The Amazin' Life of Mattdotcom

[Boner Kawanger 0]

It wasn't the first time a girl had blindfolded me, but it had never happened in a car before. Luckily, I was in the passenger seat, otherwise this amazing story would be lost. Lost like tears in the rain. How deep.

 

Karen was a cool enough girl. Kinda cute, but her best friend was constantly at her side and even more constantly gorgeous, so that hindered her a bit. It didn't matter. She was nice to me and, over the Christmas break, she'd actually gone out of her way to help me out. The troubles of the auto industry had forced my parents into another state, and Karen was one of the few people who fed me while I waited for mom and dad to return home. Genuine care is hard to come by in my hometown, unless you're looking for someone who cares too much about drugs. I don't do drugs. Just marijuana. Yeah, that's from Half Baked. Almost verbatim.

 

I woke up in the guest room of my best friend, Will. Longtime TSM devotees may recall that I had troubles with producers from MTV in the past, and Will was right alongside me. His parents were out of town for a short term basis, and we had thrown a party at his house the night before. Since he wouldn't be awake until five in the evening, I crept downstairs to make a sandwich. My phone rang. It was Karen.

 

She had to take a trip a few hours north. I asked where she was going. She couldn't tell me, so I immediately knew where we were going. I met up with her soon, and we hit the interstate. This was last year, so the remembrances are as scarce as they are inconsequential. As we crossed a state line, she told me to wrap her scarf around my eyes. Never one to deny a lady, I did so without question. I guess if people weren't so willing to be blindfolded to be driven to the Batcave in old Batman stories, I'd have protested, but here we are.

 

If I may interject a thought, I'd like to offer up the fact that I was obsessed with Batman as a child, which may explain my fascination with secret passages. I think that deep down everyone wishes that the book they pull from a shelf will swing a hidden door open to a Nazi laboratory or a spiral stone staircase into the unknown. This becomes important later.

 

We arrived at a house (or so I assume, as I was still blindfolded), and she led me inside. Karen said she had something in the basement to show me. Blindfolded and being led into a strange basement, I wondered what would be worse-being held against my will until I was forced to eat my own excrement or having my asshole torn asunder by a 90-pound girl wearing a strap-on. Then I wondered which one of those thoughts have me half a woody.

 

Karen removed the scarf. As my eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting, I was relieved to see no torture rack or shackles. Kinda. We were just in someone's marginally cool basement, complete with a pool table.

 

"Do you play?" Karen asked me, an excitement in her eyes that pool doesn't generate for anyone.

 

I answered her, "Not very well".

 

"Try it out," she commanded. I walked over to the wall and reached for the first pool cue on the left. As I felt the weight of it in my hand, I heard Karen say "Not that one".

 

"Don't tell me how to handle my stick, please." I'd been watching too many Roger Moore-era James Bond movies, and I somehow was failing to get my double entendres to that level.

 

"I just think you'd have better luck with the third one," she replied. I shrugged. If I'd allowed her to practically abduct me here, I may as well be taking her advice. I felt the pool cue in my hand but something was different. I couldn't pick it up. But I could pull it. I did, and I heard a clank. Something had been unlocked. No. Impossible. The wall swung open. A hidden panel. For what sinister purpose, I couldn't tell, because the basement had been illumined by sunlight. Artificial sunlight. My eyes focused again.

 

Karen had brought me to a small grow operation, hidden away by a secret passage. Stuff that had passed the High Times centerfold contest. The same stuff that a Grammy award winning band came by and picked up whenever they could. Stuff that smells like what a skunk would smell like if that aroma was considered pleasing. It wasn't a giant harvest, bit it dwarfed the pool table. It may as well have been a field. A sight upon which I may have wept, had I any tears left.

 

Now I don't want to push a drug agenda or come off looking like a stoner, so I won't say whether or not we smoked a shit ton of fire weed, but I did bang Karen on the pool table. Twice.

[Kinetic 0]

*gasp*

[Buggerhen 0]

if you change the names around that would be some pretty good harry potter fanfiction

[PILLS! PILLS! PILLS! 0]

Is Karen from Russia?

[Lt. Al Giardello 0]

Too long, didn't read.