This is my excuse
I woke up in bed that wasn�t my own. This is probably why I didn�t hear my alarm go off. The bed was filled with beautiful women � there must have been four or five of them maybe even six. It was difficult to tell how many people were there because of the tangle of bodies on the bed.
Somehow I disentangled myself from the bed and got down off of it. I yanked my pants out from under the pile of clothing strewn on the floor. I didn�t know that it would cause a racket and wake the women up.
My keys fell out of my pocket and rattled down a heating vent in the floor. It probably wasn�t as loud as I remember it but it woke the women up and they were not happy. I have never seen such belligerent women in my whole life.
They were screaming and yelling about wanting their money, how dare I leave without paying and did I know what their pimp would do to them and then what he�d do to me. I shrugged my shoulders and told them, �Ladies, ladies � I was just going to the bathroom! Don�t worry! You�ll get your money!� I swiped up my shirt as I strutted into the bathroom.
Luckily there was a window that I could squeeze my corpulent body out of. If I hadn�t gotten enough of nasty bushes the night before I certainly got my fill when I hit an unruly one under the harlot�s window. It tore up my shirt and pants and I was afraid I broke something. I pulled my self off and out of the bush and started looking for my car. It was about a block down from the window I had climbed out of.
Drunks don�t have a lot of sense. I get in cars with them all the time. I didn�t lock my doors and I�m surprised that it was still there. I climbed in the car and reaching in my pocket for keys that weren�t there. I was really annoyed at myself at this point in time but I couldn�t do anything about it. I couldn�t go back to the apartment I had just escaped and even if I were that brazen I certainly couldn�t ask for my keys � they were in the furnace by then.
I�m a child of the eighties. I�ve seen McGuiver. I know how to hot wire a car. Bitch, Please. I don�t know jack shit about hotwiring a car. I can�t even change a tire. I fiddled around under the steering wheel with the wires and then I remembered. Saturn makes spare keys that fit in your wallet that I still had mine on me.
I started the car are pealed out into the street. My car had survived a night in the Ghetto. Most of it was still there but not the hubcaps and unnamed parts that would keep the tires on. So, the tires have flown off and if that wasn�t bad enough the steering wheel has caught fire from where I was working on the wires. I dove out of the still moving car onto the pavement, on fire and roll into a ditch. The Seneca Twins, who were out on a breakfast date, saw me and screamed, �WE KNEW IT! WE KNEW HE WAS A FLAMER!�
Luckily the ditch was filled with filthy water that put out the flames. Shelly, whose car I�ve seen dead on the road too many times to count, stopped to help me. She offered her cell phone so that I could call Justin (because everyone knows that secretly we�re just friends) but Justin was at the chiropractor so that the doctor could work on the stab wounds.
Shelly dropped me off at my house where they police were waiting for me. The Seneca Twins wanted me arrested for Slander (it�s libel bitches) and faking my own death. The police, always a part of a Republican plot to stop people from enjoying life and especially sex, hauled me into jail.
Thank God that Giggles the Joke was there. We put aside our differences to point out to the police that I wouldn�t fake my own death. Giggles didn�t want me stealing any of his action; too bad I have the action he really wants. Anyway, the police owed him some favors and I got out and not off. We both were pleased by the situation.
I hitch hiked out to work after that. I knew that I didn�t need to be clean or in uniform. I smelled like sex, cigarettes and dirt. No one would notice at all.
That�s why I was late to work.
