To think, it all started with gonorrhea. Unfortunately, on Halloween I’d forgotten my spare case of antibiotics as I ventured into the night dressed up like a douchebag. Douchebag in this case is a costume, not a description. Picking relevant douche insignia I assembled a uniform for the Jersey Shore meets Staten Island meets pompous prick. Three popped collars, one headband, aviators, and a fohawk later I walked towards the subway doing my best to subdue the douche within until arriving at the party.
The first stop united me with the Ambiguously Gay Duo, a soldier, two cowboys, and some strippers (putting cat ears on your head while wearing a four inch skirt does not make you a feline it makes you a whore). Beer was consumed, unforgivable statements were made and southerners were offended…and offensive at the same time.
Like alcohol thirsty parasites, we moved to the next party after depleting the booze. It was here the crew’s limits were tested. Ace found a bottle of vermouth and proceeded to drink it, all of it, by himself. Gary meanwhile drank himself straight and proceeded to lock tongues with the big boobed Southern chick, with allegedly green eyes (I didn’t even realize she had eyes). Then an Asian cast of Star Trek walked in…funny I remember only one Mr. Sulu.
I was somewhere in double digits for beers when we ran out. Luckily my drinking compatriot, Dr. Gonzo, procured a potent bottle of scotch. Him along with some other guy dressed as a meandering hipster led me to the kitchen where we scooped cubes of ice into glasses and poured the shiny poison in after. Things were going well until the host of the party joined us.
“I’m glad you’re not being such a dick tonight.” She said to me mockingly.
“Hey! You’re the one that slapped me!” I responded looking at my fellow scotch suckers for approval. “All I did was ask if she had gonorrhea, a perfectly legitimate question considering I was sitting right next to her. You can never be too careful these days.” Need I say more?
“By the way that was his girlfriend you said that to.” She said gesturing towards unnamed hipster dresser.
I smiled proudly and reacted genuinely, “That was your girlfriend! I’m Matt nice to meet you!” I extended a hand as he disdainfully knocked it away.
“You asked my girlfriend if she had gonorrhea?” He asked accusingly.
I tried to explain the humor but he found none and stormed away to yell at his girlfriend for allowing me to ask if she had contracted VD. He returned shortly in a sour mood. Dr. Gonzo and I were innocently sipping our drinks when he asked how the host could be friends with me.
As she tried responding diplomatically with a by now rehearsed defense of my humor and skewed moral compass, I blurted out, “oh we’re more than friends amigo.” He looked at me, then at her.
“Don’t tell me you made out with this guy” he said disgustedly. That guy was me.
“I’m standing right here buddy.” Laughing, I added, “and we did much more than make out.”
Bro bag was really getting pissed now. As I laughed he asked the next logical question, “Don’t tell me you slept with this guy.”
As she tried to refrain from revealing the answer with a smile, I answered for her and assured him that I called it “fucking,” and that sleeping was for miserable, married people. I then smiled and waved at his girlfriend prompting him to go off and yell at her for this too. Probably a woman beater I thought.
Post Vermouth Ace then stumbled out the apartment and got lost in the New York City streets. Little Bo Peep took my number and said she’d call about a party next week but wouldn’t fuck me tonight. I had a lot more beer at a bar and lost my sunglasses. There was dancing on stools and a verbal assault on a Ranger Jersey. I woke up the next morning and went to report a story on the marathon…I guess I waited till the day after Halloween to wear my costume.
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Balls in the Mouth
One time, when I was eight years old, I made the mistake of eating grilled corn on the cob with mayonnaise and chile purchased from a local street vendor in Mexico City. Subsequently, I threw up for five days straight and stayed home re-watching Indiana Jones and Super Man movies which may not have been the worst thing, but I haven’t liked the idea of corn on the cob since. I remember another time I was watching a porno where a girl started sucking on a guy’s nut, which until then I’d never even considered asking a girl to do. I still haven’t posed that question, and after this weekend I doubt I’ll ever have the stomach to.
Beer pong is a relatively simple game with its ups and downs. A previous post of mine recalls a particular occasion in which I battled against a superior player to overcome the odds and drunkenly triumph in the greatest game ever played. However, what happened this weekend had nothing to do with winning or losing, though I suppose it had everything to do with how you play the game.
We were at our apartment with approximately 150 beers and two handles of liquor. For the first couple of hours it was literally just nine guys sitting around drinking. Thankfully two friends of the opposite sex granted us reprieve from an all night sausage fest. With them came the welcome idea of beer pong. In a true battle of the sexes we decided to do cocks vs. cunts the first game, and as hosts it was my roommate and I against these two vagina having opponents.
By this point in the night both my roommate and I were well intoxicated and our mouths were loose with wildly inappropriate commentary. Nothing was out of line for trash talking, but apparently they seemed fine with this; one of them even retaliated by bending over with each shot I took to grant me an all too personal glimpse of her milk makers. I have to say, not the worst pair of breasts I’ve laid eyes on. Regardless though, none of this was anything new, except for the girl with the exposed chest who I’d met only once before, these were all part of a rehearsed script of senseless profanity and drunkenly lobbing ping pongs balls towards beer filled plastic red cups.
The ping pong balls in use tonight had history. They had survived two apartments, three roommates and countless games of filthy water cups, grimy, sticky, dusty floors and unwashed drunken finger tips. They had character but not hygiene.
I don’t know how drunk big boobed girl was when she arrived at the party, but what followed should not be replicated on any drug. It was their turn to shoot, but “Ashley,” chest exposing girl’s partner, was immersed in a conversation with some other guests. I was just about to turn and hit the pisser while we waited when I caught it out of the corner of my eye. She held the ball delicately between her thumb and index finger, raising it to her mouth. “No” I thought. Slowly she let out her tongue while guiding the ball towards her mouth. I’m not sure whether she was doing this because she thought no one was watching, or because she thought someone was watching. What happened next I will never forget. She rolled the ball along her tongue, giving it a thorough taste bud scrubbing. Then proceeded to fully open her jowls and immerse the used ping pong into her welcoming oral orifice. This wasn’t kinky, it was revolting, reviling, and offending. I stood for a moment in complete shock, rarely am I left without a witty and inappropriate retort, but there I was dumbfounded at this girl’s actions. The next reaction of course was gut wrenching hysterical laughter. I was on the ground as this senseless girl, seemingly without realization of what she had just caressed with her mouth, laughed too.
All in all I guess what happened was horrific, but it was funny too. It was funny until a week later she came down with an incurable bacterial infection and dropped dead while riding the subway. Don’t put beer pong balls in your mouth.
Beer pong is a relatively simple game with its ups and downs. A previous post of mine recalls a particular occasion in which I battled against a superior player to overcome the odds and drunkenly triumph in the greatest game ever played. However, what happened this weekend had nothing to do with winning or losing, though I suppose it had everything to do with how you play the game.
We were at our apartment with approximately 150 beers and two handles of liquor. For the first couple of hours it was literally just nine guys sitting around drinking. Thankfully two friends of the opposite sex granted us reprieve from an all night sausage fest. With them came the welcome idea of beer pong. In a true battle of the sexes we decided to do cocks vs. cunts the first game, and as hosts it was my roommate and I against these two vagina having opponents.
By this point in the night both my roommate and I were well intoxicated and our mouths were loose with wildly inappropriate commentary. Nothing was out of line for trash talking, but apparently they seemed fine with this; one of them even retaliated by bending over with each shot I took to grant me an all too personal glimpse of her milk makers. I have to say, not the worst pair of breasts I’ve laid eyes on. Regardless though, none of this was anything new, except for the girl with the exposed chest who I’d met only once before, these were all part of a rehearsed script of senseless profanity and drunkenly lobbing ping pongs balls towards beer filled plastic red cups.
The ping pong balls in use tonight had history. They had survived two apartments, three roommates and countless games of filthy water cups, grimy, sticky, dusty floors and unwashed drunken finger tips. They had character but not hygiene.
I don’t know how drunk big boobed girl was when she arrived at the party, but what followed should not be replicated on any drug. It was their turn to shoot, but “Ashley,” chest exposing girl’s partner, was immersed in a conversation with some other guests. I was just about to turn and hit the pisser while we waited when I caught it out of the corner of my eye. She held the ball delicately between her thumb and index finger, raising it to her mouth. “No” I thought. Slowly she let out her tongue while guiding the ball towards her mouth. I’m not sure whether she was doing this because she thought no one was watching, or because she thought someone was watching. What happened next I will never forget. She rolled the ball along her tongue, giving it a thorough taste bud scrubbing. Then proceeded to fully open her jowls and immerse the used ping pong into her welcoming oral orifice. This wasn’t kinky, it was revolting, reviling, and offending. I stood for a moment in complete shock, rarely am I left without a witty and inappropriate retort, but there I was dumbfounded at this girl’s actions. The next reaction of course was gut wrenching hysterical laughter. I was on the ground as this senseless girl, seemingly without realization of what she had just caressed with her mouth, laughed too.
All in all I guess what happened was horrific, but it was funny too. It was funny until a week later she came down with an incurable bacterial infection and dropped dead while riding the subway. Don’t put beer pong balls in your mouth.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
25th Birthdays
I knew it was going to be a special night when my coworker, “Mark” we’ll call him, called me at 5:30, already drunk on a bottle of cheap red. It takes a special kind of person to rush straight into an alcoholic binge at midday on a Friday. Mark is a special kind of person though and I seem to always run into him on nights where the only memories are those left in digital pictures and rousing voice mails.
The first stop was a nice little bar in Alphabet city, a bar with character. Looking back I don’t know why I was so surprised to find the bar so empty considering we arrived at 7. They had a fascinating mix of American brews which, aside from Yueng Ling, I recognized none of. I satisfied myself by relentlessly downing a delicious concoction named “Two brothers Cane and Ebel.” The discernable method I used for picking this sweet gem out of a list of wild and obscure names was that its alcohol content rested nicely at 7%, well beyond the 4.3% of many others. If that’s not a bargain I don’t know what is.
Some of our other co workers had joined us and I looked and saw Mark animatedly talking with them. I went and mulled over the digital jukebox selection trying to find an appropriate song to capture the moment. I settled on the classically obnoxious Def Lepperd mantra, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and proceeded to entertain myself with the air guitar while people watched laughing at my ridiculous display. Luckily the bar tender for the night worked at the same company I did, albeit now in California, but tonight he was my server and was serving free round after round. “One more Cane and Ebel please.”
The scene started to pick up slowly as night had finally fallen and I suddenly felt very at home here. They left the doors open and opened the floor to ceiling partitions in front as the bar felt more like a Patio then anything else. As I was joking about an outrageously inappropriate coworker on our floor I spotted an Asian vixen eyeing our dear friend Mark with shrewd, lustful eyes. This is a woman with purpose I thought as she was clearly ignoring the three guys hanging on her. Mark, hadn’t noticed her though as he was savagely tearing into another cold glass of booze. He had a wild, primitive look in his eyes. He spoke with the same fervor that we were used to, but there was something different in his gaze, a reckless confidence perhaps. As I was walking to the bathroom before we moved to the next spot I overheard that same girl exclaiming to Mark how “cute” he was; to which I then heard Mark drunkly laugh and reply, “You’re pretty cute yourself.” Her over the top laughter at this barely funny remark only confirmed her licentious intentions for him. A few coworkers and myself waited near the front of the bar while they exchanged a few more words. Finally, he tore himself away and just told us that “that Asian girl had said I was cute, I think she’s meeting up with us at the next bar.” We just laughed and made our way to the next place, a bit higher end then the one we had just left at least from the fact that they had a bouncer, velvet rope, and dj.
We stepped inside and I observed an aimless sea of clueless women and men, idling over drinks and impotent conversation. I saw right away that Mark was intent on changing that as his stares shifted quickly scanning the place for potential targets. Uninterested in anything else but my next drink I walked straight to the bar and stupidly opened a tab quickly buying up a round to get the place started off right. We all toasted and relaxed a bit with some office stories of inappropriate themes.
Suddenly Mark blurted out that we should try and talk to some of these girls. I had seen him measuring up a group of girls to our right along the bar after they had bought a round of champagne. Another one of our companions sealed his fate when he dared him to go through with it. Before he’d even finished his sentence Mark had turned from us and was walking straight for that group of girls, it was eight on one and he was too blasted to even feel intimidated…alcohol is a holy drug indeed.
We all watched intensely as he walked up to the girl everyone seemed to be toasting to and said something close to her ear. I was bracing for the worst, a slap in the face or a drink thrown. Apparently though he knew what he was doing as she burst out laughing and then so did her friends. Now that he had broken the barrier we awkwardly made our way over to him, we could’ve said it was for back up…but the truth is he didn’t need it and we wanted some new conversation.
I must confess that I remember none of their names, and nothing else for that matter aside from the part about them all being there to celebrate the 25th birthday of the one Mark seemed to be focusing on, though it could very well have been the other way around. Either way, the two groups soon mutually lost interest in forcing conversation between each other and Mark and his nameless female companion drifted further and further into their own space. Our party found this social dance endlessly entertaining, however with a few glimpses at her friends I could tell they were far from amused as they saw their dear friend, obliterated on champagne shots completely abandoning them for some sleazy drunk bastard she’d never met.
I’m sure Mark made this girl’s 25th birthday one to remember as he succeeded in dancing, grinding, and passionately making out with her in a very public way. I’m sure he ruined this girl’s 25th birthday when after she said that she didn’t think she’d go home with him that night he immediately stepped back from her releasing himself from her desperate embrace, took back the drink he had bought her, chugged it and then walked out without saying good bye to her, us, or his sense of morality. It was a stunning exit, that left us all questioning whether he had really left until ten minutes later he still hadn’t come back in. It was quite a sight to see her visibly annoyed friends triumphantly saying I told you so as she just repeatedly questioned why he had just walked away and left, birthday tears shamelessly falling down her face.
It was a sad display and I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. I don’t think Mark will be getting an invitation to her 26th birthday and I don’t think she’ll be hooking up with random strangers again soon, probably both for the best. Bleary eyed and dizzy I thought about the reasoning of random hook ups at bars and decided that when left at superficial lust it was a perfectly legitimate arena, but that it may not be best method for finding a partner that will share emotional attachment…or a cell phone number.
The first stop was a nice little bar in Alphabet city, a bar with character. Looking back I don’t know why I was so surprised to find the bar so empty considering we arrived at 7. They had a fascinating mix of American brews which, aside from Yueng Ling, I recognized none of. I satisfied myself by relentlessly downing a delicious concoction named “Two brothers Cane and Ebel.” The discernable method I used for picking this sweet gem out of a list of wild and obscure names was that its alcohol content rested nicely at 7%, well beyond the 4.3% of many others. If that’s not a bargain I don’t know what is.
Some of our other co workers had joined us and I looked and saw Mark animatedly talking with them. I went and mulled over the digital jukebox selection trying to find an appropriate song to capture the moment. I settled on the classically obnoxious Def Lepperd mantra, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and proceeded to entertain myself with the air guitar while people watched laughing at my ridiculous display. Luckily the bar tender for the night worked at the same company I did, albeit now in California, but tonight he was my server and was serving free round after round. “One more Cane and Ebel please.”
The scene started to pick up slowly as night had finally fallen and I suddenly felt very at home here. They left the doors open and opened the floor to ceiling partitions in front as the bar felt more like a Patio then anything else. As I was joking about an outrageously inappropriate coworker on our floor I spotted an Asian vixen eyeing our dear friend Mark with shrewd, lustful eyes. This is a woman with purpose I thought as she was clearly ignoring the three guys hanging on her. Mark, hadn’t noticed her though as he was savagely tearing into another cold glass of booze. He had a wild, primitive look in his eyes. He spoke with the same fervor that we were used to, but there was something different in his gaze, a reckless confidence perhaps. As I was walking to the bathroom before we moved to the next spot I overheard that same girl exclaiming to Mark how “cute” he was; to which I then heard Mark drunkly laugh and reply, “You’re pretty cute yourself.” Her over the top laughter at this barely funny remark only confirmed her licentious intentions for him. A few coworkers and myself waited near the front of the bar while they exchanged a few more words. Finally, he tore himself away and just told us that “that Asian girl had said I was cute, I think she’s meeting up with us at the next bar.” We just laughed and made our way to the next place, a bit higher end then the one we had just left at least from the fact that they had a bouncer, velvet rope, and dj.
We stepped inside and I observed an aimless sea of clueless women and men, idling over drinks and impotent conversation. I saw right away that Mark was intent on changing that as his stares shifted quickly scanning the place for potential targets. Uninterested in anything else but my next drink I walked straight to the bar and stupidly opened a tab quickly buying up a round to get the place started off right. We all toasted and relaxed a bit with some office stories of inappropriate themes.
Suddenly Mark blurted out that we should try and talk to some of these girls. I had seen him measuring up a group of girls to our right along the bar after they had bought a round of champagne. Another one of our companions sealed his fate when he dared him to go through with it. Before he’d even finished his sentence Mark had turned from us and was walking straight for that group of girls, it was eight on one and he was too blasted to even feel intimidated…alcohol is a holy drug indeed.
We all watched intensely as he walked up to the girl everyone seemed to be toasting to and said something close to her ear. I was bracing for the worst, a slap in the face or a drink thrown. Apparently though he knew what he was doing as she burst out laughing and then so did her friends. Now that he had broken the barrier we awkwardly made our way over to him, we could’ve said it was for back up…but the truth is he didn’t need it and we wanted some new conversation.
I must confess that I remember none of their names, and nothing else for that matter aside from the part about them all being there to celebrate the 25th birthday of the one Mark seemed to be focusing on, though it could very well have been the other way around. Either way, the two groups soon mutually lost interest in forcing conversation between each other and Mark and his nameless female companion drifted further and further into their own space. Our party found this social dance endlessly entertaining, however with a few glimpses at her friends I could tell they were far from amused as they saw their dear friend, obliterated on champagne shots completely abandoning them for some sleazy drunk bastard she’d never met.
I’m sure Mark made this girl’s 25th birthday one to remember as he succeeded in dancing, grinding, and passionately making out with her in a very public way. I’m sure he ruined this girl’s 25th birthday when after she said that she didn’t think she’d go home with him that night he immediately stepped back from her releasing himself from her desperate embrace, took back the drink he had bought her, chugged it and then walked out without saying good bye to her, us, or his sense of morality. It was a stunning exit, that left us all questioning whether he had really left until ten minutes later he still hadn’t come back in. It was quite a sight to see her visibly annoyed friends triumphantly saying I told you so as she just repeatedly questioned why he had just walked away and left, birthday tears shamelessly falling down her face.
It was a sad display and I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. I don’t think Mark will be getting an invitation to her 26th birthday and I don’t think she’ll be hooking up with random strangers again soon, probably both for the best. Bleary eyed and dizzy I thought about the reasoning of random hook ups at bars and decided that when left at superficial lust it was a perfectly legitimate arena, but that it may not be best method for finding a partner that will share emotional attachment…or a cell phone number.
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