Choose Your Own Adventure: Will Brad Fuck Your Girlfriend at Fling?
(06/03/19 4:00am)
Yes,” says Brad, “but I was trying to be a bit more subtle about it.”
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Yes,” says Brad, “but I was trying to be a bit more subtle about it.”
When you get back to Jeff and Brad’s shared apartment, you’re a little confused. “Wait,” you say, “there isn’t a TV anywhere in here. How’re we going to watch a documentary without a TV?” Brad smiles and takes you by the hand. Jessica and Jeff follow. Brad leads you into his bedroom and gestures at his bed and a camera in the corner. “Uhhh, yeah, I didn’t mention this, but I thought that we could maybe make a documentary instead.” Brad lifts an eyebrow at you.
You’re the Dancing Queen, and you know it. You may not be young, nor sweet, nor 17, but hell, you’re having a great time, and so is Jessica. The hours fall away fast, and soon the party’s nearly over. By this point, you, Jessica, and a handful of others are the only ones left inside the house. As you and Jessica are getting ready to leave, a “Hey, Jessica!” comes from across the room.
Doing your best to hide your slurred words, you reply, “Amy, please, my girlfriend is making out with another man right now and I need you to make it stop!”
You need more alcohol. You need more alcohol right now. Like, if beer, wine, vodka, or some other alcoholic substance is not passing your lips and into your bloodstream this instant, you will literally fucking die, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
You hack your sack for an impressive five minutes and w9 seconds. Well done.
You hack your sack for an impressive five minutes and 29 seconds. Well done.
You pull two hacky sacks out of your pocket. A true hacky sacker is always prepared, after all. “That’s it, Brad,” you exclaim. “I challenge you to a hacky sack duel!”
Mm, there’s nothing better than the rancid taste of tequila trickling down your throat. You’re not a masochist, but you can’t help but fall in love with the way that tequila just seems to spank your naughty tongue with every drop that comes into contact with it.
Ahh, Four Loko, your one and only friend. Flooding your veins with a nauseating mixture of sugar, alcohol, and rat poison is the best, and only way, to start out your night.
Hey Jess, you wanna hit up Theta Apple Pi this weekend?,” you text. “I got an invite for a Fling party after the concert Saturday.”
You motherfucker.
“Look dude,” you say, backing away slowly. “I don’t want to cause a scene.”
You square up for your second fight of the night. “Aight big fella,” you say, “this Magic Gardens ain’t big enough for the both of us.” Your voice has a swagger of confidence that it does not deserve. You crack your knuckles and stretch your neck, moving it from side to side. “Well, I really hate to do this to you, but—”
You take a step closer to Brad. Brad gives you a sweltering glare. You wind up for a sucker punch. Brad looks at you as if you’re a weirdo. Your fist makes contact with Brad’s face. Brad topples over. Your fist hurts slightly, but there you are, standing above the limp form of a knocked-out Brad.
You love marshmallows, though you’re awful at roasting them. ‘Shit!!’ you think to yourself as your marshmallow suddenly erupts into flames. You lift it out of the fire and desperate try to put the fire out by shaking the stick in the air, but to no avail. You shake harder, and then the marshmallow flies off your stick, arcs into the air and lands squarely on Brad’s face.
“Since when have you had a startup?” Jessica asks.
Brad seems a bit taken aback, but wrinkles his chin in thought. Jessica simply stares at you, her jaw on the floor of the pool deck. Beneath the veneer of her shock, you can tell she’s secretly pleased and plenty aroused.
“Heyyy guys, how’s it going?” you ask Jessica and Brad. God, you’re such the conversationalist.
Hey,” you say, interrupting Brad and Jessica’s conversation. “I hope this isn’t too forward, but I think you have a really great ass.”