First Date Disaster Hospitalizes Couple

It's true what they say: Love is blind.  Oftentimes there's nothing you can do to seek it out.  All you can do is put yourself out there and hope that something sticks, literally and figuratively.  You just gotta whip your dick out and charge forward with a blindfold on, praying that you put your automatic meatgrinder away.

Unless you're into that sort of thing.

Last Friday night, Katherine Ventson and Allen Page were set to meet for the very first time.  It was a blind date.  Months of communicating back and forth between a mutual friend came before this fateful evening.  Charlie Cheek, the mutual friend, was kind enough to give us his testimony on why he thought these two were destined to cross paths: 

"Well Allen is a weird dude.  I work with him at an advertising firm downtown.  At least, I think he works there.  He comes in every day, but never wears a suit and tie.  Just this robe-thing.  I don't even know what to call it...and he always smells like pizza, in a bad way.  As far as Katherine goes, she's...nice.  I mean, she's kind of a huge bitch sometimes, but nice, I guess.  They're hardly...no, they aren't my friends.  I was just joking when I said they should date, but it just sort of happened.  I wouldn't be at all shocked if they both turned up dead tomorrow morning."   

If your date ends like this, don't bother calling her back.

The date was set.  After applying an offensive dollop of Sass-Sauce (Allen's signature cologne), he embarked into the night to pick up Katherine in his '83 Daewoo.  "The Rug-Muncher", as Allen had so crudely named the vehicle, had accompanied Allen on many adventures, such as the Cross Country Babe Fest of 86', which is only remembered for its utter failure.  In recent years, the car has aquired several new stains, including peanut butter, salsa, and a unidentifiable color smeared across the dashboard.  Three months ago, he dropped an anchovy in between the seats, but he says that "it must have rotted away entirely because the smell is slightly less horrible lately, but I may have just gotten used to it."  Allen's car takes emission tests as seriously as a stoner takes a practice quiz in summer school.

This isn't Allen's car.  His is much, much shittier.

He arrived in Katherine's driveway at 6:45, 15 minutes earlier than the date's official starting time.  Although Katherine was completely ready to go, she refused to answer the door until 7:00 because of her longstanding bitchass-bitchiness towards tardiness and earliness.  At 6:55, Katherine reluctantly exited her home and walked directly past Allen, who was lying in some nearby bushes, nursing a wound on his wrist.  Allen had been bitten by a raccoon while waiting on the doorstep, but did not feel the need to get checked for rabies because "it has happened at least a hundred times before."

If you're foaming at the mouth, she's 33% more likely to agree to do anal.  You think we'd make this up?

Allen had been in charge of the dining arrangements.  He decided on his alltime favorite restaurant, Ray's Fiesta Chowdown Bunker.  This was received poorly by Katherine who had a friend who had once gotten terminal-diarrhea from Ray's and had to be put down.  Both parties shifted uncomfortably on the painfully silent half-hour drive to the restaurant.  Katherine blames it on the awkwardness of the situation.  Allen blames it on stuffing his seats full of barbershop clippings.

Or as Allen calls it, "Itchy-Sex-Fuzzies"

Luckily, Allen had made reservations because Ray's was jumpin'.  Poppin'.  The roof was on fire.  Also, much of the interior had been engulfed in flames.  Crowds of charred corpses blocked the entrance.  They were able to push their way through the calamity and find a seat near the mariachi band, who had begun blowing each other halfway through their set because of low attendance at Ray's, probably due to the fire.  A seven foot tall Korean child with red hair came by to take their orders.  Katherine had eaten half of a tuna sandwich and a handful of low-fat crackers only a few hours earlier, so she didn't have much of an appetite.  She ordered the Sizzlin' Shrimp Salad.  Allen, still full from the three dozen pickles he ate for a pre-dinner snack, attempted to impress Katherine with how much he could eat by ordering the Endless Ice Cream Fajita Platter.  He did not succeed.

As men seldom do with ice cream fajitas.

Aside from the two and a half seizures that took place over the duration of the meal, it went swimmingly...if you were swimming in a pool full of shit and garbage and uncomfortable conversation topics.  Allen harped on the fact that he had a low sperm count.  He blamed it on masturbating too much in the womb, but doctors have concurred that it's from eating shaving cream in bulk quantities.  Katherine, clearly uninterested, performed a long awaited root canal operation on herself using a salad fork.  The two polished off several bottles of raw ether throughout the evening.  Also, Allen and Katherine unknowingly, but mutually laced each other's drinks with a tablespoon of LSD and a baker's dozen of unmarked pills, which we're sure contributed to the date's inevitable downfall that happened next.

Like this, but a middle-aged blind date.



The two exited Ray's in a fog and against his better judgement (which is still pretty flawed), Allen got behind the wheel.  The acid was kicking in and a steady stream of vomit had been projectiling out of his face-hole since dessert.  Katherine was all but comatose and couldn't resist and Allen fondled her outer thigh lacklusterly.  Allen fired up the engine and sped off into the night.  Stop signs, red lights, crossing guards all tried desperately to put the kabosh on Allen's recklessness, but their attempts were futile.  The speedometer clocked in at over a hundred miles an hour before we jumped out of the car into a nearby medical waste pit.  We decided to just reconvene with the couple after the night had run its course.  What happened next...no one could have expected.

NOT EVEN YOU NOSTRADAMUS!  NOT EVEN YOU!

We got a call at three in the morning from the hospital.  They told us it was urgent.  We braced ourselves for the worst...or the best depending on whether or not you give a fuck about Allen and Katherine's lives (we don't).  We burst into the emergency room, only to see Allen and Katherine in full body casts.  We broke down and wept, not because we were sad, or even happy, but because we recently got into this new craze of inserting onion slivers beneath our eyelids.  Anybody whose anybody is doing it. 

Don't you just wanna be cool, man?

A doctor entered the room and debriefed us on what happened.  The night went as followed:

At 8:37pm, Allen and Katherine left the restaurant.

At 9:25pm, they found themselves in an abandoned warehouse surrounded by retired mannequins and dildo molds.

At 10:14pm, Allen got lucky.  Katherine, mehhh not so much.

At 11: 42pm, the drugs began to wear off and they both realized what they had done.  Allen promptly high-fived himself.  Katherine had a short-lived crying fit before she remembered when she slept with that silverback gorilla...this seemed not so bad by comparison. 

At 1:08, Allen dropped Katherine off at her house...this is when shit got real...or fake, depending on how seriously you take Strange Times.

Allen pulled up to Katherine's home, put the car in park, and stared longingly at her.  They had a connection, even if she couldn't see it yet.  Allen knew that come Monday, things would never be the same.  She said her goodbyes and got out of the car, but Allen followed.  He remembered just a few moments too late that he should have opened the door for her, so he rushed to her side and yanked on the already open door, ripping it from the hinges.  Then he said goodbye, but the two continued to walk side by side across her lawn.  He got to the front door first and tried to open it, but it was rightfully locked.  When Katherine attempted to open the door she accidentally punctured Allen's left lung with her house key.  Allen shrugged the injury off and went in for a kiss, but instead delivered a ferocious headbutt, resulting in a broken nose more fucked up than...  

No, we won't.  That's just too easy.

You may be wondering when the serious injury came along that landed these two in traction.  Well it turns that all of us have built in "Awkward Glands".  These glands are located throughout our body and their main function is to detect an awkward situation and help your body cope.  They do this by making you break out in a torrential flop sweat, clamming up your hands, and making your mouth dry so it makes that gross noise when you smack your lips together.  You know that sound.  Kind of like...hot glue being peeled off of a flaccid dick or something.  

Typically, situations never get awkward enough for the glands to be overworked, but you better believe that they were operating at full capacity when Allen tried to apologize for the headbutt by wiping up the blood with a shred of his own underwear.  The glands became so inflamed that both Allen and Katherine's skin bubbled up and burst open like Jiffy Pop.

This, but skin.

Their screams could be heard around the block and an ambulance was called immediately.  Surgeons performed a risky "re-skinning" using old newspapers and discarded scrotums.  It had never been tried, or even thought of before, but the operation was successful.  The two are expected to make a full recovery by the end of the millenium.

Or if they're lucky...



Allen and Katherine have both agreed to take it slow from now on and maybe try being just friends first.  That may be difficult because part of the re-skinning process involves them being sewn together at the asses for a minimum of six months.  Also, Katherine is pregnant.  We're not sure if the fetus is entirely human, but there's definitely some sort of creature from Allen's balls, creeping around in her uterus.

So remember, kids, next time you laugh and a booger fires out onto your partner's upper lip, stay calm and for the love of god don't whip out your dick or else things might get very, very messy for both of you.

Unless you think taking your cock out will help.  It has always served us pretty well.