Dad Stories: Carpet Cat

I had a tough as nails feral cat once by the name of Cougar.  My dad made him tougher, and though i am sure it was not his intent to create body armor for a feline it was unfortunately the end result.

He would let Cougar out at night just before midnight he headed out the door for his job on the night shift. Our cat would wander the streets at night claiming his territory.  It was never too long before i'd be woken up from my sleep by the sounds of two cats meowing at one another somewhere close by and i knew for certain one of those cats was mine.

Cougar would go through at least a fight a night and sometimes a lot more.  But every morning when i'd wake up for school and check outside there he would be curled up sleeping on the front porch waiting to come inside.  He'd lovingly wrap his coat of fur around my leg as i prepared his canned food and as i leaned down to plop the food out onto his dish that'd be when i'd see his battle scars from the night before.

Sometimes he would have only a patch of fur missing, those were the good nights.  However at times he would come back with cuts, scratches and even gashes.  It was the gashes that bothered him the most as he would paw and scratch at it making the wound become infested and swollen with puss.

On one particular morning Cougar came home with an astonishingly large gash just behind his left ear and another gash albeit not as bad behind his right ear.  I was a young teenager at the time and knew that i had to show the gash to somebody or take him to the pet hospital.

I already knew at the age of 13 that telling 'anyone' meant 'tell anyone but my dad' for i had already come to the conclusion that my dad was eccentric.  If you can picture "Doc" from Back to the Future, splice that character with the maniacal Al McWiggin doll stealing character from Toy Story 2 then add the cute obliviousness of Mr.Magoo then you'd have a pretty good replica of my dad.  He was kindly nuts.

Sadly i had to leave for school and as often happened due to our opposing timetables, dad would pull in to the driveway from work at the same time i was heading out the door.  Meaning, that unless he went directly to bed he would notice the cat.  That would be bad.  Very bad.

Sure enough i came home from school to find my dad running around outside the house holding the wrong side of a broom.  He bent down awkwardly trying to peer to the side of his enormous belly and searched under our AMC Gremlin the ugliest car ever made.  Cougar made a bolt for me but crashed into my legs falling over upside down revealing the first contraption my dad had made for him, shoes made of tape.

Clumsily he made his way up the stairs the way my great grandmother would ascend the stairs with her walker nearly falling down with every step.  I reached the front door behind him and he almost couldn't wait to get inside as he tried bumping his head on the front door while i fiddled with the key in the lock.  As i did so i was looking down at his head cast.  The only difference between somebody in a full head cast at the hospital and my cat was the ugliness of the cast itself.

This thing covering his entire head was seemingly first made of 100 gauze strips stapled together forming somewhat of a noose around his neck and covering both side wounds before being tied like a picnic basket over his head.  Then that layer was held in place by more hockey tape it looked like as i could only make out the edges of my hockey tape.  The final layer that secured the whole mechanism in place was about 15 passes of Duct Tape making a megaphone like shape extruding from his neck.  No wonder my cat wanted to get away from my dad so badly.  Indeed as i opened the door my cat surged forward banging his head straight into the kitchen chairs falling flat on his chin because of his snow shoes.  (This photo i found online is a much much tamer version of what my dad devised)

Somehow he managed to get up and let out a weak meow as he crashed sideways into the wall under the phone.  Righting himself he hobbled around the corner and i heard him skid chin first down the stairs toward the basement where finally he limped into the dark crawl space to hide from the scary fat man.

He stayed there all evening and i didn't even bother to go look for him.  I knew he was traumatized and needed time by himself.  Sure enough that night when my dad was heading out the door for work Cougar timed his run and streaked out the front door before it closed.  I noticed he had gnawed off almost all but one of his taped socks leaving a trail of tape behind him as he ran that looked like the end of a wedding dress.

"What the heck" my dad said as Cougar shot past him triumphantly.  My dad glared at him as he backed out of the driveway and scurried off to work.  I begged Cougar to be safe as i locked the door and went up to bed.  An hour later woken by the sound of wailing cats locking horns in a fight.  "For crying out loud Cougar" i mumbled from under the blankets.  I put a pillow over my head and squeezed out the noise knowing in the morning i'd have to reassess the damage.

Morning came and my cat was politely mewing at the front door so i let him in.  To my horror i noticed immediately his wound over his left ear had swollen to the size of a golf ball and it was hurting him.  Somehow he had been able to remove enough of the Duct tape contraption so that it sat lopsided resting on the back of his neck but almost covering his mouth by doing so.  I got a pair of scissors and cut off the rest of it allowing him to eat.  I grabbed my school books just as my dad pulled in.  I lowered my eyes shaking my head as there was nothing i could say or do for the next 8 hours.  I had to simply bide my time in school until i'd round the corner to my street and see what new horrors awaited me.  Coming home from school was often like that.

However nothing could have prepared me for what i'd see or hear as i rounded the corner that day.  I could hear it first, the mortified screams of my cat, the yelps of an animal not only in duress but in agony.  It sent a shiver up my spine and weakened my knees as i broke out into an awkward trot trying to summon speed from my legs to get me home to help.

It was my dad who wanted help though.

"Hold him, you have to hold him tight, come help me quick."

The problem with being only 13 is that when dad speaks it is like the law that i have to obey.  As wrong as it was i simply had to listen to him or endure his unkindly wrath.

Reluctantly i approached and my eyes met my cat's eyes and we locked together in a moment of mutual understanding that i will never forget.  My feet shuffled forward and i saw what my dad had almost completed for his next contraption to mask my cat's open wound.

You see this is how my dad thinks with basic logic like Spock from Star Trek except more stupid.  If the tape contraption on his paws and head didn't work to prevent the cat from scratching his own wound ... why simply make a better contraption.

I have no way to either glorify or condemn what my dad had done.  It just is what it is.  He had sewn to the back of his neck a piece of our carpet.  The howls of despair came from my cat every time my dad operated on Cougar by adding another stitch with a needle and thread through the carpet and through his neck.  I looked around the neighborhood with shame in my eyes but since it was mid afternoon nobody was taking notice at the torture taking place.

I simply hung my head and cried while i held on to Cougar as lovingly as i could.  My dad had wrapped him in a blanket tightly and had re-taped his paws so there was no scratching.  I suppose my cat had grown weary of trying to escape.  His only reactions were the painful twitches released when my dad would finish off his stitching.

Ten minutes later it was done.  My cat was beat tired i could see it.  When he was released from the blanket he only shook his feet with disapproval at having his paws covered in hockey tape yet again.   He layed down on the grass on the front yard of our house and didn't make an attempt to drink or eat the water and food i had brought for him.  I had at the same time a feeling of pity for my cat and a feeling of hatred towards my father.  Cougar hid himself in the crawl space again and i was sure he was dying in there.

So i was shocked when i heard him streak up the stairs as my dad was leaving for work at midnight and i hopped out of bed to see him for myself.  He hit the lawn running and never looked back as he disappeared under the wooden fence across the street.  I thought perhaps he was running away.  I almost hoped that he would recognize how crazy my dad was and would never return.  But sure enough at 7am there he was curled up on the foot mat waiting for me to let him in.

I got down on my hands and knees so that i could be at his eye level and he came up kissed me with his nose.  At that moment i felt like it was me he was coming back to see.  We were forming a bond.  It was like he knew i needed him to survive my dad and i knew he needed me.

Or perhaps he needed nothing anymore.  For as i checked his body when he was eating he had no new visible marks from fighting.

This was great as i knew he needed time to heal.  And so the next night and the night after that he went out and returned with no new scars or wounds.  Weeks went by without him getting a new scratch yet i knew he was fighting as i could hear him engage every cat in the neighborhood nightly.

It was then that i realized he had become a super hero cat.  A feral cat with carpet infused body armor completely wrapping the only place cats attacked, the neck area.  So he was invincible.  Other cat attacks wouldn't hurt him let alone mark him and every night my cat went out the door knowing i think that he was in god mode.

So a month after i reacted with great dismay when my father told me we had to take off the carpet.  That's like taking away Superman's powers.  My cat would be mortal again.  It just wasn't fair.

I sat cringing in the corner by the tv not wanting to be part of any such experiment so i just monitored my dad as he held the cat examining him from all angles.  He had a peculiar look on his face like that of a surgeon who had lost his memory right before surgery, unable to discern where to make the first incision.

This went on for about five minutes until he put the cat down and sent him on his way outside the house.

Naturally i sprung to my feet and wiped away the tears clinging to my eyes.

"What happened dad?"

"I can't take it off" he replied, his voice heavy with a tone of defeat.

"Why not?"

"It's infused to his neck."

Not quite understanding what he meant i went outside to check for myself.  My fingers ran through his hair on his neck which had grown right through the carpet itself.  If i pressed down hard enough i could feel the carpet down below but it was indeed unrecognizable.  With delicacy i tugged at the carpet with my fingers but i only pulled up skin and carpet together.  While the hair had grown through the carpet his skin had grafted itself to the fabric making a new flesh so to speak.  A new skin.

Carpet cat was born.

Cougar the Invincible.

Scheme: The Chinese Handcuff Fiasco

As my son pointed out to me today, everything in the world to a kid can become a toy, and not just any toy.  Rather, a toy fueled by limitless imagination that when presented to other similar aged friends can become a contagion of fun or a contagion of wrong doings.

So when my father brought home a bag of postal bag ties from his job at the post office i was intrigued to say the least.  I marveled at my new found toy, running my fingers along it's jagged edge and peering into the tiny hole at the end which locks the bag tie securely.  Of course i had no idea what this tiny plastic contraption did but it obviously had a purpose as i scooped out hundreds of replicas it from within the bag.

Moments like this when a child is in wonderment at what he has found and needs to enquire about it are a devil's play toy for an adult when considering a reply.

"What are these daddy?"

"Chinese Handcuffs"

"How do they work?"

"Well put your hands behind your back with your two pinky fingers touching and i'll show you" he said.  So i complied willingly.

Seconds later i felt a tightening on my fingers as he wrapped my fingers with the postal bag tie and then voila! My arms were completely immobilized by this small contraption and i was instantly in love.  As he cut it off with his switch blade my eyes gazed over the enormous bag he had brought home and i began to wonder just how many of those things were in there.  Hundreds?  Thousands?  Millions?  To a 7 year old a million handcuffs is a possible estimation and the thought of having a million students walking around under my control at school was almost unbearable.  My fingers began to twitch with evil and i new the night would be so deliciously sleepless.  Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

But arrive it did and i woke up alone as i had always done when growing up.  My dad worked the night shift at the post office sorting parcel mail into the bags and usually didn't return until i was at school.  Thus the bag and it's contents belonged to me and me alone.  By the time i had finished packing my school bag the books were covered completely by the Chinese handcuffs and i darted out of the house and around the corner.

My dad always sought rooms for rent that were tied to the same block as our school.  It made walking home in the winter a breeze and allowed me many a time to outrun a school bully or two in a full sprint to my front door.  It wasn't even a minute into my dash for the early morning school yard that i came upon my best friend at the time Roberto Coletta.

Roberto was the type of friend you could count on to do great mischief with and i saw his eyes gleem when he found the contents of my school bag.  No words needed to be exchanged when i told him about my Chinese handcuffs, we instantly knew we had 6 hours and an entire school to arrest before the day was through.  We parted with each of our school bags half full and had to bide our time until recess.  Oh what a long 2 hours that wait was.

10:15am rolls around and we hit the school yard prowling like 2 wolves seeking prey.  Five minutes later we had tied and cut loose 10 of our friends each armed with a handful of the handcuffs.  Curious onlookers made their way back to me like i was the school Santa and for all purposes really i was Santa.  Standing there merrily handing out handfuls of my wonderful toys to anybody who asked.

At about 10:20 the school yard had sectioned itself off into little hives of activity, groups of 10 or so students in each hive looking at their local victim getting handcuffed then fighting for a few shards of their own handcuffs.  And so it went, like a viral contagion until with just a few minutes to go before the bottom of the hour and the end of recess we noticed that the massive school yard had nary a person left.

My first concern was that somehow i had not heard the school bell go off.  That would be like standing beside an ocean cruiser and not hearing it's foghorn but the sheer lack of bodies standing outside put the doubt squarely at the tip of my brain.  So inside i headed with my friend Roberto to find out if indeed we were late for class or not.

Bounding up the first set of stairs to get to the main floor is when we first heard the moans and groans of people as if we were running into an infirmary.

We slowed our bounding down to a crawl and peeked through the thick wooden doors that led to the first floor.  Standing in an endless row were all the students in the entire school it seemed.  Some sobbing, some shrieking and a few in absolute agony.  Scurrying to and fro attending to all the students was the entire teaching staff of General Mercer Public School and all with a look of terror on their faces.

Seconds later we heard the first ambulance arrive outside the front door directly opposite of where we were standing.  No sooner had the two paramedics arrived another amulance pulled up.  Followed by another and soon followed by a fire chief's car from the local fire station.

We saw this all unfold right before our very eyes as they took some students out to the ambulance holding their noticeably blue fingers in pain.

This was awful.

"Scissors, knife, who has either scissors or a knife" yelled out Ms. Risk the principal.  "Somebody go find more things to cut with, hurry."  Her wild eyes darted around the hallway almost meeting our hidden eyes crouching by the stairway door.

We backed out slowly the way a cat would gingerly step away from a greater foe and began heading back outside just as the recess bell rang.

The remaining students who had escaped being turned prisoner were lining up in the two lines we had always been instructed to do so in, it was just so noticable that it was as if the entire school was inside and we the only ones to be collected.  Also, the teachers who assembled the lines to return back inside were noticeably absent, no doubt attending to the student casualty line inside.

Then suddenly the doors burst open and two teachers had one of our friends Luigi in tow by his ear.  He was holding the evidence, about two handfuls of our Chinese Handcuffs and we began to edge back towards the end of the line ready to make a bolt for it.

"Them!" we heard Luigi cry out and almost a second later one of the teachers had reached out and grabbed us by our ears as well.  Like two fish on a hook we were dragged back in through the doors, up the stairs, past the line of students in agony and directly into the principals office.

Moments past by and finally Ms.Risk strode into her office with who i think was the fire chief behind her.  For certain it was the same man who had arrived in his red fire house car, he with his silver hair and grey moustache, his perfect uniform and all his shiny buttons adorning his shirt.

"What ... did ... you ... do" she spoke at us with deliberate pauses as to let the severity of each word smack us proper across the face.

Roberto my Italian friend spoke first as he tended to do.  "It wasn't meant to hurt anybody we were just doing it for fun" he exclaimed.

"Doing what for fun?" the fire chief answered back.

"Putting on the Chinese Handcuffs."

"Excuse me?" they both said in unison with eerily similar baffled looks on their faces.

"His dad, he gave us the Chinese Handcuffs for us to use, it's his fault."

Great, Roberto just bought me at least twenty whacks on my ass that night, keep talking hotshot I thought.

"These" said Ms Risk holding one of the Handcuffs by it's head as though she were holding a dead mouse "are not Chinese handcuffs, they are ties for very big bags."

He lied.  Goddammit he lied to me.  I remember i couldn't get over that that was the first time my dad had outright lied to me.  With stunned disbelief i contemplated the meaning of this.

"But they worked so well?" was all i could blurt out of my mouth with a whimper of sadness.

"Well of course they worked, they are meant to tie big heavy postal bags and not the tiny pinky's of every boy and girl in our school."

Followed by the obligatory question always asked of me when i was young, "Well what have you got to say for yourself?"

It was a simple answer that i think captured the essence of my scheming mind which would blossom in the years to come.

"Can we do it again if we tie it looser?"

Years later when i was nearing my last year in that primary school Ms Risk would pull out index cards filled with all my accumulated misdemeanors every time i was sent to her office.

She would always recite all my wrong doings back to me, and always saved for last "and of course how can we forget the Chinese Handcuff Fiaso?"

Yes, how can we forget about it indeed.

Scheme: Home Made Baseball Lottery Tickets

Scheming has been in my blood since i was a kid.  Born with it i guess.  My first scheme came about accidentally when i was 12 years old sitting at home on a Saturday morning watching the Jerry Lewis Telethon which had rudely taken the place of Captain Caveman and the Scooby Doo Olympics.

"ya can't let life wait for you son, go out there and get it, stake your claim" my dad would say that at least once a day, every day.  I guess that Saturday morning i somehow took it to heart.

My actual first idea was indeed sincere.  I was watching the show and saw the telephones ringing off the hook and it just clicked at how easy it was for him to talk and people to phone in their money.  It was incredible.  I started getting that itchy feeling in my fingers that makes me rub my fingers back and forth like a daily double winner at the racetrack.  Except now for whatever reason i make the same motion but on the sides of my head above my ears when i get overexcited about something.

It's not a back and forth motion either, it's an up and down motion starting from above my ear lobe and twitching up and down towards the top of my head and back.  So essentially the same motion my fingers used to make when i did it with my index finger and thumb, thus it has to be the same nervous twitch just somehow misplaced to my scalp.

As a side note, this nervous twitch may prevent hair turning grey as i'm almost 50 and have no signs of losing my hair colour yet.  I may have to start twitching on my pubic hair to keep my junk looking young down there.

So there i am pacing around the living room thinking how can i get somebody to call me and send me money.  I'm not Jerry Lewis after all i'm just a 12 year old kid sitting at home pissed off about missing cartoons.

A ha!

Nothing's keeping me at home so i might as well go out.  I, as did every kid back then, had the Saturday morning tv guide memorized for cartoons.  I knew if i left right away i could be back in an hour for The Blue Falcon   The truly crappy cartoons started either before 7am or after 11, but i had to get my fix of something and i supposed i could stomach some Dino Mutt action.

But first, try to get some money.

Out i went, and immediately recognized how horribly unprofessional i'd be appearing in a Darryl Sittler Team Canada jersey that i had slept in and my baseball team pants which i had put on ready for my afternoon game.

Also, i knew i needed a clipboard for some reason.  Jerry Lewis had one so why not me.

I was dressed like i was going to a wedding after 2 short minutes and 5 minutes after i had walked safely out of range of any neighbour who would tell my dad .. i knocked on my first door.

"hi i'm watching the Jerry Lewis Telethon on Cable 10 and i'd like to support one of the kids please, could you chip in 5c to help?"

Always ask for much lower than what you really want. Asking for 5 cents got me 5 dollars and my legs were truly shaking as i walked away putting the money in a manilla envelope my dad always brought home from the Post Office where he worked.

An hour later i had $100, easy as pie.  My idea was to march right on home and phone that pledge in as soon as i got in the door.  Ya that idea lasted a good 10 seconds.  What excited me more was the convenience store behind my street as i finally had some serious cash to do some major damage in there.

Most 12 year old kids if i had to venture a guess would dive into $100 of candy.  For me it was straight to the lottery tickets.  Not just any lottery either, i wanted these new baseball scratch and win lottery tickets for $2 so i bought 50 of them.  Little did i know that one day in the future i would be buying 50,000 in one shot, but hey, buy in bulk, i learned that from my dad buying boxes of Spam if it was on sale for a penny.

I had Spam so much as a kid i actually acquired a taste for it so long as it was thoroughly drowned in French's Yellow Mustard.

The lottery ticket had 9 innings of scratch-able circles, 18 in total for both the visiting team (gov't lottery) and the home team (me) which is why it was so alluring to me as a kid.  I was getting a lot of scratch for my buck, or err two bucks.

Anyways other than i think 1 or 2 free tickets, which in itself justified completely spending the $100, i won absolutely no money, but i kept the losing tickets anyways as something to look at while i ate some Super Sugar Crisps and turned on some Blue Falcon action.

It wasn't until i was doing my homework after the baseball game ( i threw 3 innings of no hit ball against the Braves and actually struck out Michael Collis the home run king ... that's why i never forget that game to this day) in my study room ... or sleeping room ... or pass the time carving ideas out of my brain room as my dad made me do an hour a day in there without exception.

How it went down was something like ... i was doing my typewriting lessons and made a mistake.  So grabbing the liquid paper i blotted out the typed 9 instead of the intended 'O' key and it hit me like a truck.  DANG ... the liquid paper covers the 9.  I blew on it and tried to scratch it off but did so too early, it smeared the paper.  So i tried again.  Made another typo, lp'd it up and marched around the confined space doing that finger twitch thing again.  Five minutes later i scratched and sure enough .. the liquid paper came off revealing the 9 sitting there nice and pretty.

Can you say home made baseball lottery tickets anyone?

"Craiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig , come have dinner" my dad would always hang on the ai part of my name forever making it sound like a wailing foghorn.  Damn i hated that.  Point is, that was Saturday afternoon ok.  I entered the room at 4pm, and he was calling me for dinner at 8, or somewhere around there.  Just having a dad around the house growing up dinner wasn't exactly on time.  Dad followed a man's timetable called the Shakira timetable ... "whatever, whenever".  Four hours spent non stop of feverishly making up lottery cards, or to be more specific, losing lottery cards... and on a saturday afternoon!  I made them on an 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of normal white paper and meticulously make the circles in exactly the same place on every card all the same size.  Then i just did the scores in pen so as to be sure they couldn't be erased, covered it up with lp, cut the paper so they were all the same size and Voila!...instant money.

I could actually feel the money in my hand.  Adjusting for the daily allowance of 12 year old kids, my winnings per ticket were "upto $1" .  I got the "upto" idea from a bargain basement shopping place my dad hauled me too called Honest Ed's.  Other than all the catchy sayings he had outside his store, everything in the windows had huge "upto 90% off" signs.  I figured "upto" was a good way to get people interested as we often had to wait with 200 other people just to get into Ed's store of horrors and boredom.

At school on Monday i was hoping to have 'upto' 10 people buy my tickets as i was selling them for 10 cents each which in the day was quite a lot of money.  You could buy 3 pop rocks candies for that much so getting those kids to part with that much money ... well let's just say i was doubtful.

Ah but never underestimate the power of "upto".  By the end of lunch i had completely sold out all my tickets, all 50 of them.  This time i kept the $5, bought some more liquid paper so it would blot on the paper faster since the one i had used on Saturday was so old, and Monday night was all about my introduction to the world of mass production.

"you still doing homework in there?" my dad knocked about 5 times on the door.  At 11pm he had to go work the night shift at the post office so he put me to bed before he left.  1 minute after he was out the door i was right back in the counterfeit shop ...err ... my study room.  I made 500 of the money makers that night and i forget exactly what time it was when i finally slept but it was damn near morning.

It didn't matter, i felt not even the slightest bit tired as i remember sprinting to school to try and get some before school easy money.  It worked.  By the time the morning bell rang i had converted liquid paper to $5, fan...tastic.

By lunch I had $10, well on the way to the $50 i had hoped for.

By afternoon recess i had a problem.

This big nut job, for the life of me i can't remember his name as he never did stand out in my mind as a bully to remember, but he was one of the school bullies nonetheless and he he was after me.  At first i thought it was to rob me of my $10.  But being dimwitted and short sighted as all non schemer's are, he was holding out his hand asking for $1.

"how, why" were the two words that could get me punched.

"because i won 7-4 look, you owe me $1"  (he had changed his 1 into a 7 in pen) like right out of a bully comic book if one such thing did indeed exist.  Complete with the bully push to the chest.  Now my son knows the Gracie Jiu Jitsu "jolt you out of your skeleton" jiu jitsu reply for such a shove but in my days of Bruce Lee 1 vs 50 = ok   training tips, i had no such reply ready.  I only had 2 more words which got me in a whole lot of trouble ...

"not possible"

"why not?"

Followed by my next 3 words which sealed the deal as far as inviting physical punishment goes ...

"you can't win"

True, i designed all 500 cards to lose.  Why give up a perentage of the winnings? would be the adult greedy answer as to why i designed all 500 to fail.  While the real reason was, what if the first person by chance won a $1 ticket, how would i pay him?  I couldn't.  I had to guarantee money in my pocket for Monday first, and then i could escalate the payout side of the business on Tuesday or Wednesday.

That was the plan.  Interrupted by a left hook to the stomach.  Nobody punched the liver back then, it was all stomach shots.  Because Bruce Lee had this stomach shot that would send people flying and every fight i saw or had as a kid, i could guarantee that given the opportunity somebody would be doing tiger claw style punch to the abs.

A fight ensued, or a mauling really.  After being broken up we were hauled to the principal's office where we had to explain our actions.

"Come again?  What lottery ticket, let me see it" ... that's the bewildered babbling of my principal getting introduced to my world of schemes. He was none to impressed.  But he should have been, no?  Come on, what 12 year old ever made lottery cards in school?  Did he never see the movie Risky Business?

My name is Joel Goodson.  I deal in human fulfillment.  I grossed over $115 in 2 days at school at age 12.  Time of your life, huh kid?  (Risky Business 1983)

"Bugger it all anyways" my dad would say, as did i when i had my $15 confiscated.  Idiot principal being all righteous on me to "teach me a lesson" ... i'd bet $15 more he spent my money on porn that night.

Oh well, sometimes you just have to say "what the fuck".