Eye Are El Gee Eph

IRL GF. That's what it says. 1337 speak, if you catch my 69-420.

Ok, enough of that stupid shit. You came here for funny, and I owe it to you after making you feel horrible for liking FFXI. Which you should, don't get me wrong. But Allow me to make it up to ya'll.

I have a bit of a story to tell, so let's gather 'round the roarin' fiar, rustle up some beans with fatback, and hunker down for another Asrail Storytime Excrapoganza™. Please note that I will not be mentioning any actual names or ingame characters because I do not know if this person still plays and/or stands outside of my window at night and salivates at the thought of my skin as a suit.

This particular tale begins, like most tales of horror, within the slimy walls of Crawler's Nest. I had been helping some random peasant murder water sprites for something Black Mage-related, when there came a shouting of the most sexual nature. As all shouting becomes eventually.

And, as all shouting that is sexual will eventually come down to, people argued over which race would be the most pleasurable to pound in the pud. Men, of course. Always men, with their penises. Some longer than others (ladies).

Then she came.

Like a bolt of lighting striking a magical walking vagina with other body parts, she came. From her mouth came the shout that Elvaan are the most sexually desirable, to which I gave a hearty "Nay, young lady, 'tis the Mithra of the land give the best vajoo, I daresay" or something like that. May have been closer to "Mithra are hot with boobs."

So we discussed, in length, the various ways Mithra were superior to Elvaan. There were many.

We eventually added each other to friend lists, and over the course of the next month, had various online sexytalk that probably ended in unmentionable activities. There was also phone conversations which ended the same way.

'Tis the will of the Gods, and who am I to defy that will?

Through the many late night talks, we discovered a mutual love for heavy metal, video games, and the sex; three things which rank high on my list of desired features in a mate. Also she was of legal age, which ranks pretty high as well, I guess.

I kid, I kid. I made sure of age requirements before I even started talking about how much better the Mithra could fellatiate my dangle-doo. I am a man of respect. Also, I would rather not go to jail and become someone's wife.

Said of-age-girl revealed to me that even though she lived and worked as an elementary schoolteacher in Canada, she had always wanted to visit New Orleans. I told her she should, which at the time, I thought would be impossible. Canada is like, a million miles away, after all.

But guess what happened.

She had rented a hotel in the heart of the city for a week long vacation, to which I promptly made up some story and took a few days off work. I'm just a nice guy like that.

I met her on a cold or warm morning-afternoonish of either spring, summer, fall or winter.

Let's not get into specifics.

The hotel she chose, which I can divulge the name, was Le Pavillion, which I can only assume is French for "One night costs your first born." I wish I was joking, but I just checked the prices, and it starts at $190 a night.

STARTS.

How did this girl afford to take a week off work and pay for a twenty-six star hotel while working as a snot-wiper for small humans? More importantly: WHY DID SHE DO THIS FOR ME??

I mean, I get it. I'm handsome and charming with a nice dangle bit. But at the time, I didn't have a vehicle (which I told her was in the shop, gosh dangit), and I didn't even have a full Viking beard.

We don't speak of those dark, beardless times, or risk invoking the presence of Dagon.

So I get to the hotel, she's upstairs wrapped in blankets, and the A/C is turned down to 'meat locker'. I give her a kiss and crawl into bed, falling asleep in her freezing Canadian embrace.

The next day was full of fun and exploring. Although I lived and ate small crustaceans in this state, I had never really took a leisurely trip around the French Quarter. We visited the few places I knew of. We ate at the Red Fish Grill, which was very disappointing. I took her to Reverend Zombie's, which she really dug, being all metal and whatnot. I made various charming jokes, pointing to things an asking if they had it in Canada. And we even booked a walking tour of the Quarter!

Walking!

Yay!

The tour was fun, and something strange happened. So, if you're not familiar, they have tours down here where a guide walks you around the city and tells you stuff. This one happened to be a ghost tour. We visited various spots where historical figures were murdered and/or committed sudoku.

At this one particular home, the guide informs us of an event that happened on a balcony overhead. A woman, waiting for her husband to return from war, is stricken with grief after learning he died in battle. She hangs herself from the balcony.

Sucks, bro.

As the guide is talking, I'm taking pictures of the balcony. I snap four pictures quickly, no more than two seconds apart. After the tour ends, I take a look at the pictures, and something catches my eye. The first two picture were normal, but the third had a huge glowing orb right above the balcony. The fourth picture was also normal.

I had to do a double take, because the orb was glowing and looked sorta like the moon, yet the moon wasn't out that night at all. We show the tour guide, and he tells us that it's really strange and we caught something unique. We fist bump each other, and kiss.

The girl and I, not the tour guide.

Do I really have to spell this crap out for you people?

Upon returning to the hotel, we notice a vast amount of kids and adult with Jesus type clothing giving us dirty looks, as we were naturally clad in the cold embrace of darkness. Turns out the week she decided to visit was also the week a Lutheran convention was happening in town. Thousands of Bible-thumpers avoided our path and made the sign of the cross while spraying us with holy water.

No fucking joke. Someone sprayed me with holy water because I was wearing a Cannibal Corpse shirt depicting cadavers in various stages of mutilation.

Good times, bro. Good times.

We get back to the room and she inquires as to weather or not I have seen the TV series Dexter, because she brought the first season on DVD and wanted to watch it. I had not seen it at the time, and told her I was interested, so she calls room service and had them bring up a DVD player.

We start watching, and it's a pretty sweet show. Crime scene blood splatter analysis guy solves crimes while covering up his own murders for personal reasons. Pretty sweet. But you know what else was sweet? All that blood got her hot and bothered. That night, we did the sex. And it was pretty... embarrassing.

We were both nervous, and it was all wet and stuff. Just not a very good time. Afterwards we never spoke of it again.

The next few days, she spent most of her time talking about Halo. Which I never really cared for, but to each their own, yet when that's all you start to talk about, it gets a little annoying. She showed me videos of Halo players and told me about how her main aspiration was to become a professional Halo player.

Read that again. Professional Halo player.

*Rubs my temples*

It's about this time I wish she would return to the land of maple syrup and beavers, yet there she remained. Just her, me, and iGotUrPistola.

Needless to say, we lost contact after she left. It wasn't a bad thing, just probably not what expected. We were young, and I had not yet grown a beard of wisdom. Yet it will always be something I treasure. It's experiences like that which make life worth living. And if you let a little not-too-great sex interrupt your flow, you're not living at all, man.

In conclusion, I say to all of you: Go for it. No matter what it is, just go for it. Bad times will always be present, yet it's those bad times that make us who we are, and make the good times even sweeter.

Have a great weekend, everyone.