So we all know that limos are not the safest places. Sometimes the drivers like to spy on you or take you on longer routes. Sometimes there are ugly girls waiting inside. Sometimes the ice is melted. Frankly, at this point in my life, I find it more convenient to avoid limos altogether.
Lately, I’ve even started riding a bicycle. I got the idea after drinking one afternoon with these random dudes at a bar. They were graduate students celebrating someone’s something or something and probably didn’t expect to see a former all star in the local watering hole.
They were my people. Loud. Shots were flowing. Jean shorts. Polo shirts. We were rolling.
And then I was off the bike, falling into a lump of sheets and limbs. Rolling. Bleeding. I rode into a tent. A camouflage tent.
Rolling and bleeding. I rolled and bleeded from the pedal cutting my million-dollar legs.
Who sets up a camouflage tent in the city? That is crazy. And the fact that people were making love in this invisible sanctuary only made it worse.
I freed myself and quickly got to my bungalow. There I sprinkled the yeast around the entrance of each door and window, so no trolls could enter. And they tried to enter. And I watched as they tried to enter.
Little troll. Big troll. Short troll. Fat troll. Old troll. Sexy teenage troll. I quickly cleared the yeast boundary so that last troll could enter and then re-set the yeast line, and me and the troll humped all night.
If I hadn’t won that bet with Falcor, a troll I met in my youth, I wouldn’t have received that magical yeast, and my night would not have ended so well.
Still, who erects a camouflage tent in the city? Are you crazy?
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