Inspiration aka How I Lost My Eyesight

After reading Oxymoron Hipster Dork's blog about his parent's scromping, I've been inspired to write about a time -a very dark time- in which I, too, felt the compulsion to burn out my eyes. Although I've tried very hard to erase the memory, obviously my attempts have been futile.
I have no other way to describe this but to tell the whole story in the disjointed terrorizing way it happened.
It was Christmas day 1999. I was home for holiday break and as with every Christmas day, around 8:00pm my friends would start calling. We would get together, hang out, probably smoke something and recover from a day full of overextending relatives. Not realizing we would end up at a bar, I had not taken my identification. Upon figuring out my lack of necessity, I sped back home to collect the goods. In my cup holder, there was a large orange juice and I decided to take it inside (this fact may seem innocuous, but is important). It was almost 8:30, very dark outside, the porch light had been turned off and I'd only been gone for 15 minutes. I opened the screen door letting it whack me in the butt, put my key in the lock and pushed the door open.
On the couch were my mother and father.
I distinctly remember skin, rapid movement and multiple shouts of "Oh my god!" from every party involved.
I grabbed the doorknob and yanked it back so hard it hit my arm with the large orange juice spilling it down the front of me and then stepped backwards into something horribly squishy while the screen door caught my other arm in the door jam. I screamed.
A minute later my mother opened the door to usher me in and found me covered in orange juice and shame. She flipped on the porch light and screamed. Her screaming made me scream again, but I had no idea why she was screaming. Then I looked down and saw a horrifying mess of what can only be described as entrails.
Apparently, the cat had decided to get in on the gift-giving business of Christmas and had left a dead rabbit at the door. The leavings were what I'd stepped in after my eyes had been burned out.
I took off my shoes, ran inside, changed clothes, grabbed my I.D. and ran back out.

When I arrived back at my friend's house it was noticed that not only had I changed clothes, but I had a somewhat shell-shocked look upon my mug.
All I could mutter was, "I need a drink and then I will tell you the story of The Worst Christmas Ever."