around. or my sleeping meds? no where to be seen. ugh. there's the anti depressants i never started taking. that's useless. advil... no too far gone for that. perkasets? huhhhhhhhhhhhh no. not with all the liquor and lack of food in me. i was on the verge of having a screaming fit ripping the drawer out and smashing it against the wall. what kind of horror movie plot would that be? "old fag monster attacks!"
wait. THERE YOU ARE! rascal. smarty pants me stuck the rainbow of sleepy/tweeking out meds into a tiny case. all in one super smart spot. fuck i amaze myself sometimes.
One ativan and pray that the glass of water beside my bed isn't too terribly old.
ahhhhh. there. now i just have to sit here patiently for 30 minutes for it to filter me down into sleep.
i dug my phone out and started clicking through it as Brad rolled over.
"huhwuh? why are you in my bed?"
"sorry, are you playing the part of me in the matinee production of "We're a Fucking Disaster"?"
"what?"
"you're in my room turkey."
"do i have pants on?"
"that would be a negatory. you have a towel tho. forgive me for not checking to see if it's jizz-free."
"what?! I don't feel good... what time is it?"
"11am. I just got in from Vegas a couple of hours ago."
"whu... what? you said you wouldn't be back until Monday!"
"no i go back to work on Monday. I come home Sunday so i can sleep."
"is everyone gone?"
"no i'd say everyone is actually still here. they're all passed out in the living room. you might have broken the record for most people in the apartment."
"how many are out there?"
"18... 20?"
he tried to sit up and failed miserably.
"no... oh god where did they all come from?"
"you don't even KNOW who they are?!" i hauled my leg up and hoofed brad off the bed with a mighty whomp.
he screamed a little as he rolled out of the towel and onto the unforgiving laminate flooring.
"get the FUCK out there and get them OUT of the apartment! if you know them they can stay. and get some fucking panties on. jesus."
"well they're in my room!"
"you want panties?" now i was mad. "i'll give you some fucking panties!" i snatched up the hockey stick and fished a decidedly dirty pair of boxers off the floor and snapped it across the bed.
"put them on and get the god damn twinkies out. daddy is tired and does not NEED THIS!"
he looked understandably disgusted at the option of putting my shorts on but it was better than standing up naked in front of me.
"shut that door behind you. I'm setting my alarm for 6pm so we can talk later."
he was flopping around trying to cover his dick up in boxers that were easily 3 sizes too big for him.
"you always have parties!"
"yeah the difference is you don't wake up to god damn fucking Jonestown after it's over! less talk, more twinky removal. LET'S GO!" i was tempted to crack the stick on the wall to show i mean business, but no, Gordie... I can't do that to Gord.