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Drunk as a SkunkThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Max Booth III | |
| Wednesday, 25 June 2008 | |
 The first time I got drunk, well ... it wasn't a pretty sight and I wouldn't want to live through it again. Or recommend it. Let's just say that it isn't a story you would tell your grandchildren, okay? It is extremely embarrassing and it is a burden that I even remember it. I thought when you got drunk you blacked out? Well, that didn't happen to me. The booze just ****** me up uncontrollably. I don't want to babble on any further so here is my story. *********
It was ten years ago when I had alcohol for the first time. I was fourteen at the time and it was my parent's anniversary. They hadn't gone out to a restaurant by themselves since ... well, since I was born. But I had encouraged them enough and they finally agreed that they could use a night to themselves. So, they let me spend the night at my big brother's apartment. Jeremy was twenty three at the time and had just recently rented his own apartment on 51st Street. Now, 51st Street was known for its ghetto sort of style. It was where the crack heads lived on the street and the cars were stripped clean. But on the up side, the apartments were cheap as hell. It was a four story red bricked apartment building. As our car pulled up to the place I noticed my mom locking her door after eyeing a black man leaning against a mailbox, smoking a cigarette. "You be careful, now," my mom told me. "Hey, Jordan," my dad shouted before I exited the car. Oh God, what kind of weird remark was he going to tell me now? "Yeah, Dad?" "Don't you go walking around at night on the highway, wearing all black, or else you might get squished by a drunken truck driver." Ever since I was a baby he had always had this fear of me getting run over by a car. "Okay, Dad, I'll be careful," I said, with a smile across my face. I hopped out of the car and jogged up to the apartment building. I ignored the crack head by the mailbox and made my way up the seven sets of stairs (oh he just had to live on the top floor didn't he?). Trying to catch my breath I punched the door instead of knocking, (like I usually did). But just as my fist was about to connect to the door it suddenly opened and I hit some girl in the face. Her hand shot up to her left eye and she screamed "Ahh, what the fuuck?" My jaw dropped in shock and I apologized, "Oh, ****, I'm sorry!" but she didn't seem to hear me. The lady just stormed off down the steps. Confused, I stepped into my brother's apartment and found Jeremy sitting on the couch. His room mates, Fat Greg was on the lazy boy, and Skinny Greg was sitting Indian-style on the floor with an astray laying next to him. But it looked like he missed it a couple times because there were cigarette burns on the carpet. "Hey, bro!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Hey." I motioned my hand toward the door. "Who was she?" "Oh, that was Lizzy, she just came up to see if we're going down to her place to watch that new movie, Superbad," my brother answered. "Oh, cool, I wanted to see that." "Hey, why did she scream like that? What did you do?" "Umm ... punched her in the face," I muttered. "Ya whhaat?" Fat Greg asked, astonished. They all started laughing. "So what's up, Jordo?" Jeremy asked me. "Nuthin much," I simply replied. "So, Mom and Dad finally got out of the house, huh?" "Yep." "What, they never leave?" Fat Greg asked. "Don't they go to work?" "Shut up, fat ass," Skinny Greg snapped. Nobody really liked Fat Greg. He was annoying. He always stared at you and he laughed like that chick Amy from ‘Larry the Health Inspector‘. Ha ... ha .... Haaaaa ... just really annoying, you see? He was also four hundred and fifty pounds, which meant he ate a LOT of food. The only reason he lived there was because he made the bucks and could pay rent when Skinny Greg and Jeremy were short. Fat Greg didn't have a backbone, too. So you could tell him his mother was a drunken ***** and he would just laugh right along. I didn't really like him, but I didn't like to be a bully. I wouldn't have called him Fat Greg, but in all truth I didn't know his last name, and Skinny Greg was the first Greg to come along so ... "I'm gonna go take a piss," I said. "You can't," Jeremy said. "Why not?" "Because Greg plugged the ***** up," Jeremy said, motioning to Skinny Greg. "Well, if you guys didn't buy one ply toilet paper we wouldn't be in this dilemma," Skinny Greg said. You see, he had this fear. He was afraid of one ply toilet paper. He thought that as he was wiping, his fingers would tear through the paper and go up his ass. He was kind of a homophobe. "The toilet overflowed and now the water is all over the floor, it's been like that since this morning," Fat Greg said. "Well, I guess we can go down now and watch that movie. You can piss there," Jeremy said. "Where does she live?" I asked. "Exactly right below us. One floor down." "Okay, sounds good. Let's go," I said. "You coming with us, fat ass?" Skinny Greg asked. "Nah, I think I'm gonna take a shower." "Okay, maybe you'll finally find your dick," Skinny Greg snickered. My brother, Skinny Greg, and I walked down to the third floor and just walked through the door. It was basically the same design as Jeremy's place; just the furniture was set up differently. Lizzy was slumped over on a love seat, holding a bag of ice to her eye. Jeeze, I didn't think I hit her that hard. That made me wonder how pissed Jeremy's front door was, I've been punching it for years. A fat gothic lady with black hair, black eye lash, and black lipstick was sitting on a lazy boy strumming the strings of a light brown acoustic guitar. Goddamn, she was ugly. The one I clocked in the face, well, she wasn't half bad looking but this THING on the chair was just a fat piece of road kill with black makeup. I honestly felt like puking all over the floor right then. "Hey, Jeremy!" the THING exclaimed. "Hey, Sandra," Jeremy muttered. So the THING had a name, huh? It was called ... Sandra. "This is my little brother, Jordan. Lizzy, I've believe you two have already meant," Jeremy laughed. She flicked me off. The *****, I didn't mean to punch her. She gives me the finger? So I did the only thing I could think to do, I gave her the finger right back. And believe it or not she started cracking up. "I like him, he's cool," Lizzy said. "Hey, I'm sorry about your eye." "Its no biggie, Jack hits me harder than that, just not where people can see." "Who's Jack?" I asked. And to answer my question a man wearing only underwear came running out of a bedroom, shouted "I LOVE ACIIIIIIID!" and head butted the wall. He dropped to the floor, unconscious. "What the hell?" I yelped, jumping back. Back nobody else seemed to notice. "Is this like a normal thing for you guys?" I asked. "Oh, it's just gay Jack tripping on some LSD. Just normal ole Jack," Lizzy smiled. "So, can I get you guys some drinks or what?" "Hell yes," Skinny Greg said. Jeremy looked down at me. "You've never had alcohol, right?" "Nope, never." And it was the truth, too. "Well, you're fourteen and it's about time you had some. Besides, it's better if you have some now instead of with your dumbass friends and you guys get in trouble with the police." If only he would had known the outcome of the night. "What do ya have, Lizzy?" Jeremy asked. "What da **** ya think we have? We have more booze that a goddamn bar, man!" "Alright! Let's start off with some Tequila shots! Jordo, you're gonna be one drunk little boy before this night is over." My brother wasn't exactly the most responsible of people. It was a double shooter, as he called it. He told me just to think of it as a band aide. Just down it real fast like. So, not wanting to look like a chicken in front of Lizzy, I shot the thing to my mouth. I puked all over their kitchen sink, even out my nose. And let me tell you, alcohol shooting through your nose burns like a ************! Pardon my French. I looked back at everyone, really embarrassed. "Hey, it's cool, man. I puked like a maniac the first time I took a shot," Lizzy said, reassuring. "Just don't let the **** hit your tongue, ya know? You have to take it really fast. Try again." This time the Tequila went straight down my throat without touching my tongue. It felt a lot better, but it still had a nasty taste. I smiled and said "Yummy" but felt like such a nerd afterwards. Jeremy, Skinny Greg, and Lizzy took a shot themselves. I wondered why the THING didn't drink any, but weirdly felt too scared to ask. I sensed a creepy vibe around her. Stupid Goths. "Ready for another round, brother man?" Jeremy asked. I didn't really want to, but I wanted to fit in. I wanted to impress my brother and show that I was cool, too. "Hell yeah, *****," I said. Everybody laughed, but Jeremy only smiled and said I would regret that. And knowing that smile I knew that he would want to wrestle later, and he would **** either my leg, arm, back, or neck up with some kind of dangerous submission hold that he had recently ‘invented'. The next shot went down much more smoothly. The third one felt good, actually. But still a little ... bitter. "Okay, enough of Tequila. Lizzy, please tell me you have my Jameson," Jeremy said. "Hell yeah I do, I got his brother, Jack, too." "Oh, goodie. Let me have both." The whiskey shots tasted pretty good. Way better than Tequila. But it burned so bad as it poured down my throat, and afterwards I made this face as if I had just eaten a bunch of sour candy. The Whiskey Face, as Jeremy called it. Then I fell into a deep, long, mighty belch. Before I could even say ‘excuse me' another shot glass filled with God knows what was slid my way. Without thinking I downed the bastard and then another one. Whoa, I think I was getting a buzz. It suddenly felt like I had bricks on my head and my legs were asleep. "Dude ..." I mumbled. They all started laughing hysterically as they looked at me. "You felling a little drunk, buddy?" Skinny Greg asked. "I need ... I need to sit down ... or I'm ... I'm gonna fall ..." "Okay, come on. Light Weight," Jeremy joked, and helped me to the couch. I felt like I was paralyzed sitting on the couch. I couldn't really move for the next twenty minutes, but I remember that they started watching Superbad and I was following along the best I could. Jack woke up and went back in his room. The THING never really said anything. She just strummed on her devil guitar and stared at my brother. I wondered if she had ever cast any love spells on him. I bet my left nut that she practiced witchcraft. It was around the time in the movie where the character Seth (Jonah Hill) was visualizing that he was robbing a grocery store for its liquor. When he was walking past this cop he said "Hope piggy can run ..." and I fell out of my daze and started cracking up. "Well, look who's back," Lizzy smiled. "Ready for another round?" Skinny Greg asked. "Yeah, muthafucka!" I exclaimed. So ... I drank a lot more and watched some more of the movie. After it was over we all realized how hungry we were, so Jeremy volunteered to make a food run to the Jimmie John's in town. Me and Lizzy also went with. Lizzy was the one who drove, since she was the least ****** up. Of course I chilled in the back seat, with my head leaning against the window. It was probably a bad idea to do so, since everything was zipping past like a bullet. It was all good, I puked inside my mouth a few times, but I managed to keep it in like a tough SOB. We were almost to Jimmie John's when I heard a loud ass, whining noise cave into my ears. "Ahhh, what the **** is that?!" I yelled, slamming my hands to my ears. "Oh ****, it's the cops. We're being pulled over," Lizzy said. "Alright, Jordo, just stay cool, okay? Don't say anything and WHATEVER you do, don't act drunk," Jeremy told me. "Yeah, ya think?" A cop was furiously pounding on the driver's window, which made my teeth clench. It was then that I realized how ******* hot it was. I mean, I thought I was going to die of dehydration, really. Oh man I HAD to get out of this car. I HAD to get out of these clothes. Why was it so hot? I felt so trapped in this car. I never had claustrophobia, but I thought I was getting it now. Oh no just another stupid fear to have. Just ******* great. Lizzy whined down the window and asked what everybody asks a cop that pulls them over. "What seems to be the problem, officer?" "Well, you were driving twenty miles over the legal speed limit. Now I am going to need to see the Ids of all of you, and the car registration and your proof of insurance." Lizzy and Jeremy gave him everything, but the cop stared at me. "Id, I said!" "Umm ... I don't have one," I said, a little confused. "Well, why not?" "Because I'm only fourteen." "Yeah, and pigs can fly." "No, pigs arrest people, they don't fly." "Excuse me?" "You're excused," I said. I thought I was falling into some kind of trap, but I wasn't sure. "What's wrong with you, boy? Why you sweating so much? You nervous?" "No, I'm just really ******* hot, man." "Oh, okay. Wait, are you coming on to me?" I gave the cop a weird look. He had blood shot eyes and his breath reeked. I think he was drunk, too. "Yeah, give me a kiss, you big, hairy man!" "What?" Then I thought of something that put my newly discovered claustrophobia on hold. I thought of a scene from Superbad. I looked at the cop and whispered, "Hope piggy can run." I then opened the back door and ran like hell. I heard Lizzy and Jeremy shouting at me to come back here. What the hell are you doing, Jordo? But I ignored them and kept running like a madman. "Get back here, sonny boy!" the cop shouted behind me. "Suck my diiiick!" I screamed, and easily ditched the pig. I hid in this dark alley, and sat behind a dumpster, catching my breath. I was still too hot, so I took off my shirt, then my pants. God, why was I so hot? It wasn't even summer, it was fall. I sat there for a little while longer, but then I felt something running up my leg. "What the ..." Then I saw the glare of eyes right by my lap. "Hey, get the **** away from me!" I pushed the mysterious stranger off of me and I heard him shout, "Its okay, boy! I'm gentle! Just come back, I have some candy!" I got the hell out of dodge and ran toward the apartment on 51st street, but that was at least an hour walk, and I didn't even have any clothes. Only my underwear and shoes. I wasn't very incognito, was I? About ten minutes of walking Lizzy pulled the car up behind me. "Nice ass!" Jeremy yelled. I looked at Lizzy and blushed, then ran and jumped in the back of the car. Jeremy made fun of me the whole way back to the apartment. I guess it was his ‘revenge' for me calling him a ***** earlier. When we got back I remembered I didn't bring any extra pants, but Jeremy gave me an old pair of his to borrow. We went back down to Lizzy's place, where the THING was still strumming on her goddamn guitar. Skinny Greg was passed out on the floor. But he had the number 666 carved onto his head. I think I was the only one who noticed that. That THING was seriously freaking me out. "Well, that was an adventure," Jeremy laughed. And before anybody could say anything else we heard a loud crashing noise from the bathroom and a girlish scream. We all just stood there, frozen. Then Fat Greg and his giant, repulsive naked body came walking out of the bathroom, covered in drywall. "There's a hole in the floor," he said. Fat Greg and the bath tub had fallen through the floor and into Lizzy's bathroom. Now that was the weirdest thing I had ever seen. Well, the second weirdest. I'll get to the first one later on in my drunken tale. Well, as you can imagine, we all laughed our asses of. Except for the THING, though. She just played her guitar. Didn't say one word. A half hour later the door started knocking rapidly. "Open up! It's the police!" "Oh ****," Jeremy said. "What should I do?" I asked. "They're gonna know I'm drunk." "Go hide in Sandra's room," Lizzy said. "It's the last room on the left. Hurry!" Without protesting, I ran to the last room on the left and closed the door behind me. At first I didn't look around, I just put my ear to the door and listened closely. I heard Jeremy and Lizzy talking to the police. Apparently they had gotten a report of a loud noise. I bet he was talking about Fat Greg falling through the floor. But I could have been wrong. I soon got bored and looked around the room. The THING'S room. Well, the first thing I noticed was a dead cat pinned to the wall, and under it was a desk with many lit candles surrounding a picture of my brother. "She really is a freak," I whispered. Then I looked up and noticed something very scary. There were things hanging on chains from the ceiling. A lot of them. Possible a thousand. A thousand dildos. But these weren't your average ordinary house wife dildos; these were dildos with mouths and eyes. Yeah, you heard me. They were ALIVE. Yeah, if you didn't guess it already. This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to me. But then one of them spoke. "Is this the real life?" Then another. "Is this just fantasy?" And another. "Caught in a landside." And so on. "No escape from reality." "Open your eyes." "Look up to the skies and see." What the hell was going on? "I'm just a poor boy." "I need no sympathy." "Because I'm easy come, easy go." "Little high, little low." "Anyway the wind blows." "Doesn't really matter to me." "To me, to me." This was it, I was going insane. Just lock me up in the loony bin already. "Mama, just killed a man," "Put a gun against his head." "Pulled my trigger, now he's dead." The dildos keep on singing. I'm a psycho. What was wrong with me? I prayed I was still drunk. Then I started to hear some music. Like a sort of tapping, but it was catchy. I started dancing along as the dildos played their song. "I see a little silhouette of a man." "Scaramouch, Scaramouch will you do the fandango?" "THUNDER BOLT AND LIGHTNING, VERY VERY FRIGHTNING ME!" "Galileo." "Galileo." "Galileo." "Galileo." "Galileo, Figaro - magnifico." "I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me," I suddenly sang out loud. The dildos sang with me, of course. "HE'S JUST A POOR BOY, FROM A POOR FAMILY!" "SPARE HIM HIS LIFE FROM THIS MONSTROSOTY!" I mumbled, "Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?" "Bismillah! NO! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!" "LET HIM GO!" "Bismillah! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!" "LET HIM GO!" "Bismillah! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!" "Will not let you go." "Let me go," I said. "Will not let you go." "Let me go!" I shouted. "Never, never." "OHOHOHOH!" "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!" "Oh, mama mia, mama mia." "MAMA LET ME GO!" I screamed. "Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me! FOR ME! For me ..." All of a sudden somebody was playing a loud electric guitar. It was like I was in a rock music video and I was the star. The dildos were just the back up singers. I put the invisible microphone to my mouth and sang in my rock n' roll voice; "So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye!? So you think you can love me and leave me to diieee!? Ooh, baby! Cant do this to me baby! Just got to get out! Just got to get right out of here!" Suddenly the guitar stopped and the piano came back. My singing got lower and sadder. "Nothing really matters, anyone can see. Nothing really matters. Nothing really matters to me. "Anyway the wind blows," I whispered. The song was over. The crowd was leaving after their hands got sore from clapping so loud. God, I loved being a musician. But I wasn't a musician, was I? Nope, just some kid drunk as a skunk. Now, I had to be quiet, because the cops might still be out in the living room. Hopefully they didn't hear my concert. "Hey. Hey!" What the hell was that? I turned around to see a mattress against the wall, and laying on it was that dude Jack. You know, the one who had yelled he loved acid and jumped into the wall. "Hey!" he shouted, again. "What?" I whispered. "What the hell are you doen with those? You playing nice?" "What?" "What were you doen?" "I was singing Queen, now shut up." "You calling me a queen? I ain't a ****** girl, man. I'm not gay! I'm a ******* man. I have a dick! You wanna see? Huh?" "Hell no, man. Get the **** away from me. I'm not like that." "What? You calling me gay? I already told you I'm not a queer!" Believe it or not but Jack swung his fist at me. Maybe if I wasn't drunk I would have been able to dodge it, but I was pissed and the fist collided into my left cheek bone, causing me to fly backwards against the door. I had no doubt in my mind that the cop didn't hear that. I heard a voice coming from the living room. "What was that?" was what I heard. It was the voice of the cop. "Uh ... what was what?" Jeremy said. "That noise. I heard something. Step aside now! Whoever is in there, get out with your hands up. Now!" **** this was it. Time to face the music. I opened the door and stepped out with my arms raised above my head. I was struggling not to puke, and it showed on my face. The cop had his service pistol pointed at me. He was staring straight into my eyes, and all of a sudden he burst out laughing. "Goddamn, Jeremy, what are ya doen to your brother? He looks like he's gonna hurl!" the cop laughed. I looked back inside the room and noticed Jack had passed back out on the floor. I turned to the cop and then to Jeremy. "What's going on?" "He isn't a cop, Jordon. He's my friend, Kenny. This is just a Halloween costume. We were just ******* with you, man." I thought of telling him about my Bohemian Rhapsody music video but thought better of it. "You *******," I said. "Hey, you knew I was gonna get you back for calling me a *****, right? Well, now we're even." I sighed and smiled. That bastard had really scared the crap out of me. "Well, what da hell are we waiting for? We gonna start drinking or what?" Kenny asked. "Sure," I mumbled. We had some more Tequila shots and whiskey. It was a pretty fun night, but the next morning when I woke up in my room I thought my head was going to explode ... seriously. It didn't help with my Mom banging pots and pans all day either. I learned something else, too. When you drink the next morning you get the shits. I mean, you get them bad. I spend almost the whole day in bed and in the bathroom, well until my Mom made me go outside to mow the lawn. The sun and the loud banging or the lawn mower made everything extremely worse. Hangovers are a *****, that's for sure. The next week my brother introduced me to Vodka. Copyright 2008 Max Booth III |
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