Never, Neverland

November 1, 2008:
I woke up on a couch with a pair of ripped green tights, a brown satchel, and a plastic sword. I went out as Peter Pan the night before and although I never found my shadow, I found a nice brunette to share the couch with. The beauty of brunettes is that although blondes are more fun, brunettes became secretly sluttier to make up for this.

My intention was to bring Slutty School Girl home, but her friend Trashy Bride won me over with her command of the English language. Of course by that I mean excessive usage of the word "like" and blank stares when asking non-thought provoking questions. I immediately knew she would not object to playing "just the tip."

I rolled over and looked at my phone, a text to an Ashley at 4:17 am, 516 area code saying “apartment S10J." I rolled out of bed and instead of dealing with Ashley, grabbed whatever I saw of mine and headed to Penn Station. I later realized I left my phone charger, glasses and sweatpants in NYC. About what I deserve for sneaking out.

After the cab ride to Penn Station, the flashbacks and hangover hit me once I was seated on the train, contemplating suicide. The long ride when you have far too much time to think about the horrible person you were and the STD’s you possibly contracted last night. The other passengers are blessed with your aroma of pussy juice, sweat, alcohol and body odor.

It was during this train ride I came to the realization that I ditched Slutty School Girl for her friend Trashy Bride. However, more importantly I learned of my new fetish: women I can sleep with, but never have to date.

The reason you love these women is because by being a weekend visitor, women have to accept there is no realistic opportunity for a relationship.

My bleeding inflamed liver would make most people quit drinking for the rest of their lives. I take a pill twice a day, but this was not close to a “I’m never going to drink again” hangover.

I would rather live fast and die young, than be old and die with regret. As Pan said, "to die would be an awfully great adventure." How could I ever utter the words, “I’m never going to drink again,” when every time I drink I fly away to magical places like Neverland?

If it hadn’t been for my liquid partner, I never would have face-fucked Trashy Bride’s pink taco last night. If it hadn’t been for drinking, Trashy Bride never would have had me fiddling under her roof, so everybody wins.

There is no chance in hell Pan is sticking his sword in anyone sober. It’s not that he's afraid to, but when you are sober and have a one night stand, you don’t really want to remember taking off each article of her clothing and if her pussy tasted like heaven or not; because the odds are it didn't. When you are blacked out drunk, you don’t usually think twice about eating her muff, but when you're sober you know it was probably questionable muff to be diving into in the first place.

So although my hungover, suicidal, train ride dared me to walk the plank, I thought back to Peter's happy thoughts, and when you do, you can fly, you can fly, you can fly.