Dylan emerged from his tent one fine festival morning feeling plucky and fearless. “YOU,” shouted Ariel from across the way. Dylan gazed clear of eyes and light of spirit boldly in Ariel’s direction. “You don’t even remember, do you,” said Ariel. “You don’t remember a goddamn thing.” Dylan blinked with some confusion. He waited handsome in demeanour and elegant in carriage for an elaboration. Ariel’s outburst was so passionate, even bellicose, that Dylan felt slightly concerned. Ariel, jabbing her pointer finger vehemently, fast approached. “You don’t remember a thing,” she said again. “Hm,” said Dylan.
Then came the story.
Apparently the evening previous, Stella was arranging a party platter chock full of Molly and K. Just as she was about to distribute the goods, somebody launched pretty much a full open bottle of Tequila all over the tray. “Fuck,” said Stella, “there goes that.” And there was much grimacing.
“Any takers?” asked Stella. “SURE,” said Dylan.
And that was his last clear memory.
What happened from that point forth was told to Dylan in ghoulish detail, as though he were little more than a passive bystander, which, in a way, he was, although he did not simply stand by. When all was “said and done” post soppy goo Molly K Tequila plate, Dylan felt his night was complete. He sauntered homeward, spooned the Mrs. in his matrimonial bed and went splendidly to sleep. But what Dylan actually did was head off to Ariel’s trailer and missed wide his own tent and bed entirely.
Ariel is a longstanding friend, so there was no problem with suddenly showing up at her place. Except that she was naked in bed sharing carnal knowledge with some young man. Then Dylan out of nowhere appeared, crawled into Ariel’s bed and spooned her comfily while she was naked and in the middle of having sex. “What the fuck are you doing?” asked Ariel. Dylan mumbled, “It’s good, it’s good,” adding, “It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s good” a couple times. “Whatever, dude,” said Ariel finally through the layers of tumult and befuddling. Ariel eventually accurately surmised the influence of K onto all matters. The guy she was fucking though didn’t know what in the Sam hell was happening. In his mind, Dylan was Ariel’s boyfriend come home, so he was the odd man out, the poor dude apparently spent the next 45 minutes attempting to unobtrusively extricate himself and quietly escape the scene.
Dylan from his end started snoring pretty much immediately while poor Ariel lay there naked, interrupted, spooned and confused. Eventually Ariel roused Dylan and set about to lugging the idiot off to his actual tent and bed. Dylan the whole while was none the wiser, until next day when Ariel told him all the lurid details, jabbing her pointer finger vehemently. You might think this all is some kind of cautionary tale about the dangers of doing K, when actually I just think this story’s really fucking funny.