To Play Us Out

I have been sick for the past two weeks. Do you ever notice that when you’re sick, you incessantly wonder what it would be like to feel healthy again?  Well, I’ve been wondering that for a fortnight.

(Aside: I’m watching Letterman right now.  Mike Myers is on there — he could pass for a dyke.  He joins Kevin Bacon in that club.)

It all started two weeks ago on Tuesday.  As per usual, I decided to attend Sloopy’s Bar for fifty-cent pitcher night.  It was pretty uneventful until late in the evening.  Some girl approached me and started chatting.  I thought she was decent and mildly interesting, but four pitchers of beer, a half-pitcher of rum and coke, and a pitcher of Liquid-X had rendered me completely and utterly alcohol-goggled.  A Facebook look-up and a couple of texts later, I assured myself I would never ever speak to this girl again.

Anyway, after awhile she asks me, “Do you have a phone?”  I am absolutely shit-housed, and I have no idea what she is implying, so I drunkenly answer in the affirmative.  She enters her number in my phone, and we part ways.  Now, let me explain something: I hate bars.  I never even started going to bars until this summer.  It’s just a big orgy of skanks and drunk douchebags.  I have never liked any girl I met at a bar.  The fact that she’s even at a bar disgusts me.  I’m a lot like Tucker Max’s friend SlingBlade in that I assume every girl is a whore until she gives me a reason to think otherwise.  So a girl that actively gives me her number at a fucking bar really irritates me.

I leave at about three in the morning.  I’m halfway back to my dorm when I get a call from Trashpockets’ friend (and if you read this, yes Duse, you’re my friend too, stop bitching).  I ask him where he is and his response is, “I’m bleeding.”  Great.  I find him in the parking lot of a UDF.  Now, as most of you know, parking lots are flat.  So how he fell so badly that began bleeding is beyond me.  We make it back to my room (not before Duse falls down a flight of stairs) and go to sleep.  (Trashpockets spend the night in a bush on Mirror Lake, not dissimilar to his experience at Miami.  I don’t know enough details about his sojourn to write about it.  If he wants to leave his tale in the comments, he may do so).  The next morning we watched homemadefuckvideos.com in the MarketPlace.

I refrained from drinking until the next Tuesday to try and give my liver a break.  (Well, that’s not entirely true.  I did drink more.  But I didn’t drink to almost-dead levels).  Sloopy’s was, unfortunately, uneventful.  (The best time I ever had at Sloopy’s was the first time.  Maybe I’ll write about it some other time, but I hung out with Terrelle Pryor, and people assumed my friend and I were part of the OSU offensive line.  Girls were lining up to flash us in exchange for jello shots.  It was lovely.)  As we left though, Trashpockets and I met a drug dealer by the name of Bricks.  After refusing his attempts to sell us crack cocaine, we invited him to our inaugural house party this fall.  Honestly, what livens up a party more than a crack dealer?  We then headed to Buckeye Donuts, made them play our iPod over the loudspeakers, and invited Arthur the cashier to our party.  Trashpockets made us stop at Mirror Lake and eat our leftovers as we sat and watched the ducks (sometimes I question his sexual tendencies).  Finally, we went back to my room and prank phone-called people for an hour (because we are mature).

I woke up that morning and I could feel the illness setting in.  The kid across the hall had been sick forever, and he infected me with his disease.

Nevertheless, this did not hinder me from traveling to Trashpocket’s hometown for a party.  That decision has led to me still be sick as of this writing.  I got a combined 19 hours of sleep from Tuesday-Sunday.  Let me tell you what happened.

Tuesday: Story above.

Wednesday: Trashpockets had a “classy” party where everyone was required to dress up.  I didn’t have a tie or nice pants or anything, so I just wore the $5 dollar blazer that I bought at Goodwill last year.  We drank constantly until 6:30 in the morning, at which point I fell asleep watching Lord of the Rings and Mike and Mike, the latter of which is a fucking morning show on ESPN.  When that came on I realized it was time to go to bed.

Thursday: We went to breakfast at Bob Evans.  The sign at that establishment read “Get back to college gift cards here!”  Who the fuck is buying their college children Bob Evans gift cards?  Bob Evans is for people age 60 and over.  The only people I go there with is my grandparents or Mr. Hangover.  I decided to go to the Blink-182 concert that night, so my friend Fucktard drove me back to Cincinnati.  Once we got there, I tried to sneak my handle of Smirnoff past his mom, but she could sense what was going down, and I failed.  I watched the concert after drinking 4 shots of Kamchatka (or as I call it, 4 shots of water).  Blink was great though, and this is coming from someone who wasn’t even that big of a Blink fan.  I went to back to Fucktard’s house and tried to beat off, but I couldn’t because his parents have an internet content-blocker.

Friday:  I went to the Reds game.  They got shut out by the worst team in baseball, so that was a good use of my money.  Some kid from high school came up to me at the game and started talking to me.  I literally had no idea who he was at first, and two of the phrases that came out of his mouth were “We should get married” and “Let’s message each other on Facebook”.   I was very scared.  We got word that a party was going on at our friend’s house.  At first, I was averse to attending, given my onset of death-like illness and not wanting to become an alcoholic.  Of course, I decided to embrace my addiction to alcohol and go anyways.  Even then, I told myself I would just drink a little and go back to Fucktard’s house.  But then we were promised pancakes the next morning, so fuck it, I’m staying.  Fucktard threw up all over our friend’s sink, which proves even more what a bitch he is.

Saturday:  I awoke after two hours of sleep.  There were no pancakes.  I was seething.  It’s a good thing Fucktard was there to drive me, because even at nine in the morning, I was too drunk to drive.  As we walked outside, I said, “That’s it.  I’m never drinking again.”  Fucktard said, “Mr. P90ForLife is having a party tonight.”  To which I replied, “God damnit.”  I had to plan P90ForLife’s whole party for him because he is, of course, a bitch (I have insulted many friends in this post).  I quickly got drunk and spent two hours playing an intense game of chess.  I kept drinking heavily during the game, but somehow my focus just got better.  I ended up losing a very close match, but I count it as a moral victory because my opponent was not drunk.  P90ForLife’s parents’ liquor cabinet was opened, and at that point I was too drunk to stop what was going on.  We drank the rest of the available Triple-Sec, and then filled the bottle up with water, because we are geniuses.

Sunday: I once again awoke after two hours of sleep.  I helped clean P90ForLife’s kitchen, and then was driven back to Columbus.  When I arrived, I was literally too tired to sleep.  I started and quit three Madden franchises before I fell asleep at my desk.

Also during this time, I ate maybe three real meals.  I have been depriving myself of food, sleep, and a functioning liver, and I wonder why I haven’t gotten any better.  Since then, I’ve been downing Tussin like it’s my job.  I’m addicted to Hall’s cough drops, and I take them so often my mouth is stickier than that of  a $5 dollar whore who specializes in blow jobs.  Yesterday, I coughed so much that I spit up on myself like a baby.  This marks the third time in four months I have thrown up on my own clothing.

In other news, I have ran out of meal swipes on my food plan.  I now rely completely on others to feed me like some sort of invalid.  I have no cash, and I lost my ATM card, so I can’t get any cash.  My computer charger is slowly breaking — in two days, it will be completely broken, and my computer will slowly perish with no resuscitation in sight.  I lost my iPod.  I listen to my iPod every night as a I fall asleep, so now I can’t sleep at all.  I lost my phone charger, so soon I will have zero ways to communicate with anyone.

Three weeks ago, I said I hated the movie Gladiator.  My friend told me I should be cursed for saying such a thing.  I think it worked.