Dear Dudefest Forum,
I was a young man once, a long time ago. And as a young man is wont to do, I drank heavily. I mean I used to bring a 30-rack to a party and leave the next day with just one or two morning beers to settle the stomach. On this particular night, however, I really outdid myself.
It was my senior year of high school, I had just turned *cough* 23, and it was the very first weekend of June. Everybody had an idea of how close we were to the sweet release of summer, so naturally every kid with a big enough house knew it was their civic duty to host something substantial. Around 3 o'clock I got a text message from my friend Joey, telling me to come out to Queens, as he was having a little get-together. I was especially psyched when I heard, because my girlfriend at the time was on a trip to Boston with her parents. And she was gonna be gone the whoooooole weekend. Don't take this the wrong way, I had no intention of cheating or anything, it's just that she wasn't exactly a fan of me losing control/blacking out/puking. Understandable. But tonight, no mortal laws could bind me, I was a free man.
When I got to Joey's place, it was apparent this wasn't exactly the party I was looking for. There were a couple people milling around, and some things bein' rolled up, but not exactly a rager. More of a passive-aggressive-er. There was Captain Morgan though, and me and the Captain quickly became acquainted. There had been rumors floating around school that this girl Amanda was throwing a huge party. Now I knew Amanda, but we had a love/hate sort of relationship. OK more of a hate/hate. Either way, my friend Dylan let me know that Amanda's was definitely the place to be that night. So I grabbed a couple road sodas and began my journey.
The rum and Keystone were creating a nice little science project in my stomach as I arrived, and I couldn't have come at a better time. It was as if I walked in and parted the sea of girls with a wave of my hand, and the promised land of "Beerpong-usalem" lay ahead of me. Now I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, but you might find it interesting to know that I have been referred to as "Beer Pong's Triple H" on more than one occasion. After a couple
games victories, I was feeling very buzzed. I had just hit the plateau between 8 and 12 beers, where they become pure water, when I heard the best news of the night. There was a hot tub.
I didn't have a swimsuit because c'mon, who's ever prepared to jacuzz it up? So I got down to my skivvies and hopped in. As soon as I did I was handed something to smoke, so I politely took my hits and passed. Two minutes later I was handed a beer. After about twenty minutes, all these elements, the alcohol, the weed, and the 100-degree water had changed me into some sort of superhuman. I arose from the water, put on a shirt (not mine) and walked to the back corner of the yard to take a piss. Now, drinking and I - we have an understanding. We hang out, I do something retarded, and he takes the blame. This time, he bequeathed me a powerful gift in the form of an empty 18 pack of bud light. On the top of every case like this, there is a handle made by two holes. Coincidentally, when one decides to put said case on their head, the eyes line up almost perfectly with the holes. With my new helmet, and still no pants, I made my way inside.
It's at this point where things get fuzzy. Through partial recollection and a few outside sources, it seemed the rest of my night went as follows: I decided it was time to play beer pong. They wouldn't let me play beer pong. I became angry. I took a kid's beer out of his hand and finished it in front of him, apparently maintaining some seriously frightening eye contact. I almost peed in a hallway, but was pushed outside by Amanda at the last minute. I jumped in smoking circles with phrases like "Geronimoooo" and "The last of the Mooooohicaaaans" just to steal joints, then I'd flee in my soaking wet boxers. But the real icing on the cake came the next day, when Amanda posted something on Facebook. It read, "To whoever thought it was funny to write 'I had a party' on a post-it note and stick it to the back of the milk in my fridge, GO FUCK YOURSELF. I just got grounded for three weeks, so do me a favor and FUCKING DIE." I asked my friend if I had anything to do with it. He told me, "You said the message was extremely important, then shut the refrigerator, cackled in my face, and passed out on the couch." The Bud Light Knight walked away a champion, a sterling paramount of what it truly means to "party."
You can find more of Pockets's dangerously misinformed decisions by following him on twitter @tharealpockets.