About a month ago, The Warden and her sisters decided that it was time to get a family portrait done. It had been about 10 years, three marriages and several kids since the last one, and everyone wanted a professional looking picture of the relatives to put on their walls.
After much debate and a few scheduling conflicts, it was decided that we would get our photo taken last Saturday at the ass crack of dawn. Of course, I had no input on the time, place, photographer, or even what I was allowed to wear. My only orders were to be there on time, and not be drunk (Consider this last sentence obvious foreshadowing).
Last Friday, three weeks and six days after this decree was made, we had our first real kickball game. After finishing the game, and at least a fifth, several members of our team went over to the bar.
“Alright guys,” I said. “I can’t stay out all night. We have this family portrait thing tomorrow and I CANNOT get any drunker.”
“Okay.”
After that everything is blackness. The next thing I know The Warden is shaking me awake and my mouth feels like a drier version of the Sahara desert.
“Hurry up!” The Warden shouted at me. “My whole family is going to be waiting.”
“Guy, I got it.” Was the only response I could muster as I stumbled up the stairs and into the shower.
After a few minutes of knocking over shampoo bottles, defacing the shower curtain, and almost slipping to my death, it became clear that I was still super hammered. A ten out of ten on the drunk scale. I was screwed and I knew it.
Once I accepted my fate, I turned off the water and crawled into my clothes. Though my head was pounding, my stomach ached, and my breath smelled like I’d just finished a turd sandwich, I managed to follow The Warden out of the house and into the blazing hot sun.
“It must be about a million degrees out.” I thought to myself as I walked about in the 90 degree heat. Instantly, sweat began to pour from my forehead and boozed oozed form my pores. “Well, at least the photo’s will be inside.”
Wrong.
When we pulled up to my new Hell, AKA “The place we were taking the photos”, I began to weep. The Warden’s family had chosen to take our pictures outside…in a park…about a 10 minute walk from where we parked.
As I hiked down the gauntlet of misery that took us to our final destination, I was a wreck. I felt like I was gonna die. I was rapidly leaving “drunk” mode and heading towards “hung over”, and my stomach was pissed. Hot molten diarrhea sloshed back and forth in my abdomen with each step. Cramps riddled my being, and vomit climbed towards my throat.
I was a complete disaster. Sick beyond belief. When the photographer finally lined us up for pictures I could barely keep myself alive. Thoughts of suicide occupied my mind as the sun beat down on my weathered body.
Eventually, about twelve years after arriving at the park, the photos ended and I was allowed to go home. On the way back I swore never to drink again…ever.
An oath that lasted exactly 24 hours.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Monster
Last night, a few of us went to our favorite watering hole to hang out and have a few Ginger Ale’s. After downing a couple drinks and ogling a few ladies, we went outside and hit the bar’s outdoor volleyball court. About a half hour into our battle royal, a huge group of smokin’ hot super babes noticed the immense collection of prime man meat sweating it out on the sand, and decided to get in on the action.
As the night wore on, our once small game became a pretty decent collection of people, more than two thirds of which were ladies. After one particularly brutal game, I walked off the court in order to take a piss. Since the only bathroom was inside of the bar, I sat on the bleachers and grabbed my shoes.
While throwing on my kicks, I began to talk with the females watching the game. I joked with them about my insane skills, and they commented on my sick athletic prowess. After throwing on my first shoe I reached for the second and accidentally knocked it over. When I bent over to pick it up I saw the biggest furriest spider crawl out from inside of my overturned New Balance. It looked like the spider from Lord of the Rings, only bigger and with larger teeth.
Instantly I screamed, and leapt into the arms of the guy next to me.
“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
“Kill it! Kill it!” I cried as hot tears streamed down my face. “Please God kill it.”
“Dude, it’s just a spider.” One of the girls said with a look of disgust on her face. “What is your problem?”
My problem was that I hate spiders. Hate them the way that the French hate soap. I especially hate them when they’re twice as big as I am.
I tried to explain this to the startled crowd while I screamed and begged for them to kill my hairy attacker. But instead of helping me, they only laughed and pitied everything I am.
All of the social capital that I had spent the entire night building was gone. To these people I was a bitch. A scared little bitch. Which sucks, but it’s a lot better than not seeing the brute and having it lay huge spider babies in my foot.
As the night wore on, our once small game became a pretty decent collection of people, more than two thirds of which were ladies. After one particularly brutal game, I walked off the court in order to take a piss. Since the only bathroom was inside of the bar, I sat on the bleachers and grabbed my shoes.
While throwing on my kicks, I began to talk with the females watching the game. I joked with them about my insane skills, and they commented on my sick athletic prowess. After throwing on my first shoe I reached for the second and accidentally knocked it over. When I bent over to pick it up I saw the biggest furriest spider crawl out from inside of my overturned New Balance. It looked like the spider from Lord of the Rings, only bigger and with larger teeth.
Instantly I screamed, and leapt into the arms of the guy next to me.
“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
“Kill it! Kill it!” I cried as hot tears streamed down my face. “Please God kill it.”
“Dude, it’s just a spider.” One of the girls said with a look of disgust on her face. “What is your problem?”
My problem was that I hate spiders. Hate them the way that the French hate soap. I especially hate them when they’re twice as big as I am.
I tried to explain this to the startled crowd while I screamed and begged for them to kill my hairy attacker. But instead of helping me, they only laughed and pitied everything I am.
All of the social capital that I had spent the entire night building was gone. To these people I was a bitch. A scared little bitch. Which sucks, but it’s a lot better than not seeing the brute and having it lay huge spider babies in my foot.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Bathroom Follies
As my lack of recent updates may suggest, this week was super busy. Summer is officially upon America’s greatest state, and per usual, the hot weather has brought the crazies out in droves.
A few nights ago, at about 4AM, I finally got a rare period of quiet. After catching up on my paperwork, I drove to the back of a vacant business district and took a much needed potty break.
Once I ensured that the coast was clear, I parked my car behind one of the buildings and walked to the dumpster. It was the perfect spot to piss. The place was desolate, completely void of people. There were no lights behind the building and the dumpster was set in the very back corner of the parking lot. I was completely hidden, and free to do my business.
As soon as I started to piss, I heard a scratching noise to my left. Using my free hand, I clicked on my flashlight and lazily investigated the source of the disturbance.
BOOM!!!
Instantly, the dumpster erupted with an explosion of movement and sound. Without thinking I let go of my uncoiled hose, yard saled my flashlight, and screamed like an 8 year old girl. As I stood there in a fighting stance, gasping for air, a family of raccoons climbed out of the dumpster and peered at my urine soaked silhouette.
Apparently, the furry little scavengers had been rooting through the trash just as I arrived. When I turned on my flashlight, the sudden brightness had terrified them and sent them scurrying for cover.
After taking this all in, I reeled back my wiener and tried to wring the vast amounts of piss out of my uniform. Knowing that next time I go to pee, I’ll have to be a whole lot more careful.
A few nights ago, at about 4AM, I finally got a rare period of quiet. After catching up on my paperwork, I drove to the back of a vacant business district and took a much needed potty break.
Once I ensured that the coast was clear, I parked my car behind one of the buildings and walked to the dumpster. It was the perfect spot to piss. The place was desolate, completely void of people. There were no lights behind the building and the dumpster was set in the very back corner of the parking lot. I was completely hidden, and free to do my business.
As soon as I started to piss, I heard a scratching noise to my left. Using my free hand, I clicked on my flashlight and lazily investigated the source of the disturbance.
BOOM!!!
Instantly, the dumpster erupted with an explosion of movement and sound. Without thinking I let go of my uncoiled hose, yard saled my flashlight, and screamed like an 8 year old girl. As I stood there in a fighting stance, gasping for air, a family of raccoons climbed out of the dumpster and peered at my urine soaked silhouette.
Apparently, the furry little scavengers had been rooting through the trash just as I arrived. When I turned on my flashlight, the sudden brightness had terrified them and sent them scurrying for cover.
After taking this all in, I reeled back my wiener and tried to wring the vast amounts of piss out of my uniform. Knowing that next time I go to pee, I’ll have to be a whole lot more careful.
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