as told by the big brown cunt…
i needed a break from the usual bunch of hos and tricks i waste away my youth with, so naturally, i went to the source. and by source, i mean my inspiration in life. if people call me the big brown cunt, this bitch, who happens to be family by the dub, is the big brown cunt squared. if you think my actions make me a crazy slut, this bitch makes me look like a prude girl scout wearing one of those cracker jack promise rings. as our destination for debauchery, we chose the mystical and magical hot spot, monte carlo. for those low class members of society, monte carlo happens to be where billionaires blow their money gambling, as well as wining and dining their barely legal escorts. bbc squared and i spent a fair amount of time drinking ourselves into oblivion, and baking our perfect bodies on the beaches of the french riviera. when feeling the need for some sort of activity, we would dip into the super salty mediterranean, which can be aptly described by bbc squared: “this water is worse than cum”.
after our daily dose of vitamin d and skin cancer, we returned to our hotel to prepare for the main event: a night at jimmy’z, the ultra exclusive club at the monte carlo casino. we dolled up as slutty bombshells in our jimmy choo knockoffs and short pseudo designer dresses. of course, we had our main accessory hanging from our lips: cigarettes. for the non-cultured folks, cigarettes are crucially necessary to pass off as european, and not some american tourist trash. we hop on the train and arrive at the club at precisely 11:30, only to be shocked to see that it does not open until midnight. our emotions at this point could be summed up in one word: embarrasseddisappointedfrustrated. the kind bouncer then escorted us to the lounge which offered our favorite source of sustenance for this trip: a full service bar. for the next half hour, we indulged in many too many b52 shots with the five male waiters, who all heartily recommended we skip on jimmy’z because the night would not end well. if only we had listened to these modern day nostradamuses. nostradami? whatev.
with our blood alcohol content now at a more appropriate 0.20, we saunter into the lame jimmy’z. a quick yet thorough assessment of the septuagenarians populating the premises forces us to make a beeline for the bar so that we could more easily accept our unfortunate surroundings. our fortunes quickly turned when two attractive young gentlemen walk up to us and offer to finance our next round of flaming b52s. they cooly explain to us that they are italian business yuppies and had a private table with bottle service. nothing else needed to be said, and our next destination was in our gps. a few more glasses of champagne, and the night ends in darkness for me. 8 hours later and luckily not missing any teeth, i wake up still waste face in our hotel in an unfamiliar shirt with smeared makeup. i look around to see the bbc squared sitting calmly eating some watermelon. she then informed that i had lost my camera and that we had missed our train to milan.
chomping away at her slice of watermelon, bbc squared helped me to fill in the blanks. she and i had decided to each take an italian stallion; she took the tall vince vaugh looking fellow, while i took the shorter blonde with glasses, who purportedly looked like a poor man’s bill gates. i cannot refute this claim as my camera had gone mia. also, i have no recollection of the night. but i have poor taste in men, so i took her word for it. we each have our way with these men, but the bbc squared splits after legit 3 minutes, “to use the loo”. 8 feet away from her previous hook up spot, she then proceeds to get it on hardxxcore with a saudi prince. well, that is just awkward for poor vince. in my quarter hearted attempt to be a decent human being, i try to console him over my partner in sluttiness’ infidelity, but to no avail. the two then offer me an ultimatum. i could either leave with the both of them back to their villa to engage in the devil’s threesome, or can leave their vip table immediatamente. i choose the latter, and proceed to steal the bbc squared away from a future life of lavishness because we needed to leave and catch our 2 am bus.
with heels in hand, we sprint to the bus stop, only to discover that it is actually 4:30 in the am, and the next bus or train will not be leaving until 6 am. taxis back to our hotel, an oh so far 10 km, were turning out to be 80 euro. since we are frugal bitches, we cancel that idea, and decide that the best thing to do would be what any other drunk and hot girl needing a ride would do: ask for gratis rides back home from strangers on the road at this hour. after many failed attempts at securing our safe passage home, a french guy in a mercedes suv, who goes by the name casanova apparently, pulls up and offers a ride back, “at no cost!” tricky frenchy motherfucker.
the ride started off quite pleasantly, with details of our respective lives and small chit chat playfully bantered between the three of us, with many profuse offerings of thanks thrown at this francophone. however, he abruptly pulls over and proceeds to lean over and make out hardxxxcore with bbc squared sitting shotgun. uncomfortable and unhappy and unknowing of what to do as a member of my clan was being tongue lashed by this strange man, i decided against taking a picture, and just sat there in silence with my eyes covered. this pattern of driving a couple kilometers and the random pulling over and prostitution repeated itself a few times for the duration of the trip. bbc squared was a trooper and she gained my utmost gratitude that night. we were bid adieu in front of our hotel, and the two of us stood there and looked at each other for a second before simultaneously saying, “well, that was a bad decision”.