The following took place on September 4th, 2009. I typed this up in my iPhone, being the only one sober in the whole apartment. Minor edits for clarity and grammar were made, as well as many clarification notes as necessary.
A little background on this night: We had decided the week before to have a case race within the apartment, Maverick and Irish vs. Me and Data. However, I backed out so my voice would be good for auditions that week. Thus, Data was partnered with Irish's friend Beardog, who is roughly 6'3" and no slouch to drinking.
He was fucked and didn't even know it. Data has the alcoholic tolerance of a 4 year old who was born without a liver. Maverick and Irish, seasoned alcoholics, clearly have no problem with this. The events that followed are recorded thus. The race began roughly at 8:30 pm.
5 minutes in:
Data finishes beer number one. He begins muttering obscenities.
12 minutes in:
Data is slurring his words and can't control his volume. He hasn't yet finished his 3rd.
20 minutes in:
Data can't feel his face. He's on his 4th beer.
28 minutes in:
Data thinks it's funny to pretend he's about to vomit. I don't appreciate the humor somehow.
29 minutes in:
Data can't walk a straight line. He is on the middle of his fifth beer.
31 minutes in:
Data playing with a knife. Needless to say, we give it to Irish for the rest of the night. He's still on his fifth.
33 minutes in:
I offhandedly comment that Tulsa is dominating Tulane (the football game of the night). Data responds with "NO SHIT SHERLOCK." He follows his up with the statement he doesn't want to drink anymore.
This might have been a good idea. He's still on his fifth.
35 minutes in:
Data is slapping his face on beat with the music. He continues this for nearly a minute.
He's still on his fifth.
39 minutes in:
Data tries to lock me outside for the second time tonight.
He's still on his fifth.
43 minutes in:
Data is giggling uncontrollably. It reaches deafening pitch...yes, he is still on his fifth.
48 minutes in:
Data officially starts his 6th. Forget walking, he's having problems sitting up straight. He starts playing with Maverick's empty cans.
53 minutes in:
Data is lying on the ground. I have photographic evidence. He says he thinks he just lost a brain cell.
59 minutes in:
I take one celeb beer for Data. He is yelling about how he can't do this anymore and how he's drunker than an Irish priest. Also, "CHICKEN’S DONE." Data stops drinking.
One hr 3 minutes:
Data is taking a shower. He wants to get ready for the party we're going to later.
1 hour 10 minutes in:
Data emerges. He's wearing an orange polo and dress pants. He's still not drinking. He fucks up the lyrics to Barney's "I Love You" song.
1 hr12 minutes:
Maverick and Irish win. Data says he can't see his eyes.
Final tally for the race: Maverick and Irish: 12 each. Beardog: 10/11. Data: 6. Me: 1. Now, keep this in mind for the rest of the story.
After the race, we decide to head out to Rabbi President’s B-day party.
Irish won't shut up about how they won. Maverick is still drinking and pisses next to his car. They try to tip a car.
We make it to the party without incident. Data starts drinking again. He has 4 beers
before we leave party.
After we leave, I start recording by time code.
11:15 Maverick falls down a hill. He can't get up. We find this hilarious.
11:20 Irish high fives a random guy he calls "token black guy." He appears to be cool with that, so no problem.
11:25 Irish begins to yell "Hey Sugar" at everyone we pass.
11:27 We pass two cops at the bus stop. Maverick is stumbling into the road. The cops just laugh.
11:29 Maverick trips over his shoes. Twice.
11:31 Maverick and Irish pee behind a bush and discuss getting home and getting Data's "wet wet." I'll leave this to your imagination.
11:40 We arrive at the party. Irish mans the keg. Maverick bums a broken cigarette and Data continues drinking.
11:55 "A stupid bitch pisses me off."
I put this in quotes because this is all I typed, but here's a quick rundown of what happened. Maverick, having not enjoyed his broken cigarette, asks me to help him find another. I turn and start asking a few people, and this girl in a red dress behind me responds with "Go, or don't go."
This confuses me. That has nothing to do with the question I asked. I respond with, "Excuse me?" only to get another reply of "Go, or don't go." This time, she gestures to the house. I realize she thinks I'm trying to enter the house (we're on the back porch in an Ashby apartment).
I say, "Oh, no. I'm asking if any of you have a cigarette my friend can-"
As I try to finish my sentence, this vile tramp cuts me off and says, "No. Now go, or don't go."
After this, it is only thanks to my sobriety I didn't emotionally cripple her in front of her friends. I decide it's time for us to go. Irish waits around for his girlfriend at the time as Data (who is terrifyingly almost sober by now) and I escort Maverick back to Southview.
12:00 Maverick falls and hits his face. Let me clarify this statement; Maverick faceplanted into a concrete sidewalk. Why? Well, it turns out the drinking gods have a sick sense of humor and transferred Data's drunkenness to Maverick. I have firm grip on his shoulder for most of the walk back. He tells me he's fine, and since he hasn't stumbled since we left, I make the mistake of believing him. As I let go of him, I turn to Data to ask about something and I am quickly interrupted by a resounding smack. I turn back around to see Maverick, face against the pavement, legs straight up in the air. For a moment, I thought he was trying to do a "baby freeze," or whatever the fuck that break dance move is, then remembered "Oh shit your friend is hammered." We got a hold of him after he made it back to his feet, stumbled through several bushes and smacked into the side of a building.
12:15 We miraculously make it back. Seriously, I was completely surprised we succeeded.
1:00 Irish and his girlfriend return. She chastises me and Maverick for being home so early. I explain I'm sober for the weekend. Maverick thought she was some other girl that Irish brought home. She proceeds to inform Irish that if he thinks he is getting sex he is mistaken. Irish counters by picking her up and dragging her into the room and closing the door.
And a good time was had by all! Anyhow, this was a long time ago but in the future be on the lookout for a hopeful part two installment.
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