The Milk Story...
I was thinking about this the other day as I was trying to describe it to a friend of mine. This is a story about my roommate Pat. This is when I was living in Montana with Brian and Pat. Brian and I were sharing a pretty big room together, Pat had his own room.
Pat was quite the ladies man. He had a lot of girlfriends and a lot of stories about his 'exploits'. He also would meet a lot of colorful people who were homeless or at least out of house for a few weeks and feel free to invite them to spend the evening or a week on our couch. I've found that a large portion of my cds and vhs movies disappeared during this time. Our apartment was typically the place people came to hang out, too.
Pat also hated doing dishes. With a passion. Our dish washing schedule went like this. When it was my turn to do dishes, it was my turn, no matter how many there were. A single fork or every dish in the house, and as soon as all the dishes were done, it was Brian's turn. Then as soon as he was done, it was Pat's turn. Pat would wait and wait and wait until every dish was dirty. He would then wait a few more days while the smell got worse and worse. Finally he would do one of three things. He'd cave and do them. He'd try to bribe Brian or I to do them, or he'd go out driving around until he found someone holding up one of those 'will work for food' signs, and make a deal. A whopper and fries for doing all the dishes, or a ramen meal or a happy meal or some other small meal in exchange for doing the dishes. Often times we'd come home from class and find all the dishes done, and some guy we'd never seen sitting at the table eating some food.
Pat had one thing that he really loved (besides women), and that was milk with Strawberry Quick in it. He had a big glass of that every day. So we've got 5-10 different people coming into the house every day. People living here on our couch, and who knows who walking in and out at any given time, but Pat continues to yell at Brian and I for drinking his milk. Neither one of us touched the stuff, but he kept saying it had to be us.
One day while there were 5 or so other people in the house as well as Brian and I watching a movie, Pat comes out wearing his robe and walks into the kitchen. He freaks out about the milk again and Brian and I look at each other and roll our eyes. Pat gets even madder about this so he whips out his dick and puts it into the top of the gallon of milk. He then swishes it around and around in there, making sure that every one of us sees what he's doing. He then says, 'You can drink this milk if you want, knowing that I just put my dick in here.'.
Pat was an interesting person.
Pat was quite the ladies man. He had a lot of girlfriends and a lot of stories about his 'exploits'. He also would meet a lot of colorful people who were homeless or at least out of house for a few weeks and feel free to invite them to spend the evening or a week on our couch. I've found that a large portion of my cds and vhs movies disappeared during this time. Our apartment was typically the place people came to hang out, too.
Pat also hated doing dishes. With a passion. Our dish washing schedule went like this. When it was my turn to do dishes, it was my turn, no matter how many there were. A single fork or every dish in the house, and as soon as all the dishes were done, it was Brian's turn. Then as soon as he was done, it was Pat's turn. Pat would wait and wait and wait until every dish was dirty. He would then wait a few more days while the smell got worse and worse. Finally he would do one of three things. He'd cave and do them. He'd try to bribe Brian or I to do them, or he'd go out driving around until he found someone holding up one of those 'will work for food' signs, and make a deal. A whopper and fries for doing all the dishes, or a ramen meal or a happy meal or some other small meal in exchange for doing the dishes. Often times we'd come home from class and find all the dishes done, and some guy we'd never seen sitting at the table eating some food.
Pat had one thing that he really loved (besides women), and that was milk with Strawberry Quick in it. He had a big glass of that every day. So we've got 5-10 different people coming into the house every day. People living here on our couch, and who knows who walking in and out at any given time, but Pat continues to yell at Brian and I for drinking his milk. Neither one of us touched the stuff, but he kept saying it had to be us.
One day while there were 5 or so other people in the house as well as Brian and I watching a movie, Pat comes out wearing his robe and walks into the kitchen. He freaks out about the milk again and Brian and I look at each other and roll our eyes. Pat gets even madder about this so he whips out his dick and puts it into the top of the gallon of milk. He then swishes it around and around in there, making sure that every one of us sees what he's doing. He then says, 'You can drink this milk if you want, knowing that I just put my dick in here.'.
Pat was an interesting person.