TKOG Who has probably watched Deep Throat too many times (mega TMI Thursday and pics NSFW to boot!)

Mom, please don’t read this. I’m serious. Don’t read it. Don’t read it. Everyone else, just blame LiLu and her amazing TMI Thursdays.

NTKOG #139: The ultimate Woo Girl. I mean, we’re talking MySpace picture-takin’, pink-liqueur-swillin’, Cancun-on-spring-breakin’ “holy frig someone swab out this girl’s throat and SEND THE PETRI DISH TO THE SMITHSONIAN” Woo Girl.

I am: to the archetypal sorority girl as Valtrex is to the archetypal sorority girl’s herpes. Natural enemies, dudes.

I am not: sure I should be sharing the following story with the internet. Helloooooooo, prospective employers slash bedfellows!

The Scene:  A sleazy little Barcelonan tourist trap named Chupitos. The word “chupito” is diminutive form of the word “chupa” which means — if I’m correctly recalling the “verbs you’ll subsequently use to make sexual innuendo” unit of Honors Spanish II — “suck,” and the whole mess comes together to mean “shots.”

Oh, and shots there were aplenty. The bar serves over 300 of the little bastards for a mere two Euro apiece. Each comes with its own little gimmick. Flaming shots, bob-in-whipped-cream shots, shots that are boiled and from which you drink only the alcoholic vapor, one fantastic shot in which a plastic drinking straw is blown into a bubble that you must teabag until your mouth (and hair) are flooded with sticky-sweet banana liqueur — all these shots are considered good wholesome fun, of course. There is only one shot the name of which is whispered in horror by all: The Lewinsky.

THE LEWINSKY.

Kiss-Ducker had seen the spectacle before, and explained it to me. Basically, a large dildo is strapped over a can of beer and covered in whipped cream. The victim is blindfolded by the bartender and, after a little build-up, has to attack the creamed-up sex toy and shotgun the beer.

Guys, I’m going to let the sheer disgustingness sink in with you for a minute. Even the threat of mixing beer and whipped cream would be enough to turn off the normal human — let alone the fact that it’s ejaculated from a communal dildo. It’s unsanitary. It’s disgusting. It’s unthinkable.

Oh yeah. I was all over that shiz like — well, I mean, consider the source material and write your own joke. (Seriously, Mom, STOP READING.) Unfortunately, before I could ask Kiss-Ducker to order the shot to “surprise me with,” a pair of flamboyant midwestern dudes shrieked out their own order for a Lewinsky. The bar staff mumbled dramatically for twenty minutes (“un hombre?!“) before they served him his heart’s desire:

Um, can we please elect a first female president who gets her own sex scandal so we can have equal-opportunity grody novelty bar shots?!

“Wait a minute!” I shrieked to Kiss-Ducker. “That’s what I was nervous about?! Shit, I could whistle Battle Hymn of the Republic with that in my mouth.”

It was a carefree, cocky TKOG who, twenty minutes later, feigned meekness as the bartender blindfolded her. (“It’s my birthday!” I explained halfheartedly to a group of American sororstitutes who’d overheard Kiss-Ducker’s order. “My friend told me she got me a special shot. I wonder what it is?!”) I mean, okay, the hygiene isn’t fantastic, but whatever, guys. I got this.

The weight of the whole bar’s attention was like a wet wool coat on my skin. Oiled-Up Bartender spun me so my back was to the bar, then leaned his lips all the way into my right ear. You. Are Monica Lewinsky. I am President Bill Clinton. You have concerns about your career… Then he spun me around and pushed down my lips to meet:

See that nose on the right-hand side? Yeah, that's mine.

You guys, I’m not going to harp, but let me just say that the fact the dildo is BIGGER THAN THE BARTENDER’S HEAD is no trick of perspective. It was wider than anything I’ve ever considered. Like, go ahead and touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb. Now move it out an inch. Now another inch. Haha, no, I’m just fuckin’ making conversation, kids – go ahead and curl up your hand into a fist and punch the back of your throat like fifteen times. Yeah. That’s what we’re talking about.

The crowd laughed at first, but as the shot went on (and on and on and on), the chuckles faded to nervous titters to the heavy silence of a group, en masse, pointedly ignoring the grotesque. Finally, by a small miracle, the beer can was empty and I could flee upstairs to clear beer off of every square inch of my friggin’ torso. And thus ends the tale of the Lewinsky.

Except not really. For the next two days, I could barely swallow. At first I assumed it was some sort of communal dildo fungal throat disease. Then, in a moment of exasperation, I explored the back of my throat with my fingers and realized that the dildo had punched a hole through the back of my damn throat. The soft skin behind my uvula felt and looked like the gapped seam of a pillowcase around a hole that stuffing’s coming out of.

Oh, and now I probably have esophageal herpes. Woooooooooooooo!

The Verdict: Yeah, I — I don’t know why I thought this would be funny to do. Turns out that just because something is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and sort of NC-17-ily cinematic doesn’t mean you ought to do it.

Also, if some of you noticed the date today and halfway through this entry started smirking to yourself, I see what’s going on here — she’s just trying to fool us into believing that she’s tasteless enough to do something this horrific!, then, uh, fooled you into thinking I was joking?

Tagged as: bar, barcelona, dildo, i am however kidding about the esophageal herp. although i did have a sore throat for a week afterwards. maybe more than the average cold?, if i really had gotten sick from this i TOTALLY would have lied when they took my medical history, man i hope the internet is deleted before my kids are old enough to understand this story, nsfw, regular readers will note this is the second time i've fellated a dildo for the purposes of this blog -- what up?, stories i should not tell the internet, TMI Thursday