Friday, March 20, 2009
SBINE "It's Coming!"
(TPiddy surreptitiously emptying his bladder in a dark musty corner of the basement)
The best part about having to spend Spring Break in New England (SBINE) is definately the St. Pattys Day parties.
Last weekend Grahambo, Scarface, Rizzle, and myself head into Boston to visit TPiddy at Northeastern. TPiddy was having a frat party kegger at his house, and we got in a little early to get the feel for it.
I think this idea is underrated at parties. Sometimes when I get to a party late and there's a shit ton of people that I don't know there, I end up drinking by myself on the couch or looking through the hosts dresser drawers for stuff to steal. But when I get there before everyone else, I get what I like to call the "Home Field Advantage", and I can channel my inner Tucker Max.
When we got there, TPiddy wasn't back from buying the kegs yet. So me and Scarface start switching around all his shit. By the time we were done, if you wanted to watch say Elf, you'd find it in the Blow case, and ect. If you wanted to take a mulit-vitamin, you'd have to look in the Omega-3 bottle. We're hilarious like that.
We start setting up the basement with tables and cups and shit. For a Boston house, the basement is actually pretty good sized. TPiddy throws on some Dropkicks and we start playing some warm up games of Beruit until the keg tap arrives. Scarface passes out for a good hour, and we head upstairs without him to start pregaming.
As soon as the kegs and the tap show up, floods of people start pouring into his place. For those of you not in college, a frat party mainly consists of two things: homo frat brothers, and slutty freshman girls.
The party has gotten pretty good now, TPiddy is running around in the green man suit, and me and Rizzle head into this random kids room to watch Duke play BC. Rizzle and I get front and center seats as more and more people start to pile in. Duke wins by one point in the final seconds, and I start to go nuts and give everyone noogies, because I read in a magazine once that this is cool.
So I'm walking out of the room and I say to no one in particular "Man, Elliott Williams stepped up huge tonight" and a girl to my right is like "oh you know him?". This startles, confuses, and amazes me because Elliott Williams is Duke's backup freshman guard from Tennessee.
(EDIT: Elliott Williams transferred from Duke to Memphis for family reason, where he averaged over 20 points per game. He was a one-and-done in Memphis as well, and was drafted by the Blazers 22nd overall in the 2010 NBA Draft)
Now this girl is a pig by most standards. Larger than normal, sluttily dressed and tits that just won't quit.
Me: How the fuck do you know Elliott Williams?
Girl: I went to high school with him!
Me: You're full of shit. Where is he from then?
Girl: Memphis! I swear to god.
Me: You lie.
Girl: I have his number in my phone!
Nothing would ever make me interested in this cow-girl, but God, how sick would it be to call Elliott after beating BC in the ACC Tournament to chat about the game? So, I go downstairs to get a beer and sit down on the couch, and she sits down next to me.
Me: So what's his number?
Girl: I can't give it to you he'd be so mad at me?
Me: What's the difference? He's not going to know that you gave it to me.
Girl: I don't think I can.
Me: You're full of shit. I bet you're not even really from Memphis.
Probably not the right thing to say, because before I know it I'm ensconced in conversation about her family life, growing up in Tennessee, coming to Boston to get away, and the subsequent guy troubles she's gotten herself into.
I put in a fucking half-hour long shift to try and get this number out of her. Finally I couldn't take it anymore.
Me: So are you going to give me his number or not.
Girl: I told you I just can't.
Me: In that case, I hear the Beruit table calling my name
I've never tried that hard to get a guy's number in my entire life. I went through fucking torture, and in the end I wound up embarrassed and ashamed that I allowed that hog to even be seen with me.
So I go upstairs and in the room next to TPiddy's, theres a fucking live band playing. I swear to God a fucking bassist, guitar, full drum kit, amps the whole deal. They were rocking out and me and Scarface were loving it.
That is until the neighbors called and asked them to shut the fuck up. So we go back downstairs and play Tiger on 360 until the party officially dies.
Grahambo passes the fuck out in his seat, and we are literally the last people awake in the damn house. We finish up our game, go upstairs, break into TPiddy's room with a credit card, and pass out on the floor.
Now I wake up around eight o'clock to what I think is a fucking earthquake. The floor is shaking, the bed is rattling and squeeking. It took me a few moments to assess the situation: TPiddy is fucking the shit out of this chick Tanny. I can hear her saying something in between her "OH YES's" and "OH MY GOD's".
"T this is so rude. You're going to wake them." Obviously her embarrassment over the situation was superseded by her hornyness, because then I hear another "OH YES" and a "DON'T STOP".
Then something that made me scratch my head. "IT'S COMING!" I'm not sure why she referes to her orgasms as "it". Maybe there is a little gnome living in her vagina that literally comes out to see whose knockin on her door.
Tanny: Oh no. It's Coming! You've awoke him!
Gnome: HEHEHE! Who dares knock on my vaginal doors?
Tanny: Now you've done it! He EATS people!
Either way one thing's for sure. Both of them were turned on by my presence.
Keep in mind Scarface and I are but two feet away and in plain view. Sure, we could have stood up and busted them in the act. Me and Scarface, who I later find out did the exact same thing, pretended to be asleep the whole time, because rule number one of being a good friend is "Thou shalt not cockblock".
We wait till the punishment subsides, then put on an acting performance that would make Heath Ledger cry dead tears of jealousy. Yawning and stretching, we pretend to come out of a deep sleep, get up and get our shit, and go downstairs.
When we get down there, we see this:
Yeah, that's Grahambo all cuddled up with some random kid on the sofa.
Grahambo: "WTF? Dude I thought that was you sleeping next to me. This kid hogged the blanket all night."
So cute. I'm feeling like absolute shit from drinking Natty Ice keg beer all night, so I steal a can of chicken noodle soup.
UPDATE: (Forgot about this part)
Outside, we are chagrined to learn that our car is being blocked in the driveway by a sketchy red van. Goddamnit! All I want to do is curl into the fetal position and wait this hangover out. Now I gotta go on a fucking scavenger hunt to find Jeffrey Dahmer's fucking car keys.
So I go around the house yelling, waking everyone up. "Which one of you idiots drives a red van?" Finally I find the culprit passed out in a bedroom downstairs.
He goes "Oh shit that's me man"
"Well your sweet ride is blocking everyone in. Gimme your keys."
I put the keys in the ignition and start backing this big motherfucker up when I notice a digital camera resting conspicuously on the dashboard. Rizz sees me notice the camera. "Dude, no".
So I did what any logical person with my specific brain and mental attributes would do, and I "Dude, yes" -ed him.
And before we both knew it, I was sans pants.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday that kid will fire up his camera, all set to post some sweet vacation pics to Facebook.
Instead, he'll find a sweaty, hairless, anonymous cock staring back at him.
Who drives a van?
at 2:53 PM