Matty Ice
There’s some nights when you go just a little too hard, and Jose Cuervo and I decided to fight to the fucking death one night. So many a Saturday mornings ago, I wake up feeling like the devil had just splooged all over me. I felt like Dale Earnhardt just did a burnout on every part of my body. I felt like a can of Cheese-Wiz was just thrown like a fastball by Randy Johnson at a wall made of shitbricks and exploded all over the aforementioned wall. You get the point. So I wake up next to maybe what we would call a top tier 3, like if a 3 was a first round draft pick, she’d be it.
The next stop is the bathroom, and I proceed to yack up what looks like Chef Boyardee’s placenta into my shower. Missed the toilet harder than missing the green while swinging with a literal oar. So I empty my stomach contents, feel much better besides the thunderfucking headache I had and my thirst. I go a pound half a red Gatorade sitting on my nightstand and witnessed this girl spread eagle on my bed. Thing looked like a pastrami on rye from a New York Delicatessen. Gross.
In a daze, I suddenly decided it was breaky time, and instead of Door Dashing Denny’s like a normal college student, I head for my fridge. When I look into this dungeon it looks like the basic food groups they teach you in kindergarten; the barest of minimums to work with, but I saw some eggs. Now how do you cook an egg? One may fry it, scramble it, perhaps poach it. Nah I decided to microwave this hen hatch. Now if you’re familiar with eggs, you may have noticed that they are completely enclosed by a shell. So I, the brilliant and deep thinking hungover man I am, decide to put two whole eggs in the microwave and set a 3 minute timer. Two eggs which are not open. Whole. Eggs.
So while these eggs are cooking, I go to my fridge and start chugging out of a Brita to which water starts dripping down my face like a calf being fed milk. Then, I hear what I can only describe as a nuclear warhead go off and I fucking start fumbling that Brita around Looney Tunes style, think I taught myself how to juggle.
So I see steam/smoke in my microwave and walk over to it and open it up. What do I find? Exploded chicken pre-birth all over my microwave. At this point, my hookup walks out in my her skimpy ass underwear (which did NOT suffice to hold that much gabagool) probably because she thought there was just a fucking drive-by. So I’m staring at her, while there is another unexploded grenade sitting in my microwave, which proceeds to also explode.
So now there is egg and egg shell all over my face, I’m on the floor trying to wipe this napalm like substance off of me.
Anyway that’s all I’ve got. Don’t drink tequila.
