I would like first to disclaim this anecdote:…

I would like first to disclaim this anecdote:
It turns out that my new friend and Jen’s “terew” love N has met Garydirin. After I inserted enough beers into his mouth the other night, I was able to extract some information about Gd from the selfsame orifice.
We all know that Garydirin is a 32 yearold mildly retarded man who spends a goodly chunk of his time in Rochester, NH, home of the SUV pickup, the RV, the ATV, a whole host of other WT acronyms, the jetski (which rhymes with a lot of WTA), and a substantial population of midgets. Mind you, these are hostile whitetrash midgets, many of the males of which possess midgemullets no less glorious for their size, for theirs is an exquisite miniaturization. Then of course, there’s the one they call Shortstack, who drives a musclecar with- I shit you not- blocks tied by twine to the pedals. He’s actually a pizza delivery midget.
Anyway, Gary’s always had longish white hair, and as I mentioned is a little soft in the brain and has a brother who’s friends with N. So N went over to visit Garydirin’s brother this one time, and he sat promptly down on the couch and began to drink beer and smoke weed. And to watch the tv. But soon enough, Garydirin came by, looking obviously distraught and having oddly wavy hair. It turns out that some of his so-called friends had convinced him, the Friday before, that it’d be a good idea to crimp his hair. Ever a sargasso weed in the sea of popular opinion, Garydirin obliged.
So N, sensitive and intuitive, a straight-shooter with “upper management” written all over him, and with a nose for news to boot, asked him, “Gary, how was your weekend?” Gary didn’t want to talk about it.
“No, for real, what happened? You’re obviously dist- upset about something.” No, Garydirin didn’t want to talk about it.
After a few more rounds of this, Gary finally relented his terrible secret.
“I kinda got raped this weekend.”

So what… Did he stop at a rest area and get shoved by some convict? Was he drugged and tricked by a pimp into renting his ho?
He had gone to a party that friday night, and he was drinking, and he didn’t want to do it. Some girl had dragged him into some room, and he couldn’t get out, and he didn’t want to do it. And they did it, and he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Well who,” N asked, “was it? Would you recognize her, do you know her name?” Garydirin didn’t want to talk about it.
After a few more rounds of this, Gary finally relented his terrible secret.
“You know that lady with the crutches?”
Garydirin had been raped by a woman on crutches. Now, there is only one woman on crutches in Rochester. She always walked along the road with her crutches. N knew her, and now he knew that Garydirin had been, um, raped by this woman. On crutches.
He finally asked Gary,
“The midget?”
“yeah.”

N swore that he would not tell this story again after 9:00 last night. It’s gotten too much tellage lately, often with ungood results. It seems not to make a very good pickup story. It doesn’t go over the best with the ladies.
As I am not at present Macking it to any lady killingmachines, I thought it only right that I should share it, although it’s likely lost much in the retelling.
I like N. He has good stories.
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