Chris Rock, on the Oprah Winfrey show, once said that ‘You know you’re in love if you think seriously about murder’, or something. And as Oprah’s fat ass reacted to that undeniably awesome fact with awkwardness and hesitation, I was numbly yet functionally piss wasted standing in line at the neighborhood post office, watching with tears in my eyes; feeling like someone, somewhere, albeit Chris Rock, might have possibly understood the horror I was going through. Being in love can make you want to murder. Being in love can make you want to murder hockey players. Bush league, soulless, nut shaven goons who gang/date-raped and then routinely fucked your girlfriend. All of them. The whole fucking squad. Two at a time, five a night, ride-the-train-till-its airtight rendezvous. We’re talking someone please-please-shoot-me-in-the-face-it-numbs-so-fucking-much heartbreak. We’re talking fucking murder…
————
Several years ago, I found myself back in suburbo-shitsprawl New Jersey during the summer, staying at my parents place working as a poolman six days a week saving up money because I was halfway through art school. Didn’t have much of a social life while cleaning pools for the rich and not-so-rich, but I did have a girlfriend. For the sake of her whore of Babylonian anonymity, I will refer to her by her initials: V.D.
V.D. was, ironically, the coolest girl I have ever dated; before she gang-banged Babylon. I had a crush on her for four years before we got together. We were causal friends who hung out and partied with a bunch of stoners and the punks. She could out drink almost everyone but the morbidly alcoholic, yet still did endearing shit like go to dog and cat shows by herself. She was stupor fit too, a real knockout. Well with the birds and the bees and all that romantic horseshit we became quite the couple. We’d make fancy dinners together, walk in parks, stay out all day, stay in all night. She’d buy little naughty outfits and I’d run around with my dick tucked under my legs to make her giggle. When school started again in the Fall, I’d take the train home from Brooklyn to see her Friday through Sunday. One of our things to do while I was home during the weekends was go to local minor league hockey games. I could not believe it; she knew the full team roster and never missed a game… and my sorry ass never bought a vowel.
Winter break from school started, and with a month off to kill I shacked up at V.D.’s place. She lived on the top floor of her mother’s house, which was made into its own apartment/sugar shack. As V.D. slaved away at work all week and with no pools to clean in winter, I became the archetypal jerk boyfriend. I didn’t clean the dishes, made us watch the movies I wanted to watch, and expected sex when I didn’t lift spirits to deserve it. I fucked up. I know that. When I came back to V.D.’s place one night, I found a Dear John letter explaining that she wanted to break up with me because she felt taken advantage of. Oh how I felt like a dick! I immediately cleaned her pad from top to bottom, moved all my crap out, and when she came home later I sat her down to talk it all out. I told her that I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, and all she had to do was tell me what a loser I was and I would of remedied it immediately. This was nothing to break up over, it was easily fixable, and I was gonna make it up to her. She didn’t care, she needed time away from me. Something smelled fishy. I asked her if this break up had anything to do with the local hockey teams auction night.
You see the minor league team that her and I used to go see had a charity event. You’ve heard of them before, its the old “Save the Firehouse” routine. Firemen are auctioned off to a group of ladies who bid on them and all the money goes to save the firehouse and all the women get dinner and dates. Yay firehouse. Now imagine that, but with hockey players and fans. V.D. bid on her favorite player and won. She paid $350 bucks. She let me know right after she won her bid. Of course it raised an eyebrow at the time you jerks. I flat out asked her if she was gonna leave me for a hockey player and she nixed it. “No way babe,” she told me at the time, “He’s just the lead points scorer, and grown men and families bid on and won players… plus its for charity!” Oh! Charity! How could I be so selfish!
So I left her spot and dragged my sorry ass back to BK. Man was I worried, but I was determined to fix this problem. My baby wouldn’t leave me for some dumb, dashing hockey player. She said so herself. I trust her. I love her. She’d never do that. She said it herself. She said it herself… Turned out that a few days later she revoked everything she said about breaking up. “I’m fine, you’re fine, let’s talk this weekend, I don’t want to go to the auction night because I’m nervous, but I did pay $350…” I practically shit myself in relief.
So, there I am all happy ding-dong that I apparently got my girl back. So Tuesday night auction night comes up and it was to start at 7pm and end at a responsible 10:30. V.D. was all nerved up so she told me to call her and she’d give me the dirt on which sloppy clown drags ass at practice because he’s been railing lines the whole night before. So eleven o’clock rolls round and no answer. Probably on her way home. Eleven thirty. No answer. Midnight. No answer. Come on now, she’s gotta work at seven in the morning tomorrow. 12:15. 12:30, 12:45, 1, 1:10, 1:20, so on til two fucking thirty. No fucking answer. Somehow I diluted myself to sleep.
V.D. finally called me back the next day after she got off work and had a nap. She sounded exhausted. She explained that her and five of the guys on the team hung out at a local tavern after the party, which was held at some shitty nightclub nearby. They were so ‘nice’ and they all had such a good time together that they want back and hung out at her place. Five guys and her alone at her place? She had to be putting me on. I tried to call her bluff but she laid it down like it was all so innocent and I bought it for a dollar.
Hooray,yay, and hippery dippery doo, that’s finally over– for a whole two days– when the phone rings. It’s V.D. crying. “I’ve been bad…” she gurgled and wheezed and then explained to me that upon arriving early for the dinner night, she was nervous and decided to have a glass of wine to loosen up. When it was disclosed to her that the player she bid on had been traded the day before and replaced with the goalkeeper, she downed another glass of wine and considered leaving right then and there… when that fat faced fuck of a keeper pulled up a chair and introduced himself. I wish with every ounce of my lungs and nutsack that she got up and walked out right then and there, but she didn’t. She explained to me that after a long night of partying, she ended up fucking the keeper. I was devastated. After telling her I was coming home to talk about it and hanging up the phone I balled like a little kid with a skinned knee. Too bad this was just the beginning. This story– you clueless bastards– was about to go to plaid.
Couple days later and I’m back at the sugar shack trying to figure out what the hell happened; getting the details from her. She played a victim role but I couldn’t understand why. She finally confessed that the keeper wasn’t the one she pickled that night… she actually didn’t know how many it was. I went berserk. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a tin maraca. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know!!!”, I raged. She started coming clean and explained that after she met the keeper and saw how ‘nice’ he was, other players started coming over to their table and hitting on her. They fed her drinks like it was orangeade at your kid sister’s birthday. She took prescribed antidepressants so the wine was just knocking her out. One of the players, not the keeper even, took her out to the parking lot and fucked her in her car. He brought her back inside, to wheres there’s fans and family and shit, got her another drink, and took her outside for round two. After the dinner ended everyone went back to the tavern– who knows what the parking lot scene was like–and back to her place where all five of the guys took full advantage of their jockohomo/sleazebag ‘luck’. The next day she found used but unsoiled rubbers in her car and bed. Imagine the possibilities.
I was silenced. Totally confounded and numb to the bone. I started to bring up date rape and that we should report this to the police but she refused. She actually defended them and then divulged that she saw the keeper the night prior, and that she had plans to see the keeper that night. Kaapow!! Shit went flying and I just could not fucking control my shit. She was gonna see this guy, no these guys again after all this shit!!? After all this crying!? She’s crazy! Drop dead fucking insane! I stormed and cussed my way out of there like as if my dad magically awoke in a gay bar. No way was I going to talk to that crazy slut ever again. No way in fucking hell.
Then I calmed down on the train home. Innnnnn-hale, exxxxxxxxx-hale. I calmed down…
and I got really, really concerned…
Leave a Reply
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
Bad Behavior has blocked 4397 access attempts in the last 7 days.
again
05.22.09 at 10:15 am
this is actually a pretty well-written story. you should’ve seen it coming…but you called yourself on it so it’s all cool, aside from the part where your girl did what she did.
05.22.09 at 10:20 am
I can see why your heart might hurt at first, but let’s get some perspective here. This is really a positive. It’s like that song says, “love the one your with”. Don’t begrudge V.D. her potent sexuality, celebrate it! I bet you and those hockey players have a lot in common. We’re all running the same race… the human race
Big-ups to her for not being afraid to explore, it’s perfectly natural!
05.22.09 at 10:23 am
TOO LONG. ur in artschool, y didnt u just make a quicktime animated short? in claymation.
05.22.09 at 10:33 am
Surprisingly, I was not bored after reading this
Well done
Is ther some kind of gene that makes all hockey players such chodes?
Is it just the roids?
We need to solve this crisis, its like the second wave of that Axe hair crisis that was plastered on my television set
05.22.09 at 10:35 am
This makes me really sad for both of you. She’s too fucked for you to fix, you did right by leaving, it sounds like you’re too young for messy baggage like this.
But I must say that just because someone continues to see the person/s that date raped them doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a rape in the first place. Most women that are date raped refuse to identify themselves as a rape victim and end up getting in relationships with the perpetrator; it is a sick twisted and largely unconscious coping mechanism, it is a way for them to regain lost control.
05.22.09 at 10:46 am
At least you got line breaks in your fucking story.
05.22.09 at 10:49 am
It’s funny how we always want the chicks to be total whores only when and where and how we tell them. When they pick up the Whore crayon out of the box and start coloring outside the lines we flip out.
05.22.09 at 10:54 am
this is the internet. time is critical. shorten it up dude.
05.22.09 at 11:08 am
“I started to bring up date rape…”
By any chance, are you related to Pavlov’s dog?
05.22.09 at 11:23 am
All women are whores! So funny hahaha LOL!
05.22.09 at 11:31 am
Not going to lie, you sound like a pussy.
05.22.09 at 11:54 am
this is quite possibly one of the most well-received Open Mics in Street Boner history, even Vane$$a could only scrape together a half-assed criticism, well played Mike, good luck with round 2.
05.22.09 at 11:59 am
haha fuck you
05.22.09 at 12:03 pm
@codename: Crimpers and Beer Cozies Says:
05.22.09 at 10:46 am
“This makes me really sad for both of you. She’s too fucked for you to fix, you did right by leaving, it sounds like you’re too young for messy baggage like this.
But I must say that just because someone continues to see the person/s that date raped them doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a rape in the first place. Most women that are date raped refuse to identify themselves as a rape victim and end up getting in relationships with the perpetrator; it is a sick twisted and largely unconscious coping mechanism, it is a way for them to regain lost control.”
Ms. Steinem,
You seem to have pretty formidable expertise on this matter, so I am hoping you could answer a question I have. What distinguishes “date rape” from your ordinary, run-of-the-mill rape? Of the plethora of other potential crimes I could think of, none are ever prefixed by the word “date”. For example, no one ever talks about “date larceny”, “date fraud” or “date battery”. Countless people go on dates and agree to split the tab equally, but no one ever claims to have been “date robbed” when the other party proves to be a deadbeat. Even after a strapping young buck in Boston greased a hooker and ended up all over the news, not a single individual uttered the term “date murder”. So what makes “date rape” so gosh darned special that it deserves it’s very own distinction?
05.22.09 at 12:14 pm
@michael:
If a girl gets shit faced drunk and passes out at a party and then her “date” goes into her purse, grabs her keys and takes her car to a chop shop, afterwards no one is going to ask her if she let him pay for dinner or if she was wearing slutty outfit.
05.22.09 at 12:34 pm
If she is under 21, I would let this one slide.
05.22.09 at 12:47 pm
Too bad so many girls end up dating their rapists
05.22.09 at 12:50 pm
and Michael… I know people who claim to have been date-robbed
05.22.09 at 12:51 pm
and date rape differentiates from rape becuase when you say rape girls get all squeamish about walking around campus at night and strange hooded men in alleys, not the charming sleaze feeding them drinks that ends up holding them down in the back of a feild on their first date.
05.22.09 at 12:55 pm
@ Atheist
Don’t be stupid. I was joking around. I like this story. It strikes me as highly appropriate for this site. It’s low brow but it at least took some effort. Not everyone can sit down and write a coherent story. It has that slice of fucked up life confession feeling you’d get into while drinking. It’s also an extreme example of what a lot of dudes go through in figuring out women. In one way or another, it’s universally relatable. When it comes down to it this is the type of shit that most people would prefer to read if they weren’t so busy attempting to be literary and cutting edge.
On the other hand, it would have been much more interesting if it was titled: “My Girlfriend Got Fucked By a Basketball Team.” I also find myself not particularly interested in part 2. I’ve heard enough. Don’t turn it into the Rocky franchise. I give this a 7.7.
05.22.09 at 1:05 pm
If you are going to fuck a team, go for the rugby team. They suck toes.
05.22.09 at 1:25 pm
You’re a broom handle and a pair of tin snips short of a solution.
05.22.09 at 2:13 pm
i’m calling bullshit. who lives in brooklyn and goes to hockey games? I have an itching feeling that a certain canadian masquerading as a new yorker wrote this glorious piece.
05.22.09 at 2:56 pm
First good open Mic
05.22.09 at 3:05 pm
That shit fucking sucks Mike. Is this for real? Her initials were an acronym for venereal disease?
05.22.09 at 3:40 pm
he meant to type, “VA”, as in, “Valerie Ang.” simple finger slip… on both accounts.
05.22.09 at 4:19 pm
this is a first, an article that was good beginning to end. i even want to know what happened next. its a watershed moment!
05.22.09 at 4:48 pm
WGTITYB
05.22.09 at 5:32 pm
She fucked them. You probably don’t know the half of it.
and Yeah … Canadian.
05.22.09 at 5:45 pm
fuck………………………………………
05.22.09 at 6:30 pm
Shades of Hipster Grifter…
If this story is real, her story is fucked, whether it’s true or not. Crazy Alert. Stay away.
05.22.09 at 6:32 pm
Yeah, this was good — albeit depressing.
I hope you didn’t go back to the whore.
05.22.09 at 6:59 pm
homegirl just likes to party. sorry you can’t hang, dude.
05.22.09 at 7:01 pm
No, don’t fuck basketball teams or hockey teams or steroid injected rugby teams.
Fuck uncircumcised skateboarders…
05.22.09 at 7:03 pm
good story, good length, hope you submit again..
05.22.09 at 7:24 pm
i prefer football teams.
05.22.09 at 7:50 pm
man, you should get some revenge.
05.22.09 at 8:05 pm
Really? You think he should get revenge? Hmmmm…
05.22.09 at 8:14 pm
This fucking SUCKS. He doesn’t even know the difference between the word “of” and the word “have.” Here’s a thought: She made the whole gang-bang story up because she hoped that it would repulse you enough to finally leave her the fuck alone, Corky. Did that ever occur to you? Question: Why would I give a shit about the sad hi-jinks of a boring gaggle of Jersey fuckos? Move on.
05.22.09 at 8:26 pm
i love girls.
05.22.09 at 9:34 pm
goddamn! i hope he kills the whole team in part II …
05.22.09 at 10:13 pm
Good story. It just proves my approach to women though. Always have two girlfriends, two girls who you’re friends with who you can fuck occasionally, and a few extras rattling around. Seriously, women can only hurt you if you let them.
05.22.09 at 11:03 pm
Hockey still fucking sucks.
05.23.09 at 1:05 am
there are only 5 players in a hockey team?
05.23.09 at 10:19 pm
DATE RAPE is when the victim is drug (usually on a date) then raped while under the influence of the said drug.
RAPE is when a man forcibly sticks his penis in a woman while she cries and screams. Women can’t rape men.
05.24.09 at 12:56 pm
this is very well written. please tell me if this is a true story or a work of fictio9n
05.24.09 at 6:13 pm
Wow! KUDOS! I actually managed to read an ENTIRE Open Mic without wanting to fucking murder the writer.
05.25.09 at 4:50 pm
Minus the pending conclusion, isn’t this story a nearly exact thematic replication of Vane$$a’s story, “My Bully Died,” starting with a clue in the similarities between titles? Dude returns to shithole hometown. Dude is deadpan miserable in a kinda smart ass way. Dude watches as girl or girls are mysteriously attracted to chode-like, abusive dudes or dude…etc. I can’t believe how easily you suckers get sold the same bill of goods but love it when the author has a diff name. BWAH! Say, I’ve got this million dollar bridge in Baghdad I need to sell. It has fabulous profit potential. Call me if you’re interested.
05.25.09 at 6:17 pm
This dude has seen one too many Kevin Smith films.
05.26.09 at 7:24 am
This is like a penthouse forum letter without the sex. I can’t believe this shit writing hasn’t been criticized more. Ridiculous metaphors, and it ends with “and I got really, really concerned…”
This is garbage. What’s wrong with you people?
05.27.09 at 4:01 pm
[...] [Continued from here.] [...]
06.19.09 at 10:17 am