The following events actually happened. Unless, you want to sue me for something I’ve published, in which case, it should be construed to be false. Some names, dates, locations and other details have been changed to protect the anonymity of all parties involved.
The month of January 2012 was one to remember. With a new year, people were celebrating merrily as the holidays were coming to an end. A particular incident happened during the last week of Winter Break that re-shaped my view on alcohol, women, and vomit.
MidgetKing, my brother, was always a fan of bringing me along to parties consisting of intoxicated college kids in hopes that I could study how the average person suddenly changes once 3 beers have infused their livers. This particular night, we have two girls with us: A raven-haired, college drop-out, and a blonde that my brother knew from college, neither of which weighed more than 105 lbs., on a good day. For the sake of keeping anonymity and prolonging hilarity, let’s refer to them as Bertha and Prudence, respectively.
Our night starts by attending a random party that a friend of a friend of my brother invited us to. I notice a few things: Everyone inside the house has a beer in hand, the people outside of the house are smoking, and the only form of entertainment around is a television and a game of Beer Pong; This is a college party.
As we sat down at the bar table, the girls started taking shot after shot of pure Russian vodka. I didn’t drink any as I wished to stay sober in case my brother became too intoxicated to drive, which happened very often. I also couldn’t possibly let either of these two girls drive as it would be a death sentence, plus women can’t drive for shit. The reason I say “death sentence” is not only because they are women, but because in the first 5 minutes of drinking they decide to approach me and speak to me in a language I like to refer to as “Vodkan.”
Bertha and Prudence begin to talk to me, asking me questions you would normally ask a retarded 10 year old boy:
“What would you like to be when you grow up?”, “Have you ever kissed a girl?”, “What do you like to do for fun?” and “What is your favorite color?”
My personal favorite was “You don’t drink? I wish I was like you.”
Their voices were slurred, they walked in a zig-zag-like pattern and they had to go to the bathroom every 5-10 minutes. As you can clearly see, these ladies were plastered. After a while of this, we decide to head out to another party.
Along the way, our conversations start to get rather sexual. Long story short, the two girls start making out in the backseat. The sloppy sounds they make as they attempt to smother and eat each others face off could be compared to watching a Girls Gone Wild video, on bath salts. (too soon?) Eventually they start to get excited and develop a symptom commonly known as being “horny.” The two recommend that MidgetKing and I buy a dildo for them in exchange for giving us the privilege of watching them use it. Unfortunately, the sex shop was closed when we got there at 10pm. What kind of sex shop closes at night? You could consider this the “climax” of the story, as everything goes downhill from this point.
Apparently the drinking fairy hated both of these girls and gave them nausea and headaches which completely ruined the rest of the plans for the night.
“Pull over… PULL OVER NOW!!!” yells Bertha.
Bertha runs out of the car in the middle of the street, bends over, and makes the following sound:
The vomit spewed all over the pavement and even landed on my shoes. To give a better picture… it was kind of like an elephant taking a big steamy pile of shit all over the street, but instead of shit it was vodka mixed with chips, salsa and whatever that green stuff at the party was.
The troubles don’t end here. Bertha’s boyfriend, who is all the way in Spain at the time, decides to check up on her. By “check up on her”, I mean become an insecure psycho douchebag. Upon finding out that Bertha has a headache, nausea, and threw up in the middle of the street, he starts calling every 5 minutes and leaving over ten voicemails in the span of 30 minutes. In order to emphasize the distance between each call, I’ll repeat: “EVERY 5 MINUTES.” We couldn’t get past a Drake song without him calling and asking who she was with, where she was, and what she was doing.
At this point, any chance of us enjoying the night was completely ruined. We head over to a gas station so the two girls can calm down and drink some water. Instead, we buy more alcohol for Prudence who still thinks she can drink with the big boys. The whole time we’re there, Bertha is freaking out.
“I’m so cold… I don’t know what to do… I feel sick… I want to lay down… “I WANNA GO HOME.” and so on…
It felt like we were babysitting two girls on their period.
We decide to take the two to a house party down the street so they can use the bathroom. This party has good music, alcohol, and a Chihuahua running around. Unfortunately Bertha’s boyfriend could hear the music and committed a deed no sane person could have the balls to do… he did some long distance cock-blocking. He called her parents, all the way from Spain, and told them what she was doing. Excuse me for a second… NOW the night has been ruined.
We leave the house and head over to Bertha’s house. Unfortunately these two lightweights have bladders made of Bounty paper and we had to stop. They went over to pee in a bush… classy. They get back in the car, we take them home and head back to the party. Throughout this adventure I had one thought in my head… “College life will be incredible.”
That night I learned a few things:
- Never take lightweight drinkers who don’t know their limits to parties
- Always keep a handy dildo in case of emergency
- And turn off the phone if your love interest is constantly calling you from another country