I’m pumped for this Friday night.
You see, I’ve gotten back in touch with my de facto brother, my best friend since childhood, that I’ve sporadically hung out with over the past few years. TO! We used to get into all kinds of crazy shit a few years ago, but we drifted apart. I thought this was a good thing, but then I realized that the insane antics we had were hilarious.
Insane antics? All kinds of crazy shit? Yeah, well, this Friday night, after watching UFC 141: Lesnar vs. Overeem, we’re going to grab some grub at iHop before taking a road trip to Roanoke, VA to hang out with some of the people we know from there. Let me preface this, though, by saying that we only know two of the girls we are hanging out with of the eight or nine, but nonetheless meeting new people and welcoming in the new year with cheap alcohol and chicken wings sounds like a plan.
Back in May 2008, we went to a wedding for a mutual friend of ours in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The weekend this happened, it was like The Hangover before The Hangover. The mom of the friend of ours, she literally tried to stab her husband with a fork two nights before the wedding. We (me, TO, soon-to-be married friend, our 28 year old broski Craig and our 50 year old buddy Doug) ended up getting drunk on a strip full of shops and other places along with a shitload of other people, going into a haunted house, throwing beer cans out the window of the car we traveled in, enticing sluts to hang out with us depraved folks, and eating ribs with an 80+ year old woman who tore the pork down quicker than us.
I won’t get into how the night ended, because there were some nasty details shared the next morning, but May 16, 2008 was, without a doubt, The Hangover before The Hangover. All of us in the group are still pretty pissed off that we never ran with the idea of writing a script after we talked about it.
Those were some fun days. TO, Craig and I often laugh about it. Doug won’t talk about it, so it’s unlikely he’ll ever delve into our brand of debauchery any time soon.
In July 2008, Independence Day, was a Friday. The movie Hancock opened that day (Will Smith starred). I watched it with TO and two girls we were honestly trying to fuck (just being honest here). After the movie, we ate at Chili’s before heading back to one of the girls’ house. Upon arriving and after bullshitting around in the living room, we started fooling around with them and having fun. Sounds peachy and nice, right? All was nice till one of the girls smelled like an atomic bomb concocted of spoiled milk, stale Frito’s tortilla chips and like a bad batch of the fragrance Creed Green Irish Tweed. Yes, it was her notorious cooch. I almost puked… was this some kind of cruel joke? I looked at TO and he made a face, too. The girls kept looking at us as if they were waiting for us to explain ourselves. “Let’s get the fuck out of here” TO said, because apparently our tormented nostrils had weakened a nerve ending in our stomachs. We got the hell out of there without saying a word. No contact was ever made with the said girls again. They probably felt extremely insecure after that episode that resulted in an inconclusive end, but damn, that was the most fowl smell I’ve ever encountered in my entire life. The world might as well had been on fire that day, because my nostrils felt like it. The infamous atomic bomb!!
You are only young once, motherfuckers, so enjoy it. Be irresponsible every once in a while and stop being so damn uptight. I kind of lost sight of this in 2010 and 2011. That’s why I’m regaling these stories on this blog.
Looking forward to some more debauchery this weekend. It’s been a while.