Half Empty or Half Eaten

After a very long night of heavy drinking and smoking things that would send me to jail, I woke up on a futon at my ex-girlfriends apartment. I didn't wake up on my own. I woke up to the shrill cry of, "I'm sorry Josh, my dog chewed up your wallet and your pants." I would say I had an immediate thought, but the fact is the last thing I remember from the night before was playing a bongo in the corner of some strange guys apartment, so I didn't have an immediate thought. I barely remembered not to pee my pants. My second thought, which didn't want to show up either, finally came. It told me that something was not right. So I decided to pop my head out from under the covers and look at the apartment floor. I didn't see any chewed up anything. I didn't even see the dog. Then I felt something move down by my feet, so I looked in that direction. The dog, a little yippy Bichon Frise, was actually sitting on my feet with my wallet in it's mouth. It had also managed to chew the ass out of my jeans. Since I was still a little foggy eyed, I went back to sleep. Then I heard another shriek, "Did you have a viagra in your wallet?" It turns out that I actually did have a viagra in my wallet. It's there for *coughs* ahem for emergencies. Nothing better than getting so drunk that you have no business getting an erection and then coming home to a jar of warm mayonnaise, but I digress. Where was I. Oh yes May-O-Naise, wait I was going back to sleep. Just then I hear the following phone conversation, "Hello, I think my dog just ate half of a viagra. ...... No, it's a small dog." This woke me up in a hurry. I wasn't really worried about the dog having any weird side effects. I wasn't even worried about the dog dying. I was worried, because I realized that I was still wearing my now assless jeans and my hemorrhoids were suddenly inflamed. You know what, I don't want to want know.