Blown Load Experiment

That's what this blog is all about, no? So here is a funny if slightly Rezonian story. There's a guy in our NYC office in my position, let's call him Colin Smith. And he's lately been dating a girl who wants to get uber-serious, let's call her a girl from Stanford named Lindsay who graduated after us and none of us know. As an aside, I see dead people with this one, she's getting way too attached way too quickly, but I digress. Also key to the story is the fact that this girl has a cat, to whom her roommate is alergic, so the cat is always in the room. Always.

Colin, for some reason, tells not simply me but the two managing directors and the principal in the New York office the following story, which I will paraphrase.

On Monday night, he goes out with this girl, they go back to her place, wink wink, nudge nudge, down is went. So, just as he's about to, ahem, finish, he hears a "rreeeowr!!!" as the cat jumps up on to his neck, screeching, clawing. He freaks out. He jumps up out of bed and turns to face his attacker, who, being atop the bed, is now conveniently just below waste high. Not to belabor the point, but Colin dots the cat's eyes. Money shot on the cat's face. Colin collapses on the floor laughing as the cat, traumatized by its unexpected facial, slinks into the corner and mopes. It is now Friday and the latest update from Colin is that the cat has not moved in two days and that the Managing Director is now calling him Squirt.