Drunk & DumberSubmitted by ArdAtak at 2010-04-06 16:43:04 EDT
Rating: 0.57 on 7 ratings (7 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
The following story is 93% true. The other 7% was fabricated or omitted to protect the guilty and make me look cooler than I really am. Names have been altered to protect me from potential lawsuits.
The male doesn't age as we think. In fact, he doesn't age at all. He assimilates, placates and slows, accepts the reality around him and plays what he's told to play. But just a little bit deeper, a scratch below the mask, he's eighteen-to-thirty forever, and every now and again, in the right combination of circumstances, with the right mix of triggers or enticements, that selfish, single minded monkey will break out and escape the cage. And flowing from his greed, gluttony or vice, or a combination of the three at once, a trail of damage will follow. But he'll never be directly blamed. It'll all be collateral damage, the sort of thing that happens when you lock the animal down too tightly, rob him of natural releases.
Let's all get drunk tonight.
I hope I don't fight with a punk tonight.
Let's all get high tonight.
Maybe nobody will die tonight.
Let's all pack yay tonight.
I hope I don't go back to jail tonight.
Let's all hit the club tonight.
Find a woman that wanna make love tonight.
Let's get dumb, drink some rum.
Make my teeth and gums feel real numb.
We'll be thinkin’ 'bout survivin’
while we're drinkin’ and we're drivn’.
Hope I don't wreck when my vision gets blurry.
Sober up lookin’ at an all white jury.
Judge don't like no drunk like me.
Punk might give me strike number three.
Cuz when I'm drunk and when I'm high
I don't give a damn 'bout a DUI.
Let's just get lit, dance like a nitwit,
try to talk to the women that we can't get with.
Me and my staff make everybody laugh
If the beer runs out, we can all go half.
It's Friday night. Got the perfect weather.
C’mon fellas lets get drunk together.
That’s me in the corner of the hot tub, doing my best impression of a bowling ball with arms wrapped around my knees. My legs are logs of jello and my back is in knots, fighting the jets pounding it into submission. Having spent the past 21 hours on my feet, skiing deep pow on top of Blackcomb and partying in the village, I’ve managed to ride the momentum and a nice buzz into to this warm corner. But I’m starting to hit a wall. I have to muster up all the strength I can just to keep from sinking to the bottom. The steam has fogged up the living room glass next to us. Trickles of perspiration roll down the glass, clearing up streams of visibility, allowing me to catch a zebra patterned glimpse of what the boys inside are up to. I reach around the tub, grab some snow, and nail B who’s trying to take a picture of us.
“You guys look so fuckin’ gay!”
I wonder why. I look around. Wow, 8 dudes in a 4 man hot tub. OK, maybe this does look a little gay. I take inventory. With the exception of Jake, I’ve known everyone here for over a decade, 15 to 20 years in some cases. What I do know about Jake is enough to put him on par with most of the crew. To my right are Alan and Tom, beach boys I’ve been ballin’ with since college. I met Alan the first day of my freshman year. To my left is James who I met when he was 17, dancing and pulling chicks at Pier 70 with a fake ID. Next to him sits Kevin, the tragic romantic who occasionally contributes to this blog and quite possibly the unluckiest guy on the planet. Then there’s Jake on the opposite corner, Mikey’s bro from SanDiego. Mikey, my main dawg, sits across from me and Kyle, the Owen Wilson-esque Republican intellectual, sits to his left.
Inside is James’s older brother Josh, a comrade from the original rave days circa 1991. Dave who now lives in Cali is from the old Boeing days. He calls me the hub. Borax the infamous Afghan trouble maker was in Kane’s fraternity and Kane, well, he’s my brother. I met Caden at the house parties in the early 90’s and now we’re here for his bachelor party. I’m the best man.
I think about B’s gay comment. Nope, nothing but stable cats here. I’m confident of this. I’m wrong.
I hear the deck door slam and look up in time to see Alvin running towards the hot tub with a huge bottle of red wine, bouncing on his tippy toes to minimize contact with the snow. He slips and trips into the tub, somehow managing to twist his body and keep the bottle upright and above water. He pops out of the water like Shamu, holds the bottle of wine with a Hitler salute, and screams:
“We’re so fucked. You wanna know how fucked we are? I’ll show you!”
He brings the bottle to his lips and I assume he’s going to chug the whole thing as a dramatic testament to how “fucked” we are; a meaningless gesture which I assume somehow only makes sense to him at this moment. He surprises me. He just takes a tiny sip and silently lowers the bottle from his mouth. He stares into the abyss, as if the sip of wine has suddenly filled him with a profound epiphany. He’s standing in the hot tub, steam slowly rising from his rotund belly like curls of smoke.
After a pregnant pause, the beach boys in my corner lose it. We start laughing uncontrollably at his anti-climactic gesture, intended to prove how “fucked” we were.
Tom: “Oh no, the cops are coming.”
Alan: “We’re all going to jail.”
Me: “Just arrest us right now and get it over with.”
Alvin's gone. Booze & god knows what else have replaced the high IQ and quick wit with a bovine gaze, slurred speech, and fried logic circuits. I’ve seen that look before and I know exactly what it means. He’s going to jail or getting his ass kicked.
He repeats the same 3 phrases over and over again.
“This is so gay.” (enraged)
“We’re so fucked.” (morose)
“This is so fun.” (jovial)
Mikey, ever the instigator, begins to pick up on Alvin's internal conflict and insecurity regarding his proximity to a group of half clothed males and decides to exacerbate his turmoil. He slaps Alvin’s ass and claims that Kevin did it. Then he performs fake oral on an unwilling Alvin as video cameras roll around us. He grabs Alvin from behind and squeezes his fat folds together, creating a fake vagina and asking the audience “Who wants to fuck this?”
Jake seems pleased by the fact that this fiasco is being immortalized on film. “This is so awesome. My wife’s gonna be so pumped when she sees this.” I’m the only one who can relate, the only one who laughs.
Finally, when Kevin opens a condom in the tub I decide I’ve had enough and bolt out. Kyle and a couple of other sane guys do the same. I go upstairs to change. Kane passes out in our room. Just as I’m putting on some dry shorts, a heard of elephants stampedes through the hallway followed by a sound as iconic and ubiquitous as the national anthem: baritone yells of cheer and astonishment only drunk males can produce.
I quickly get dressed and step out the room only to be greeted by quite possibly one of the strangest and most disturbing sights I have ever seen. Mikey is running out of his room buck naked with a look of terror and amusement on his face. Alvin is chasing him. He’s looks all business. Mike circles back into the bathroom that leads to his bedroom hoping to lose his maniacal pursuer. My CPU goes into overdrive, trying to make sense what I just saw. Finally, I decide that I need to forget about the whole thing before I fry the motherboard.
I go downstairs to find out what’s going on only. Before I can open my mouth I hear a rumpling behind me and turn to see Alvin and his naked quarry rolling down the stairs in a blurry heap of denim and flesh. The situation is quickly getting out of hand. Mikey runs upstairs while Alvin walks around with his arms raised, confident that dragging a naked guy out of bed and rolling down the stairs with him has definitely earned him some cool points in the alternate universe in which his mind currently resides. His next mistake puts him in the pantheon of poor bastards who get fucked up and then fuck up.
When I was a kid, we used to go swimming at Buffalo Bayou in Houston. There were some cliffs that we used to dive into the Bayou. Then there was Bradley’s drop. A 90 foot cliff that no one ever dared jump from. It got its name from the last poor soul who decided to jump off of it and died 2 days later from internal injuries. We used to sit at the top of it every day, eating sandwiches, joking, and laughing. It was something we were very close to and spent a lot of time with. But it was also a line we never crossed.(1)
I once saw Caden punch a guy so hard the poor bastard spent 30 seconds spitting out tooth after tooth like a tic-tac factory. I spent my freshman year in college as a scout team running back, getting reamed on a daily basis by an NCAA record breaking defense that sent 10 out of 11 starters to the NFL. None of those guys scare me like Caden does.
Alvin decides to test Caden, the 6’6, 245 Lb groom whose coming nuptials we’re here to celebrate. Caden is buzzed and regal sitting in his leather chair, enjoying the antics and tomfoolery of his subjects. However, he’s still quick enough to grab Alvin’s wrists as he reaches for his neck for a choke move. The expression of shock on his face gradually changes to a smile as he begins playfully punching Alvin in the face with his own fists, a move only reserved for pre-k nieces and nephews. Eventually, like a cat who gets tired of playing with his prey, he tosses the 230 lb Alvin to the side to focus on something more interesting. Alvin makes a second attempt to grab Heavy-C, only be tossed aside again, slightly quicker and more violently than the first time.
“OK, it’s over. It’s totally over.” Alvin gasps as he slowly peels himself off the floor.
Then, before he’s completely upright, he lunges at Caden one last time. This time C doesn’t bother catching, absorbing, and throwing him. He just pops him in the chest with an open palm, instantly sending Alvin’s legs into the air as he crashes onto the hardwood with a rumbling thud.
As the organizer of the party, and with my brother covering the damage deposit for the rental house, I become concerned about potential damage and tell Alvin to knock it off.
“It’s Caden! It’s ALL Caden!” he shouts. Apparently unaware that we’ve all been privy to front row seats in his well deserved ass kicking.
Caden, realizing that Alvin is the best entertainment around begins instigating a 2nd attack on the naked sleeping Mike.
“Dude, that guy totally owned you. You just got punked by a naked guy. I can’t believe you’re gonna let him get away with that shit.”
Even sensible me couldn’t help but feel a trickle of joy and anticipation at the prospect of watching Alvin launch a 2nd attack on Mikey.
After a moment spent pondering the situation, Alvin slowly gets off the floor and begins walking up the stairs to the roar of a cheering crowd. I start humming “Eye of the Tiger” and soon everyone else joins in. The sight of a long single file line of grown men walking up the stairs humming the Rocky soundtrack and pumping their fists at 3:00 a.m. must have looked pretty ugly but I couldn’t help but enjoy the humor and sheer ludicrosity (I made that word up) of the situation. B’s got his camcorder rolling. I catch Dave’s eye. He’s laughing and shaking his head like “here we go again”. This can’t be good.
What the fuck are you doing?
Mikey is nowhere to be found. He’s not in his bed or anywhere else upstairs for that matter. Alvin directs his search to our room where Kane’s already sleeping. After a cursory search he decides to start threatening my sleeping brother.
“Are you hiding Mike? You’re next dude!”
I get in the way and try to ease him out of our room. He pushes me. I catch myself on the bed and plow into him, chucking him out of the room. He acts like I’ve just high-fived him, laughs, and continues his search.
Finally someone spots Mikey hiding under the covers in Alan’s top bunk. Alvin starts climbing the bunk ladder. Mikey throws him off. THUNK! Alvin lands most ungracefully with his head hitting the railing on the bottom bunk. He climbs up again and pulls the covers off Mike. Unfortunately (or fortunately for Alvin) Mike’s still naked. This seems to give Alvin the extra motivation he needs to make it to the top bunk. Captain Jack Sparrow fights the defending soldiers and finally boards the the naval vessel "Rainbow Dreams".
They start grappling again and in one of the most infamous, controversial, mysterious, and hilarious moments in the history of wrestling, Alvin decides that the most prudent move would be to twist and turn his back to Mike, giving a new and most literal meaning to the term “Rear Naked Choke”. Randy Couture would be proud. Now Mikey is not a small guy to begin with, but he’s got the size to strength ratio of a chimp with downs syndrome. The guy is freakishly strong. And once he has Alvin locked in the “lusty spoon” it is over.
B’s got his camcorder rolling at the foot of the bunk and he’s doing his best to taunt and enrage the trapped Alvin.
“Way to give up the booty on the first date.”
“For Christ’s sake please control your male lust.”
“Shouldn’t you kiss him first before offering him your cock-holster?”
“Go ahead Mikey. Dig deep. See if you can find some oil.”
Finally, Alvin looks down at the foot of the bed, sees B and his camcorder, and the reality that he’s being video taped spooning with a naked man penetrates his foggy brain. In a last effort to free himself he begins thrashing and bucking like a trapped wolverine. Mike’s arms are a steel trap. Alvin doesn’t stand a chance. He eventually stops struggling. Panting and hissing his words with no breath left, he gasps his infamous line of the night. “This is so gay.”
We’re going to hell.
With no other options left, he decides to turn the tables on Mike and see if he can shame him into gaining his freedom back. He reaches behind him and starts fondling Mike’s bulbous buttocks.
“Is this what you wanted? Why didn’t you say so? If I knew you wanted me to play with your man-pleaser I would have done it a long time ago.”
Now it’s Mike’s turn to go wild. He brings his knees under him, rendering his corn-hole out of Alvin’s reach. Then he starts slamming Alvin’s head into the wall. If it wasn’t for Alvin’s jeans, I’d swear Mikey was hitting that ass. The rickety bunk is whining and cracking under their combined weights and Mike’s power thrusts. I’m supporting the frame with all my strength to keep it from shattering and sending the violent lovers to the floor, more out of concern for Kane’s damage deposit than the clowns safety.
Eventually Alvin concedes defeat and promises to leave Mike alone if he lets him go. However, it's becoming painfully obvious that he isn't going to crash anytime soon. He's a Tasmanian Daredevil bouncing off the walls and the sleep we all desperately need is in jeopardy. With the exception of Kane & Mike everyone else is back downstairs. Kevin is glued to the couch so I lean in ask him where he stashes his meds. We exchange whispers and I'm bounding up the stairs. Black bag, front pocket, prescription bottle, pink & white pills. I come back with a Xanax and a pain killer.
"OK Buddy, open your mouth."
He doesn't ask. He doesn't hesitate. He doesn't resist. Down the hatch and into the belly.
A few minutes later I find B standing in the Kitchen with a evil smile on his face.
"I think he's about to go down."
Alvin is standing in the living room giving a speech that no one is listening to.
"Dude, he's not a darted Rhino. He's not gonna fall down like a chopped tree. He'll probably just get sleepy and go to bed."
B disagrees. He bets Josh on when and how Alvin's going down. I don't have the patience to stand around and find out. The 8 hours of non-stop skiing in deep powder with no lunch break combined with a long night of partying in the village have left me drained. I borrow a Xanax from Kevin and for only the 2nd time in my life I wash it down with some tea and hit the sack.(2)
I fall asleep to the sounds of distant laughter.
I wake up to the sounds of distant laughter. K’s gone. What the fuck! Why is anyone up at this hour? My mouth tastes like a whorehouse. I wonder if I’m the only one who needs to punch himself in the nuts just to get out of bed.
As I head down the stairs I recognize B’s giggle. He looks up from his laptop and flashes that bulletproof Afghan smile.
“C’mere dude. Check out these vids from last night.”
I sit on the couch and watch last night’s debauchery replayed before my eyes. The bunk bed scene can ruin careers and destroy lives. I laugh anyway.
I look at Caden, who’s been a mentor of sorts for me in advanced photography.
“You know … I was thinking … if you’re taking a picture of 9 dudes in a hot tub, you should never have to worry about motion blur. Right?”
He pumps his arms in the air like he’s at a rave. We both laugh a hearty chuckle.
Alvin’s the last one out of bed. He limps out of his room with both hands covering his head while I’m getting ready to give the guys who didn’t ski yesterday a ride to Blackcomb. The thunderous applause that greets him does little to change the expression on his face, no doubt antagonizing the two rams who are currently battling over breeding rights in his skull.
“Good morning champ! What do you want for breakfast? We got hard boiled balls and fried man ass prepared especially for you.”
“What the fuck happened last night? Why do I have all these scratches on my arms? And what’s with all these bumps on my head?”
Mike and I share a knowing look and a silent smile. B shows Alvin his theatrical debut in soft-core gay porn.
“aaaaaaaahhh … Fuck my life.”
As I’m carrying the last of my gear into the xTerra I hear Mikey, negotiator supreme:
“B, Alvin and I will split your bill here if you delete that video.”
Another round of baritone laughter erupts, muffled mid-life as I close the door and fading further away as I walk down the driveway. I climb the bumper to my ski rack and suck in the morning sun rays.
(1) I’ve jumped a couple cliffs of that magnitude in my adult life but back then, in my little Junior High psyche, you might as well have asked me to jump off Mt. Rainier.
(2) Ironically, I later found out that Alvin actually calmed down (surprise) and became more lucid once the meds hit him. He even made a comment along the lines of "I think I did some inappropriate things." and then went to bed.