The First of Many

To accurately describe the week-long festival of mind-fuckery would be a feat, even for one with the most photographic of memories. The collective history retained by each individual present will never verbally recreate the level of intoxication we reached, for so many brain cells were phased that nobody could remember all of it if their lives depended on it.

However, the beginning was innocent enough.

A few beers shared between a few homies was nothing special - just another day in the life. It did, however, lead towards the hideously blacked out, liver-lynching week that none of us were prepared for.

On top of that, a romantic relationship sprouted forth between me and a friend, allowing us to share an unparalleled intimacy which brightened both of our faces. The journey ahead couldn't possibly seem any more promising!

That being said, a few beers can turn into a few cases really quick. A small hill of beer rose quickly into a mountain as the days blurred by. It seemed that the liquor store was never open long enough.

Not that we would have needed it, anyways. Our liquor fueled rampage led us into our neighbour's house on the first night of debauchery, where a bottle of vodka led us into some strange situations (not the least of which consisted of Jones unclogging a toilet with his bare hands before promptly jumping into the shower to cleanse his arm of feces.)

As the alcohol was downed, the volume was amped. The drunken rambling reached such a point that the neighbours couldn't handle our idiocy and called the cops on us. Once they arrived, Jones (who had been mid-mack with the home's owner and was lacking all his clothes) fled towards the bedroom and dove under the bed on which Scrib was passed out on.

The cops, however, were determined to find everyone. Sometime between throwing closet doors open and leering behind couches, they discovered Jones's drunken, hairy body huddled under the bed. The stout Asian officer who had uncovered his intoxicated mass only hesitated for a second before he reached under and dragged him out.

Trying to pull Jonah's 6'5 physique to his feet proved quite the task, and the officer bent backwards under his weight. He chose instead to lay Jonah on his stomach and handcuff his hands above the peach fuzz shining on his gleaming buttocks.

Scrib, however - clearly the least offensive character, as he was passed out on the bed - reaped the worst of the situation. The cops roused him from sleep with a violent yank and handcuffed him, dragging him outside to their cop car shouting accusations of his disturbing the peace. Scrib's incoherent and drunken mind couldn't comprehend the entirety of what was happening, but needless to say he was less than happy when he woke up in the cold, dank pit of the drunk tank the next morning.

The rest of us were ushered back to our own starting point across the road to work off our hangovers, where a snore-spangled sleep led us into the first day of our 3 month hangover.