Hangover Dookie

Well I made it through the night. Through the day too. *hankie wiping forehead, hankie cleaning glasses, hankie scrunched into a relatively small white ball and shoved into back pocket*
No fake messages, no heartfelt confessions and no hand wringing apologies made for things said or done under less than perfect circumstances. I should clap for myself. Trust me; you have no idea what kind of damage I could have caused in the state I was in last night. Drunk Lloyd is like a weapon of mass destruction, he could take out an entire city if given the chance. Ask Gulu, she knows. Ask Julie too, she could probably tell you a story or two. Probably call me an asshole as well. But forget that cuz I have no intention of talking about Julie (no matter how many times you bring her up Eva) not now, not ever cuz that, my dear, was a mistake. Pure and simple. And under the harsh glare of the Ugandan sun, a pretty big one. I mean the woman’s like forty! (Like no joke)
The girl in red however, was fun. A major tease. A master in the art of getting a man to catch and release. Which, believe it or not, was actually part of what made her so much fun. It kept things interesting. Kept things popping like a bag of microwave popcorn. Hell, I’m not even sure she told me her name. In fact, I’m pretty sure that she made it a point not to. And so all I really remember about her is the big hair (a weave I’m sure), the plunging neck line of that red blouse of hers (she had quite the bust) and her preferred drink; Gilbey’s w/ ice & a slice of lemon (the girl gulped them down like they were ice teas…) Not that I wasn’t doing any drinking of my own. UG & Tonic baby, you know how we do. That shit loosens me up. Gets my ass on the floor. It sure as hell got my ass on the floor with Miss Plunging Neck Line that night.
The song that comes to mind is that Rihanna & Drizzy joint. You know how it goes. Don’t make me make you sing along…
She was good with her hips. Knew how to move her feet. Knew how to wind fast and how to grind slow…
Fast forward though and I spent most of the following day with my head in someone’s toilet. Bongo’s and Sharon’s to be precise. Had a bit of the squirts as well. Nasty stuff. Especially the time when I didn’t quite make it in time. Alcohol scented dookie on the seat of your lucky boxers isn’t exactly a sexy look. Especially when runny like bird poo. I got some on my jeans as well. And on my t-shirt. Not my finest moment. And the worst part? Having to hand wash my shit stained clothes and then explain to Sharon that I had to borrow some of Bongo’s because mine were all wet. Humiliation unparalleled.
You would think that such an experience would have me vowing never to touch the Devil’s Drink again. *Sardonic smile* not quite…