The Number of the Beast
On Saturday night at My Lovely Bride's 40th BDay shindig, a friend brought up the Chef story, which prompted another friend (who never has read aboynamedstu) to ask about it, which resulted in me telling the story in real time.
I tell you that, for this.
In telling it in real time, it got me to thinking about another puke and shit stained, wheels off, aboynamedstu story. Only this time it was all me. Excrement wise. It also happened in Arkansas. Which I like to pronounce R-Kansas. But I digress.
Spring Break 1984 found me in Hot Springs, Arkansas with my family, Fleming (my partner in crime in the Chef story) and Juan Carlos Munoz, the AFS student from Colombia who stayed with my family from January until May 1984.
Juan had a very good friend in AFS from Costa Rica named Alvaro, who went by Al, who ended up in Little Rock, Arkansas. After the Hot Springs trip, the rest of our group was planning on going back to Oklahoma after dropping Juan and me off with Al and his host family. A few days later Juan and me were going to ride a Greyhound bus back to Tulsa.
Someone needs to do a case study on how many families get a foreign exchange student to try and 'cool' up their kid in high school, because like Juan's first host brother/family, Al's was a trip. Looking back through the years knowing what i know now, I'd guess the host brother was gay. But clearly not out. Living outside Little Rock on a small farm type pad. His parents were super religious and had this trippy old school farm house that had all of these hodgepodge additions to make more room for their large family, which included grand parents who lived with them. The joint was a labyrinth. Really. And kind of creepy.
To make matters worse Al and his host brother didn't get along which Juan only forewarned me as we were getting out of the car to meet everyone. Not that I had time to consider my fate for the next few days, because the host family's dog, a large shepherd mix, named Archie, attacked my leg, in a sexual way the minute he saw me. And pretty much continued having his way with my leg, sexually, the remainder of my stay. Considering the 1984 version of aboynamestu weighed 140 pounds wet, and Archie must have weighed 100 or more, it wasn't sweet leg love either. It was a beating. And it happened all the fucking time. We'd be out walking around on the farm and here would come Archie, lust in his eyes, red rocket out, running toward me, bypassing Juan and Al and bam, on my leg, knocking me around as Al tried to beat him off (pun intended) my leg while cussing the mongrel in Spanish.
Aside from Archie's lustful ways, the trip was very uneventful to the point of us being bored to tears which I why I'm going to fast forward to our final night. It was big. We were going to go into town!!! And a movie. Sweet mother of all that is good. You have to live (or have lived) out in the sticks or be from a small town to truly appreciate how exciting this was back in those pre-cable-tv / internet days of yore.
But before we could into town and the movie (we saw Splash for those playing along at home,) we had to choke down Grandma's horrific taco dinner which I guess she made since Juan and Al spoke Spanish, thus thought they were Mexican? The lady was nuts. And her tacos were bad. And as if that wasn't enough, she served farm milk (from their cow) with the freaking tacos.
Fuck me.
But back then, I was a polite boy so I sat there and choked the shit down as Archie lay under the table, red rocket pulsating, watching me, lustfully. And to add insult to injury, Juan and Al both played the AFS exchange student card and said that they couldn't eat the food because of their delicate foreign palates. Fuckers.
If 2010 aboynamedstu could hop in a time machine and get all Freaky Friday with 1984 aboynamedstu I would have made myself vomit (on that perverted dog's red rocket) to save me the horror that was to come later that night.
After I had finished we went into town, which wasn't Little Rock as we had been led to believe, but some other small shit town that had a single screen movie house. After the movie we cruised the circuit in this little shit town, in Al's host brother's old camaro, listening to Number of the Beast by Iron Maiden, repeatedly.
Someone should do a study on how many ultra-conservative-religious parents spawn children who are into Iron Maiden. But. Again. I digress.
After our tenth or so lap around this shit town, and as many listens to Run to the Hills, we ran to the hills, literally, and shared three cans of warm beer which didn't sit that well on top of the rancid tacos and farm milk.
When we finally got home, the family was all sound asleep, and the host brother informed me that I could sleep in his room and Al and Juan could sleep in the rec room. Again, looking back through the years, I think that the host brother had me sleep in his room as cover so his family would think it was him in there, versus me, so could do whatever it was he did. Gay sex maybe? Meanwhile Al and Juan also snuck out of the house to go bang some chicks that Al knew from school. The chicks loved the AFS latin dudes back in the day, let me tell you, yeah.
Me. Fuck me. I'm stuck in this creepy ass old room, with all these black light Iron Maiden posters, a few doors from Grandma and Grandpa. Al and Juan should have been in the back of the crazy house, near the host parent's bedroom.
So there I was quite literally all alone, wrapped up in a gross old electric blanket staring at all these creepy Eddie posters when I finally dropped off to a feverish and unrestful sleep. A hour or so late, I awoke, drenched in sweat, and feeling bad. Like top 5 in my life to date, sick bad. It was horrible. I tossed and turned for another hour, feverishly staring at the crazy ass pictures of that demented Eddie, until I sat up right and projectile puked all over Al's host brother's floor.
It was sick, a horrific mixture of Grandma's rancid tacos, farm milk, and that warm beer. The smell was so bed that before I could get up, I puked again, this time all over Al's host brother's electric blanket and bed.
Horrified, I staggered to the old bathroom nearest Al's host brother's room, praying I wouldn't wake up Grandma and Grandpa because I was horrified that I was puking all over their house, not really knowing them, and all.
In the bathroom, I sat on the cold tile floor and hugged the porcelain thrown, and vomited a few more times. The last retch I'm sad to say, was so powerful, that my bowels opened up, and I shit everywhere.
Hershey squirt shit too.
It was bad. And I still felt sick. So I quickly took off my pajama bottoms and sat on the toilet in anticipation only to be foiled by another torrent of puke which ended up all over their shower curtain, display towels (the kind you hang on the rack more for decoration than actual use) and bathtub.
This went on for at least an hour, laying on the cold tile floor, intermittently shitting or puking until I finally passed out.
A few hours later I woke up, still sick, but empty, and stared at the horror I had created.
It looked like someone explode a bag of shit and puke. It was everywhere. And I was horrified at what the host family would think so I tried to creep out of the bathroom and find Juan and Al, but those fuckers were still out having sex with R-Kansas girls.
Al's host brother was also still out doing whatever it was he was doing.
So it was just me, Archie (thank God they had him locked up in another room. That dog would have raped me in my prone position in such a weakened state,) the Grandpa and Grandma (who had poisoned me with her rancid tacos!) and the Mom and Dad.
On hindsight I should have went and woke up the parents and told them I was sick. Asked them to help me.
But I didn't do that. Instead I went into Al's host brother's room and dug through his drawers to the very bottom, figuring those were clothes he didn't wear often, and grabbed some t-shirts and sweats. And went back into the bathroom and grabbed some towels (including the decoration ones I'd fouled) and started the long and disgusting job of cleaning up my waste.
When I was through, I took the shit and puked stained clothes and towels (after washing them out in the toilet bowel as best I could) and cleaned up the puke in Al's host brother's room.
When I was finally through, I rinsed as best I could, again in the toilet bowl and went back to Al's host brother's bedroom, closed the door, and sat there looking at Eddie until the sun came up.
It was a long night.
I eventually heard the family stirring and knew I had to get up and get ready to go to the bus station and that there was no way I could get to where Juan and Al were without seeing the family first. There was no way to get rid of all the shit and puke stained clothes and towels without them seeing me either. And I was pretty certain that as soon as I opened the door and vacated the room, Al's host brother would resume ownership and see all the shit and puked stained shirts, sweats and towels.
I had to act fast. So, BLOG reader, right or wrong, this is what that 16 year old version of aboynamedstu decided to do.
I took the puke encrusted electric blanket and put all the puke and shit stained shirts, sweats and towels into it, wrapped it up, tied a crude knot in it, and crammed it way up under Al's host brother's bed.
Seriously.
From there I went to the breakfast table and soon after Juan and I were deposited at the Greyhound Bus Station in downtown Little Rock, R-Kansas.
The bus ride home was nearly as horrific as the previous night. I told Juan about my experience, which made him laugh until he cried. Fucker. And then I sat there and tried toto not shit or puke while Forrest Gump, literally, tried to give me a piece of chocolate from a big box he was carrying around. He tried to give everyone on that full bus a chocolate actually.
It was hell.
Six long hours later we were in Tulsa and my parents picked us up and my sad story ends.
More than a quarter of a century later, like this past Saturday night, I'll remember this sad night and think of how sick I was, and then remember how I wrapped up all those shit and puke stained clothes and towels in Al's host brother's electric blanket which I shoved under his bed.
And I laugh. hard.
And wonder what that crazy ass family thought (and did) when they eventually discovered the gift I left behind.
Until I BLOG again...That what I saw that night was real and not just fantasy.
I tell you that, for this.
In telling it in real time, it got me to thinking about another puke and shit stained, wheels off, aboynamedstu story. Only this time it was all me. Excrement wise. It also happened in Arkansas. Which I like to pronounce R-Kansas. But I digress.
Spring Break 1984 found me in Hot Springs, Arkansas with my family, Fleming (my partner in crime in the Chef story) and Juan Carlos Munoz, the AFS student from Colombia who stayed with my family from January until May 1984.
Juan had a very good friend in AFS from Costa Rica named Alvaro, who went by Al, who ended up in Little Rock, Arkansas. After the Hot Springs trip, the rest of our group was planning on going back to Oklahoma after dropping Juan and me off with Al and his host family. A few days later Juan and me were going to ride a Greyhound bus back to Tulsa.
Someone needs to do a case study on how many families get a foreign exchange student to try and 'cool' up their kid in high school, because like Juan's first host brother/family, Al's was a trip. Looking back through the years knowing what i know now, I'd guess the host brother was gay. But clearly not out. Living outside Little Rock on a small farm type pad. His parents were super religious and had this trippy old school farm house that had all of these hodgepodge additions to make more room for their large family, which included grand parents who lived with them. The joint was a labyrinth. Really. And kind of creepy.
To make matters worse Al and his host brother didn't get along which Juan only forewarned me as we were getting out of the car to meet everyone. Not that I had time to consider my fate for the next few days, because the host family's dog, a large shepherd mix, named Archie, attacked my leg, in a sexual way the minute he saw me. And pretty much continued having his way with my leg, sexually, the remainder of my stay. Considering the 1984 version of aboynamestu weighed 140 pounds wet, and Archie must have weighed 100 or more, it wasn't sweet leg love either. It was a beating. And it happened all the fucking time. We'd be out walking around on the farm and here would come Archie, lust in his eyes, red rocket out, running toward me, bypassing Juan and Al and bam, on my leg, knocking me around as Al tried to beat him off (pun intended) my leg while cussing the mongrel in Spanish.
Aside from Archie's lustful ways, the trip was very uneventful to the point of us being bored to tears which I why I'm going to fast forward to our final night. It was big. We were going to go into town!!! And a movie. Sweet mother of all that is good. You have to live (or have lived) out in the sticks or be from a small town to truly appreciate how exciting this was back in those pre-cable-tv / internet days of yore.
But before we could into town and the movie (we saw Splash for those playing along at home,) we had to choke down Grandma's horrific taco dinner which I guess she made since Juan and Al spoke Spanish, thus thought they were Mexican? The lady was nuts. And her tacos were bad. And as if that wasn't enough, she served farm milk (from their cow) with the freaking tacos.
Fuck me.
But back then, I was a polite boy so I sat there and choked the shit down as Archie lay under the table, red rocket pulsating, watching me, lustfully. And to add insult to injury, Juan and Al both played the AFS exchange student card and said that they couldn't eat the food because of their delicate foreign palates. Fuckers.
If 2010 aboynamedstu could hop in a time machine and get all Freaky Friday with 1984 aboynamedstu I would have made myself vomit (on that perverted dog's red rocket) to save me the horror that was to come later that night.
After I had finished we went into town, which wasn't Little Rock as we had been led to believe, but some other small shit town that had a single screen movie house. After the movie we cruised the circuit in this little shit town, in Al's host brother's old camaro, listening to Number of the Beast by Iron Maiden, repeatedly.
Someone should do a study on how many ultra-conservative-religious parents spawn children who are into Iron Maiden. But. Again. I digress.
After our tenth or so lap around this shit town, and as many listens to Run to the Hills, we ran to the hills, literally, and shared three cans of warm beer which didn't sit that well on top of the rancid tacos and farm milk.
When we finally got home, the family was all sound asleep, and the host brother informed me that I could sleep in his room and Al and Juan could sleep in the rec room. Again, looking back through the years, I think that the host brother had me sleep in his room as cover so his family would think it was him in there, versus me, so could do whatever it was he did. Gay sex maybe? Meanwhile Al and Juan also snuck out of the house to go bang some chicks that Al knew from school. The chicks loved the AFS latin dudes back in the day, let me tell you, yeah.
Me. Fuck me. I'm stuck in this creepy ass old room, with all these black light Iron Maiden posters, a few doors from Grandma and Grandpa. Al and Juan should have been in the back of the crazy house, near the host parent's bedroom.
So there I was quite literally all alone, wrapped up in a gross old electric blanket staring at all these creepy Eddie posters when I finally dropped off to a feverish and unrestful sleep. A hour or so late, I awoke, drenched in sweat, and feeling bad. Like top 5 in my life to date, sick bad. It was horrible. I tossed and turned for another hour, feverishly staring at the crazy ass pictures of that demented Eddie, until I sat up right and projectile puked all over Al's host brother's floor.
It was sick, a horrific mixture of Grandma's rancid tacos, farm milk, and that warm beer. The smell was so bed that before I could get up, I puked again, this time all over Al's host brother's electric blanket and bed.
Horrified, I staggered to the old bathroom nearest Al's host brother's room, praying I wouldn't wake up Grandma and Grandpa because I was horrified that I was puking all over their house, not really knowing them, and all.
In the bathroom, I sat on the cold tile floor and hugged the porcelain thrown, and vomited a few more times. The last retch I'm sad to say, was so powerful, that my bowels opened up, and I shit everywhere.
Hershey squirt shit too.
It was bad. And I still felt sick. So I quickly took off my pajama bottoms and sat on the toilet in anticipation only to be foiled by another torrent of puke which ended up all over their shower curtain, display towels (the kind you hang on the rack more for decoration than actual use) and bathtub.
This went on for at least an hour, laying on the cold tile floor, intermittently shitting or puking until I finally passed out.
A few hours later I woke up, still sick, but empty, and stared at the horror I had created.
It looked like someone explode a bag of shit and puke. It was everywhere. And I was horrified at what the host family would think so I tried to creep out of the bathroom and find Juan and Al, but those fuckers were still out having sex with R-Kansas girls.
Al's host brother was also still out doing whatever it was he was doing.
So it was just me, Archie (thank God they had him locked up in another room. That dog would have raped me in my prone position in such a weakened state,) the Grandpa and Grandma (who had poisoned me with her rancid tacos!) and the Mom and Dad.
On hindsight I should have went and woke up the parents and told them I was sick. Asked them to help me.
But I didn't do that. Instead I went into Al's host brother's room and dug through his drawers to the very bottom, figuring those were clothes he didn't wear often, and grabbed some t-shirts and sweats. And went back into the bathroom and grabbed some towels (including the decoration ones I'd fouled) and started the long and disgusting job of cleaning up my waste.
When I was through, I took the shit and puked stained clothes and towels (after washing them out in the toilet bowel as best I could) and cleaned up the puke in Al's host brother's room.
When I was finally through, I rinsed as best I could, again in the toilet bowl and went back to Al's host brother's bedroom, closed the door, and sat there looking at Eddie until the sun came up.
It was a long night.
I eventually heard the family stirring and knew I had to get up and get ready to go to the bus station and that there was no way I could get to where Juan and Al were without seeing the family first. There was no way to get rid of all the shit and puke stained clothes and towels without them seeing me either. And I was pretty certain that as soon as I opened the door and vacated the room, Al's host brother would resume ownership and see all the shit and puked stained shirts, sweats and towels.
I had to act fast. So, BLOG reader, right or wrong, this is what that 16 year old version of aboynamedstu decided to do.
I took the puke encrusted electric blanket and put all the puke and shit stained shirts, sweats and towels into it, wrapped it up, tied a crude knot in it, and crammed it way up under Al's host brother's bed.
Seriously.
From there I went to the breakfast table and soon after Juan and I were deposited at the Greyhound Bus Station in downtown Little Rock, R-Kansas.
The bus ride home was nearly as horrific as the previous night. I told Juan about my experience, which made him laugh until he cried. Fucker. And then I sat there and tried toto not shit or puke while Forrest Gump, literally, tried to give me a piece of chocolate from a big box he was carrying around. He tried to give everyone on that full bus a chocolate actually.
It was hell.
Six long hours later we were in Tulsa and my parents picked us up and my sad story ends.
More than a quarter of a century later, like this past Saturday night, I'll remember this sad night and think of how sick I was, and then remember how I wrapped up all those shit and puke stained clothes and towels in Al's host brother's electric blanket which I shoved under his bed.
And I laugh. hard.
And wonder what that crazy ass family thought (and did) when they eventually discovered the gift I left behind.
Until I BLOG again...That what I saw that night was real and not just fantasy.
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