Each night, I knock on the inside of the back door to summon Zipper, my Greyhound, for his last exercise. Tonight, my porch door knocked back. To be precise, the door didn't knock but my friend Aaron knocked. He lay in a crumpled mess on the threshold. Zipper sniffed him "en passant" and ran into the yard.
"Even the dog hates me," Aaron moaned. He looked drunk. He smelled drunk. In fact, he smelled fallen down drunk and puked and shat and peed and out-and-out blotto.
"You're crapulent! How dare you knock me up?"
"Pub crawl night. Hooked up and then wrecked... 'bout a block away. You nearest..." His voice trailed off into spasms accompanied by hacking, gagging and farting noises. Fluids seeped onto my porch.
"God, are you a pig. Get on the gravel. I'm going to hose you down before letting you inside."
"Eight, nine times dude. What a slut." He crawled off the porch and stood on the gravel driveway. I picked up the hose and he dropped trouser and t-shirt. He squealed like a little girl as cold water blew the slime from his bare body.
"I got so lucky. We took that new aphrodisiac and she turned into a raging nymphomaniac. We did it for hours and hours, nonstop, never-ending, pleasure beyond anything you can imagine." He swept the water from his body with his hands, shivering and bluish, revealing red love marks in private places.
"I'll get a towel. Stay here. No reason to wet the carpet."
"She's yours tomorrow," Aaron said.
"Who? What? Mine?"
"Your girl Amy. I spent the night with her."
That's the first time I beat the crap out of Aaron. I beat him a second time the next day because the first felt so good. We haven't spoke since.