Friday, January 28, 2011

The Prank War of 2006

If I am guilty of anything, it is that I take things waaaaayyyy too far, and I am a hyper-competetive asshole. I hate being 2nd. I hate losing. I hate being got, or had. Hell, I flipped the game board over and went home early when I saw my defeat was imminent in a Disney trivia game at my mother-in-law's house. 

My friends and I were at a concert a couple cities over. The friends that we were going to meet back at my friend AJ's house left at the same time as us, but we stopped to get food. This quick stop gave them enough time to do something so vile, something so gross, something I had to outdo. When we arrived in my car we parked directly behind AJ's truck and noticed our friends were not there.  We sat in the car and made a phone call to make sure they were ok. They couldn't stop laughing, and dodged questions on where they were. I gave up and hung up the phone because I hate when people act dumb, and have an extremely short temper. We got out of the car  excited to start drinking "The Champagne of Beers". Little did we now our excitement would soon turn into confusion, and that confusion would soon turn into rage. 

There was a dead baby deer on the hood of AJ's truck, and the road-kill was covered unexplainably in macaroni and cheese. Don't worry, we were quite mindfucked as well. We now knew why they were not at the house anymore. 

And I hate being got. 

We went into the house and planned our revenge. We wandered around the house searching for ideas, but nothing compared to a rotting carcass on the hood of a car. So we slept on it. 

The next day when we woke up we were looking for something to eat for breakfast when we stumbled upon a goldmine in the back of AJ's fridge. Gabe's graduation party had been a few months earlier, yet the leftover food still remained hidden in the depths of the fridge. We pulled back the foil encasing the leftovers to reveal a middle school science project growing. The mold was molding. We then knew what we had to do. 

Later that evening, we called our enemies over for drinks. They were hesitant, but we informed them that we weren't mad and that we thought it was actually quite funny. When we had confirmed that they were on the way we set up shop. The corner of AJ's yard has a large pine tree about 5 feet from the driveway. All of the moldy disgusting food that would give Bill Nye a raging science boner was placed behind the pine tree to wait out our guests. While hanging out Gabe and I slipped out and covered their car in filth, and casually walked back inside, and continued the party.

Then it was time for them to leave. They got outside and flipped the fuck out. 

If you cant stand the heat, get the fuck out of the kitchen. 

This part of the story is fuzzy. They did something that made me flip out, but I don't remember at all. But  I had to get them back. I HATE being 2nd to anyone. 

We went to our traditional post drinking spot, the chinese buffet. We loaded up on the same shit-tier quality chinese food that we always eat while hungover and went home. I had to get back, I had to get even. AJ's house is always fucking filthy. His mom leaves town for the summer, and left the house to us. And naturally three 19 year olds fucked shit up. His house was kind of like an episode of hoarders, but we didn't have mental instability, we were just lazy. on the coffee table there were about 10 large McDonald's cups. Then it hit me. These cups will be how we deploy liquid hell on the enemy. We found the grossest shit we could find in the house. 

Beans, rotten bread, stale beer, spit, hair, pubes, snot, cigarette ashes, piss, and dirt was put into all of the cups. We were out of supplies and ideas when something started to rumble. 

I take things way too far. 

That rumble was a mixture of Miller High Life, and poorly executed chinese food not settling too well in my gut. This putrid combo was brewing in my belly and had to be released. I grabbed the remaining cup and ran to the bathroom. The angle wasn't quite right, and I wasn't about to try and shit standing up, so I sat down on the edge with my bare ass hanging into the tub. I grabbed the cup and prepared for the foul anal blast that was about to erupt from my gut. 

It was mustard yellow, and smelled of death. The cup was sealed with saran wrap, then duct tape, followed by the lid, more duct tape, and then the entire bomb was wrapped again in saran wrap. 

We waited til night fall and drove to our friends house. Their lights were out, and the plan was set in motion. We snuck up to the house and poured all of the cups onto the car finishing it up with a diarrhea racing stripe down the middle of the car. 

The next day the enemy quickly sent their white flag up via text message to save the shame, of hearing me gloat, and howl an annoying shit eating laugh. We knew we had won. Unfortunately the victory was bittersweet. Part of me was sad to see it end, however I am still to this day convinced, that if we had let this continue, someone would have died. 

 I didn't get pranked on too much after that day.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Proof That Even While Blacked Out...I Love My Mom

During the summer of 2009 before I left for basic training, my brother was also getting ready to leave home. He was heading to Oregon to go to school. My parents love to throw parties, fuck that, my parents live to throw parties. And for this occasion it was no different. Tons of people showed up. There were kegs, and liquor, enough food for everyone's taste, and unfortunately wine.

You see, I fancy myself a drinker. However when the spirits have been flowing I tend to make mistakes. During the party I parked myself in the garage where the keg was located and played beer pong most of the night. By the time the party was winding down I was near the point of being "Schaivo'd". The residents of Quaker Court, and my close friends will understand the the term but many wont so I will lay it out like this.

1st click this link if you don't know who Terri Schaivo is: 

2nd try to grasp this concept:

tipsy<buzzed<drunk<hammered<smashed<blacked out< "SCHIAVO'D"

This photo represents me in the "buzzed" state posted up at the keg. 
This is me clearly at the drunk stage, creeping on Rae Baby. 
Here I am in the moderately "smashed" possibly into the "hammered" stages.
(notice the final keg is dead)
In this photo I am totally blacked out. I have my older brother in a headlock. 
(note: I appear to be having fun, but my eyes are nearly closed and emotionless)

Unfortunately no photos were taken of me in the Schiavo'd state. 

Pulling off this feat can only done by the true shit show. It is usually induced by a combination of  energy drinks, and a fuck-ton of alcohol, but on this occasion it was something different. I was the end product of a rookie trying to keep up with some of the University of Michigan's finest drinkers.  I was figuratively "showing my ass".

The party was going swimmingly until the last of the kegs was tapped. Remember earlier when I talked about me being poor at making inebriated decisions...yeah, that is about to happen. So here we are, a bunch of guys and gals in our early to mid-twenties with our alcohol supply nearly tapped. The only thing standing is a few bottles of wine that the elders of the family didn't get to during the festivities. Drinking wine is boring, and I personally don't enjoy the taste. I am not exactly the kind of guy that owns a smoking jacket, and talks about stocks. So I have the bright idea of playing "wine pong"...fuck. At this point of my alcoholic journey I am smashed, rounding the base making a b-line towards being blacked out.

And then it happened.

(8-12ish hours missing from memory)

I wake up surrounded by friends and family in my parents dining room. I seem to remember my parents dining room a lot less slippery, and a lot less chunky. Yes, baby made vom vom. There was a blast radius of about 6 feet surrounding my puke covered corpse-like body. It consisted mostly of beer, wine, and my Aunt Mary's famous salsa...I must have had a black out craving. I don't remember what happened, but there were plenty of onlookers. So the rest of the story will be pieced together from various witnesses recollections.
My bedroom at my parents house is carpeted. and directly outside my door is a large area rug, that my mom spent too much money on, that covers a sitting room hardwood floor. By the wall leading out of there is a trail of exposed hardwood that leads to the hardwood floor dining room. I'd draw a map...but I don't care that much...and you probably get the picture. From what friends, and my then girlfriend, now wife, have told me this is what happened. I being "schiavo'd" woke up from my coma in dire need to puke. I apparently got out of bed and looked for a place to release my belly full of goodies, and realizing I was on carpet did what any good son would do. Sacrifice your self...pride.  I pulled out my shirt into a basket like shape and puked into it. I walked out the door and deposited  my papoose of bile into the corner of the sitting room. I started to walk over the nice carpet in the "sitting room" and felt some more spew coming. I dove to the wall where there was no carpet and puked again. Once again missing the rug that my mom loves. I then reportedly crawled on my hands and knees spraying putrid wine and salsa vomit,then forming it into a nice  pile, moving forward, and then continuing on my way for 2 or 3 feet before repeating the process. All the while I was avoiding the carpet, and telling onlookers about my moms precious rug. I then apparently decided that the dining room would be a suitable resting place for the evening and laid down on the ground. I don't believe this part, but I will post it anyway. I supposedly laid on the ground with one eye open with a sea of salsa, beer, wine, chips, and other assorted snacks flowing forth from my stomach to form the previously mentioned 6 foot blast radius. I guess, I cant argue with the evidence.

Whats in the Works on 1/24?

- When my wife saved me from 400 lbs of large gay rape.

- When I acquired a chinese food delivery car sign. 

- The prank war of the summer of '06.

- Puking my way through the house after my going away party.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

It Takes a Special Someone.

Me: "come here for a second" 

My wife: "Are you going to burp on me, or fart on me?"

The fact that this is the first question that comes to her mind is proof that she has lived through my torment. My wife probably has the most patience out of anyone I know. I still laugh when I fart, make blanket forts with my dachshund Ranger, and blow stuff up for a living for Christ's sake.  Quite frankly she married Peter Pan.For her to stick around for 6 years of my shit before I finally asked "THEE QUESTION!" is quite amazing, and still stuns me to this day. 

If I am in the other room and quiet for too long I will hear a concerned "what did you do?" come from the other room. If I walk through the door with a surprise behind my back she will back away nervously thinking I may have a bug, or something gross I found outside. Which is warranted, I tormented her for quite some time with a fake snake. She walks softly, and peaks around corners in her own home because ever since halloween my gorilla costume has made several guest appearances. 

At parties, and I've been drinking, my wife has the same look of a mom whose kid crapped in the sandbox at the park. Off color jokes, and passing out at weird places is nothing to her. One time at a coworkers house, I got drunk and figured it would be a good idea to hide from her in a closet. The awful thing about playing hide and go seek is when the seeker doesn't know they are playing, and you are stuck in a closet for quite some time. I was in the closet long enough to pass out...standing up. My rather large friend AZ helped me to the car for my wife, after finding me a half hour later. On the ride home we had a talk. 

"I can't believe you!" she exclaimed.

"What did I do this time?" I questioned.

"You were so drunk AZ had to carry you to the car"

"BULLSHIT, I JUST REALLY WANTED A PIGGY BACK RIDE!" was the obvious response. 

Lucky doesn't even begin to describe how I feel every time I wake up and I am still married to the most beautiful, patient, and understanding women in the world. And then I think NEENER NEENER NEENER, YOU CANT HAVE HER. 

Because I am mature and shit.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Advice From An Asshole.

Telling an 8 year old how to deal with a tattle tale in school:
"You know there is this ancient chinese proverb that goes like this: Snitches get Stitches"

Helping a friend with lady advice.
"Put it in her butt...she'll come back for sure." (she called him the next day, fuckers!)

To the wife when she worked in a salon in Lansing:
"If all else fails, just firebomb the place."

To my wife on being alone when I had to work through the night:
"My gun is loaded, if someone breaks in, shoot them until they don't move anymore, then call me, then I will call the cops"

Some Asshole Quotes:

"You smell like a burlap sack of hairy assholes."

To a dumb ass kid in Ionia, MI who called my mexican friend the N word.
"That doesn't change the fact that you're an ignorant asshole, now apologize to my friend"

Purposely mixing up Dominicans, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, because I know they freak out. (disclaimer: don't do this unless you are cool with them, or you WILL get shanked.)

"What the fuck...that guy claimed mustard jihad on my shoes"

On tour with For the Fallen Dreams to a local opening band.
"Your band is alright, if you meant to sound like everyone else."

Sunday, January 16, 2011

I Grew Up in Mayberry

Charlotte, MI., believe it or not, it still basically looks just like this. 

And that is not a knock in the slightest. I loved growing up there, and would not trade it for the world. Hell, I met the love of my life, and my best friend there. Most of my fondest memories take place in Charlotte too. But growing up in a small town can make a kid pretty restless. One would assume that's why I went to school with a bunch of drug addicts, pregnant teenagers, or in some instances both. 

To save time, and to avoid legal trouble we will skip ahead to the point in the story where an old man, sitting with his old hound dogs asks Gabe and I "Why you boys gotta be doin' that?" 

To set the scene it is roughly 2 or 3 in the morning, and Gabe and I are shit faced (this seems to be a recurring theme), on a back country road in Charlotte.

 We both do what any drunk person would do...lay down in the road. Gabe and I make eye contact and give a tiny laugh and then realize "what the fuck are we doing?". Why one of us would think laying down in the middle of the road would be our best defense is beyond me, let alone both of us at the same time. Oh well. 

We finally came to our senses as a truck in the driveway of the old mans house turned on. We got to our feet and ran like Flash Gordon on coke. I honestly think we had a shot at outrunning a pack of Kenyans we ran so fast. As the truck hit the road we dove off the road into some thick weeds. This is where we turned into the love child of Rambo, and Chuck Norris. We were low crawling through the weeds, combat rolling over ditches, and we might have even set up a few claymores or some shit, I don't know, my memory is fuzzy. As the truck crept by a spotlight was stuck out the window and searching the weeds for us. But we were too sneaky...or he was blind. I remember feeling like Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape". 

As my Nazi prison guard in a beat up early 90s Ford F150 drove by we skipped across the road and hid behind a shed. And then made our way down the road dodging behind bushes, and trees until we made it back to the bonfire we were attending. We were almost there and could see the light from the fire when we came up to a fence. It was quite rusted out, and barely stood waist high. I don't know if it was the adrenaline, or to keep tactical but Gabe took off hauling ass. He tried to grab the fence and throw his legs over to the side. But a combination of the fence being put up during the civil war, and Gabe being drunker than Ted Kennedy it just wasn't happening. The fence crumbled, and Gabe crumbled with it. It was one of the loudest thuds I have ever heard. It sounded as if someone dropped a Mexican shaped boulder from 20 feet up into a mound of clay. Half laughing and still worried of the old man with the truck we gathered ourselves up and ran the rest of the way to our friends house. We doused the fire and ran inside. Once we got inside we calmly informed our sleeping friend "OH SHIT, WE FUCKED UP!", and to "TURN THE FUCKING LIGHTS OFF!". We ran around the house at mach-3 and turned off the lights and laid down on the floor of the living room for the rest of the know...just in case. 

This is where I am thankful of how much I contracted poison ivy as a child. Growing up running through the woods I would constantly wake up itchy, with a rash. It was just a part of childhood. I had poison ivy more than an Ohio State frat house has gonorrhea. But unlike sigma epsilon, I became immune to poison ivy. Gabe was not so lucky. His ass was swollen, and had a rash on it, and apparently itching like crazy. He went to the doctor, and had to get steroid shots in his ass, or some shit like that...probably an ointment or something too.  I wasn't to worried about another dudes butt to take notes. 

Oddly enough, that wasn't be the first or last time I was running for my life through backyards with my best friend.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Some Quotes From Work.

I usually leave work with a headache. Talking shit to idiots is usually how I cure myself, and get through the work week. Here are a few instances I could remember off of the top of my head. 

Someone at work complaining about the facial hair regulations. 
"Your mustache looks like rat pubes, id rather not have a mustache than look like that"

"You admitted to having sex with your step dads daughter, anything you could possibly say will not help your cause."

"I really wish you would fall into a wood chipper and leave me alone."

"You are from West Virginia, its not your fault your fault you're retarded...that blame goes to your mom-cousin-sister."

"Are you sure you have never been on COPS?"

"You are only here because a meth lab blew up your double-wide"

The Higgins Lake Ice Cream Debacle

 I have this issue my wife refers to as "diarrhea of the mouth". But you know what they say "behind every asshole is an embarrassed wife shaking her head." I don't know when it started, but sometimes I just say or do stuff to get people going. I like the reactions on peoples faces when I say some ridiculous shit. It is my version of crack.  If you have been around me for more than 15 minutes, you know that I like to make people laugh. Especially when people have the "too cool for school" mentality, or my personal favorite "super serious guy".

Junior high school is probably around the time that it started. Between telling jokes, or planting glue in someones back pack and informing the teacher he was sniffing glue, I was hooked. The attention, and the laughs I seemed to always need my fix.

Around 8th grade my family started an annual camping trip to Higgins Lake in Michigan. We go with the guys I used to play hockey with, and their families. These guys seem to turn me into a different kind of monster.

A tradition is to go up to an awesome ice cream store called Nibbles, aka Nipples. While we were at Nipples, I sat down with 2 kids at table for no reason at all. They were around 10 and 11 years old, slightly pudgy, shirtless, mullet donning, ice cream covered sticky kids. Where this is normally my place to shine, the kids beat me to the punch and start making sticky faces at me forcing me to laugh out loud. But not to be undone, I took off my shirt too, and started to smear ice cream on my face and mimicked them. We exchanged ice cream covered grins and grimaces until I, being an asshole, took it to the next level. I began stirring my ice cream until it was a pinkish purple color that no other than melted superman ice cream can achieve. I began to cover my hands in the ice cream goop, and then my chest, and face. I looked like a retarded indian, ready for battle. The pudgy kids stared in amazement and started laughing hysterically, so I did the only rational thing I could think of...put ice cream on them too. I started rubbing it into their faces, and pouring it on their chest, even using the spoon to fling some on for a nice little Jackson Pollock effect.

Then it dawned on me...these kids HAVE to have parents. Damn it. Like a horse with blinders on, I got tunnel vision when I saw my opening to make a joke. I looked up and there was what I assumed was mom giving me the look. Not the "lets make sweet sweet love" look, but the "I'm going to fucking kill you!" look. The look that only a seasoned mom can achieve. And just like my mom...I was terrified.

 I stood up and started to back away. My friends who have clearer heads than I,  had noticed what was going on, and had already headed towards the exits. We casually turned and walked away until we hit the edge of the building and were out of sight. Then we hauled ass. Not the kind of run where you are out for a jog, but the kind of run that you don't even dare to look back because you are a gazelle, and you know damn well there is a cheetah directly behind you. We made it back to the gate of Higgins Lake without the succubus mom in hot pursuit. We began to howl with laughter that can only come down from the bottom of your gut, the kind that makes you hyperventilate, and grab your sides in pain. But the pain is worth it.

I blame my friends for getting me in these situations.

The Ancient Chinese Proverb: Snitches Get Stitches.

More random quotes. More can be found on twitter @QuoteAnAsshole.

To a girl at basic training who noticed I hadn't filled my own water source while worrying about my squad:
"Don't worry about me, I will hydrate on your tears."

To a guy at work:
"Let your mom know I am upset with her...for failing mankind."

While in the Emergency Room, the doctor informed me his name was Judson:

Out the window at a girl wearing the ugliest furry pompom emblazon UGG boots I have ever seen:

Friday, January 14, 2011

Ann son of a bitch

The 21st birthday party, an American tradition. It can either be a great way to start yourself on a path of responsible legal drinking, or a way to make yourself into a shit show....I chose the latter.

My brother had just graduated from the University of Michigan around the time I had turned 21, So the connections, and a place to stay made Ann Arbor a perfect place to spend my 21st birthday. We started off at a restaurant called Ashley's. They offer great food and a bajillion god damn beers on tap, most of which are pretty quality. My two brothers from another mother Evan, and Drew, my brother Jake, and of course my hetero life mate Gabe have all made the trip to celebrate 21 years and 9 months since my parents made, in most peoples eyes, the biggest mistake of their lives.

We have dinner, and a few beers in preparation for the night. Then head out to The Jug, a sports bar down town. This is when a fun night of casual drinking turned into an olympic sport of debauchery. Pitchers of Miller Light started arriving at the tables...the Red Wings were in the playoffs at the time...fuck you! Then came the shots. Rumple Minze, Jack Daniels, Four Horseman, Rumple Minze, a Washington Apple or some shit like that, then More whiskey, and see where this is going. By this time a few of my brothers room mates from college have joined us.

A grown man was my first target of the evening. The patio where we were sitting at The Jug is literally damn near in the fucking road This grown ass man drives up to us on the patio on a moped.I know the ultra-liberals that reside in Ann Arbor are very eco-friendly people, but at what point do you realize you still have manhood, and pride to defend. I casually, and politely inform him that he looks a little feminine on his vehicle of choice. And when I say casually and politely what I meant to say was, I stood up from my chair pointed at him directly in the face, made eye contact with him and howled a shit eating laugh, followed by the words "CUTE MOPED DUDE, DO THEY MAKE THEM FOR MEN?". I think that is about the time that waiter cut us off, so we continued our adventure...I think.

Any other night, I could have went home, but it was my birthday! So this is where everything starts to get blurry. We arrived at some bar that had a MASSIVE dance floor. Gabe and Drew are putting drinks on some douche bags tab most of the night. These "Shark Bowls" start coming to the table. Shark bowls are bowls of legal date rape that could get Brian Peppers him if you'd like. 2 or 8 of these bad boys, and I have hit my limit. I stand gazing into the crowd of people, and remember salivating quite heavily. Anyone that talks to me I laugh assuming they are telling a joke. Then the question of the night is asked by my brothers friend.

"Sam, are you going to puke?"


"Then why are you spitting on the floor?"

If you aren't familiar with puking while you're drunk, your body starts to salivate preparing its self for the oral shit storm that is about to erupt from your stomach.

My brother starts to guide me from the bar to the bathroom. Now what kind of fucking bar puts the bathroom on the opposite side of bar on the other side of dance floor. With all the god damn geniuses floating around this city, you'd think they would have figured this shit out by now. Nope. As we are winding through the crowd spurts of puke decorate unsuspecting frat dudes button up shirts, and sorroriwhores Ugg boots, or whatever the fuck they wear. As I make it to the bathroom I let slip the dogs of war on the toilet, sink, floor, wall of that dive bars bathroom.

I put my body on auto-pilot, and let fate take over.

I wake up the next morning in my brothers friends place on the couch, all of the usual suspects are accounted for. Jake, Drew, Evan....Gabe...where the fuck is Gabe? I answer. I answer. Gabe got raped by a street bum, and is laying dead in an alley somewhere...I FUCKING KNEW IT! I just got  my best friend killed. What will I tell his mom, how will I tell the police. Then my phone rings. Gabe is about a mile away from the apartment, severely hung over, and is hungry. He receives guidance, and is on the move. We link up later and find out what happened.

My brother was firemans carrying me down the street shouting obscenities at anyone that questions him, along with the rest of our posse.

Enter bohemian bum, stage left.

The bum asks our group where he could possibly locate some alcohol, he is given directions and is on his merry way. As the bum starts to take off, Gabe has a less than stellar idea. "I'm going with him" he says and runs off into the darkness with the bum. Gabe informs us that he tagged along with the bum until he showed him a nice place to sleep for the night, and Gabe being the gentleman he is obliges the offer and spends his night in an empty dumpster behind a restaurant.

Honestly I could think of many ways to lie to you, and tell you that we did that again the next night, or we did something awesome, or some other bullshit. But I felt the effects from that night for quite some time and didn't feel like drinking, or going out, let alone bother to even leave my bed for at least two days.

To quote an asshole:

More quotes can be found at my twitter account @QuoteAnAsshole

"I dont hate Bob Marley because his music sucks, i hate Bob Marley because of the type of people that love Bob Marley."

"I refuse to believe both dudes enjoy anal the same time at least."

"You are the poster child for abortion, West Virginia should be proud."

"I'm terrified to have 1 kid, and you have like what 27 of those sons of bitches running around?...No, I think your wife is alright I guess."

Michigan State has the pleasure of meeting my friends, and gets covered with piss.

  Sometimes my wrath is targeted, and sometimes random bystanders catch some collateral damage. Either way, tough shit. 

  A few friends and I were invited to go to a party in East Lansing with some friends of a friends, friend. It just so happens that my friends friends friend only hangs out with douche bags with high school-esque facial hair.They must have made it into college on some sort of technicality. Their house was a typical college town rental, complete with stained carpet, the stench of Marlboro Reds, and a frigid breeze running through it. I should probably also mention that the only girls at this party were the girls that came with me but no big deal, I had been dating my now wife for a few years by then. This was more than a sausage fest it was more of a week long sausage convention where you could buy different sausage trinkets, and various sausage costumes, or maybe dine on gourmet sausages. I am not sure if  it was my inability to listen to Nickelback, and Creed on repeat, or me being slightly misanthropic, but after being several adult beverages in I lost my fucking mind.

  My partner in crime, and heterosexual life mate, Gabe was along for this trip. Gabe has been my friend since we were in Tiger Cub Scouts together,  painstakingly crafting macaroni necklaces to give our mothers for christmas. I carried my heavily inebriated self to the top of the staircase with the grace of a coked up rhinoceros where the bathroom was and noticed Gabe waiting in line to piss. As Travis the bro-dude exits the bathroom, Gabe and I entered together (no homo). Being frequent drinking partners, and general soul mates, we have the same ideas when it comes to drinking. Hold off as long as possible as to not "break the seal" and half to piss all night. Well, like a couple of girls synchronizing our menstrual cycles, it was time to piss...for both of us. Gabe opted for the toilet, and I chose the sink as my urinal...fuck it wasnt my house. As I started to go the tiny devil that lives inside my head and tells me to do bad things started to fill my thoughts with evil shit to do. I pointed my man meat at the cup holding the tooth brushes. DIRECT HIT.  Gabe noticing what was going on followed suit. Soggy toilet paper. I focused my attention on the shag rug on the floor. FUCK THE 70's! Gabe answered back with the bath towels. Next the shampoo, bars of soap, the drawers on the sink cabinet, the curtains, and even the walls were given a nice cote of piss for good measure. The entire time we were giggling, I could only imagine how this would look if we were walked in on. 

  Know the feeling when you realize you fucked up? The feeling when you get in the pit of your stomach when spill a cup of red soda on the carpet, or break a priceless vase your mom made while performing WWF moves from the top of the couch...yeah thats how I felt. We opened the door and were relieved to find that no one was waiting to use the now piss coated bathroom. We snuck down the stairs and casually told our friends "Holy fucking fuck, we fucked up we need to get the fuck out of here....NOW!" We grabbed our shit, because I'd be damned if these mongoloids were going to drink my liquor, and bolted out the door like we were fleeing Alcatraz. 

  For good measure as we were leaving Gabe and I conjured up some mystical piss and gave the door handles of their cars a quick squirt because assholes will be assholes, until the day they die.