Alcoholism doesn’t run in my family, it fucking sprints. Picture Usain Bolt running the 100-metre dash at the Summer Olympics, as his competition struggles to maintain even swatting distance of him. Now picture that early scene in Cool Runnings, when the 3 lead actors trip during the 100-metre Olympic qualifying run. Combine those two and that's my family in an idiomatic nutshell. As a result, I’ve done a lot of stupid shit while hammered, but who hasn't? Sometimes with no recollection of huge parts of the night, which is why I've written a book compiling my most embarrassing stories and what I've learned from them. I'm just like you, albeit, slightly more fucked up. But the only real difference between us is I decided to write my humiliating stories down and in a humorous way.
You know those nights when you wake up and you’re like:
“What in the actual fuck happened last night?!”
“Where am I?”
“What am I wearing?”
“I did what?”
“I said that?!”
“I fucked WHO?!”
“I lost my phone, wallet AND dignity?”
Not to mention my buddies and I sending each other lengthy apology texts messages. Those were every weekend for me for a long fucking time. Strazz, DJ Stumble, McCripplewitz, and Neutron were my best friends the last year of high school and like most 18-year-olds, we were locomotives of absolute shit-destruction that were constantly derailing. And apart from Neutron, we all came from poor and/or broken families and we, sometimes unknowingly, justified our destructive behaviour. As soon as the whiskey unmasked and revealed his decrepit face, one by one, we got kidnapped by Father Blackout. Sometimes he would return us throughout the night, and other times he held us captive until the morning and it became like clockwork.
Strazz’s shoulder was constantly wet from all the women crying on it whenever Neutron and I were being assholes and played therapist to the girls who we were hooking up with, a title he fucking despised. This motherfucker is sweeter than Mr. Rogers eating a bowl of sugar, but not always. He bottled up his emotions, so he would inevitably blow up every so often – it’s like shaking up a bottle of coke and twisting the cap off – shit’s going to explode as soon as you unscrew the cap. That was Strazz. We would pick up our alcohol for the night and if he had a bad day at work or someone cut him off in traffic earlier, he would sip his beer and calmly say, “I’m gonna cause a scene tonight” as he stared off into the oblivion with a murderous look in his eye. When he got going during one of his scenes, he either got sadistically detailed as to what he was going to do to you, or he incoherently went off into simultaneously the most confusing in-depth figurative analogies and metaphors and makes me laugh harder and more frequently than anyone I know. Like he makes me cry on the floor, gasping for air. So anytime he declared he would be making a scene, I would hand over the spotlight that I made sure always shone on me over to him because it meant it would be an insane night and he rarely disappointed. This particular story is kind of, okay, really fucking blurry, but I’m going to tell it to the best of my drunken distorted memory starting from the top.
Strazz, our buddy, Deon and I, get invited to this party in an extremely wealthy part of town with these girls who Strazz and I had met on the street the weekend before. By the time we get to the party that was packed to the brim with frat boy date-rapists, wearing neon-coloured Polo’s, it quickly ends, and everyone congregates outside. Right away, these guys begin chirping Dion for resembling an NHL hockey player before trying to reach into Strazz’s bag to grab his beer. Luckily and selfishly for me, someone had pissed Strazz off earlier in the day, add to the fact that he hates trust-fund babies more than anyone I know and I quickly witness the immediate shift in his eyes. I am busting out the popcorn, the curtains are opening, and the show is about to start. Get it, Strazz:
Strazz: “YOU WANT MY FUCKING BEER?!”
He grabs a beer from his bag, shakes it up, and starts spraying the crowd like he’s Stone Cold Steve Austin. 5’8 Strazz then begins challenging them one by one. Bear in mind, there are about 30 of them and 3 of us and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least kinda shitting my pants. As fucking hysterical as it was, I assumed we were seconds away from being stomped on by a bunch of Louis Vuitton dress shoes.
Liam: “Dude. Let’s get the fuck outta here. There are like 100 of them.
Strazz: “No, fuck that! I’ll fuck up any of these frat fucks.
They’re just standing there drooling and looking at one another, each waiting for another guy to make a move.
Deon: “Strazz, fucking relax.”
Strazz: “No no, I don’t think so, these rich fucks aren’t getting away with this shit!”
The cab our girls had called in a panic pulls up and as we're hopping in someone in the back of the crowd of pink and green highlighter polo’s yells, "fuck you, Deon!" They then charge the moving cab, kicking it and screaming at us, as Strazz pretended to cry and was angrily miming himself sucking a dick and ejaculating on them and we drive away.
A couple of days later, I’m in Law class. Don’t get it twisted, I was supposed to graduate the year before and all I did was plagiarize Strazz’s homework the entire semester. Our teacher, if you could call him that, barely said a word the entire semester and only showed up half the time and when he did, was mostly drunk, so we could get away with murder. One day I showed up in a neck brace that DJ Stumble had put me in and as he looked at me, smiling and shaking his head said, “Liam, if you were Asian, your name would be Ung Lee.” He was trying to call me ugly but was too drunk to fully make sense. That was one of the few times he ever acknowledged me.
So, I’m fucking around on the class computer when I get a message in my Honesty Box… Which if you’re not familiar, was a thing on Facebook for a couple of years, where you could anonymously send people messages like a tough guy. One of the guys from the party “Frat McDouche” had found me on Facebook, writing this: “We jakkd ur beers n spat on u” Illiterately, word for word. Spat on us?! I got closer to spitting on his mom’s vagina before I ate her out than he did on us. We go back and forth for a bit before exchanging numbers. The next weekend we were out drinking and Strazz and I call this guy on repeat, just trolling him. We were so incredibly gangster that we threaten to kill him and his buddies. They do the same. We’re tough. They’re tough. Just a bunch of tough guys, ya know?
A week passes and a large group of us were in Neutron’s parent's newly renovated basement, making something called, Caribou Lou. Which is a cocktail birthed from an absolute banger of a song about quite possibly the most dangerous liquid known to man. It was created by the rapper Tech N9ne and consists of 151 Bacardi Rum (75% alcohol content), Malibu Rum, and Pineapple Juice. Fuck Kryptonite, this shit would kill Superman. It is essentially venom and you could blackout from inhaling the fumes alone. This is the drink that Genghis Khan was consuming as he invaded and conquered 2 continents. We by no means obey the appropriate ratio of the drink and just free-pour it as you do. Your liver can safely process one drink per hour and each sip alone of Lou is the equivalent of one drink, so our blood-alcohol levels increase fatally within minutes.
Caribou Lou… Shit is a trip, man.
As we’re drinking this battery acid and getting weird, my shoe starts ringing. I pick it up.
Liam: “Hellllloooo. Speaking Liam is this?
Strazz: “Dude! You’re talking on your shoe!”
Liam: “The fuck. Is this Strazz?”
I toss Strazz my shoe, saying it's for him and it’s also him on the other line. I then realize Strazz is here, so how can it be him on the phone? I don’t spend long questioning it.
Weird noises are coming from my vibrating thigh. I reach in my pocket and it’s my phone. I don’t realize why I have two phones, but I answer it anyway. It is Frat McDouche and he is calling me a weakling, or that his dad can beat up my dad or some such nonsense. Since I just fucked up those volcanic gnomes, I was feeling tough as shit. He tells me to meet him at Victoria Park in an hour, he’ll be waiting in a Black Honda Civic with a bunch of other Frat McDouche’s.
I was speaking so quickly, with a voice so distorted that it legitimately sounded like I was having a stroke. I say something along the lines of this: “Fuckiwehuwbitchehpoqwekillkednweniwgnome.” And quickly hang up the phone, quickly tossing it to Strazz, who was still trying to hang up my shoe, but struggling.
I was on another planet and in my fucking-warped state, I was a military general. It’s not that I felt like I was a military general, it was that I genuinely believed I was one. I had to hype my men up and get them ready for battle.
General Peters: “Men! Call your wives, tell them you love them and that you will write every day. Let the lord be with us. FREEEEDOMMMM!!!”
I have successfully pumped them up and they are all supportively hollering and chanting. In truth, they were most likely giving me blank stares and looks of concern as I mumbled incoherently about how we needed to kill the Frat McDouches. It’s Strazz, DKS, Ipswich, Danielito, Neutron, DJ Stumble, and Jamaica. We leave home base, and on the way there, were passing around what was left of the Bacardi 151 and picking up various artillery. It’s like that scene from Anchorman when the opposing News Channels have that battle, and they all have unconventional weapons, like Steve Carell’s character, "Brick," had a hand grenade and a Trident. DKS’ dad was an army veteran and certifiably insane. It bled onto DKS and he wasn’t quite all there in the head. Not that any of us were, but much like me, he thought he was legitimately in a war. But unlike me, that was his constant state. He was marching and chanting army cadences, picking up a 2x4 full of rusty nails from a construction site as he did so. I have the empty bottle of rum, Strazz has a brick in one and a stick in the other, and the rest of the platoon have rocks and fiery fists. As soon as we get to the park I see what I assume was a black Honda parked on the street. Without wasting any time, I run-up to it, throw the empty bottle at the car and it smashes off the roof. The rest of the boys feebly throw their weapons as well and the car speeds off quicker than Tokyo Drift. We chase the car down the street before marching off in victory. To this day, Strazz swears it was the Black Honda Civic that I threw the bottle at, but there were other cars there and I just threw the bottle at the first one that I saw, it could have been a hot pink Winnebago that I threw the bottle at for all I fucking know.
The rest of the night is like a drunken movie montage:
- Only Neutron, Strazz, DJ Stumble, and I make it back to Neutrons.
- The other guys aren’t heard from for about the next 72 hours. One can confidently only assume death or incarceration as to their whereabouts.
- My fuck buddy at the time, “Bic,” shows up. She was saying that I texted her, but I didn’t believe it and argued my case, which was that my shoe isn’t technologically advanced enough to be able to send out text messages. At least not yet.
- I have Bic Doggystyle in Neutron’s mini-sauna, cumming within about 10 seconds. I was wearing a condom, so she didn’t realize that I came, but I don’t stop fucking her because even in my annihilated state of unconsciousness, I was humiliated. But since I was on the Caribou Lou, both my mind and body (with the exception of my penis. He’s got a mind and body of his own) were completely desensitized, so I never lose wood or momentum in the slightest, and we continue fucking for the next… 2 minutes? 2 hours? 2 days? I had no idea what month it was, who was Prime Minister or what planet I was living on. That is the extreme power of The Lou.
- The temperature in the sauna was maxed out and we’re both so sweaty that as I try and grab her ass cheek, my hand slips off, causing my entire naked body to lose balance and fall off the bottom ledge and onto the floor.
That was the last known memory from the human once known as Liam Michael Laurens Peters, as he slipped out of his manic state of Caribou Lou hysteria and into a pitch-black abyss, which is an unbelievably thin line.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Is all I hear as I groggily step out of the pitch-black abyss and back into reality.
OH NO… what the fuck HAVE I done?! Is there anyone else here? Shit. Fuck. It must be morning, and this must be hell. My head is buried in the corner of what I can only assume is a couch. I feel crumbs on my forehead that is on fire and all I smell is metal as I spit a coin out of my mouth that was glued to my upper lip. Even though I can’t see Satan, I am scared to open my eyes in fear that she will somehow see me open them and make this all too real. I also can’t move, because if I show any sign of life, she will know that I am awake and I can’t yet face what it is that I have potentially done. I start taking incredibly shallow breaths, but my heart starts pounding so hard that it looked like I was doing no hand pushups on the couch.
“BLOODY NEUTRON! AND YOUR BLOODY, FUCKING FRIENDS!!!”
Okay, okay, it is Neutron’s INCREDIBLY English mom, who I haven’t met yet and she is saying friends, so there are others here and we are in his basement living room. AHHH. It feels like someone is jackhammering into what little I have left of my brain from last night. I have no idea what day it is, or how long I have been out cold for. Could have been days for all I fucking know. There’s a line in the song that goes “the only defect is waking up like what happened.” That should be on the label! Fuck you, Tech N9ne!
“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” *BANG. BANG. BANG*. She is pounding on Neutron’s bedroom door as her English accent was only amplifying the situation, making her even more terrifying than she already is.
“BLOODY NEUTRON!!”
Neutron: “What the fuck, mom?!”
“WHAT HAVE YOU BOYS DONE! YOU HAVE DESTROYED THE FUCKING BASEMENT!!”
Neutron: “Mom, just chill the fuck out.”
I finally lift my head and am in the pushup position, trying to push myself up, but my arms crumble beneath me and I now need a nap from that attempt. I roll over to my side and try to stand up but don’t have the brainpower to remember how to. Lou killed every single one of my brain cells, and my remaining few, have been left permanently crippled. I look over and see DJ Stumble lying on his side on the couch beside mine. His eyes popping out of their sockets, his face a pale greenish hue, and in a state of paralysis. I can’t be sure if he’s even alive. Sitting on the reclining chair on the other side of me is a massive burnout that we went to high school with, “Alex.” Alex wasn’t with us at any point last night and Bic is nowhere in sight. I hope it wasn’t Alex I was fucking last night. Why is he looking at me like that? There is no telling what went on at any point of the night though. Where the fuck is everyone else?!
Neutron walks towards us, while his mom was breathing hot fire down his neck and yelling: “YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS DESTROYED THE BASEMENT THAT WE JUST HAD RENOVATED!!” I see Strazz’s adorable head pop out of Neutron’s room, he looks like he has PTSD and is holding back tears as he makes calculated steps towards the kitchen, making sure not to catch Susan’s attention. Four of us are alive anyway, this is good.
Neutron: “Chill the fuck out. It’s not that bad.”
I am looking around at the once beautiful basement that had just finished renovations the day before and was now looking like a demolition site that we took a bulldozer to. His mom wasn’t lying. Chernobyl was in better condition after the nuclear disaster than this basement. I don’t have a fucking clue what happened, but Neutron literally comes from a broken home now too… Welcome to the club, pal.
“NOT THAT BAD!? IT’S A PILE OF BLOODY RUBBISH. LOOK AT THAT CORNER!” She says, picking up a piece of stainless steel that was once a part of the sink and begins swinging it around in frustration.
Alex gets up and is now standing next to the corner of the kitchen counter where she was pointing and for reasons that I will never know starts poking the corner, causing a large piece of the marble counter to crash on the ground, almost hitting Neutron's mom’s foot in the process. “Oh shit, sorry.” He slowly says in his perma-fried drawl.
I was still curled up on the couch, shrinking as small as I could, nearly in the fetal position, fucking shaking and hoping I don’t lock eyes with Satan herself, while Alex fucking willingly approached the fiery electric fence that bordered earth from hell, climbed it and was poking the evil warden.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?! AHHHHHHHH! FUCKING LEAVE! ALL OF YOU!! LEAVE! NOW!
I stand up and in a state of panic, stick my hand out and introduce myself, “I’m Liam by th—“I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARRRREEE! LEAVE!”
I had never in my life felt smaller and more helpless than I did in that moment. It was if I was held captive in shackles and strapped into the sunken floor, staring up at a giant entity, completely powerless to it and terrified of it, yet wanting its acceptance.
I am shaken out of it and the four of us leave. As soon as we’re out of earshot, we look at each other and break down to tears from laughing. I’m pretty sure Strazz was legitimately crying because he was so shaken up though. I got to know Neutron's mom over the years, and she is unbelievably sweet, her son and friends are just fuck ups.
Caribou Lou is a helluva drug, man.
It’s true that alcohol kills people, but on that same note, how many people are born from it?
Happy Hangover to y‘all!
-lp xx.
Comments