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you have been the one, you have been the one for me

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Ok boys and girls, I'm switching up my style once again. Gotta keep you guys on your toes. This story isn't actually new, and as per my new pseudonymous blog policy, I'm not even asserting that it's even true. However, make it to the end and I promise you will be entertained.

One restless Friday night during my freshman year, my suite was unusually empty and sober. Four of the eight people who lived there were out of town for the weekend. The remaining members, consisting of RabidFish, DieTrying, TheEmu, and myself were there when TheEmu retreats to his room for an instant, and returns with a handle of a well-known brand of rum and three shot glasses. The night was about to get interesting very quickly...

Rabidfish and DieTrying were predictably excited by the prospect of impending alcoholic utopia. I, however, had been feeling a bit under the weather and elected to forego the caramel-colored bliss in favor of a pair of less-robust beers in my fridge.

"Suit yourself Mo, but mark my words, this handle is goin' down TONIGHT." DieTrying boldly proclaimed. Little did anyone realize how prophetic DieTrying's words would really be.

Now for a small bit of background on our characters. Rabidfish is a slight fellow, about 140 pounds of Wilmington-bred surfer dude who enjoys a stiff drink as much as the next guy. TheEmu is quite a bit bigger than Rabidfish, and is solely responsible for turning me into a Dave Matthews fan. DieTrying is an old friend that I worked with in high school who likes to get drunk, and then drink some more until he starts babbling incoherently like his Irish ancestors. A handle of liquor would be a tall feat to put away between all four of us, but I was convinced that with only three up to the task, at least one of them would pass out before the bottle would ring hollow.

"You can have any drink ya want, so long as it's a shot of the good ol' Capt'n." TheEmu proclaimed many times during the night, doing his best pirate act, dispensing the brown nectar at an alarming rate. Pour, pour, pour, shoot, shoot, shoot. It went on this way for a good hour and a half over more poker and a few games of asshole. Things were going downhill fast.

Rabidfish is, as I expected, the first to crack. After falling out of his chair drunk several times, he decided to call it a night. I begin to think that DieTrying's proclamation will go unrealized.

"Hold on, I have, like, a fucking idea." And with that, DieTrying stumbled into his room, already slipping into an Irish-tongued stupor. He returned shortly with a flask, the greatest invention of all time. Once the rest of the liquor was safely stowed in DieTrying's pocket, the group of DieTrying, TheEmu, and myself boarded the nearest bus and headed to the frat party hotspot of the night.

As we got off the bus, DieTrying angrily threw his flask into nearby bushes. I discovered why when I picked up his empty flask, and stuck it in my pocket for safe keeping. As if he wasn't drunk enough when we left, DieTrying just consumed another 5 shots worth in the fifteen minute bus ride here. TheEmu and I begin to worry, but not too much.

DieTrying, TheEmu, and I arrive at the party and immediately get split up. I don't mind, seeing as how a full cup of very strong PJ just magically appeared in my hand. At the bottom of that red Solo, I hunt for the bathroom. On the way there, I overhear a loud exchange amongst a group of party-goers. As I eavesdrop a while longer, I notice that one of the voices sounds familiar.

I look over to see none other than DieTrying himself yelling and gesturing wildly into the faces of two appreciably larger gentlemen, who happen to be brothers at this particular frat. The purple stained shirt of one and the empty cup in DieTrying's hand explains all. At that instant I arrive to pull DieTrying from bodily harm, a very drunk Emu also arrives. DieTrying, deep into an Irish-flavored rant, wants nothing more than to "shut this bloody fucker the fuck up." TheEmu and I are trying with all we have to keep this from happening.

The numbers against us are growing quickly, and they make it obvious they want us to leave. TheEmu and I agree with them, and we have to physically push DieTrying out the door and onto the street, where the drunken exchanges don't end. At the very instant where we think we have DieTrying moving in the right direction, he makes one last, desperate lunge towards one of the "bloody ass-fucking pussies," and lands the most ill-advised punch of all time squarely on the back of the brother's head.

All hell breaks loose. In a heartbeat, the first wave of six or so brothers immediately has DieTrying on the ground, arms and legs flailing everywhere. Then, the second wave of slightly less drunken brothers and TheEmu and me dive in, trying to separate the dog pile. Somehow, DieTrying gets out from the sea of bodies in one piece. His shirt, however, does not, and he now sports some fresh red makeup on various parts of his face and body.

We get DieTrying the hell out of there, but now are faced with a new problem: DieTrying is still drunk. Drunk to the point where he cannot stand on his own, let alone walk. TheEmu is a strong guy; however he is also handicapped by inebriation. We struggle to drag, yes drag DieTrying towards the nearest bus stop.

Walking through a short alleyway between the courthouse and the local sports bar, TheEmu and I drop DieTrying in some bushes and take a break. The alley is littered with late-night slackers; we'll call them the Wigger People. We chat up the Wigger People for a while, and explain to the various points and gasps about DieTrying's condition.

Casually looking around, I see, of all things, a police officer walking up the alley in our general direction. I take a look at DieTrying, passed out in the bushes, nudge TheEmu with my elbow and very nearly shit my pants. I think about running, but decide against it.

The pig approaches, surveys the situation and focuses on DieTrying, passed out in the bushes. He points.

"What the hell is wrong with this guy?"

The biggest and most talkative of the Wigger People, we'll call him the King of the Wigger People, speaks up without hesitaion, in a bright, upbeat voice.

"Sir, he's just tired. He ain't slept in 'bout two or three days and he's just takin' a break."

A few nervous chuckles from the Wigger People. I am just nervous.

"Yeah right. He looks fucked up to me." Holy shit, we are all fucked.

Then it happened. "You guys better get his ass home before he ends up in jail somewhere."

Amidst a whirlwind of yes, sirs and thank you, officers, the entire alley clears in about 3.468 seconds. The Wigger People disappear from sight, while TheEmu and I scurry to pick up DieTrying's pitifully drunk body and carry him down to the street. We emerge from the alley just in time to see the bus turn and drive past where we are standing.

Over the next forty-five minutes or so, TheEmu and I half carry, half drag, half help DieTrying down the sidewalk of Franklin Street. At this hour, the sidewalk is alive with people, most of whom either point, whisper, laugh or gasp at our labored passing. We might as well have been dragging a firery cross while dressed in KKK outfits for all the commotion we caused. Several times during our escapade, articles of DieTrying's close fell off, including shoes, socks, shorts, and what was left of his shirt. This only made our plight even funnier to onlookers and passers-by.

We finally get to the bus stop, and eagerly await the bus. We shouldn't have.

The last bus of the night arrives at our stop. The bus driver opens the door and, rather let people off per custom, gets off of the bus and inspects our motley little crew.

He points directly at DieTrying, who is standing only with our assistance, and says

"I don't know what you guys got into tonight, and frankly I don't want to know, but THAT man is not getting on this bus."

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

"I'm not risking no drunk honkey puking on my bus that I'ma gonna hafta clean up lata. You best believe dat." Fucking shit.

After some heated haggling, AssDriver rolls off into the night. We are not on his bus.

In case I've lost you, here's a quick update on our situation. DieTrying has not sobered up at all. In fact the only reason TheEmu and I think he's still alive is a steady stream of incoherent mumbling coming from his lips. He can't stand, can't walk, and, for lack of a better phrase, just generally looks like shit. TheEmu is still pretty drunk, too, and I, being the soberest one of the group, am not looking forward to the mile and a half or so walk back to our dorm with two drunkards in tow.

So, over the course of the next hour, The Drunk Emu and I somehow drag DieTrying's now completely limp body from the northern-most border of campus back down to our dorm, which happened to be the second southern-most point on campus.

TheEmu and I finally get DieTrying into his room, where we grabbed a blanket and a pillow off of his bed and left him to sleep on the floor. I went into my room and shortly thereafter passed out from sheer exhaustion.

The next morning, I go into TheEmu's room, where we collectively wonder how DieTrying is still alive and how we made it back to the dorm.

Eventually, DieTrying wakes up, seemingly no worse for wear. He takes a piss in the can and then comes into TheEmu's room. TheEmu and I look at him, look at each other, and break out in laughter. However, it seems DieTrying is not in such a good mood.

"What the fuck guys? Why the fuck didn't we go out last night?"

Needless to say, he was quite a bit surprised when we told him. He still to this day has no recollection of ever leaving the dorm that night. Behold the power of alcohol.

Kinda long, I know, but plenty more stories where that came from. Stay tuned...

posted by accident at 12:22:00 AM +

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