Blood, Snakes, and Arsenio Hall

When I was in New Hampshire several years ago, I went home with this woman after we got off work at the bar we were both employed at. It had been a long day, and we both figured we might drink and fool around a bit now that we were outta there.

We climbed the janky stairs to the apartment she shared with her brother, Mark. She opens the door that leads into the kitchen and we both just stood there with our mouths agape at the scene before us.

The normally white linoleum floor in the kitchen was completely covered in blood, there was blood on the kitchen table, the counters, splashed onto the once-white appliances. It was incredible, beautiful in a way, but horrifying. It was a scene out of a fucking slasher flick.

It got more incredible when I noticed there were interesting “trails” through the blood, and when my friend noticed it, she started yelling, “MARK? ARE YOU OK?  MARK! FUCK, TELL ME YOU’RE OK!!!” because, for whatever reason, the blood wasn’t enough of a prompt call to out to her very possibly dead brother.

The trails, as it turns out, were from the bodies of their two giant snakes, a python and a boa constrictor, who were named Bonnie and Clyde.

So I’m initially standing there thinking ok, we have a murder scene. I am at a fucking murder scene. People are fucking dead, and here I fucking am, and all I wanted to do is drink whiskey and get laid.

Then, once realizing there are giant snakes loose in the house, I’m suddenly thinking, “WE HAVE A MURDER SCENE AND THE FUCKING SNAKES ATE THE BODY.”

My eyes followed the swirly trails of blood into the living room, and we see the snakes…just chilling out on the couch. Like you do when you’re a free-range giant fucking reptile I guess.  Neither one looked excessively fat, so I surmised that perhaps Mark wasn’t inside either one of them. This was a relief to his sister.

The TV was playing in the background, and The Arsenio Hall Show was on. The snakes were enjoying a fine performance by MC Hammer. Cool..cool. This is normal.

This was before cell phones were widely used by anyone but rich people, so my friend started making frantic calls from the bloody phone in the kitchen and finally got an answer after call number four of five.

Turns out, Mark had gotten super fucking drunk, sliced the bejesus out of his hand AND leg on a beer bottle he had broken while trying to open it, bled everywhere while waiting for his buddy to come get him and take him to the emergency room, and no one was dead.

All I had wanted was to get laid, to be honest.

Did not happen.

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