RU That Guy Who Keeps Sending Me Pictures of His Dick?

There’s only two things that make me drive lightening fast through the rain in California: the overwhelming, unbearable need to pee my pants and soak the shit out of my black, cloth car seats…

AND

Making it to the bar in time to watch a Rutgers football game.

Tonight was the Big East Championship Title Game between Rutgers and Louisville.

There I was out of work at 7 on the dot swerving, speeding, and singing violently in the rain to watch the final FIVE MINUTES of the now-tied game.

I was making it God dammit.

And I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let the rain or a complete absence of available, expensive street parking stop me.

After finally securing a spot in a secluded dark alley about a block from The Blue Boar Pub (where all Rutgers alumni events are held), I cocked my pepper spray in front of me as I skipped over puddles and shimmied away frantically and quite obviously from any man walking anywhere near my path.

Finally arriving into the bar, Rutgers had the ball with 1:30 left on the clock, the game tied 17-17, fellow alumni chanting “RU RA RA…RU RA RA!!!” in unison, when I noticed a familiar face behind the bar.

This familiar looking bartender instantly noticed me too.

We then exchanged simultaneously curious glares, as we both obviously recognize each other from somewhere.

Initial thought as usual: Have I fucked that guy?

Noooooo.

I never forget a face…or a fuck for that matter.

And then it hits me.

Another guy I met and made out with at some club some night probably months ago.

And the reason I can pinpoint his face so well when I was too inebriated to even remember meeting him?

Probably because of the overwhelming influx of half-naked, iPhone mirror self-portraits he’s been sending me ever since.

I’d say I was getting about one every other week.

And the weeks I wasn’t getting a picture of his super chiseled, shaved-bare rugged body…

I was getting pictures of his HARD DICK.

In fact if he whipped it out at that point I probably would’ve recognized it better than his face.

I’d never responded to him…

EVER.

He smiled slightly after awhile, still looking puzzled and motioned me to come over.

Probably to ask me if he knows me from somewhere.

In almost the same instant, I turn away to look back at the game, and sure enough…mother fucking IDIOT QUARTERBACK GARY NOVA throws an interception…

Throwing the game…and throwing the championship title.

FUCK YOU NOVA!

After heckling a couple, “FUCK YOU NOVA!!!”s and “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”s at the screen in front of me…I bolted for the door before I had a chance to see the clock run out, and before HERE’S MY DICK had a chance to figure out who I was.

On the plus side, I made it back to my car without having to pepperspray or assault anyone with my huge guns.

And I won’t have to go back to The Blue Boar Pub to see HERE’S MY DICK or Dickhead Nova for the rest of the year.

The silver lining on this rainy day.