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View My Stats, bitch.
So he met this girl on the Internet and she didn't want to have sex right away because she's a reasonable person. So they're kind of dating but she wants to keep it slow. So Randy, of course, screws some girl at his annual Halloween party. I mean, he was uncommitted, right? So the next day he goes over to the home of the girl he's been dating and they do it. Randy says he feels bad. Not because he did any of this. Two girls in twelve hours. He's fine with that. Hell, he's bragging! He feels bad because maybe he should have told fuck #2 about fuck #1. And I clearly didn't mean it about her being a reasonable person.
Now you know why his code name (nom de code for you spy buffs out there) is not Carl, but Randy.
My favorite Randy story of all time is one that is very visual. It's not funny unless you can make the picture in your head.
He was doing the mother of his non-child in the hot tub on his deck (why does someone with this kind of social life have a hot tub and a deck and I just have lots of pets?). It was late, they were drunk, he was going at it from behind. Just about then, the gate to his back yard swings open and a buddy of his walks into the yard. Apparently the guy had come by to pick up something and had come around back (HA!) because no one answered the door. So Randy doesn't stop at all, just keeps going and gestures to the guy to keep quiet so psycho-girl doesn't sense his presence. Friend passes by undetected, and a good time was had by all. Or so I assume.
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