Just Another Friday Night
Originally Written – March 2007
Last Edit – September 2010
Last Friday night there was a going away party for my friend, Katie. Her husband, Steve, is in some branch of the armed forces which is causing him to have to move to Texas. Obviously, she is going with him. I don't know why he has to go to Texas, but I can only assume that since it's the state where our President was formerly the governor, that they have some type of device there that brainwashes you into thinking the war effort has a point and/or goal. Naturally, all new servicemen must report there before shipping out.
So anyway, when I asked Katie when I should show up, she suggested around 11. This is because Katie is still only twenty years old and she said a lot of her lame friends from high school were gonna be there. Therefore, the later we showed up, the better chances we had of avoiding them altogether. She also said bring booze. Well duh. What the hell else was I gonna bring? A mariachi band?
I was planning on just bringing a bottle of rum or vodka, but since she was leaving us, there's no better send off than a good ol' fashioned mix of Tequila Suicide. So, a-shopping I did go.
Tequila Suicide is a vile, yet delicious shot I invented in 2005 and decommissioned around 2008. Mostly due to severe liver damage on me and the rest of my friends. The full recipe isn’t worth describing, but I will tell you that it is mostly tequila and 151 and it has been the downfall of many an upstanding individual. Basically, it was bad news in a bottle.
When I arrive at the party, my friends Seandave and Jon are already there. The party was at Katie's brother's house (a man named Keagan) and his wife, Amber. Now, these two people are professional drinkers. I mean, they are amazing at it. Like few people you have ever seen. I'm convinced that they're the descendants of Irish pirates or something. But, when Seandave arrived, he told me he saw neither of them were home and, instead, found a bunch of lame looking, sober 19-year olds. He was rather confused. He said that is was the first time he had ever been to Amber and Keagan's house and saw no one drinking. Which is true cause I’ve sure as shit never seen anyone not drink at their house either. But anyway, aside from Katie, Steve, and me and my friends, there were about 6 other people there: 4 boys, 2 girls.
I walk into the kitchen, mix the Tequila Suicides, and we do some shots. One girl, who we'll name Chrissy, doesn't want to do shots cause she said she gets too crazy. She really honestly said that and meant it. She wasn't twirling her hair and giggling and emphasizing the word "crazy" when she spoke. She was dead, fucking serious. I couldn't believe that there were girls in the world brain damaged enough to say that and be serious. Even if the events of the night hadn't unfolded as they did, I was already determined to get her obliterated and teach her a lesson. Plus, I didn’t believe in this so-called "crazy" firsthand and wanted to witness it firsthand.
Turns out, I may have been wrong.
Jon and I soon observe Chrissy being very flirty and touchy with one of the other boys at the house. As we’re standing there watching them, suddenly and without warning, the Urge comes over Wysh.
"Let's ruin their relationship," he says to me.
“Well, yeah," I look at him and say, as if it was the most natural request in the world. I mean, what the hell else was I gonna do that night?
Now, some of the best advice you'll ever hear in your life is "Do what you know". You can always learn new things in life, but if you're naturally a poet, don't try to build a house. And how does this apply to the story, you ask?
Because after only about 2 minutes of coaxing, suddenly Chrissy is doing a shot.
See? Do what you know.
Aside from making her drink a bit, Jon and I are also hanging all over her and putting our arms around her and such. After only a couple more shots, she and the boy get into a fight. They go outside and while arguing in the carport, he actually pushes her over to the ground. Jon and I hear the ruckus in the driveway and go outside to see what’s going on. Steve is already separating the two of them when Jon and I begin laughing; not because she got pushed over, but because we were in shock at how fast we ruined their relationship. Only 45 minutes after our task began, it was already completed. Amazing. Jon and I then go over and help her up. After all, we're not completely heartless.
Yet. We're still young. Give it time.
So this douchebag gets in his car and leaves but first feels compelled to let everyone know exactly how small his penis is. He does this by getting into his car and peeling out in one direction. Then, at the end of the block he stops, turns around, and peels out driving by the house again in the other direction. Just in case, of course, anyone missed him leave the first time. I believe we say something like "what a fag". Whough, in retrospect, that can't be what it was because that's far too simple. We had to have called him a "vagine" or an "asscock" or something of that nature. Regardless of what we called him, Chrissy is still all upset. We suggest making her feel better by having another shot.
Do what you know.
Unbeknownst to us at the time, the guy apparently came back about 15 minutes later, but Steve wouldn't let him come back in and suggested he just go home. Ha. Terrific. Clearly even Steve wanted their relationship ruined. Good kid.
Somewhere in the midst of all this, we notice a sheet of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet. It lists each day of the week and its "theme". For example, there’s Wet T-Shirt Wednesday, No Pants Sunday, and (I think) Shirtless Saturday. There was something for every day but Friday. Seeing as it was Friday, I became determined to come up with something to write in for the missing entry. And since most of the days had alliteration in their title, I wanted something that began with an "F" for Friday. This one guy, who I can only assume is a living enema tube brought to life by some kind of arcane magic, comes into the kitchen and, I shit you not, suggests Fagtastic Friday. What? We say many, many mean things to him and tell him to get the fuck out of the kitchen. We also ban him from drinking Tequila Suicide. Then Katie suggests Feel Up Friday. Brilliant! We all agree, I write it on the paper, and, needless to say, a lot of feeling up goes on the rest of the night. In fact, that was how we all decided to greet each other for the remainder of the evening.
Also: There's one very important thing about Amber and Keagan's house I forgot to mention - they have a stripper pole in their living room. Yes, like I said earlier, they are serious drinkers. And this isn’t one of those makeshift, pull-out-for-parties stripper pole that lame frat boys have. This is the real deal made of nice silver chrome and bolted to the ceiling and floor. You can swing on it and everything. (And, in the case of my 26th birthday, be handcuffed to it with your pants around your ankles. Woo!)
So, a shot or two later, and Chrissy has chosen me as the guy she wants to hang all over for the rest of the night. Jon realizes this and goes to try and hook up with the one other girl in the house. He said that this was because he was bored and that seemed like the next best thing to do. Around this time, Katie and I decide to take Chrissy's keys from her for two reasons. One, she’s obviously drunk and Katie doesn’t want her driving home. Two, she’s obviously drunk and so teasing her with her keys is fucking hilarious. I take her keys and act like I put them in my back pocket, but actually drop them down my jeans. After grabbing my ass about 5 times (and my nuts too, just for fun), she still can't find her keys anywhere and eventually loses interest and wanders off. So they don't get lost, I pick her keys up and this time actually put them in my back pocket for safe keeping.
Soon after this, Chrissy wanders back into the living room and starts swinging around on the stripper pole. And then starts dancing a little. And then takes her shirt off. And then her pants, too. And once a girl is drunk and in her underwear, suddenly dancing on a stripper pole becomes a very natural thing.
This is also the point at which I admit I was wrong. Apparently Chrissy really does get crazy when she’s drunk. Who knew?
Because I’m standing near her, Chrissy begins grinding on me and dancing on me and such. I look over to the couch and see Jon making out with the other girl. Who, incidentally, had a boyfriend who wasn’t at the party that night. I drink my rum and coke, quite satisfied with our performance for the evening.
Now, this next part I don't remember, but apparently Jon and the girl now leave the house to go on a walk. A couple houses down the block, they start making out and really going at it. They lie down on a random lawn and come damn near close to having sex on several occasions. Unfortunately for him, she stops him each time reminding him (and herself, really) that she has a boyfriend and shouldn't be doing this. Each time, she starts going at it with him again after only ten seconds. Jon said he eventually got tired of it and that’s when they came back to the house.
Seriously, where the fuck do we find these girls?
While they were gone, Chrissy gets dressed and takes her clothes back off a good 3 times. Her friends keep telling her to get dressed, but then she keeps taking her pants back off. What happened was they thought that I was taking off her clothes and was taking advantage of her cause she was drunk. I can honestly say I must have just brought out the inner prostitute in her, because she did it all herself.
Do what you know.
At one point while Chrissy was dancing in her underwear, my friend Katie pulls me aside and says, "Please don't put your penis in her. she'll go home and commit Christian suicide and cut her wrists."
I tell her that I have no intention of sleeping with this girl and that my mission was accomplished a long time ago. Now I'm just seeing exactly how ridiculous this can get.
Not too much later, Chrissy finally throws up in the bathroom. She was drinking Tequila Suicide after all. I suppose it was inevitable. She's put in one of the back bedrooms to pass out but she refuses to let me leave. Every time I try and stand up to leave the room, she starts screaming bloody murder. My friends finally come and drag me out because they thought I was trying to date rape her or something. Then they remembered that I’m not a date rapist and they calmed the fuck down. Idiots.
During all this, many other people show up at the house including Amber and Keagan. It's now something like 3:30am and the party is dying down and I chose to head home. Upon arriving at my apartment which is thirty minutes away, I empty out my pockets of keys and cell phone and such. That’s when I reach my hand into my back pocket.
Fuck. Chrissy's keys are still there. Son of a bitch.
Well, what the hell else is there to do? It’s a little after 4am and I sure as shit am not driving all the way back to Amber and Keagan’s house. I get in bed and just pass out.
At the god awful hour of 9am, Chrissy calls me and says she needs her keys. How the fuck she’s conscious is beyond me. I’m hungover as holy hell and damn near hang up on her and tell her to figure out how to get here herself. Unfortunately, some tiny spring of conscience wells up inside me and I decide to drive out there and give her her keys.
I get to the house and Chrissy opens the door. This is when she starts giving me doe eyes, hugging me repeatedly for extended periods of time, and kissing my cheek and neck.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
After only 10 minutes, I tell her I have to leave. Normally, I have some excuse I can come up with about why I need to go, but because of my lack of sleep and my raging hangover, I wasn’t so clever this time.
“Alright, well, I gotta go because...I...uh....gotta go." I laugh at myself. I’m an idiot.
She gave me her phone number. I said I’d call. Instead I drove home, crawled back into bed, spent the next dozen hours nursing my hangover, and never heard from the girl again. I assume this is because she eventually met the wrong guy, he put his penis in her, and she committed Christian suicide.
Too bad.
I could use some more entertainment.
© J.E. Tobal 2007/2010
Last Edit – September 2010
Last Friday night there was a going away party for my friend, Katie. Her husband, Steve, is in some branch of the armed forces which is causing him to have to move to Texas. Obviously, she is going with him. I don't know why he has to go to Texas, but I can only assume that since it's the state where our President was formerly the governor, that they have some type of device there that brainwashes you into thinking the war effort has a point and/or goal. Naturally, all new servicemen must report there before shipping out.
So anyway, when I asked Katie when I should show up, she suggested around 11. This is because Katie is still only twenty years old and she said a lot of her lame friends from high school were gonna be there. Therefore, the later we showed up, the better chances we had of avoiding them altogether. She also said bring booze. Well duh. What the hell else was I gonna bring? A mariachi band?
I was planning on just bringing a bottle of rum or vodka, but since she was leaving us, there's no better send off than a good ol' fashioned mix of Tequila Suicide. So, a-shopping I did go.
Tequila Suicide is a vile, yet delicious shot I invented in 2005 and decommissioned around 2008. Mostly due to severe liver damage on me and the rest of my friends. The full recipe isn’t worth describing, but I will tell you that it is mostly tequila and 151 and it has been the downfall of many an upstanding individual. Basically, it was bad news in a bottle.
When I arrive at the party, my friends Seandave and Jon are already there. The party was at Katie's brother's house (a man named Keagan) and his wife, Amber. Now, these two people are professional drinkers. I mean, they are amazing at it. Like few people you have ever seen. I'm convinced that they're the descendants of Irish pirates or something. But, when Seandave arrived, he told me he saw neither of them were home and, instead, found a bunch of lame looking, sober 19-year olds. He was rather confused. He said that is was the first time he had ever been to Amber and Keagan's house and saw no one drinking. Which is true cause I’ve sure as shit never seen anyone not drink at their house either. But anyway, aside from Katie, Steve, and me and my friends, there were about 6 other people there: 4 boys, 2 girls.
I walk into the kitchen, mix the Tequila Suicides, and we do some shots. One girl, who we'll name Chrissy, doesn't want to do shots cause she said she gets too crazy. She really honestly said that and meant it. She wasn't twirling her hair and giggling and emphasizing the word "crazy" when she spoke. She was dead, fucking serious. I couldn't believe that there were girls in the world brain damaged enough to say that and be serious. Even if the events of the night hadn't unfolded as they did, I was already determined to get her obliterated and teach her a lesson. Plus, I didn’t believe in this so-called "crazy" firsthand and wanted to witness it firsthand.
Turns out, I may have been wrong.
Jon and I soon observe Chrissy being very flirty and touchy with one of the other boys at the house. As we’re standing there watching them, suddenly and without warning, the Urge comes over Wysh.
"Let's ruin their relationship," he says to me.
“Well, yeah," I look at him and say, as if it was the most natural request in the world. I mean, what the hell else was I gonna do that night?
Now, some of the best advice you'll ever hear in your life is "Do what you know". You can always learn new things in life, but if you're naturally a poet, don't try to build a house. And how does this apply to the story, you ask?
Because after only about 2 minutes of coaxing, suddenly Chrissy is doing a shot.
See? Do what you know.
Aside from making her drink a bit, Jon and I are also hanging all over her and putting our arms around her and such. After only a couple more shots, she and the boy get into a fight. They go outside and while arguing in the carport, he actually pushes her over to the ground. Jon and I hear the ruckus in the driveway and go outside to see what’s going on. Steve is already separating the two of them when Jon and I begin laughing; not because she got pushed over, but because we were in shock at how fast we ruined their relationship. Only 45 minutes after our task began, it was already completed. Amazing. Jon and I then go over and help her up. After all, we're not completely heartless.
Yet. We're still young. Give it time.
So this douchebag gets in his car and leaves but first feels compelled to let everyone know exactly how small his penis is. He does this by getting into his car and peeling out in one direction. Then, at the end of the block he stops, turns around, and peels out driving by the house again in the other direction. Just in case, of course, anyone missed him leave the first time. I believe we say something like "what a fag". Whough, in retrospect, that can't be what it was because that's far too simple. We had to have called him a "vagine" or an "asscock" or something of that nature. Regardless of what we called him, Chrissy is still all upset. We suggest making her feel better by having another shot.
Do what you know.
Unbeknownst to us at the time, the guy apparently came back about 15 minutes later, but Steve wouldn't let him come back in and suggested he just go home. Ha. Terrific. Clearly even Steve wanted their relationship ruined. Good kid.
Somewhere in the midst of all this, we notice a sheet of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet. It lists each day of the week and its "theme". For example, there’s Wet T-Shirt Wednesday, No Pants Sunday, and (I think) Shirtless Saturday. There was something for every day but Friday. Seeing as it was Friday, I became determined to come up with something to write in for the missing entry. And since most of the days had alliteration in their title, I wanted something that began with an "F" for Friday. This one guy, who I can only assume is a living enema tube brought to life by some kind of arcane magic, comes into the kitchen and, I shit you not, suggests Fagtastic Friday. What? We say many, many mean things to him and tell him to get the fuck out of the kitchen. We also ban him from drinking Tequila Suicide. Then Katie suggests Feel Up Friday. Brilliant! We all agree, I write it on the paper, and, needless to say, a lot of feeling up goes on the rest of the night. In fact, that was how we all decided to greet each other for the remainder of the evening.
Also: There's one very important thing about Amber and Keagan's house I forgot to mention - they have a stripper pole in their living room. Yes, like I said earlier, they are serious drinkers. And this isn’t one of those makeshift, pull-out-for-parties stripper pole that lame frat boys have. This is the real deal made of nice silver chrome and bolted to the ceiling and floor. You can swing on it and everything. (And, in the case of my 26th birthday, be handcuffed to it with your pants around your ankles. Woo!)
So, a shot or two later, and Chrissy has chosen me as the guy she wants to hang all over for the rest of the night. Jon realizes this and goes to try and hook up with the one other girl in the house. He said that this was because he was bored and that seemed like the next best thing to do. Around this time, Katie and I decide to take Chrissy's keys from her for two reasons. One, she’s obviously drunk and Katie doesn’t want her driving home. Two, she’s obviously drunk and so teasing her with her keys is fucking hilarious. I take her keys and act like I put them in my back pocket, but actually drop them down my jeans. After grabbing my ass about 5 times (and my nuts too, just for fun), she still can't find her keys anywhere and eventually loses interest and wanders off. So they don't get lost, I pick her keys up and this time actually put them in my back pocket for safe keeping.
Soon after this, Chrissy wanders back into the living room and starts swinging around on the stripper pole. And then starts dancing a little. And then takes her shirt off. And then her pants, too. And once a girl is drunk and in her underwear, suddenly dancing on a stripper pole becomes a very natural thing.
This is also the point at which I admit I was wrong. Apparently Chrissy really does get crazy when she’s drunk. Who knew?
Because I’m standing near her, Chrissy begins grinding on me and dancing on me and such. I look over to the couch and see Jon making out with the other girl. Who, incidentally, had a boyfriend who wasn’t at the party that night. I drink my rum and coke, quite satisfied with our performance for the evening.
Now, this next part I don't remember, but apparently Jon and the girl now leave the house to go on a walk. A couple houses down the block, they start making out and really going at it. They lie down on a random lawn and come damn near close to having sex on several occasions. Unfortunately for him, she stops him each time reminding him (and herself, really) that she has a boyfriend and shouldn't be doing this. Each time, she starts going at it with him again after only ten seconds. Jon said he eventually got tired of it and that’s when they came back to the house.
Seriously, where the fuck do we find these girls?
While they were gone, Chrissy gets dressed and takes her clothes back off a good 3 times. Her friends keep telling her to get dressed, but then she keeps taking her pants back off. What happened was they thought that I was taking off her clothes and was taking advantage of her cause she was drunk. I can honestly say I must have just brought out the inner prostitute in her, because she did it all herself.
Do what you know.
At one point while Chrissy was dancing in her underwear, my friend Katie pulls me aside and says, "Please don't put your penis in her. she'll go home and commit Christian suicide and cut her wrists."
I tell her that I have no intention of sleeping with this girl and that my mission was accomplished a long time ago. Now I'm just seeing exactly how ridiculous this can get.
Not too much later, Chrissy finally throws up in the bathroom. She was drinking Tequila Suicide after all. I suppose it was inevitable. She's put in one of the back bedrooms to pass out but she refuses to let me leave. Every time I try and stand up to leave the room, she starts screaming bloody murder. My friends finally come and drag me out because they thought I was trying to date rape her or something. Then they remembered that I’m not a date rapist and they calmed the fuck down. Idiots.
During all this, many other people show up at the house including Amber and Keagan. It's now something like 3:30am and the party is dying down and I chose to head home. Upon arriving at my apartment which is thirty minutes away, I empty out my pockets of keys and cell phone and such. That’s when I reach my hand into my back pocket.
Fuck. Chrissy's keys are still there. Son of a bitch.
Well, what the hell else is there to do? It’s a little after 4am and I sure as shit am not driving all the way back to Amber and Keagan’s house. I get in bed and just pass out.
At the god awful hour of 9am, Chrissy calls me and says she needs her keys. How the fuck she’s conscious is beyond me. I’m hungover as holy hell and damn near hang up on her and tell her to figure out how to get here herself. Unfortunately, some tiny spring of conscience wells up inside me and I decide to drive out there and give her her keys.
I get to the house and Chrissy opens the door. This is when she starts giving me doe eyes, hugging me repeatedly for extended periods of time, and kissing my cheek and neck.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
After only 10 minutes, I tell her I have to leave. Normally, I have some excuse I can come up with about why I need to go, but because of my lack of sleep and my raging hangover, I wasn’t so clever this time.
“Alright, well, I gotta go because...I...uh....gotta go." I laugh at myself. I’m an idiot.
She gave me her phone number. I said I’d call. Instead I drove home, crawled back into bed, spent the next dozen hours nursing my hangover, and never heard from the girl again. I assume this is because she eventually met the wrong guy, he put his penis in her, and she committed Christian suicide.
Too bad.
I could use some more entertainment.
© J.E. Tobal 2007/2010
