The Morning After Squid Game: The Porn Parody

You wake up feeling groggy and disoriented. The room is dark except for the dim light coming from your phone screen illuminating your face in an eerie green glow. Your head pounding like a drum set being played by two drunk monkeys trying to play Rage Against The Machine's "Killing In The Name Of". You reach out blindly, fumbling around until you find something cold and smooth against your sweaty palm. Oh thank god, it's your water bottle. You take a deep breath in through your nose and exhale slowly before taking a long sip of ice-cold water that feels like liquid heaven rushing down your throat. As you swallow the last drop, things start slowly coming back into focus, but you still feel dizzy as hell... Your brain starts piecing together fragments of memories from last night. There was lots of alcohol, plenty of laughter, some dubious decisions made while tipsy, and...oh shit, Squid Game: The Porn Parody! You remember watching that adult indie game with your group of friends, how raunchy and hilarious it was seeing all those iconic characters turned into anthropomorphic squids who engage in lewd acts instead of playing deadly games for survival. Who thought that would be so damn hot? Great, just freaking great. As you sit there contemplating whether crawling under your bed and never emerging again sounds like a better option than facing the consequences of your actions (or lack thereof), your phone vibrates violently in your trembling hand. It's a message from one of your buddies named Steve. "Yo bro," it reads. "Sup man? We went home hours ago without you dude. Call me when you wake up ok?"

Oh Jesus Christ, did I get so drunk that I passed out? How long have I been passed out here? And what the fuck am I supposed to tell everyone when they see this mess? Shit, shit, shit. Deciding not to think about it too much, you get yourself dressed, grab a couple of extra sheets from your closet, and make a hasty attempt to clean up your disaster zone of a bedroom. After thirty minutes of sweat-soaked struggle and multiple trips to the laundry basket, you think you managed to contain the situation somewhat. Now comes the hard part: facing your friends and making up an acceptable excuse for why you didn't come home with them last night. Stepping outside onto the quiet street, you take a deep breath and mentally prepare yourself for whatever verbal assault is waiting for you when you walk through your front door. "Survive the conversation, don't say anything incriminating," you mutter to yourself as you trudge towards your house. Maybe if you're lucky, no one will notice anything amiss...