"I Was Gonna Use a Condom, But I Figured, Hey, When's the Next Time I'm Gonna Be in Haiti?"

Many of you may remember the Bad Idea Jeans fake ad from Saturday Night Live. Well, at about 4:30am last night, Christoff, Holt, and I nearly added to it.

After an expectedly satisfying trip to Bamba's, we were walking along the north side of Wrightwood when we were beckoned from across the street by a young lady -- we'll call her Jane -- standing on some porch stairs. "Hey, can one of you guys give me a boost?" she asks. Since we're smart guys, we said, "sure, no problem."

We get across the street and Jane explains that she is staying with a friend, who lives on the 2nd floor (and is apparently still out for the night), so we need to give her a boost to the porch roof from the rather steep porch stairs, so that she can crawl through a window. The plan was absolutely foolproof. Standing next to her was another friend -- we'll call her Martha -- who had to fly home to Arizona in several hours. Martha seemed less than thrilled to be in this situation, and she was fairly unimpressed with the three of us.

Ryan put his hands down in the boost position, and Jane readied herself for what may have been her last seconds on earth. I expressed my concern that this was going to end horribly. By horribly, I meant that Ryan would drop Jane, who would then die instantly from the blunt head trauma resulting from her nearly attractive head exploding on the otherwise pristine sidewalk, thus forcing me to immediately execute Martha -- the only witness who could not be trusted to never mention this again -- via a Van Damme style neck-snapping, and Ryan, Holt, and I would be on our way. We'd probably have to hole up in Belize for a couple years until it blew over, and we'd have to change our names to Cyrano Clayton Merriweather IV, Nigel Evan Trafalgar, and Baron Frederich Maplethorpe of Upper Uncton, respectively, then become banana farmers, and return to the US under cover of darkness, forced to live the rest of our lives running from the memory of Martha, surviving on our hard-earned banana money.

The gods were looking down upon us and, wanting to spare Jane and Martha's lives, sent Jane and Martha's friends down Wrightwood before there was any bloodshed. We left, and soon after, I explained to Holt and Ryan what would have happened had Jane fallen. They laughed, but I wasn't kidding. Van fucking Damme. Not a second's hesitation or regret.