Long Island Iced Pee

Early one afternoon, I awoke to my phone ringing, it was my fellow Fun Girl, Bassten.

“Hello,” I answered half awake, half hung over.

“*****, wake up! What aw you still sleeping fah? Listen, Flowa’s friend’s band is playing tonight in Beverly Hills. She wants us to go wid-ha. I fig-ya you can just come leave yo car at my apartment and stay ova. Flowa said she would pick us up so we can drink. Then tomorra’, you won’t believe this! I gots us two tickets to ‘Dancin’ Wid Da Stars’! I’m freekin’ excited! Livin’ da dream!”


“Whats wrong wid you? Get yo hass ova here!”

“Wait, what?” I asked again.

“Are you freakin’ retarded or somethin’?”

Eventually I understood and drove my ‘hass’ over to Bassten’s apartment. When I arrived she had beer and martini’s awaiting. I love that hot bitch.


Not long after Flowa’ arrived and we headed into LA. Once we got to the venue and parked we made our way inside. Well, Flowa’ and Bassten did. I stopped at the bar. Pretty much, I didn’t leave the bar that entire night.

As I remained lurking in the saloon alone, a little gay boy with a mohawk sat down next to me. He had tears in his darling little homosexual eyes. I couldn’t stand for that.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

“My boyfriend dumped me today, for someone else.” He said.

“What?” I asked in shock, “You are amazing! I HATE HIM!”

That was all it took, immediately we bonded. You see, I was also broken-hearted by whatever idiot had just dumped me. I had an acute case of depression I like to refer to as my 20’s.

“Thanks. I’m Eddie by the way.”

“I’m *****. What are you drinking?” I asked my new pal.

“Oh nothing, I don’t have any money.” He said.

“Pffft! Please, I’m buying.” I said.

“Are you sure? A Long Island Ice Tea, if you don’t mind.”

“Two Long Island’s, please.” I told the bartender.

Two we drank. Followed by two more. Actually, we drank them until my credit card was declined. I never even made it inside to watch the band. That’s when it happened; The music ended and my Fun Girls we ready to go. I wasn’t quite as willing to leave just yet because I was still midway through my self-loathing with Eddie. My friends humored me until the bar was shut down. Flowa’ was still inside saying goodnight to her friend (who happened to be black) when Bassten tried to convince me to walk to the car.

“But..I have to go pee!” I slurred.

“They closed the venue, *****. Can you wait until we get back?” Bassten asked.

It was too late. I already found my spot to go; a beautiful planter filled with an assortment of exotic flowers.

On Rodeo Drive.

Yup, that’s right. I pulled up my skirt and slipped my panties down before releasing a nine inch stream of 90 proof urine.

Just as I was about to pull my pants up Flowa’ walked out with her friend. She looked like a deer in headlights.

“Oh my God! What is she doing?” Flowa’ yelled.

“You go, Girl,” Flowa’s friend encouraged to me, with a laugh.

That’s when I said it. Right there in Beverly Hills, with my panties around my ankles I said the “N” word.

“You are my N*****!”

Luckily Flowa’s friend was a good sport and decided not to kick my ass.

“You are my cracka’!” She yelled back.

Before I could even get my panties up, Flowa’ had me by the arm and was frantically dragging me to my car, Bassten followed. I thought this would be the perfect time to remove my shirt. Actually, I was able to do just that and wiggle out of Flowa’s grasp at the exact same time.

I’m an excellent multi-tasker!

Flowa’ did not like this, actually she was bright red and horrified.

“Oh my God! You are going to get us arrested!” She screamed.

In a panic, Flowa’ turned around to look to Bassten for some help. That’s when she noticed it.

Right there next to me, jogging down the street, flopping up and down, were Bassten’s titties. That’s right, she didn’t want me to feel alone so she also removed her top.

Eventually we made it into the car and buckled up with the shoulder strap between our melons. Other cars were honking at us.

Flowa’ was begging, “Please, please you guys! Put on your shirts! We are gonna go to jail!”

“Turn right!” I yelled from the back seat, “You are missing the turn! You just missed my house.”

“*****, we are in Beverly Hills! You live miles from here, plus you are staying at Bassten’s!” Flowa’ was a wreck.

Luckily for her, I passed out.

The next morning I awoke topless in Bassten’s bed. Okay, so it was the next afternoon.

“Here! Put dis on!” Bassten said to me while throwing a t-shirt at my face.

“Where’s my shirt?” I asked.

“In Beverly Hills.”

“Huh? What time is it?” I asked.

“Late! Get dressed, we are gonna’ miss ‘Dancin’ Wid Da Stars!'”

“What about brunch with Flowa’?” I asked.

“I don’t think she’s gonna wanna talk to yas for a while.”

“What, why?” I asked confused.

“I’ll tell ya in da car!”

Bassten was right, Flowa’ didn’t talk to me for a quite while after that. We never made it to, ‘Dancing With The Stars” on time, either.

Donut, who? Shhhhhh…


If you enjoyed what you just read, become active in the authors warped community:

*Don’t forget to “LIKE” the “It’s Not My Fault.” Facebook page!*

*Leave a comment below*

*Buy the Book!*

*Subscribe to the “It’s Not My Fault” Youtube & Funny or Die pages*

*Follow this shit on Twitter*

*Stay updated on Google+*


    1. LOL!!!

      Thank you so much! YES!! The book is currently being prepared for ebook (nook, kindle) distribution. It will be available online for $9.99 in about three weeks at most major retailers. I’m also publishing on paperback and it will be available for purchase through this website as well as most major retailers. More details to come.

      Thanks again for your kind words! ❤


What do YOU have to say about this? Comment here!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.