Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Buck vs. Jagermeister

Usually, on the two nights a year I decide to drink, I stick with my sissy drinks. Smirnoff, Mike's Hard Lemon-aid, drinks like that. Not because I'm a big girl and can't handle booze, but because they taste really damn good, and beer tastes god awful. However, every now and then, I'll get that wild hair up my ass. I'll scan the room, and low and behold! There's that dark green bottle of liquid Hell: JAGERMEISTER. I'll think to myself "Dustin, you have to work in the near future. You really should stay away from that." Then my balls will chip in "Fuck you brain! JAAAGGERRRR!!" My brain will step to the side, because he knows that eventually I'll be throwing up for a couple of hours, pass out, and wish I had listened in the morning.

When I usually drink Jager, I'll have fun for about an hour, then I vomit for three hours, and go home to pass out. But, on one special night, I was there for fuckin' business. Now, before I begin this tale, I should say that what happened on this night might have actually happened on a different night. I have no idea. Either both nights were basically identical, or I completely blacked out one of them. Either way, in my brain lies a combination of the two, that's the story I remember, and the story I will share. I don't care if it's correct.

We were having a part at The Trailer either for no reason, or because my buddy Daniel had come back from his Army duty, or he was about to leave for duty. Either way, we were partying, and everyone was to get drunk. Somehow, a fucking liter of Jager showed up. My balls tell my brain to shut the fuck up, and I move in. Daniel sits down with the bottle. I saddle up beside him. Shot glasses appear. We look each other in the eyes, give each other a knowing nod, and just start slamming them down. At this point I should state that I'm not much of a drinker. I can hold an average amount of my Smirnoffs, unless I decide I have to wrestle someone. I usually get sick after about four or five Jager shots. Not on this night. Daniel can out drink me on any night, and I have no illusions that I can compete with him. But on this night, my balls were battle ready. When I stopped, I believe I had someone in the area of 12 Jager shots, all within...30 minutes? An hour? I have no idea. I had no working knowledge of time. Dan was somewhere around 15-20. We're both giggling dipshits. To say we were drunk would be incorrect. I was on a different plane of existence. Thankfully, Dan got up to stumble around, mingling with everyone else that was there. I decided to sit and try not to die.

It is about this time that my buddy Josh shows up. He sees me sitting down in front of the Jager bottle, and sits across from me. He reminds me that he was in martial arts with me. I make a noise that resembles agreeing. He says that we need to drink some Jager. I beg to differ. He says that we need to drink to our warrior spirits, that we need to drink to the spirit of martial arts. For some damn reason, I saw this as a challenge to my manhood. My balls will not tolerate some white belt trying to one-up me. THIS WILL NOT STAND! So, because I am smart, I ORDER him to pour me a shot. I down that sum bitch, and slam the glass on the table. "Another!" I proclaim! I slam that bastard down as well.

My brain was sitting back, watching this. My brain had been sending me subtle hints for a while now that I really need to stop. When I took that second shot, my brain told my eyes to give me the final warning. Everything was spinning rapidly, but I was sitting down, so I didn't feel any threat. However, when I grabbed my 15th or so shot of the night, my third in roughly a minute, my brain was officially tired of my shit. My last memory of that night was bringing that shot up to my lips.

I came to in the bathroom the next morning, confused and in a little pain. I was directly across from the toilet, there was vomit in the tub, and I had rug burn on both of my elbows. My first clear thought was that I wanted a cigarette, but couldn't find my smokes. I then decided that I needed to go to sleep. I get up, go into the living room. John is passed out on one couch, and Josh is passed out in a chair. I thought about punching Josh, but instead I fell over onto the second couch. I was in the process of passing back out, when I heard Josh get up. I watched him as he stumbled over next to the couch I was laying in. I watch him unzip and unbutton his pants. My brain sends me warning signals that I might want to get out of the way. I see Josh's hands go into his pants, and begin the motions of pulling his member out. I realize I am in no shape to flee, so  opt to just try to roll over into the cushions of the couch, hoping he will miss me, because he is definitely going to pee on me. I second or two later, I look back, wondering where the pee is. Josh didn't pull it out, but he is pissing all over himself. He sits back down, passes back out, and I giggle my ass off. I guess my laughter woke John up. He suggested that we call someone to take us to get food. That is the best idea I've ever heard. The call is made, we get picked up, and off to food!

As I get into the bright light, I regret every bad decision I've ever made. I've never been hung over before. I've heard tales, but I thought that they were just exaggerated. It was awful. Very few times in my life have I been more miserable. Anyway. We get to the restaurant. I order a chicken strip basket with fries, thinking surely I can eat at least the fries. I managed to stomach down one (1) fry, and I had to force it down. I also had to go to the bathroom, because eating that one fry almost made me throw up. We go back to the trailer, and I pass out. I was hung over, literally, all damn day. I worked over nights at the time, and didn't get over my hangover until around 3am the next morning. After that night, I vowed to never drink that much ever again. So far, I have managed to do so. So, if you ever see me boozing it up, and I'm nice and drunk, if you want to see me try to kill myself via hooch, just challenge my manhood. I am all that is MAN, and my drunk ass will prove it to you by throwing up and being a whiny bitch the entire next day.

1 comment:

  1. I remember that night. I nearly killed Josh when I started cleaning and smelled piss in the carpet...