Three Practices Essential to a Guy's Well-Being

So Friday night -- actually more like Saturday morning -- Yoseph and I are getting on the elevator to go to our room. Three guys get on with us, each one drunker than the last. They are all carrying these bags of chicken from some kind of fast food place. Smells really good. They strikes up a small conversation and then they get off at the floor below us. We get to the room and after a while I go out to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash up. In the hallway are two of the guys from the elevator. One of them still has the chicken, but now has no shirt on. The other one is telling him that he can't eat in the bathroom, but shirtless assures him that it will all be okay.

As I'm standing there washing my face, I here this kids stumble into a stall, sit down, and begin to munch away on his chicken. It is a strange place, but its not totally out there. I finish washing my face and after I pat it dry, I head over to a stall for the final spill. As I use the toilet, I can hear the chicken kid in his stall having a bad case of the runs. That chicken goes through ya! I finish up as quickly as I can and I flush the toilet. As I walk by again to begin to brush my teeth, I hear him let out a great sigh of relief. Good for him, right?

I start brushing my teeth and what do I here? This guy is masturbating! He's getting into it, moaning to himself and panting like a dog. I get my stuff together and retreat. This kid managed to eat a meal of chicken, poop, and masturbate all in one sitting. Amazing.

Anyways... an hour later I hear some knocking on the door and who could it be but the chicken-poopin'-masturbatin' kid. He's got a shirt back on, but in a manner that makes me think he put it on the ground and then army crawled into it like a hot-drunken-mess. So he's at the door and he says "Hey man."

And I tell him I don't know him. He smells like ass. "Do you have my keys?" He asks several times. I tell him I don't him again and push the door on him. He grabs my hand and shakes it and asks me if I want to party. I tell him we will, knowing I won't see him again. I close the door, realizing I have chicken-poop-jizz on my hand.