Kick Her Ass C-Bass

Okay, so last night i was absolutely hammered walking around South Beach when I stumbled into Prive, an overhyped club on the strip. It was really hard to get in for some reason, so we called my boy Leroy who works there and he let us in the side door. Several hours, 12 shots of yager, and around a $300 bar tab later I happened to notice that Paris Hilton was in the club, dancing like a flamboyantly gay man on too much crank, surrounded by a group of her ridiculously cool friends, and for some reason I just had to fuck with her.
Just so happens I was watching Dumb and Dumber earlier that day, so as I walked by her towards the bar, clumsy me, I accidentally spilled my beer on her arm, and probably her dress.
"I'm so sorry," I slyly slurred. "Let me buy you and your friends a round of drinks, please...."
Now she was fuckin pissed, trust me, I could tell. But she was cool- she actually said it was alright, I didn't need to go to all the trouble of buying her and her friends drinks, epsecially considering her lavish tastes, which I, in my lowly existence, couldn't possibly know anything about.
Well, she didn't exactly say that last part, but I was drunk and of course, completely able to read her thoughts. Also, she just released all those horrible songs on the world, a terrorist action that could not be ignored.
Well too bad, Paris. You're not going to ruin my devilish prank.
I strutted over to the bar, more determined than ever.
"I had a tab," I told the barmaid, "but Paris Hilton spilled beer on my arm and she said she would make it up to me by paying my tab."
Big mistake. Apparently, Paris Hilton doesn't drink beer at clubs. Fortunately, with my awesome drunken mind reading abilities, I was able to pick up on the sudden suspicion in the barmaid's voice.
Unfortunately, I didn't have any cash and my credit card is horribly beyond its outermost limits, so I was in serious trouble here. I slowly and very inconspicuously moonwalked out of the bar, Paris Hilton giving me the crooked eye the whole time, and ran home as fast as I could.

I woke up the next day in a daze. Had I C-bassed Paris Hilton, did I get one over on the debutante, and why was i spooning a Phillipino midget?
I pushed aside my confusion for a moment and picked up my wallet. I needed breakfast, and so did Nuk-Nuk, my new phillipino friend. However, when I went for my credit card, which couldn't have bought me breakfast anyway, I realized it was missing. Shit! I left it at the bar. What to do? What to do?

Well, I couldn't convince nuk-Nuk to go get it for me, and God knows I wasn't going back in there after I recalled my attempted stunt the night before. So what did I do? I called my bank and claimed the card stolen. I still owe the balance of course, but at least i won't have to face that horrible psychic barmaid- or Paris hilton, ever again.
-DT