Now this is a story...

The light hurt my eyes even through the lids, my whole body hurt, and my shirt was stiff with what I am pretty sure was sweat and vomit.

"Not bad for a Thursday night..." I muttered.

"Dude, its like, Sunday." A gravely voice responded.

"Jesus Tapdancing Christ!" I sat bolt upright, desperately hoping there was a non-sexual explanation for why what sounded like Clint Eastwood was sharing my bed, and opened my eyes.

Wait a minute...

"Where in the hell am I?" I looked down and realized that there was a liberal amount of blood included in my sweat and vomit, and a quick pat-down revealed I was short my keys, wallet, phone, and flask.

"Holding cell, they dragged you in here yesterday morning." My grizzled cellmate lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "You have been out of it the whole time."

"Damn..." I took a moment to collect myself. "You didn't, like, sodomize me or anything did you?"

"WHAT!?"

"James!"

I looked up and saw Jim standing at the cell door, looking pretty pissed with his arms folded over his red polo.

(Killjoy)

(Hey, you know what, fuck you! I was bailing your ass out of jail!)

(Doesn't mean you had to be a dick about it)

(You insufferable little...)

"Oh thank the Gods!" I stood and stumbled over to the bars, but stopped a bit short. "Wait, you didn't put me here did you?" 

"HEY, DON'T IGNORE ME YOU LITTLE SHIT!" My cellmate (Lets call him Clint, just for laughs) put his cigarette out against the wall and stood menacingly.

"No James, as much I would love for that to be true, they found me in the emergency contacts in your phone and called me when you were dragged in here." 

"Wait, wasn't that, like, two days ago?"

Jim shrugged. 

"I was busy"

(See? Asshole.)

(Oh shut the fuck up)

"Hey, shouldn't you be more worried about that angry felon behind you?"

 Oh right, Clint.