You know that whole chaos thing, where a butterfly in Burkina Faso can create a hurricane in Florida? Well, I think that's sort of what happened to me.


It all started with Ramone, who is my roommate. I am engaged to Trisha, and Ramone is engaged to Betty. And a few nights ago and we were on a double date, which, as usual, consisted of watching a Schwarzenegger film, eating ramen and drinking Sake. And I was cuddling Trisha, and Betty was engrossed in the movie, and no one noticed the slightly inebriated Ramone mistake my laundry basket for the bin, and tip the leftover noodles into it.

I and II

The following night, I was walking through campus, when I saw a distinctly familiar person wearing distinctly familiar pants. Damn! Is that Ramone in my trousers? "Hey, Ramone, why are you wearing my trousers?" I asked him. He didn't have a good pair, and wanted to look good for his date with Betty. Of course, as usual, this was a double date, so I walked with him to Betty and Trisha's (who are also roommates). As we entered, we heard Betty yell, "Damn! Is that a ramequin in my Trousseau? I knew I shouldn't have eaten while I was getting the wedding stuff in order." Oh no, Betty was on the verge of tears. Only one thing to do: break out a Schwarzenegger movie. So the four of us sat down to watch "Terminator," which I had conveniently been carrying with me.

III and IV

"Damn! Is that Rambo in my Terminator?" I shouted. Someone had recorded over my copy of Terminator. I was flabbergasted, if that is indeed a word. I was also discombobulated and disenripetated, whichever one of those is actually a word too. So to cheer us up, we drove off to Ramone's farm, to ride upon his horse. The horse had, unfortunately, died in an unfortunate accident involving a metronome, some cake and a bicycle, and a blood-covered chicken was standing over his body. "Damn! Is that a red hen on my trotter?", Ramone shouted. This day was getting worse by the minute.


We decided to go out for some up-cheering. We couldn't decide whether to go to the Spanish or the Italian quarter of the city. The Italian had some great 14th-century poet mimics, but the Spanish quarter had some fantastic Latin music played on brass instruments. We decided on Spanish, but nothing could prepare us for what we were about to hear. "Damn! Is that rhumba on a trombone?" we cried out together.

VI through VIII

Off to the Italian quarter it was. Nothing like noodles to cheer one up, and the leftover noodles from last night had mysteriously disappeared. "Damn! Is that a Roman horny troubadour?" Betty exclaimed. And indeed it was. And apparently he was annoying several people with his raunchy lyrics, including two burly Italians, who began to trounce him. "Damn! Is that a ramming by the trouncers? Or what?" spake Trisha. And indeed it was, a veritable ass-whipping. As the troubadour was whisked away, we awaited our yummy dishes. But the horror! "Damn! is that a raisin in my truffle?" I asked the waitress. "This will not do!" And off strade we.

IX and fin

That night, I had that messed up dream, the one that I'm on Star Trek. But it was different this time. Trisha was having sex with one of those aliens! "Damn! Is that a Romulan in my Trisha?" I woke up, screaming.

"No, it's just ramen in your trousers," Trisha comforted me, and lulled me to sleep.

This has been a sneff challenge.

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