First, let me start off by saying that these incidents you're about to read, are from a completely different time in my life, and no longer reflect my more sociable and civilized personality. That goes for just about all my "from the vault" posts.
It's been a while since I've had a cold beer. I drink on occasion, but not very often these days. I think during Wrestlemania XX was the last time I got really drunk. But even then, I think I only had about 13 beers. A few years ago, however, I had a totally different relationship with alcoholic beverages.
It wasn't uncommon to walk into a party and see me vomiting on something, or someone. Some people, even alcoholics, claim to have never vomited. I on the other hand, would NEVER try to make such a claim. In fact, I would say I was an accomplished "projectile vomiter". I remember one incident involving two days of vodka, orange juice, and the Pizza Hut lunch buffet. While in the parking lot, I believe I reached the 13' mark easily. As for vomiting on property, I think I was also more experienced than any of my friends in that field, as well. Probably the worst item I destroyed belonged to a girl, Leslie.
I was not feeling very well, after drinking three Colt 45 double malt 40s, when I decided to use the bathroom. When I tried to get in the bathroom I found it to be occupied by Leslie, the girl who rented the apartment. I banged on the door, and gracefully explained my situation. She said I had to wait until she finished doing her hair. Well, after about five minutes I couldn't wait any longer, so when I lied my head down on the pile of clean white clothes(all her white clothes, I came to find out) on the floor. Well, my stomach decided it was time to get rid of the 40s in my body, and my face erupted like a geyser. It was as if someone opened up a fire hydrant, and I vomited all over her whites. She was pissed. I told that was what she got for not letting me in the bathroom, and laughed.
Leslie's house was the site of many nights of excess. Mainly because Leslie was a skanky bitch, and she didn't mind when we would punch holes in her walls, and we didn't mind putting them there. Her house got trashed pretty bad one Saturday morning in particular. Our alcoholic friend, Jeremy, had passed out the night before, and we decided to have some fun with him.
Jeremy used to blackout and pass out hard. The night before, the bastard drank most of my rum, and passed out on the couch. To Jeremy's misfortune, Tony happened to be there. Tony was a skinny punk with glasses who liked to huff propane and gasoline, and talked big, and tried to act big. On this morning, Tony saw a chance to act cool and f*ck with Jeremy. His first move was running a pair of electric clippers up the back of Jeremy's head(Jeremy didn't even begin to wake up). After that, he decided to get artistic. He rubbed shaving cream all over Jeremy's face, stuck a heavy flow maxi-pad to his forehead, and then sprinkled Fruity Pebbles on his head for just the right amount of color and texture. After all this Jeremy still didn't seem to be on the verge of waking up. We were impatient, we wanted to see his reaction. That's when Tony stepped in again.
Everyone expected Jeremy to flip out when he woke up, so everyone(except for me) got into the bedroom, and stuck their heads out the door to see his rising. Tony yelled out,"Hey, motherf*cker!" at the top of his lungs. Jeremy didn't move. So, Tony picked up a 3 lb. platform shoe and threw it from across the room. It sounded like the crack of a baseball bat, as it bounced off the side of Jeremy's skull. Some of his Fruity Pebbles fell off from the impact. Slowly he started to awaken. As he rose to his feet, the bedroom door slammed shut. Jeremy felt his face and started going apesh*t. "What the f*ck?! Who the f*ck did this?! Was it you, motherf*cker?!" he shouted in my direction. "Hell no, man! They're all in there!" I knew I would look guilty locking myself in the bedroom with them, which is why I declined the offer to get in. Jeremy was still clutching the empty rum bottle in his right hand, and the maxi-pad was still on his head. He threw a punch into the wall and caved in the drywall about 5 inches. He did that about three more times before kicking the bedroom door off it's hindges. "Motherf*ckers!" was all that came out of his mouth, when he got into the bedroom, and the curtain was blowing out the window. They all ran away like little bitches. It was pretty damned funny while it was happening.
A few days later Jeremy caught up with Tony. When I saw Tony he was missing some hair on the back of his head. It seems he was given the offer of taking an ass-kicking or also getting his hair cut. He chose the second option.
Sounds kind of strange now, but that was a typical day with my friends back then. Which is probably why I had such a dismal junior year in high school.
Leslie's house was a crazy place for a while, but so was Joel's house(that's another story). I stopped hanging out at Leslie's after a while. Shortly before I quit going there, she had a funny thing happen to her.
She was sitting in her house with some of the guys from the high school football team, huffing propane. They used to go to Lowe's and buy the small camping-size Coleman tanks of propane, get a Tootsie Pop, and use it to push in the top of the tank to huff propane."My lips are numb," was a common expression during these inhalation sessions(which I never took part in). Well, as Leslie and the boys are getting zombie-fied, she's sitting Indian-style on her floor by the coffee table, huffing away. It's hard to say without giggling, but the "rocket scientists" had candles burning on the table(yeah, you see it coming, don't you?). She leaned too closed to one of the candles while she was huffing, and the fuel coming out right under her mouth, ignited. The bottle turned into a giant blow torch, and her entire head became engulfed in flames.
She started screaming for someone to help her, and put the flames out. She was surrounded by a bunch of completely stoned fools, so they did the first thing they thought of. They stomped on her f*ckin' head to put out the fire! And it worked. They completely extinguished the fire by trampling her melon on the floor. The next time I saw her, her face was pink and she had no eyebrows. Her bangs were also singed off. I think I laughed for about a year everytime I saw her after that.
I have a few other stories about Leslie's but they fall into a few other categories, as well. I'll have to remeber to tell those ones too.
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