"Hey..um..you got a little something on your face."

In our storyline of my college disasters, I offer to you some advice:

If you’re ever partying in someone else’s dorm room…

HIDE THE MARKERS.

Let me explain.

Back in college, every Thursday night was party night. This is because some kids went home over the weekends and - much like work - no one does anything on Fridays anyway so of course on one of these happy Thursday party nights I drank so much that I blacked out.

Like OUT OUT.

The following morning, I woke up in the middle of the floor in my friend's room...still fully dressed and feeling like I had been on the receiving end of a Whack-A-Mole hammer.

My buddy Spike greeted me. He was smirking.

“Good morning. How you feeling?”

Me: “Eh…okay…”

I managed to somehow get myself upright and stumbled past him…

Me: “I’m…going to wash up.”

I grabbed my things, and headed for the shower room down the hallway of the dorm, saying hi to everyone else who was up as I walked by.

Maybe 5 or 6 of my friends talked to me on the way.

I stepped into the bathroom…and grabbed hold of one of the sinks.

I was sick. WAY sick.

After heaving a bit into the sink, I managed to raise my head…

…and look at my face in the mirror.

WHAT. THE FUCK.

I had cat whiskers.

I had Spock eyebrows.

I had tic-tac-toe drawn on my right cheek.

I had a big red dot on my nose.

I had a moustache.

I had the acronym “NFL” (Nice F*cking Life) on my left cheek.

SONOFABITCH.

"Oh no no NO NO NO"

I start the water, grab my towel and start rubbing.

…and rubbing…

…and rubbing…

MOTHERFUCKER ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?

Nope. Not kidding.

Permanent marker.

OH COME ON!!

I grab my stuff and go back into Spike’s room…

…fully aware now that not only did HE KNOW that I looked like this when I woke up…but that everyone who said “hi” to me in the hallway knew the same thing.

Ugh.

Me: “Dude. The fuck! How could you let them do this to me?!”

Spike: “Hey..hey…I stopped them from pulling your pants down.”

Ah. Small favors.

Apparently, as I lay there unconscious on Spike’s floor, a crowd had gathered around to doodle on me.

At one point, the RA (Resident Assistant) came in to find out what was going on. He looked at everyone in the room, defiling me.

They all stopped, a room full of drunk college kids with markers in their hand hovering over a blacked-out sexy midget guy.

Oh, shit.

Busted.

Then the RA grabbed the marker from one of the accomplices.

“My turn!!”

…and started doodling himself.

Asshole.

So, back to the shower I go.

As I keep trying to scrub away, I unbutton my shirt to get into the shower…

Oh…

Oh no…

A big red heart drawn on my chest…

Even more tic-tac-toe…

The word “Asshole” scrawled across my belly.

Again…

PERMANENT MARKER.

I hate people.

I rubbed my face and stomach until I shed my skin trying to clean that shit off.

In the end, I looked like an Oompa Loompa:

Short.

Red.

And I like to sing about chocolate and row boats.

…that last part doesn’t fit the story. Scratch it.

Anyway…

I don’t think I ever drank that much again…

But my buddy, Pete, did.

At which point, we shaved his head as soon as he blacked out.

True story.

Not once, but we shaved Pete's head TWICE. You'd think he'd learn after the first time but no.

So I guess things could have been worse.

Thanks, Spike…for keeping my pants on.

Although, I would have found the joy of manscaping a long time ago.