FML – Fuck My Liver

Back in college, I had been dating a girl for about a year.  Things were, as I thought at the time, getting semi-serious.  She had met my parents and I had met hers.  We had even gone on trips together.  Then one of her friends (we’ll call him Douche) starting getting a little to chummy.  I wasn’t really that concerned at first cause this kid honestly had nothing to offer.  He was the epitome of a loser.

A friend of mine and I went out alone one night because my girlfriend was having a little get-together, but it was all girls from what I was told.  We’re out ripping shots left and right, the usual.  Then I get a call from some mutual friends that Douche was over at her house.  The friends that called me were guys so I just figured that they went over with some of the other girls.  No big deal.

We continue to drink and I get a text from one of the guys that says, ‘Something is going on with them.  You need to get your girl in check.’  I’m not sure if they’re fucking with me or serious, but order more shots either way.  Now, the friend that I’m out with is egging me on.  “Let’s go over there and beat his ass.  He’s crossing the line.”  All this talk is getting me amped.

Now, I don’t like to fight.  Girls aren’t impressed and when I go out, I want to have fun.  I don’t do drama.  But I’m so hammered now, that I’m agreeing with my friend, slightly.  We meet half-way. We we will go over there and check things out, but not go in fists blazing.

I get to the house and say hello to my friends and the others.  I ask where my girl and Douche are and they point upstairs.  What the fuck?  I head up and her door is lock.  I’m slamming on it.  She opens the door and they are both sitting there, “talking”.  I start to flip.  The guy leaves the room from the back door with good reason.  I argue with my girl for a few, tell her we’re done, then peace off.

My friends and I are leaving and this guy is walking in front of us on the street.  I yell at him, “What the fuck do you think your’e doing?”  He turns around and responds, “What are you takling about man?” I get in his face. “I know what you’re trying to do.  Quit fucking with me.”  He claims to still not know what I’m talking about (and I have to be slurring as well).  All of a sudden, without warning, I throw a vicious headbutt at him.  He stumbles back confused, holding his head.  At this point, one of my other friends grabs me and pulls me back.  “Fuck you, Douche.  This isn’t over.”

The scene is broken up quick and my buddy pulls me into a bar.  We order some shots and cheers to Douche and my ex.  I just figured my headache the next day was from drinking until my friend reminds me of what happened.  Zidane would be proud.  Fuck my liver.