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The goal of this evening was to get handcuffed to a woman. Some guys need all the help they can get. Not me, but some guys. After you were securely attached to your date, the keys to the handcuffs were dropped into a bottle of champagne. The mission for my date? Finish the bottle, get the key, and unlock the handcuffs. The mission for me? Finish the bottle, grab another bottle – finish it, grab one more bottle, forget that I was handcuffed to my date, go outside, take a piss, lose my date, realize she’s been handcuffed to me the whole time, ask if she wants to spend the night, receive a nasty left hook to the face, get called a “fuck” by her friends, pass out on the kitchen floor, and wake up handcuffed to the oven. Classic win-win scenario.
Also, never underestimate the power of champagne. If you pop a bottle on your Snapchat story, women will stampede to your house, like zombies whose animalistic appetites can only be satiated by chugging as much Cook’s as their little stomachs can hold. You’re welcome.
Logistically, the plan seemed foolproof. Get handcuffed, get drunk, get laid. Sure, being physically attached to the woman you’re trying to sleep with is kind of cheating. But I saw a way bigger margin of error than a typical Friday night, and that’s all the convincing I needed. Martin Shkreli couldn’t have come up with a better scheme, and, like Mr. Shkreli, I have no moral backbone. There was the slim chance that my date would down the entire bottle of champagne once she realized that being shackled to me was a mistake. Not as exciting as a guaranteed lay, but maybe she’d end up choking on the key. Once again, this night was looking like a win-win.
Known whale hunter and chess extraordinaire, Wang (don’t ask), had invited a woman of size. And when I say “woman of size” I mean she could’ve starred in the documentary Blackfish. Nothing out of the ordinary for Wang, though. I should’ve taken it as a red flag when I heard him ask how much she weighs, then proceed to brag about how he could “probably bench her.” But, as I mentioned before, nothing out of the ordinary for Wang. The centerpiece of the living room — where we were having the event — was a large window looking out over the front porch. Completely wrapped up in a moment of blind, sexually frustrated, intoxication, Wang decided to rush his date out of the front door. Soon after, we all noticed drunk Wang and his date stumble into view of the window. In an incredible feat of athleticism, Wang grabbed his date, threw her into a chair on the porch, and got down on his knees. The rest of us were still inside, looking out the window at what appeared to be some sort of WWE role play. Then, with one of the most brutal finishing moves ever, his date ripped off her dress, threw her legs open, and pile drove her lady region into his face.
Half of the room (all the guys) erupted in applause. The other half (all the women) made that awful screeching sound that women make. Like when they see a puppy, or a homicide. For a second I thought my date had slipped into a state of enlightenment. Even I was a little taken aback after witnessing something so simultaneously graceful and disconcerting. Then she stood up, sprinted to the kitchen, dragging me along, and spewed still-carbonated champagne all over the shirt that I just spent $15 on — a clear indication that my chances of getting laid had vanished.
That night was fucked, and I’m sorry that I shared it with you. I did it for my own sanity, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t learn two things. First, always close the blinds. In fact, just buy a house with no windows. And second, If you think the night will inevitably leave you in bed with a woman, you’re probably just going to end playing with your dinghy yourself, you entitled asshole..