There are decisions in every man's life that test his soul. Not the big ones--cars, college, job, spouse, house, kids. The decisions of which I speak seem miniscule at the time, but in the grand scheme of our lives, what we decide in these moments is what makes us men.

"So what do you think, Dave? Go home or stay?" Axe asked. We had just finished a full day of snowboarding at Mammoth. Boarding through a blizzard can take a toll on anyone without superpowers. The other twenty people in the cabin had already left or were leaving within the next half hour. Exhausted, I wouldn't have minded making the six-hour drive home. I had fulfilled my year-long need to snowboard, so going home was the easy thing to do.

But neither Axe nor I had work all week. I thought of our options: Go home and masturbate; stay in Mammoth with its blizzards and couples-only nightlife; or—

"We can go to Tahoe," I suggested.

"We could," he replied, thoughtfully. We checked the weather. It was the same as Mammoth but at least the nightlife was better. The only real complication was that Tahoe was an extra three hours north; meaning our drive home would be a daunting nine hours. Luckily for me, I had come to Mammoth with someone whose thirst for traveling and adventure was just as big as mine. Axe has basically been everywhere I've been except maybe Australia. We packed our things, took down some "suspect" directions, and left.

The three-hour drive to Tahoe consisted of icy roads, snowy windshields, and an unusually high fart frequency. His farts were much deadlier than mine. He laid at least twelve whoppers. Suddenly he'd open the sunroof; I'd look at him; he'd have a sneaky grin on his face; I'd ask, "Did you fart?" He'd reply, "Yup," I'd acknowledge the stink; and then he'd start laughing. Opening the sunroof to extinguish the smell was about as effective as trying to put out a bonfire with a shot of water. Rich girls would not have hooked up with us. 

When we arrived in South Lake Tahoe that Sunday evening, we had no idea where we were staying. We checked the prices at Harrah's. $270. We asked the desk lady for her recommendation.

            "Well, you should try the Horizon. It's a low budget casino," she said.

We booked a room at the Horizon—also known as "The Ho"—for $81, went to our room, took showers, got ready, and emerged in the lobby dressed exactly alike. Axe and I have similar looks as it is, but we had also brought the same collared shirt--a black Calvin Klein-looking shirt with vertical blue stripes. That, combined with our blue jeans and black shoes, made us look like a couple of clueless fartknockers. We waved off the potential judgments, hopped in a cab, and headed over to a small casino called "Lakeside" to eat and play craps. The cab driver offered little guidance in our quest for babes.

After losing $100 at craps, we hopped in another cab. "Where are the chicks?" we asked.

            "Cabo Wabo or Blu, but I think Cabo Wabo should be better tonight," he said.

            "Cabo Wabo it is." Axe proclaimed.

Cabo Wabo was at the Harvey Casino and consisted of a brightly-lit table area and a flashy dance floor. It wasn't crowded, but after purchasing four Coronas for $8 total, we knew we were there to stay.

As midnight approached, the people began to pour in. I was already 0 for 12 when I saw Axe talking to a table of two girls—both hot. He was talking to the brunette, so I sat next to Becca, the blonde, and talked to her. She showed absolutely no interest in me. Over the course of the next hour, I would leave the table to seek other women, get rejected, only to come back to the table and make attempts with the blonde. I'm no mind reader, but the following is a breakdown of our thoughts as I went back and forth from that table:

First approach

Me: She's hot; I like the way her hair is up with its erratic purple streaks, and her blue eye shadow reminds me of blowjobs.

Her: He's weird, he made fun of my shirt, and he's giving me strange looks.

(I depart the table)

(I return to the table)

Me: She's hot, lame, and sensitive; but I'll give her another chance.

Her: He's weird; I didn't understand his last joke; he is making faces at me; and why is he leaving the table again?

(I depart the table)

(I return to the table)

Me: She's hot, lame, sensitive, and acts like she's nineteen; but I'll give her another chance.

Her: Who the fuck is this guy? Okay, maybe he isn't that weird; and he is kind of cute in a mysterious way; but I still have no interest in him. And why is he leaving again!

(I depart the table)

(I return to the table)

Me: She's hot, lame, sensitive, acts like she's nineteen, and her hard-to-get-thing is fooling nobody; but I'll give her another chance.

Her: I wish that guy from last night would return my text. Fuck it—I'll have a drink with this guy.

(I stay at the table)

(At the bar ordering shots)

Me: She's hot and isn't as lame as I thought. I shall fuck her.

Her: He's hot. I shall fuck him.

(We drink)

Sex was a shoe-in. From the looks of things, I could say the same for Axe and his girl. The girls were conveniently staying at Harvey's, so their room was just an elevator ride away. When we got to their room, decisions had to be made. As Becca and I made out near the bathroom, Axe and his girl, Summer, were deciding what to do.

"They can go to their room, and we can stay here," Summer told Axe.

"Whatever's cool with me," Axe said.

I told Becca mid-make-out, "Let's get out of here."

            "Okay, let me get my things." Her "things" consisted of a jacket, a pear, and a tiny purse with only a phone inside. Her purse was about as useful as the time I went to Disneyland and brought a fanny pack to hold a lone $10 bill.

We left and got down to business immediately: yanking, sucking, fucking.

Meanwhile, back at Harvey's, things began to fall apart for Axe. Summer had gone from room-sex planner to I-have-a-boyfriend-back-home angry cunt in a matter of minutes. Axe later theorized that he must have done something that reminded her of her boyfriend—whom we later found out was twenty-four-years-old, a decade younger than Summer, and was nicknamed "Baby B." Whatever it was, Summer kicked Axe out. As Axe waited by the door, he pleaded, "Dude, I have no interest in hooking up with you anymore. Can I at least just crash in the other bed?"

The other side was silent for a moment. Summer replied angrily, "I'm giving you five minutes to get out of here. If you're not gone, I'm calling security."

Somewhere between suck and fuck, Axe came stumbling into our room. As he ripped off his clothes, he told us:

"Summer is a fucking shitbag. I fucking hate girls. I spend the whole night with her; I say nothing to piss her off; and then she kicks me out for no reason. Fuck that bitch. Becca, I don't know why you're friends with such an inadequate human being."

He flopped on his bed and went to sleep. Becca and I laughed quietly, both feeling his pain. We continued to go at it with him in the room. I took out the condom and started fucking her missionary, but due to her amazing ass, I wanted to go doggie. Out of consideration for Axe's disastrous night and probable need to sleep, we moved to the bathroom for the more conspicuous doggie-style, finishing things there.

The next morning, Axe was traumatized. "Dude, I've been through a lot of women, but nothing like that has ever happened before. I've never gotten kicked out like that." Becca sided with him and talked shit about her friend, thus making her cooler. Axe and I put on our snowboard clothes and headed downstairs where Becca and I made plans to meet later.

Luckily for Axe, a girl he fucked months ago lived in Tahoe and had returned his text. She worked at a timeshare condo, so we made the short drive there before boarding.

In addition to the high volume of farts on the drive up, Axe and I discussed the topic of "things lame girls say." At the top of the list was the phrase "I know, right?" Several of my bubbly-but-not-too-sharp female students use this all the time for no reason. These girls are essentially broadcasting to everyone: "I'm not that smart, but I'm silly and like to have fun!!!!!!!" Whoever started this phrase--I'm assuming it was either Paris Hilton or one of those Laguna Beach girls--ought to be violently gagged until they start doing silent reading for twenty minutes a day. "I know, right" is the black jellybean of the English language, and it must be expunged immediately. Of course, when we showed up at the timeshare and within the first four minutes Mara said, "I know, right?" Axe and I erupted in laughter. Over the course of the night, I counted at least five I-know-rights from her. Unfortunate, since Mara was hot, but every time she uttered her dopey confirmation, I felt like she was scratching fingernails down the chalkboard of her hotness. The next day, Axe even admitted that he refrained from saying things that would warrant an "I know, right?" from Mara.

After a frigid half day of snowboarding, Axe and I returned to the timeshare to make plans with Mara. Mara reported to us that two of her cougar friends were coming out, and they were "good to go." I put my plans with Becca on hold.

My new plan: See if the cougars actually were hot; then find out if they'd hook up with me. If that failed, call Becca.

Axe and I went to our room to take a two-hour nap. We awoke at 6 p.m., showered, got ready, and wore the same uniforms as the previous night. The girls were meeting us at Lakeside, so we got in a cab and arrived thirty minutes later than rendezvous time. The girls walked in over an hour late just as we were finishing dinner at the bar. I judged the two cougars:

Cougar 1: forty years old, unattractive, but attractive enough to know that after seven beers I'd probably hook up with her. She had a gigantic jaw, huge hands, poofy hair smothered in hairspray, and a sloppy chest. Self-reminder: Don't hook up with her; she's gross.

Cougar 2: 42-years-old. Hot. She had a toned body, supple breasts, and a nice smile. Unfortunately, she seemed like the type who was friendly on the surface but secretly only went for rich guys. Nevertheless, I wanted her. Self-reminder: Act rich.

The girls hadn't eaten yet, so we went to the Casino restaurant and sat down at a circular table and ordered drinks. The dinner was long and dull. I downed several beers to make things more enjoyable. Neither of these cougars was "good to go." Axe was lost in own little world with Mara, so I was stuck trying to make conversation with the cougars. Listening to them chat about their jobs, money, and people was like watching CNN on Christmas. I had to get out of there. Neither cougar was impressed with my obvious boredom and ulterior plans. They left immediately following dinner. 

Becca and I texted back and forth, agreeing to meet outside my hotel just after eleven.  Axe, Mara, and I played craps in the meantime. I had gotten so drunk that I nearly got banned from the craps table because I accidentally hit a dealer in the face while rolling the dice. A short while later, Axe and Mara went to their room to fuck.

Just after they left, Becca met me. While it would have been cool to have a sex competition of some sorts—Becca and I versus Axe and Mara—I wasn't sure the girls would have been down with that. I still felt Axe's pain from his disaster with Summer, so I took Becca to a bar and entertained her there, giving Axe a good hour of sex time. 

When we opened the door to the room, we were welcomed by the fresh scent of pussy and condoms. They were giggling underneath the covers. Axe had obviously redeemed himself.

Becca and I started off on the bed but then migrated to the bathroom to carry out our adventures there. The sex was much worse than the previous night. The bathroom was mysteriously less spacious, Becca's vagina was more pungent, and she had forgotten to put on deodorant…big time. Instead of smelling of sex, the bathroom reeked of bad pussy and armpits. Luckily, I have a good imagination. As I was nailing her from behind, I breathed through my mouth and thought about the last good porno I had jerked off to. It worked, and I successfully blew a healthy load all over her back. She wouldn't let me cum in her mouth because "We have to save something for next time."

The next morning, Becca and I said our goodbyes and made our false plans for her "coming for a visit." Becca lived in San Francisco, so making any plans to "visit" was about as useless as writing "keep in touch" in someone's senior year yearbook. I kissed her goodbye. Then Axe and I shoveled the snow off his car and began our nine-hour journey home. The farting returned. But it's usually the bad smells we remember most. Right?