Why I don't use Bic Pens

Scene: Tiki Bobs. circa 2002.

cast: me, df, and 3 members of the esteemed "Birmingham Vulcans Rugby team"

(other variables include, but are not limited to: A small amount of dankity dank, a few anxiety pills, and lots and lots of crisp, refreshing beer.)

DF & I are sitting at the bar when approached by these three strapping young gentlemen. We all somehow start dancing? And the guy that is pressing his denim boner in my ass to the beat of the music (I'm calling him Bic) whispers (romantically) in my ear:

"Do you want a hit of X?"
me: No, dude. No.
Him: Your friend took one.
Me: Irregardless, no. I'm flyin' high as it is.

Satisfied that I am messed up enough to leave with them, he quits asking me about the x. I don't know what clued him in to my willingness to leave with him. My sitting in his lap, maybe actually publicly groping his denim boner a few times, or me saying, "So, are you driving?"

My friend is into his friend. DOn't really know about the other guy, but who cares, right?
We all leave at about 4 a.m.
We're headed to Gardendale.

We arrive at our destination, a house that smelled like an open grave on the inside, by the way. Me and Bic head up to his room. Somewhere in the course of trying to get each others clothes off as fast as possible and waking up the next morning, I definitely blacked out. I remember him saying something like, everyone is rolling downstairs, come down. I was confused. DId this literally mean, people are rolling their bodies down flights of stairs, or did it mean people were experiencing X, together, downstairs?
You, reader, know the logical answer to that. I, unfortunately, did not. Thats how fugged up I was.
Anyway, I declined.
He said, I'll be back. I have a vague memory of saying something terminator related here, but thats it. Next thing I know, theres sun shining through the curtains.
I still hear techno music playing downstairs. I look at my phone. 8 am. Damn.

At this time, I realize I am naked.
(years later, "waking up naked and lost" will be the numbero uno reason I DO NOT take other peoples prescription medicine)

Okay. I can only surmise one thing at this point. I hooked up with the guy. Not my best moment, I know, but I just want to get out of there. The walk of shame is on deck. Only.. something is wrong when I move. SOMETHING IS BAD WRONG.

Yeah. Theres something in my butt.
It moved with me when I rolled. I feel around. Something familar. I pick up the phone. Call my friend, hoping to GOD shes still there. She answers.

DF: you must be ready to go.
me: Get up here.
DF: we're still partying!
me: GET.UP.HERE.

I hear footsteps and my breathless friend bursts through the door, Kramer style. She looks rough. But she doesnt have anything wedged in her ass, so shes doing a lot better than me.

DF: WHAT!
me: Theres something in my butt!
DF: (loses all self control and starts laughing hysterically) WHAT!
I show her the culprit. It's a motherfuckin' bic pen.

DF: YOu had an INK PEN, in your ASS?
me: Yep.
DF: Like, cap deep?
me: no, but definitely to this point (halfway in, people) I want to get out of here. Call a cab, walk downstairs, and dont say SHIT to anyone.

DF is fascinated. How did it get in there? Did he put it there? Did I roll onto it? We quickly eliminate the last option because physics wouldnt allow it.
Someone came up, after I was blacked out and put this in my butt, yo.

We sit for about 10 minutes and wait for the cab. Once we see that golden yellow savior pull up to the house, i'm literally, "rolling down the stairs" trying to get out of there, but also praying DF doesnt say shit. The Lord was not with me that day.

As we're walking out, here are DF's parting words.
DF: AND DONT THINK WE DONT KNOW YOU STUCK A PEN IN MY FRIENDS ASS!