There I was, buck naked, covered in blood and bile, barely able to move. After what felt like an eternity, yet somehow no time at all, I started to move towards the exit. As I dragged myself through the claustrophobic corridor in the pitch dark, I couldn’t even bring myself to cry for help. Finally, I reached the end of the hallway and escaped. Sweet victory. This was a glorious day I planned to celebrate for years to come.           

 As my eyes readjusted to natural light, I could only make out faint shapes. It had been forever since I had tasted a breath of fresh air, and I couldn’t help but weep. A man found me there. It was almost as if he was expecting me. The man was cloaked in all white, just like a guardian angel, or a nude albino. He came to my aid and wrapped me in one of those blankets firefighters wrap you in after you burn down your house for insurance fraud, before they know it was you that did it.

 The man took me to some sort of gentleman’s club, though most of it was a blur. Before I knew it, there were breasts. Big, burly breasts. Big, burly breasts near my mouth. I’m not really sure why I did it; maybe it was primal instinct, maybe it was sheer destiny, but I took a little lick. For once in my measly life, in that moment, I felt an unequivocal sense of calm, of comfort, of connection. And that, kids, is the story of How I Met My Mother.