of how I survived two murder attempts in one night

This may come as a shock to you, but one of my closest friends tried to murder me twice in the same night. I thought this was yet another story I would end up taking to my grave, but after what I’ve been through the past few days, I don’t see how I can be quiet about this anymore.

It started as a party at Booyarang’s house, with Giggles and Fartsypants and Mister and one of my other friends you don’t know, whom I lovingly call the Sloth from Ice Age. We were up all night singing Deeply Dippy and Time of My Life; living, laughing, loving every moment of the debauchery. And before I knew it, my face was on fire. It’s amazing how your life can change within seconds.

Here’s what happened that night.

Fartsypants had spent the whole day googling and trying out flaming shot recipes. So he was obviously lit up like a Punjabi house on Diwali (which, for the record, is far more “lit up” than a Christmas tree – prove me wrong, I dare you) by the time he joined the party.

And guess what he wanted to do as soon as he got there.

Fucking flaming shots.

Let me tell you this clearly and in so many words. I don’t do shots. Let alone flaming shots.

I refused.

He set a shotglass on fire.

People cheered.

I refused.

Fartsypants drank it as my eyes widened in disbelief.

He set another shotglass on fire.

I refused.

The Sloth hesitated for one second, and then I saw the flame descending into his throat.

Fartsypants set another shotglass on fire.

Before I could refuse, he had already dared Giggles to try.

Now, the thing about Giggles is, you can’t challenge her. She’ll make sure she prove you wrong even if it kills her. She downed it without blinking once.

Quick Tip: If you want Giggles to do something, just tell her she can’t do it. Always works. But don’t try this if you’re trying to get into her pants. Not saying that I’ve tried it. Not saying that I haven’t, either. She and I do have some kind of chemistry going on. Which I can admit to coz let’s face it, I’m anonymous.

Mister tried it next, which gave me some courage.

I picked up the flaming shot.

I looked at it for two seconds. Then put it down.

I can’t do it. I just can’t.

Fartsypants was all oh come on, don’t be a baby so I picked it up. I closed my eyes and gulped it down, feeling really courageous.

Only it wasn’t a flaming shot anymore. My throat burned nevertheless.

Fartsypants made me try again. It’s as simple as Harry Potter and the goblet of fire.

What I should’ve said: Shut up, bitch. Potter didn’t drink from the goblet of fire.

What I actually said: Oh I love that book!

What happened next was completely and absolutely his fault.

I picked up the goblet of on fire, brought it to my lips, and then shook my head in response to my shaking knees. No, I still can’t do it.

Of course you can! Fartsypants pushed my hand and spilled the liquid fire on my face.  

My heart leapt into my mouth at the same time as the blue flames leapt up from my face.

Holy Frankenfuck. My face is on fire!

Nobody moved for three seconds. Or three months. Whatever.

I’m so booking you for attempt to murder, you pig! Do something!

He picked up a pillow and tried to smother me with it.

I rest my case.