For whatever reason, my mother trusted me with our old house. My parents built it when I was in kindergarten and I can honestly say it was the nicest one on our street. If I can give my dad one compliment, because I can't give him many, it's that he maintained our house like a professional. When my parents were separating, my mom would go away for weekends and leave me the house. I don't know what would possess her to do such a thing, but she trusted me nonetheless. I guess she figured if there were any issues, my dad, who was fucking the neighborhood whore across the street, would get ahold of her.
One night, I decided to have a random array of friends over for a party. I had been having parties on a regular basis now and had coined them "SnyderFests". This particular night, a friend from work, a lesbian, brought her lesbian friends. I love lesbians, especially my friend, let's call her Marissa. Marissa was one of the funniest lesbians I had ever met and probably my only gay friend. Side note: I don't prefer having other homosexuals as friends and for some reason, meeting lesbians is a hard task... honestly, where do they hang out?
Marissa and her friends drove up from downtown Wheeling, after leaving the bar, LaCage. LaCage (spelling?) was a gay bar and probably the only one in our godforsaken town. They drove up to my house, intoxicated from LaCage and we continued drinking into the night... Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing even rowdy about this "Snyderfest"...
The next morning, I awoke to random lesbians all over my living room. I took a lesbian roll call and found one was missing, but nobody knew where she was. I started cleaning up and another lesbian friend of theirs picked all the remaining lesbos up. After a couple hours of recouping, I decided to go to the gym. As I was backing out of my driveway, a police car was pulling in. WTF
We both got out of our cars and he greeted me with, "Are you Dylan Snyder?" I responded "yes" and he proceeded to ask if I had a party last night, to which I assured him only a few friends were over; it wasn't a party. Truthfully, I wouldn't have called the prior night a party- more like a small drunken gathering. Wellllll, apparently there was a girl in the local Emergency Room claiming she was at my house and wasn't in good shape. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I was told to follow him to the police station.
Once I arrived, the policeman starting grilling me, asking who I had invited over, what we were drinking, and if there were drugs involved... then he dropped the bomb: the girl, who I had pieced together was the missing lesbian, told her mother she was drugged... at my house... and they assumed it was me. NOW, what would I, an openly gay kid, benefit from drugging a goddamn lesbian?? He then asked for my account of the night. I immediately told him how that group of girls had arrived at my house after visiting LaCage in downtown. The policeman's face was instantly dismayed... apparently, the girl, who was underage and not out to her family, decided to keep that part of her night out of her story. I could even remember her bragging to me at my house that she had been bought many drinks at LaCage... Bitch, if you were drugged, it was probably by one of those filthy lesbians who frequent that dirty, dikey bar.
I gave him a written statement, maintaining that I had nothing to do with her misfortunes that night and asked if he knew my mother, the principal at our local elementary school, which seemed to help me in the situation. Before I walked out of the makeshift police station situated in the center of our dreary community park, I asked if I needed to get a lawyer. He said I should be ok, but that he'd be in contact with me soon. I never heard back.
Later that day, after calling Marissa and flipping shit on her and asking what the fuck happened to her stupid lesbian friend, I was able to piece together the night. Apparently, the lesbian who was missing in the morning had left my house the night before in her car... Even though Marissa did not condone. I don't condone drinking and driving either, although I've been known to do it, but this bitch definitely didn't need to be behind the wheel. She was found in the early morning hours walking up a major roadway several miles from my house, disoriented, intoxicated, and covered in blood. Blood. Da fuck? This twat had driven her car from my house to South Wheeling, a good five miles. But, during her drive, she managed to rip the concreted basketball hoop out of my neighbor's front yard, which pierced her windshield and continued driving to her destination of the Lowe's parking lot. When found covered in blood walking up the road, she was taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning and suspicion of drug use. You would think that a large object, like a basketball hoop, piercing through your windshield would have deterred her from continuing her drunken voyage OR given her cuts and scrapes, leading to the blood found on her... but... It. Wasn't. Her. Blood. WHAT?! I don't think they ever determined where the blood came from. It could've been from a number of things, like, maybe she also ran down a small animal and decided to check on its survival... or maybe she killed a hobo in cold blood with a gun she had stolen from LaCage. Either way, that was the most peculiar part of the night and I don't care to know where the blood truly came from.
I haven't seen this lesbian since and I don't even remember her name. She lost a lot of my respect the moment she claimed I drugged her... like, really bitch? You got what you deserved: your stomach pumped, your car fucked, and outed to your family. Cyabyeeee
-DMS
