Quote:
Originally posted by Mmmm, Burger (C.J.)
So the way to illustrate this is by having a pig go into the bathroom at a bar, and come out looking hot for the single woman? Look! He's being responsible by waiting until he gets to the bar to buy a condom!
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My favorite "don't have a condom on me" story was from an adventure with a friend of mine at Poly Esters in San Francisco. While I was dancing in the
exact same spot where she'd been bitten on the ass by some random guy the last time we'd been there*, a guy ran up to me, grabbed me by the shoulders and yelled "Do you have a condom?" His voice broke there at the end. I paused a second, thought through the contents of my purse, and said "Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. I do." I reached back into my purse, rifled around a bit, and pulled one out (I think it was ribbed. Definitely lubed.) and gave it to him. He kissed me and said "thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou" and he ran away. I presume it went to good use.
*Amusing detail that adds nothing really to the story, but helps lead credence to the theory that that particular part of the dancefloor is really a vortex of weirdness. I haven't since been back to test the theory further. 
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