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The Drunken Slutmorphosis

When some people get drunk, they get friendly. When other people get drunk, they get into fights. Occasionally, there are those annoying drunks that get weepy. As for me, when I get drunk…well, how do I put this politely?

all downhill from here

In case you can’t figure it out, I’m the dude in glasses who looks like Harry Potter.

Oh yeah, I turn into a massive whore.

Generally, this isn’t a problem. It mainly just involves making out with strangers and giving my number out indiscriminately. Usually, the whole phone number thing isn’t an issue, because I’m so drunk I can no longer recall my own number. In the off chance that I can, when I’m drunk I write like a 4 year old with palsy, so it kind of works out.

Then I got business cards. Seriously, eat me VistaPrint. What the hell was I thinking?

Last night, I went out, purse full of business cards. Like any responsible adult, I had my mother drop me off so I could just get annihilated drunk. It was all going swimmingly. Then about, um 4000 beers in, I morphed into my alter ego, Drunkenslutessa, and started handing those things out like they were confetti at a New Years Eve party.

This morning, I awoke to a cell phone full of text messages from a large group of (hopefully) handsome strangers.

Here’s where it gets complicated.

In my drunken state, I had no ability to retain any identifying information about any of these guys. Not even names. I’m stuck with vague descriptions, like ‘hot marine’, or ‘hot British guy’ or ‘hot Brazilian soccer team’ (yeah, that wasn’t a typo. I’m pretty sure I gave my number to an entire soccer team.)

So now, when one of them texts me, I have to try and figure out who the hell they are by asking a series of subtle questions like ‘what’s your favorite color’ or ‘what kind of music do you like’ or ‘how do you feel about deregulating fracking in Central Scotland for the purposes of extracting previously unexploited shale gas reserves?’

Then it occurred to me that my web address is also on my business cards. Which means, that if these guys have any computer literacy at all, they might have stumbled onto my web page by now. This works out perfectly, because I can do this;


First off, let me say right off the bat, it was a pleasure to meet you. If I have not responded to your text by now, please be assured its nothing against you. I just have many candidates to consider for the position…the position being under me (or on top of me, if you insist on being a traditionalist).

I would like to clarify one point before this goes any further between us. I am not usually a crass, slutty, boorish, outspoken person who randomly touches strangers in their bathing suit area on the first meeting. You might be surprised to learn this, but I am actually a crass, slutty, boorish outspoken person who only touches people in their bathing suit area on the third date…most of the time.

To explain my behavior last night, I suffer from a disability called ‘slutmorphosis’. This results in me turning into an absolute whore once I have had more than three beers. I also haven’t been laid in awhile, so I have a lot of pent up frustration. The way I see it, I really need to get it on…or start a fight club. Maybe both.

Anyway, I want to apologize for any embarrassment I may have caused when I touched your penis in front of your girlfriend, wife, children, pastor or AA sponsor. My hands seem to have a mind of their own, which makes me an excellent writer, but also a potential sex offender.

If you are still interested in seeing me, please text your name, nationality and feelings on UK fracking to me at your earliest convenience. If not, thank you for your initial interest…and thank you for letting me touch your penis.

Essa Alroc
Evil Genius, Writer and Drunken Whore


They way I see it, anyone who would tolerate me after last nights behavior might be the one. As such, I’m making sure I cover all my bases. In addition, anyone who would hunt me down on the internet and actually read that message might just have the obsessive tendencies that I need in a mate to feed my damn near compulsive attention seeking behaviors. It’s a win/win.

Thank you internet.

11 thoughts on “The Drunken Slutmorphosis

  1. Ok I can no longer read your posts while lying next to my sleeping husband. The guffaw that burst out of me damn near gave the poor man a heart attack! I kinda like him and we don’t have enough insurance to make becoming a widow worthwhile so you my dear are my daytime only read from now on.

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