Today I'm going to introduce a new term to your personal vocabulary. That term is "Potch Cruncher". It was coined in the summer of 2006...
What an idiot I was. I went a little crazy that summer, going out to bars every damn night although I had to work at 8 the next morning. I was dealing badly with a temporary breakup, and didn't quite know what to do with myself. So bars became my crutch.
One night during that jerk-tastic summer, a friend and I stopped by a house party on our way to the bar. I didn't know anyone, but you know me... I'll talk to just about anyone. One guy that I was not talking to decided that I was real goshdarn peachy keen and neat-o. He was cute, but I was uninterested and ready to leave. Before I left, he said "Come back after the bar, cuz I'm gonna kiss you."
My thoughts? Sorry buddy... not happenin'.
So to the the bar we went. That particular night, I was going to make an effort to be somewhat responsible and go home early-ish. An 8am work start can come quicker than you'd expect. As I'm driving my friend home, she decides that she wants to go back to that house party. I tell her I'll drop her off, but I'm not getting out of the car. I don't want that Kissy Dude to know I'm there, because he'll never let me leave.
Little did I know that she texted ahead to let them know I was dropping her off.
Of course she did.
I park in the driveway, telling her to hurry and get out so I can go home. As soon as she opened her car door, there he was. Kissy Dude. The next thing I knew, he was sitting in the passenger seat grinning at me like an escaped mental patient. The guy was stealth. And so, as he foretold earlier, he kissed me.
It should really end there, right? He kissed me, I laughed at him, then I went home. But no. There's still the potch crunching segment of my tale.
As he kisses me, he takes the opportunity to punch me in the crotch repeatedly. I shit you not, dear readers. He was punching me in the crotch. And dammit, it hurt.
I yelled "What the crap are you doing?!?!" His response? Something along the lines of "you know you like it."
No. No, I did not like it. He was clearly an idiot. So I quite literally threw him out of my car and drove away.
And that is the story of the Crotch Puncher, known to me, my friends and random locals as the "Potch Cruncher".
Beware, ladies. Your crotches may be in peril.