December 4th,
2004
Though I’ve
been writing and writing about my Thanksgiving holiday, most of it wasn’t that exciting.
Keep in mind, I was there for TWO WEEKS and change, but the stories I’m posting now constitute the only juicy
parts. The rest was spent with my parents, and- other than a brief trip to Jackson,
Mississippi to see Lori Banderas, (from the “Phil’s Wedding” story),
it was pretty low-key.
As my departure
date drew near, I figured my trip would end on an equally low-key note.
Twas not meant to
be.
After
enduring the horror of being sexually molested at my parents’ church, (see Part 2 for that story, which was posted out of order), I retired to the house for a long afternoon of packing and watching
television. I was slated to leave the next day, which was Monday, November 29th,
so I had NO INTENTION of going out. Still, I wanted to say goodbye to Chad
and the gang, so I drove over there at around 9:00 PM to find them engaged in a
spirited game of 31.
What’s 31? Beats the hell outta me. I haven’t
heard of HALF the fucked up card games those bastards play.
Anyway,
it was Chad, Alan, and another friend of mine named Thad. I hadn’t seen Thad in years, but I was glad he was there so I could make sure
he wasn’t still mad at me. You see, Thad sent me a spam email about a month
ago, and instead of just reading it, I hit REPLY TO ALL and sent out a bunch of smartass comments… along with my website
address.
Little
did I know that some of the thirty or more people that email went out to were clients from Thad’s job, and my website
isn’t exactly a thing you send to professional work acquaintances.
Thad
had gotten over it though, undoubtedly because of the urine soaked letter I mailed to his family asking them to teach Thad
not to be such a pussy.
Regardless, we chit
chatted around the card table for a while, and then Chad tried
to tempt me into debauchery.
“Hey, Mike,”
he said, with feigned nonchalance, “Ya know, there’s still some bourbon left in the kitchen. Why don’t ya make yourself a drink?”
They were all drinking,
so I figured, “Why not? One drink’s not gonna kill me. In fact, it’ll probably help me get to sleep early for my twelve hour drive back tomorrow.”
Uh huh…
As soon as I returned
from the kitchen, (drink in hand), Chad hit me with the evil.
“So, how long
can you stay?”
“Not long,”
I replied, “I’ve gotta drive back tomorrow.”
“That’s
too bad, ‘cause we’ve got a bunch of girls coming over. They should
be here any minute.”
SON OF A BITCH!!!
Free alcohol I can
resist, but free alcohol AND chicks?!? Too much ask anyone.
I say this in hindsight,
because I really wasn’t gonna stay out. I figured I’d have a few
drinks, (notice how it’s now “a few” instead of “one”), talk trash to some girls I’d never
see again, and then go home early enough to get a good night’s sleep.
Satan had other
plans.
I was on my second
drink when there came a knock at the door. Chad
went up front to usher in his guests, and the next thing I know, there’s a Chick Buffet being paraded past me. Hot, young, and all dressed to kill, they sauntered in like beauty pageant contestants.
“Um,”
* giggle * “I’m Ms. Wisconsin.
I enjoy hiking, astrology, and wearing a padded bra.”
No kidding,
this one girl’s breasts were so big, I thought she’d been stung by a wasp… well, two wasps…
right on the nipples. I would later learn that she was, indeed, wearing a padded
bra, but that it supported a pair of natural Double D’s.
What the hell? Who the fuck would do this, and why? That’s
like stuffing a sock down your pants when you’ve got a fourteen-inch penis!
Women are nuts.
Still, if this chick
wanted attention, she got it, ‘cause not a one of us made eye contact with her the whole night. Finding her face was like trying to find a little guy with glasses in one of those “Where’s
Waldo” puzzles.
Anyway,
before I get too ahead of myself, I wanna point out that these young maidens had a chaperon.
Yes, there was a guy with ‘em, but he was their cousin, or brother, or someone otherwise related. We’re gonna call him “Captain Excitement”, because he seemed really excited to be hanging
out with us.
While
I’m giving out names, let’s call the boob girl “Princess McLookAtMe”, because, well, we all did. Princess was a model by trade, so I’m sure she was used to it.
Two other names
I’m gonna bequeath are “Winky VonDrunkenStein”, (who got very, very drunk, and kept winking at me), and
Lisa Descado, (who is the female equivalent of me with respect to intelligence, wit, and ball crushing sarcasm).
Lisa is the only
reason I’m telling this story, ‘cause she’s a really cool chick, and I don’t meet that many people
who can keep up with my verbal banter.
Now that we know
the characters, let’s get to the story. Instead of telling it by event,
I’m gonna tell it by drinks... that’s, MY drinks.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #3: Introductions are made.
Everyone gathers ‘round Chad’s GIANT dining
room table to play a drinking game called “Presidents and Assholes”. (If
you don’t know how this game is played, then you suck and/or never went to college, so you shouldn’t be reading
my website anyway. FUCK OFF!!!).
Cards
are dealt. Executive positions are assigned.
I become third in charge. My title?
Secretary of Badassedness.
Captain
Excitement is yoked with the lowest designation: “Asshole”, an office he would hold for the ENTIRE NIGHT.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #4: Much drinking ensues; the higher officials making the lower
minions drink at an unhealthy rate.
Princess
McLookAtMe says something stupid.
Chad
admonishes her by whispering, “Okay,” and then doing the patented Descado Pat Glass.
I stab Chad
in the chest with a trident for stealing my stuff. Alan takes his pants off to
apply pressure to the wound.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #5: I’ve moved up from Secretary of Badassedness, to
Vice President. The reign of terror begins.
I look across the
table to tell Lisa that her boobs are showing. Without looking down, Lisa replies
with, “Oh yeah? Well, your DICK is showing, Mike.” Then adding, “Or is that an extra bellybutton?”
I immediately want
to marry her.
(By the way, that
may or may not be what I actually said, yet her rapier sharp comeback was priceless nonetheless.)
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #6: I’m still Vice President, but Winky VonDrunkenStein
has become President. She winks at me seductively after every sentence. I fart in response.
Winky slovenly declares
that her and my administration will see everyone at the table face down with their heads in the toilet.
Everyone at the
table gets up and leaves.
I decide that Winky
is not ready for leadership.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #7: I join the “smokers” for a smoke break out
on the back porch. Lisa is smoking a cigar.
I agree to try one.
Said cigar heralds
the arrival of Drunk Mike.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #8: Chad
and Lisa are talking about relationships. Lisa expresses her disdain for guys
who cheat. Chad
agrees, then looking my way for assistance.
“Uh, um, yeah! I’ve known Chad
for fifteen years, and in all that time, he’s only cheated on ONE girl… that I know of, anyway. But he felt really guilty about it.”
I’m a fucking
liar.
Chad
takes the ball and runs with it.
Lisa verbally tears
Chad a new ass anyway.
I decide to keep
my own stance on infidelity a secret.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #9: Lisa tells me that Princess McLookAtMe wears a padded bra.
I kick
Princess in the chest for being a superficial bitch.
My hip comes out
of socket from the ricochet.
Princess is unharmed.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #10: Alan gets pissed because Winky VonDrunkenStein won’t
quit winking at me.
Alan and Winky fight.
Alan and Winky make
up.
Alan and Winky make
out.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #11: Captain Excitement announces that we’re the “coolest
motherfuckers he’s ever hung out with!” …and then vomits.
Bourbon
and Diet Coke #12: I finally ascend to the position of President.
Thunder and lightning
flash across the sky.
Someone hands me
a scepter with a skull on it.
I stand up and take
a piss all over the table to mark my territory.
Nobody wants to
play anymore.
***
And that’s
when I stopped drinking. Regrettably, I never got the chance to impose my will
as supreme commander of “Presidents and Assholes”, but I didn’t care.
Though I haven’t really expounded on this yet, Lisa and me were really hitting it off, and I was just glad I’d
gotten the chance to meet her.
She’s a looker,
by the way. Tall and lithe, Lisa boasts a lion’s mane of long yellow hair
above a mischievous smirk that radiates a contrasting mix of intelligence and innocence.
Being attractive is always a plus, but her personality is such that I wouldn’t have cared if she looked like
the cross-dressing black guy from my, “Viva Las Gaygas” story.
Yeah, she’s
THAT sharp.
Anyway,
the night ended in the wee hours after a trip to Huddle House for some greasy pork chops.
I took Lisa home, and we kissed as she got out. Not a long kiss, mind
you, because she pulled away and gasped, “My grandmother could come out at any minute!
I can’t let her see me making out with some guy in the driveway! AHHH!!!”
Well,
at least, that’s what she SAID…
What I THINK happened,
was that Lisa was so charmed by my toilet humor and unwarranted arrogance, that she had to get out of the car AT THAT MOMENT…
lest her animalistic female needs drive her to “do me” right there in the front seat of my Honda.
I know, I know. Sometimes it’s hard being as cool as me.
Sometimes it backfires.
Still, Lisa emailed
me today, and- since she lives in nearby Virginia- we’re trying to plan a weekend get together here in Asheville…
which is the coolest city in the world… doubly so now that I’m back.
Sleep
tight, boys and girls, and check in again soon. There’s one more story
left to tell, and- for all you martial artists- it’s about a fight I got into during my return voyage.
Rick James ain’t
got shit on me, Bitches!!!
