Stacy turned. “Oh, hey Swami!” she said.
I caught a look at Brad’s picture frame as Stacy turned.
It was a nude photo of Stacy, looking back over her shoulder. There was something else to I but I couldn't see, since Brad swiftly turned the photo side away from me.
“Uh…” I motioned to the frame. “What’s that?”
“It’s just a going-away present.” Stacy said. “Don’t freak out, it’s no big deal. You weren’t supposed to see it.”
"Can I see it?" I asked.
"No, this is private." Michael said.
"Show him the fucking picture, Mike." Stacy said.
Brad turned the photo around. Stacy wasn't just nude; she had what I assumed to be a bright red butt plug-like thing crammed into a very uncomfortable place, with the "Rocky Horror" lips on the non-anally-inserted end, facing the camera. She had signed the photo "XXX, JANET".
"Jesus fucking christ!" I said, mouth agape.
“If you tell Mark about this I’ll fucking kill you.” Brad said.
“What?” I said.
Stacy sighed. “He’s talking about Mark, my boyfriend. He’s jealous.”
“But I thought I was your boyfriend?”
“What’s so fucking funny?”
“I was going to tell you eventually!” Stacy said.
“Tell me WHAT? What the fuck is going on here?”
“I dunno, I like too many men so I usually have more than one boyfriend. Guys are always into it anyway, who even cares? What’s the big deal? I’m 22, I can’t be with just ONE guy.” she said.
“Okay, I’m gonna just walk away from this right now.”
“What a fucking prude, why do you even like this guy?” Brad said.
I stormed out the front, down the stairs. Apparently the girls in the theater had been eavesdropping and were laughing like crazy.
“Laugh it up, you skanks!” I said.
One of them stopped laughing briefly to inform me that I was one of FOUR regular boyfriends Stacy kept, like some kind of harem. The other three were cast members; Stacy was apparently some kind of Queen Bee who acted as a nuclear Drama generator, and she had several casualties among “the mundanes”, of which I was the latest, much to the delight of her many spectators.
As for me, the notion of putting Swami Jr. into a place whose sanctity had been befouled by so many obnoxious clowns made the sick feeling I had before return. I went home, downed about half a bottle of vodka, and the next morning immediately drove to the emergency room and paid for an STD test. It came up clean, something I dropped to my knees for and thanked whatever deity was clearly looking out for me.
“That’s it. I’m never dating anyone crazy ever again.”
That statement put me at #1 with a bullet on the wrong chart.
That concludes this week's Comedy Goldmine. Tune in next week, when I earn more hate mail by telling everyone just how much I despise people who are fanatically obsessed with Tori Amos. Won't that be fun?
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
The Comedy Goldmine examines the funniest and most creative threads from the Something Awful Forums. Although the Comedy Goldmine has changed authors many times over the years, its focus on the Something Awful Forums is still the same. Includes hilarious Photoshops, amusing work stories, parodies, and other types of oddball humor.