Is There an Officer, Problem? Part Two

Please keep in mind that, in the course of these stories, I have never in fact been arrested, or indeed had any contact with members of the OPP, RCMP, FBI, CIA, NRA, NASA, or any other scary acronyms.

And now we come to one of my favourite drunken memories. I'm fairly sure I can remember most of this one. And oh, what a fun night it was.

Oh, and for the record, I'm getting tired of making up new names, and remembering who is who. So, through some clever thought, investigation, research, and outright fabrication, I have discovered / invented the following disclaimer, effective immediately and retroactively:

By partying / drinking / hanging out / sleeping with me, you agree to allow me the use of your name on this blog. There you have it.

So anyway, my friend Matt decided to have a few of the guys over one weekend. This must have been Grade 11. I was still young, still untattooed, but far less naive than on my last alcoholic voyage. I was still pretty stupid though.

So, we arrived at the scheduled rendezvous point (Matt's house). There were five of us in total: Me, Elliot, Luuk, Matt and Gage, who arrived later. He was at the *snicker* Fall Fair--which, for those of you who do not live in a hick-town (I'm assuming I actually have readers from outside of Milton, Ontario. Humour me), the fall fair is like a carnival, but really really shitty. Oh, and for those of you who couldn't guess from his name, Luuk is a foreigner. A Dutch foreigner.

We wanted to start drinking immediately, however we decided that it would be rude to begin without Gage present. That, and he was bringing more booze. So, we stuck what we had in the fridge--a few beers, and some foreign stuff called Oranje that someone brought; I leave it up to you to guess who--and proceeded to play Halo 2.

After I had thoroughly stomped a fuckload of ass, Gage arrived, bringing with him a mickey of Bacardi. I had expected more, but, not to be put off, I did what any gentleman would do: I let Gage drink his Bacardi himself, and swiped the Oranje off the foreigner. He seemed to have a problem with this, but, as I previously stated, he is Dutch, and thus frail, and rather twiglike. His flimsy, birdlike hands could do nothing against the onslaught of my fury.

In short, I told him to fuck off and drink his beer. He listened, because--and I feel the need to drive this point home--he is Dutch, and thus, weak-willed.

And so we drank. And drank. And peed. And drank. This pattern continued unabated until there was a sudden lull, possibly caused by the shortage of the booze supply, but possibly because of our discovery of beef-flavoured dog toothpaste. Matt quickly snatched it up and stuck it in Luuk's face.

"Taste this."

"I dunno man... It doesn't look very tasty." Luuk's voice was tinged with fear. And booze.

"Just DO it, you foreigner!" I interjected, my voice absolutely dripping with righteous fury at the thought of Luuk passing on this challenge. It might have been the booze as well.

Luuk hesitantly took the small tube from Matt, and carefully unscrewed the cap. He squeezed gently, causing a small amount of the shit-brown gel to emerge. We stifled our giggles. He licked it. We groaned and called him gross.

He licked it again. We took the beefpaste from him, and asked what the flying fuck he was doing.

"Luuk, we only told you to do it once."

"I know, but it doesn't taste very bad. It tastes like regular toothpaste."

Somehow, I didn't believe him.

"Luuk, you lying Dutch bastard. That shit is BEEF-FLAVOURED. And it's meant for DOGS. There's no way in Hell you're gonna convince me that it tasted like anything other than smoked horseshit. Or maybe beef."

"Well--"

"Shut up, foreigner."

This continued for a few minutes, until Luuk finally relented, realizing that he was Dutch, and thus, wrong.

With no other potentially gross-tasting items handy, we quickly decided that a new form of entertainment was in order. And thus was born the greatest of Halo 2 matchups.

There was shooting. There was dying. There were occasional piss-breaks. It was Halo 2, and we were drunk.

One of the highlights was the four of us trying to ride on one Banshee--for those of you who aren't Halo-literate, a Banshee is a flying vehicle that can seat one. However, it has small, wing-like protrusions on either side. We managed to sit one person in the pilot's seat, and two on either side, until the last person got jealous and blew them out of the sky with a rocket.

All this videogame-playing was really tiring, especially on the thumbs. Eventually there came the time when we were ready for bed. When Matt left to go to the bathroom, I hopped in his bed. Apparently, he didn't like the idea very much. Immediately upon re-entering the basement, he proceeded to toss fists at my arm. This continued until he was blindsided by my foot. I sort of felt bad afterwards, so I gave Matt his bed back--after thoroughly laughing at his sudden contraction of a case of foot in face--and slept on the floor. Not quite as comfortable, but I was pretty drunk; a bed of spikes would probably have felt like a Beautyrest at that moment.

Just as we were all about to happily drift off into dreamland, we came to a realization: the Dutchman was still talking.

"Luuk, shut the fuck up. I want to sleep. Shut up before I kill you, you foreign bastard." (If you can't guess who said this, go back and read through the story leading up to this point. Preferably while hanging your head in shame)

"I got a lot to say, man--"

"Luuk, shut the fuck up."

"But--"

"Luuk, if you aren't gonna shut the fuck up, go get me the Fudgee-os."

"I don't wanna get--"

"LUUK! FUDGEE-OOOOOOOS!"

"But--"

"FUDGEE-OOOOOOOOOOS!"

"Alright... I'll get you the fudgee-os."

And thus ended another night of drinking. Stay tuned for part three. Which I'm gonna try and remember.

On a side note, I never did get my fucking Fudgee-os. That fucking Dutch bastard!