So I Know This Guy…

So I know this guy. Let’s call him, um, Schmau. So Schmau was enjoying a concert of sorts which was called the, erm, Schmanana Schmangbang Schmock Schmestival. As the night progressed, it eventually became more and more apparent to him that his bladder was quite inadequate to accommodate the amount of liquor he has been ingesting since he arrived.

Schmau, being the slave to his bodily functions that he is, did what any self respecting person would do; he dutifully headed straight to the bathroom to drain the lizard.

Upon entering the the bathroom, Pau Schmau saw to his dismay that the urinal was placed at a much higher level than what he was accustomed to. Rather than spend time contemplating the injustice done to people who happen to be short in stature, but big in heart (and crotch); Schmau decided to quit dicking around, and plow ahead, so he could get to the point. (Yeah, I did something there. See if you can see it.)

As he started to unbutton his fly, Schmau discovered that while he still had full control over his hands, seven of his fingers appear to have decided to turn themselves into pudding at this point. Schmau would have shaken his fists at the bottles of beer he had, but that would entail full control over all his digits.

Schmau realized that he had three possible scenarios open to him at this point.

The first one would have him wait for the liquor to run through his system, thereby relinquishing control over his body. However, seeing as how doing so would ruin his new pair of pants, not to mention his reputation, he decided against this option.

The second would have him simply deciding not to pee, which would invariably result in one, if not both, of his remaining testicles exploding. But the memory of three of his testicles exploding the last time he decided to drink beer on the highway convinced him that perhaps this wasn’t the best solution.

So he was left with the third option; to simply pull his wang out without bothering to unbutton his pants, and let it snake out at an uncomfortable angle.

A totally random photo chosen for its randomness.

This situation would have been fine as it is, had it not been for the unnatural elastic quality of Schmau’s Schlong. Immediately after doing its business, Schmau’s Schlong suddenly lost all turgidity it had had just a few seconds before. Fast as lightning, the Schlong sprang back into Schmau’s pants, but not before spraying residual droplets everywhere it could reach (which in Schmau’s case was about 30% of his shirt, 20% of his pants, and around 60% of the ceiling).

Panicking, Pau—fuck—-Schmau washed the affected areas of his shirt and pants, and hoped against hope that nobody would notice. Fortunately for him, the humid summer night air would lead people to believe that he is simply a fat, sweaty, pig of a man. Which is in fact, the 100% truth.

The rest of the night passed without incident, which was good because Schmau would not have been able to handle much more.

Anyway, Schmau would just like to send out his apologies to the owners of Schmela Bar, and probably to most of the people he shook hands with, hugged, greeted, imagined, took pictures of, and acknowledged. He’s pretty sure that he washed as thoroughly as he could. But one thing about Schmau is that his IQ drops to the single digits after 2 bottles of beer, so he can’t really be sure.

On a totally unrelated note, check out the pics from the Banana Gangbang Rock Festival.

Also, it was awesome meeting new friends. And my “friends,” I mean “people I can annoy over Twitter and by leaving stupid comments on their blogs.” Great meeting you Ria, P0yt, Kring, Rico, & Sasha.

Also, props to Lauren, Mike, Marco, & Ade for being awesome. And lastly, thanks to Jen, Peter, Penny, Fritz, & Helga for cheering with me, and not making me look like a wallflower.