While Brandon housesat for me and apparently got raped by a giant cactus, I spent the past week in Vegas. I assume you're picturing that I spent my week doing this.
Wrong. What I was really doing was this...
I was visiting my in-laws in the 90 degree desert heat and having my wife do all of her doctor checkups, which are only covered in Vegas (God bless shitty healthcare).
Perhaps the only fun thing we did was go out to the clubs with my wife's brother and her brother's boyfriend. That meant hitting up the gay clubs, which aren't bad if you don't mind getting hit on by drag queens.
Yes, that's right, I've been asked what degree of straight I am. And the answer to that is if even 5% of you wants to bang another dude, you're no longer in the realm of straight.
Anyway, I quickly got tired of the gay nightlife, so I opted to stay home. And go figure, on the one night I didn't go... my wife got drugged. By gay guys. Now who wants to drug a straight woman at a gay bar? I have no fucking clue. All I know is that after her 4th shot--she didn't even have a drink to set down and be spiked, mind you--she lost all motor skills and could no longer stand up on her own or form words, something I've never seen happen to her even after 10 shots.
Since I wasn't there, my brother-in-law was quick to assess the situation... poorly.
Yeah, she's glossy eyed, can't stand on her own two feet, can't speak, and throwing up uncontrollably... let's just stand her up again and let her walk it off! Then we'll go get food! A greasy sandwich will make her regain the ability to stand up and walk (you listening to me, Stephen Hawking?)!
...That brilliant line of thinking led to her falling numerous times and scraping up both knees, spraining her ankle (which was covered in purple bruises), and oh yeah, this.
So while I was expecting my wife to come home, my brother-in-law and his boyfriend brought home the victim of a 10 car pileup instead, whom they dropped off in the bathtub. They then proceeded to ask me what we were all supposed to do, and by 'we,' they meant 'me.' Because I'm a fucking doctor.
Utterly useless and doing nothing more than panicking, I kicked them out of the bathroom and decided to take care of everything myself. The wife was an absolute mess (literally and figuratively) and was no closer to waking up, so over the next 2 hours I took her clothes off (no easy task on an unconscious body) and gave her a bath (also no easy task). Ever try wrestling a pair of pants off an unconscious person?
(The answer to that question better be "no", you sick bastards)
Eventually (4 hours later) she regained enough motor skills for me to help her to the bed, and she slept for a good 3 hours until she had to wake up and pee. At that point, she was still heavily drugged because she got out of the bed, completely naked and muttering under her breath like a zombie, and took off trying to open every door in the house in an attempt to find a bathroom. She remembers none of this. I assured her, though, it was very hilarious... and I can assure YOU that there will not be any pictures of that one.
3 more hours of sleep later, she was awake and feeling (mostly) okay. And I got to piece everything together for her, just like the Hangover... except, you know, instead of waking up on the rooftop of a hotel after a comedic night of partying she was just drugged by gay guys.
Thankfully, as of now, she's back to 100% and all of the bruises/scrapes are healed. We'll probably never know who did it, or why, but so long as she's okay, that's all that matters. Now we can just return to life as usual.
Stay classy, friends,
Music: Canon Blue
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