Blues From A Gun
A fan, maybe my biggest (insert cute wink emoticon here,) made the following comment on the Big Balls post: Are you serious.
I was. Or am. And. Shall be.
And since it appears I'm into BLOGGING again, I might as well reiterate the rules of this here BLOG. How I, aboynamedstu stays within the lines, mentally at least, and keeps fact from blending into fiction.
If an entry has a song or movie related title and closes with (my infamous) Until I Blog again...(insert applicable link) that post is about me personally, and truthfully (at least from my perspective.) If you read an entry that has neither a song or movie title and doesn't close with Until I Blog again...that entry is pure fiction.
Halloween 1985 fell on a Thursday night, which was awesome, considering I was a freshman at the University of Oklahoma and Thursday nights were a big party night. Me and, we'll let's call him Fleming, went to a local $5 all the beer you can drink and (as if that wasn't enough) free tacos joint. Seriously. What a concept. But I digress. We went to this joint and pretty much shut it down, rolling back to my dorm room around 1am on what was then All Saints Day. Fleming was going to sleep over, as it were, since my roommate who had gone greek was supposed to be out for the night at this major frat house party and Fleming's roommate was supposed to be entertaining (read having sex with a girl who wasn't his girlfriend who might even read this post so (insert cute wink emoticon here.) I should also note that very weekend was Dad's Day and I saw Fleming's roommate's girlfriend with his parents on Saturday and thought, wow, if only she knew that Fleming's roommate had been boning some skank 48 hours in the rearview in the very room I was seeing her at what was then, now. On hindsight. I should have said something (insert cute regret/sad emoticon here.))
But I digress. Hard.
The first thing that struck me and Fleming when we walked into my dorm room was the most God awful smell. It was bad. Like someone shit on stink, then ate it, then vomited it up, stuck it in the microwave for ten minutes, and then let it out into my room, bad.
When I flipped on the light I immediately saw that someone other than my roommate was in his bed. And that this someone was the one responsible for fouling my dorm room.
The best Fleming and I could piece together in our $5 all the beer (and tacos!) you can drink state of mind was this.
The person in the bed, who we'll call Chef, had come to visit my roommate (he went to a different college) and had gotten shitty drunk at the frat party. Someone, at some point, had decided to jettison Chef in my room to 'sleep' it off and at some point Chef had quite literally puked and shit over much of my room and damn near the entirety of my bathroom which we shared with the room next door.
It was bad.
I'm talking Chef filled up the bathroom sink with chunky puke that wouldn't go down the drain bad (that sink never drained properly again, I should note.) He also puked all over the bathroom mirror. The wall. The floor. The toilet. The list goes on. After he puked and shitted everywhere, apparently, Chef stripped down to a wife beater and tighty-whiteys (leaving his puked and shit stained clothes in a fetid clump on the floor) and passed out on my roommate's bed which is where Fleming and I found him.
To say I was pissed would be an understatement. And adding insult to injury Chef was (and probably still is) an epic dick. A member of our graduating high school class, Chef was your quintessential goody-goody, sanctimonious, FCA ass kisser type, always talking shit on how bad people were in high school, who only two months into his college career was black out drunk (after puking and shitting over most of it) in my room. If you looked up hypocrite. You'd see that fuck's picture.
"Wake up Chef!" I screamed.
Fleming just stood there laughing.
"Wake up Chef!" I screamed again. Shaking him, hard.
Nothing.
"Is he dead?" I asked Fleming.
"Maybe." Fleming said as he walked over and poked Chef in the gut which made Chef fart, loudly.
"Fuck me." I said to Fleming who laughed all the harder as Chef moaned and rolled over on his side.
"I'm going to fuck with him." I told Fleming.
"How?" Fleming asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Let me..."
And that's when I saw a large role of duct tape that my roommate had on a shelf.
"Let's tape him to the bed." I said.
Which is what we did. And Chef never did more than moan and try to roll and/or fart.
"Now what?" I asked Fleming once we had used the entire roll of tape.
"Let's put peanut butter all over his legs and on his thighs."
Which is what we did.
"Now what?" Fleming asked me.
"Hand me that magic marker," I said.
Which is what he did.
I wrote DICK in large block letters on his forehead and then drew him a Hitler like mustache. From there I sort of scribbled and colored over large parts of his body. And shirt. And underwear.
"Now what?" I asked Fleming.
"Let's shave off some of his leg and arm hair."
Which we did.
"What now?" Fleming asked.
"Let's cut up his t-shirt and underwear," I said.
Which we did.
And since I had the scissors out anyway I decided to cut little chunks of his hair out, concentrating on the part of his hair where he did this goofy part thing in an attempt to fuck up his feather hair look.
This went on, literally for hours.
And Chef never did much more than moan, fart, and shift in the bed.
When we finally ran out of shit to do Fleming had the inspired idea to strip all the covers and sheets off the bed (which required that we cut some of the tape off) and crank the AC as low as it would go while pointing a couple of fans, on high, at Chef.
Which we did.
Five minutes later and Chef's teeth were literally chatting as he moaned and tried to move from side to side. Eventually he tried to curl up in a fetal position for warmth, which resulted in him ripping a lot of the tape off the bed.
Five minutes after that Chef moaned very loudly and started trying to get out of bed so I hit the light and Fleming and I jumped in my bed and put the covers over our bodies.
Stifling some serious laughter we heard Chef ripping the tape off his skin and bed as his moaning changed to a whimper and then the sound of him pissing all over himself, my Roommate's bed and onto my already disgusting dorm room floor.
Hi Karma!
I jumped out of bed, startling Fleming at this point 'cause he had no idea what I was going to do, and flipped on the light and shouted, "CHEF, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!!?"
Chef sat up in the bed and looked at me, deer in headlights and said, "Huh?"
"CHEF. WHAT THE FUCK. LOOK AT MY ROOM. YOU JUST PISSED ALL OVER YOURSELF. WHAT HAPPENED?"
Chef looked around, clearly confused, and a bit scared, and said, "I don't know how I got here. Last thing I remember I was at the (insert frat) party."
"This is fucked up." I said. "Look what they did to you. You need to get out of here."
"I don't feel so good." he said.
"I don't give a shit. Get your things together and get the fuck out of my room, now." I said.
"Ok." He said, shuffling to his feet, as he winced from the pain of pulling the rest of the tape off the bed and his skin.
He was so confused he didn't even get that Fleming was cackling with laughter under my covers in the next bed which was literally two feet away.
"Get your clothes," I said. "And I'll walk you out."
"Where should I go?" he asked.
"I don't care. Go to the (insert fraternity) house. Or your car."
"Ok." he said shuffling out the door and down the hall with nothing but his cut up wife beater, fouled tighty-whiteys, and one socks on. He held his fetid clothes and his boots in his hands.
At the end of the hall I went around him and opened the doors out to the elevator bank. Doors i knew that could only be opened with a key after a certain time of night.
"Bye Chef." I said.
"Ok." Chef said walking through the door.
As the door closed, locking him out of my hallway, Chef turned around and said, "Where is the (insert fraternity) house. Or my car?"
"Good-Night Chef." I said giving him an evil grin and walking back down the hall to my room.
Half way back I heard Chef trying to open the doors (he probably only then realized how jacked up he was with the magic marker, cut up clothes, peanut butter, etc.) and laughed the rest of the way to my room where Fleming was laughing so hard he was crying.
To this day I don't know if Chef ever figured out that it was Fleming and myself who did all that crazy shit to him. At the time I think he thought it was the Frat brothers of my roommate making him pay for not being able to hold his booze.
My roommate and I never discussed the episode. I left the room the next morning and when I came back it was clean. Later that year my roommate sort of flaked out, after being made to quit the frat and got into drugs which left him fucked up hard, for many years. Ditto on Fleming's roommate. He went down the same sad path and never got it together again from what I heard. Ended up in prison.
To this day, in the book of aboynamedstu, that episode marks the meanest and funniest thing I've ever done to another human being.
And is the rare experience where I was bad, in my youth, yet don't really regret what I did. Which is testament to what a huge dick Chef was (and probably still is.)
Until I BLOG again...If you're talking for real, Then go cut a deal, You're facing up to living out, The way that you feel, And you shake shake shake, 'Cause you know you'll never make it away.
I was. Or am. And. Shall be.
And since it appears I'm into BLOGGING again, I might as well reiterate the rules of this here BLOG. How I, aboynamedstu stays within the lines, mentally at least, and keeps fact from blending into fiction.
If an entry has a song or movie related title and closes with (my infamous) Until I Blog again...(insert applicable link) that post is about me personally, and truthfully (at least from my perspective.) If you read an entry that has neither a song or movie title and doesn't close with Until I Blog again...that entry is pure fiction.
Halloween 1985 fell on a Thursday night, which was awesome, considering I was a freshman at the University of Oklahoma and Thursday nights were a big party night. Me and, we'll let's call him Fleming, went to a local $5 all the beer you can drink and (as if that wasn't enough) free tacos joint. Seriously. What a concept. But I digress. We went to this joint and pretty much shut it down, rolling back to my dorm room around 1am on what was then All Saints Day. Fleming was going to sleep over, as it were, since my roommate who had gone greek was supposed to be out for the night at this major frat house party and Fleming's roommate was supposed to be entertaining (read having sex with a girl who wasn't his girlfriend who might even read this post so (insert cute wink emoticon here.) I should also note that very weekend was Dad's Day and I saw Fleming's roommate's girlfriend with his parents on Saturday and thought, wow, if only she knew that Fleming's roommate had been boning some skank 48 hours in the rearview in the very room I was seeing her at what was then, now. On hindsight. I should have said something (insert cute regret/sad emoticon here.))
But I digress. Hard.
The first thing that struck me and Fleming when we walked into my dorm room was the most God awful smell. It was bad. Like someone shit on stink, then ate it, then vomited it up, stuck it in the microwave for ten minutes, and then let it out into my room, bad.
When I flipped on the light I immediately saw that someone other than my roommate was in his bed. And that this someone was the one responsible for fouling my dorm room.
The best Fleming and I could piece together in our $5 all the beer (and tacos!) you can drink state of mind was this.
The person in the bed, who we'll call Chef, had come to visit my roommate (he went to a different college) and had gotten shitty drunk at the frat party. Someone, at some point, had decided to jettison Chef in my room to 'sleep' it off and at some point Chef had quite literally puked and shit over much of my room and damn near the entirety of my bathroom which we shared with the room next door.
It was bad.
I'm talking Chef filled up the bathroom sink with chunky puke that wouldn't go down the drain bad (that sink never drained properly again, I should note.) He also puked all over the bathroom mirror. The wall. The floor. The toilet. The list goes on. After he puked and shitted everywhere, apparently, Chef stripped down to a wife beater and tighty-whiteys (leaving his puked and shit stained clothes in a fetid clump on the floor) and passed out on my roommate's bed which is where Fleming and I found him.
To say I was pissed would be an understatement. And adding insult to injury Chef was (and probably still is) an epic dick. A member of our graduating high school class, Chef was your quintessential goody-goody, sanctimonious, FCA ass kisser type, always talking shit on how bad people were in high school, who only two months into his college career was black out drunk (after puking and shitting over most of it) in my room. If you looked up hypocrite. You'd see that fuck's picture.
"Wake up Chef!" I screamed.
Fleming just stood there laughing.
"Wake up Chef!" I screamed again. Shaking him, hard.
Nothing.
"Is he dead?" I asked Fleming.
"Maybe." Fleming said as he walked over and poked Chef in the gut which made Chef fart, loudly.
"Fuck me." I said to Fleming who laughed all the harder as Chef moaned and rolled over on his side.
"I'm going to fuck with him." I told Fleming.
"How?" Fleming asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Let me..."
And that's when I saw a large role of duct tape that my roommate had on a shelf.
"Let's tape him to the bed." I said.
Which is what we did. And Chef never did more than moan and try to roll and/or fart.
"Now what?" I asked Fleming once we had used the entire roll of tape.
"Let's put peanut butter all over his legs and on his thighs."
Which is what we did.
"Now what?" Fleming asked me.
"Hand me that magic marker," I said.
Which is what he did.
I wrote DICK in large block letters on his forehead and then drew him a Hitler like mustache. From there I sort of scribbled and colored over large parts of his body. And shirt. And underwear.
"Now what?" I asked Fleming.
"Let's shave off some of his leg and arm hair."
Which we did.
"What now?" Fleming asked.
"Let's cut up his t-shirt and underwear," I said.
Which we did.
And since I had the scissors out anyway I decided to cut little chunks of his hair out, concentrating on the part of his hair where he did this goofy part thing in an attempt to fuck up his feather hair look.
This went on, literally for hours.
And Chef never did much more than moan, fart, and shift in the bed.
When we finally ran out of shit to do Fleming had the inspired idea to strip all the covers and sheets off the bed (which required that we cut some of the tape off) and crank the AC as low as it would go while pointing a couple of fans, on high, at Chef.
Which we did.
Five minutes later and Chef's teeth were literally chatting as he moaned and tried to move from side to side. Eventually he tried to curl up in a fetal position for warmth, which resulted in him ripping a lot of the tape off the bed.
Five minutes after that Chef moaned very loudly and started trying to get out of bed so I hit the light and Fleming and I jumped in my bed and put the covers over our bodies.
Stifling some serious laughter we heard Chef ripping the tape off his skin and bed as his moaning changed to a whimper and then the sound of him pissing all over himself, my Roommate's bed and onto my already disgusting dorm room floor.
Hi Karma!
I jumped out of bed, startling Fleming at this point 'cause he had no idea what I was going to do, and flipped on the light and shouted, "CHEF, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!!?"
Chef sat up in the bed and looked at me, deer in headlights and said, "Huh?"
"CHEF. WHAT THE FUCK. LOOK AT MY ROOM. YOU JUST PISSED ALL OVER YOURSELF. WHAT HAPPENED?"
Chef looked around, clearly confused, and a bit scared, and said, "I don't know how I got here. Last thing I remember I was at the (insert frat) party."
"This is fucked up." I said. "Look what they did to you. You need to get out of here."
"I don't feel so good." he said.
"I don't give a shit. Get your things together and get the fuck out of my room, now." I said.
"Ok." He said, shuffling to his feet, as he winced from the pain of pulling the rest of the tape off the bed and his skin.
He was so confused he didn't even get that Fleming was cackling with laughter under my covers in the next bed which was literally two feet away.
"Get your clothes," I said. "And I'll walk you out."
"Where should I go?" he asked.
"I don't care. Go to the (insert fraternity) house. Or your car."
"Ok." he said shuffling out the door and down the hall with nothing but his cut up wife beater, fouled tighty-whiteys, and one socks on. He held his fetid clothes and his boots in his hands.
At the end of the hall I went around him and opened the doors out to the elevator bank. Doors i knew that could only be opened with a key after a certain time of night.
"Bye Chef." I said.
"Ok." Chef said walking through the door.
As the door closed, locking him out of my hallway, Chef turned around and said, "Where is the (insert fraternity) house. Or my car?"
"Good-Night Chef." I said giving him an evil grin and walking back down the hall to my room.
Half way back I heard Chef trying to open the doors (he probably only then realized how jacked up he was with the magic marker, cut up clothes, peanut butter, etc.) and laughed the rest of the way to my room where Fleming was laughing so hard he was crying.
To this day I don't know if Chef ever figured out that it was Fleming and myself who did all that crazy shit to him. At the time I think he thought it was the Frat brothers of my roommate making him pay for not being able to hold his booze.
My roommate and I never discussed the episode. I left the room the next morning and when I came back it was clean. Later that year my roommate sort of flaked out, after being made to quit the frat and got into drugs which left him fucked up hard, for many years. Ditto on Fleming's roommate. He went down the same sad path and never got it together again from what I heard. Ended up in prison.
To this day, in the book of aboynamedstu, that episode marks the meanest and funniest thing I've ever done to another human being.
And is the rare experience where I was bad, in my youth, yet don't really regret what I did. Which is testament to what a huge dick Chef was (and probably still is.)
Until I BLOG again...If you're talking for real, Then go cut a deal, You're facing up to living out, The way that you feel, And you shake shake shake, 'Cause you know you'll never make it away.
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