Green River (203 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by calbearspolo (View user info) at 2005-07-19 02:52:33 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
Greg had been to this club before. He couldn't quite put his memory on when, or for what reason, but the moment he was inside it was instantly familiar in a very fuzzy and vague way. His friends in tow, they made their way across the large dark tiles of the entryway towards the bar.
*vodka - redbull*
Dave Campbell was Greg's best friend since 4th grade. A meeting of pure chance, Dave had been serving a tetherball and hit Greg in the face accidentally. Dave was always a big kid, and had carried Greg over his shoulder to the nurse's office to seek gauze and iodine treatment for his new friend. Now a landscape architect, "Camp," as his friends called him, spent his time out in the sun perfecting the exteriors of multi-million dollar houses in the rich part of town with neatly trimmed hedges and cherub frolicking fountains. In his sun-bleached hair and pink and white stripped polo shirt with a popped collar, Camp was always looking for female accompaniment.
*vodka - redbull*
Rob "Juice" Owens had always been a football player for as long as anyone could remember. People called him Juice as a joke because he played running back and drove a white Ford Bronco. That, and he was black. Rob's complexion was so dark, his eye white and teeth seemed luminescent in the dim lights of the dance club. Well, as luminescent as they could seem over that mango-orange button down with the sleeves rolled up once. Juice was really into dark rum, and he was buying next round.
*rum and coke*
Greg wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and casually bit into the lone ice cube left in the glass. There were a lot of good-looking girls. PCS women, the guys called them, short for Post-Collegiate-Sorostitutes. Girls with their designer outfits, only a few years out of college, and trying desperately hard to be noticed by men for their seemingly professional careers and recently purchased fake tits. Only Tiffany jewelry would touch that tanning-bed colored skin. The wanted so hard to be respected, but lusted after at the same time.
*vodka - redbull*
Wincing, Greg slammed the glass down. He must have tipped well because he could feel the slow burn of what was a strong drink ooze down his chest from the inside. He was starting to feel the beat of the music now. It always took a few drinks to loosen up a bit, but he was now enjoying the techno version of an 80s song he knew. He mouthed a few words and gave a hearty "OOOOOhhh YEAAAHHHH!" at the appropriate moment. Rob punched his arm.
"Fag," Rob sneered.
"You dick," Greg ducked at him. They both laughed.
*Tequila shot*
*Bud Light bottle*
The group was now on the dance floor. Canned lights in the ceiling had green colored gels over them, giving the stage and DJ table an earthy look. Camp was dancing with a dark-rooted blond; her shoulder-length hair showed off a low cut dress and allowed him to nuzzle her shoulders with his lips while he gyrated with the music. Juice was doing his best Justin Timberlake impression for a group of giggly girls with tiaras on--Bachelorette party. You had to laugh at an orange-shirted black man, impersonating a skinny white guy, who tries to act black to sell records. Greg was thirsty and nudging his way through the crowd, he made his way back to the bar.
*Tequila shot*
*Bud Light bottle*
Greg could feel his heart beating as he stood over the urinal. He had to reach out in front of himself, bracing against the wall to hold himself steady. As he shook, a few drops splashed his shoes.
"Fuck," he muttered.
*whiskey - rocks *
Greg stumbled and leaned against the bar. He tried to raise his eyebrows to a few cute girls and one stopped to talk for a bit. A commercial realtor with her hair up and nicely toned arms. She was wearing a black halter top of sorts and had a few light freckles dotting her chest. Greg had offered to buy a drink for her, but it seemed like she left very suddenly.
*Tequila shot*
*Bud Light bottle*
He could feel the heat of bodies in the air as the music got more frenetic and the people sweat from the exertion. There was lots of hip grinding and roaming hands, it looked like. He picked up his drink and the napkin it was served on stuck to the bottom. It had some fancy lettering on it.
"Jealousy"
Greg was amused, remembering that was the name of the club. That was it, jealousy. That's why he remembered. There was a fountain in the VIP room that looked like a green river.
*Bud Light bottle*
Greg couldn't figure it out. Laughing and pointing, and his pants were wet. Oh, he had slipped and fallen in the river while looking at the Koi they kept in it. Greg was waving to them. Hey, Juice is back here.
*Bud Light bottle*
Girls laughing, mostly snickers and "pee-pee pants" remarks. Then it hit him, he wasn't wearing the pants, he was holding them to try and let them dry out. He was in boxers.
*Bud Light bottle*
Oops, slipped. Broken glass sucks.
*Bud Light bottle*
Mr. Stomach was not amused. Greg made it outside to recolor the valet stand as he backwards digested the last 30 minutes of liquid.
*water dips*
Greg blinked awake staring at the faucet of his bathtub. It was slowly dripping behind his head, and pooling around his scalp as it tried to escape down the drain. He couldn't tell if his boxers were damp from urinating himself, or from the bathtub. His lips were dry and crusted over—tasting like acid. His legs ached from being cramped into the tub all night, and his arms had bruises starting to purple over. Camp is trying to talk to him, but it sounds like static on channel 84. It's the water rushing behind his head; Camp turned on the faucet and is reaching for soap.
"Happy Birthday Greg."
"Thanks," he croaked, "So far, 21 sucks."
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Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-10-30 05:33:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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