Lost Boxers, The No-Hitter, Four Drunks and The Strip Club Visit

It was a Wednesday I'll never forget. Not only because I witnessed history, but the events before and after that historic moment, I'll always remember...ok, try to remember.

The Giants were playing the Padres in an afternoon game. My buddy and I met up, while my cousin and other buddy were gonna meet us a little later.

We head to Red's Java on the Embarcadero for a few beers to get us going. Beer after beer, we're sitting there just chillin', enjoy the scene and talking about all kinds of bullshit that dudes talk about. Money, bitches, food, bitches, sex, bitches, money, beer, sex and crazy bitches. About 2 hours in, I head to the port-a-potty to take a leak.

I'm in the honey hut and I start to take a piss, and while I'm whistling some tune from a porn I was watching on my phone the night before, I say to myself, "Damn, I gotta fart. Need to let this shit out." I spread my legs a bit to give my ass cheeks some breathing room and with one big deep exhale, I fart. That's when shit got R-E-A-L.

When I farted, I shit myself. And when I say I shit myself, I mean, I literally shit myself. No sharting here. Oh no. Shit literally came out of my asshole as if I was planning on taking a shit. Now, a lot of you are probably saying, "Jesus, ANOTHER fucking shit story, J? How can a grown ass man not control his bowels? Fuck." Well, there's a simple answer to that question.

SRIRACHA.

See, the night prior, I decide to douse the living fuck out of my dinner with half a bottle of this stuff. And as I've gotten older, any time I eat anything with a hint of spice, the next day, my stomach gets all fucked up. Even though I know this is the case, I'll do it anyway. But hey, sometimes a motherfucker gots to do what he gots to do. Know what I sayin'?

Anyway, so there I am in this port-a-potty with my boxer briefs covered in dookie, corn and I think arugula. Trying not to panic, I start to curse the Sriracha Gods and at the same time, turn to my right to grab some toilet paper. Just my fucking luck, there's 4 squares on this goddamn roll and I need to try and get rid of all the dookie that's in my boxers as well as my whole butthole and ass crack. Of course, I think I can do it and end up getting shit all over my hands. My life is ending as I know it. Especially since my buddy is wondering what the fuck I'm doing and there's a hot chick who is waiting in line, to use the bathroom.

I saddle the fuck up, pull up my pants with the only two clean fingers I have and decide to go inside to the real bathroom they have and deal with waiting in that long ass line. I get in line with my butt cheeks clinched so tight you couldn't even stick a dime between my ass. That's when I hear, "Hey Susie, did you step in dog poop or something? Smells like someone is covered in shit."

FUCK MY LIFE.

Here I am trying to be all fucking cool with tight ass butt cheeks and shit covered hands that I don't look at anyone, keep my hands as low as I possibly can and try not to make any sudden movements so that any slight wind can catch the scent and waft that shit everywhere.

After 15 minutes, I FINALLY get into the bathroom, take off my shoes, jeans and boxer briefs. I look up, see myself in the mirror and realize, "Am I really half naked in a public fucking bathroom with dookie in my goddamn drawers right now?" Yes, yes I am.

I literally washed my hands for 5 minutes, wiped my ass with at least half a roll of toilet paper and made sure no dookie got on my jeans. All was good! Thank you leg day for giving me the strength to keep my ass cheeks so tight no shit seeped through.

As I gather myself, put back on my jeans and shoes, I realize my boxer briefs are lying on the floor. I had to think fast so I pick up my shit drawers, make room towards the middle of the trash can and ditch them there. Mission accomplished and I'm free balling the rest of the night. What is it with me and shitting myself at bars? FML.

We get to the game, I tell my buddies what happened and of course, they look at me as if that has never happened to them. FUCK YOU GUYS, btw. More drinks are flowing, the crowd goes wild and Tim Lincecum throws a no-hitter to beat the Padres. What a goddamn way to end the game, right? Well, all was pretty bad ass until we left the stadium.

It's about 3:30pm when the game ends and we head to a bar to eat and drink more. This time, we start ordering shots along with our beers and I can tell something is gonna go down. We have this awesome idea to go to the strip club and within minutes, we're in a cab and on our way to the Crazy Horse.

People, I have been to some of the best strip clubs and I've been to some of the absolute worst. The Crazy Horse in San Francisco, CA is probably the worst fucking place I've ever been to in my life. Why? Well for starters, it was a $20 cover charge and us guys along with two dudes who looked homeless, were the only assholes in there. Second, the stripper who we all thought was the only fucking stripper there, had a vagina that smelled so bad, I almost threw up on her. My buddy thought it was funny to throw a few ones in front of me so she can do an ass to mouth booty bounce for 30-45 seconds. You would think it was her ass that was foul. Oh no. Her ass smelled like cocoa butter. It was when she did a 180 turn and her vagina was in my face that I felt like I dipped my head in a sewer. I almost thought she shat through her cooter. Yeah, it was that fucking bad. Bitch stained my nose with that scent. No joke.

AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!!!

The trip there was short lived. I'm talking, after I almost threw up, argued with the cashier I wanted my money back for a vagina smelling like a decomposed body, short lived. She wasn't having it though because we were all so drunk that we made no sense when we were talking. Truth.

We leave, head on out to the Gold Club and drink even MORE. The talent there was eons better than the shit we saw at the Crazy Horse. So much better that within the first 10 steps of walking in that joint I got a dance from a girl who I'm pretty sure could kill me with her thighs if she wanted to. LEGS FOR DAYS!!! Anyway, as the drinks were flowing and we were making it rain ones and hail quarters (btw, don't throw change at this place...they will want to fucking kill you), I look around after 30 minutes of being there and notice all my buddies are fucking gone.

Drunk, dazed and confused, I close my tab and decide to run to the BART train since I have no idea of time and think I'm gonna miss the last train. My ass finally gets to the station and come to find out, it's only like 9:30pm or some shit like that. Mind you, we've been going at it since 10:30am. That's a long fucking day of drinking and fuckery.

Right as I get to my train, I spot my buddy, drunk as shit and scarfing down a TON of McDonald's. He sees me, shares some Chicken Nuggets and fries then I roll the fuck out like a BOSS! Not really, just needed that shit to sound dramatic.

I finally get to my stop and see there are no cabs around. I'm too drunk to call a cab so what do I do? I take my ass to my car and crash in the back seat. 3am rolls around and I wake up all scared and shit. For a minute I thought I was in jail but I was just a drunk fuck, like usual. I get home, take off all my clothes and wake up the next day, still drunk with my ticket to the game a few one dollar bills from the strip club, next to me. WINNING.

If you ask me, I gotta say it was a day well spent. Then again, it was also fucked up.

I'm too old for this shit.

Cheers, bitches!