Thursday, June 07, 2012

Riding The Bull

For my last post of this week (and while I tailgate for the hopeful ousting of the Heat tonight), I figured that now would be the right time to share a story from my past again. Now, America knows that I am proud of everything that I’ve ever done, but this tale of douchery is probably the least proud moment of my storied 31 years of life. So everyone gather ‘round Uncle G$ because it’s story time.

Your sophomore of college is an odd year. You have one year of the awesome college experience under your belt and consider yourself a real pro when it comes to drinking and slaying puss. Your first year, unless you were blessed with a great fake ID, is likely based around house or frat parties for socialization and brain cell destruction. When you come back to town for year two, most normal people are sort of tired of the party scene. You don’t really feel like waiting in line for 20 minutes for a cup of Natty Light when some 400 pound douche is holding the tap and making those with cocks wait forever for a refill. God, I hated that. But as I said, unless you were fortunate, bars weren’t really too realistic of an option either. And that made for some odd nights. Sophomore year is definitely the worst year of the collegiate experience.

From what I remember, I hated going to parties but didn’t want to abuse sneaking into bars for some underage consumption. The point is, and how I got through things, was to get obliterated at the house before going out for the evening and thus I wouldn’t care about shitty parties or undercover bar cops. I did this for a year. I wouldn’t recommend it but I’m not not recommending it either. Breaking news: getting piss-wasted in college is the best. You have to make due.

Anyway, one Saturday night in early 2001, G$ decides to do what he normally does and puts down a 12 pack while playing Madden or something before it’s time to head out. We had a buddy that was in one of those nerdy frats and they were throwing a box social or whatever that night and going there was the plan. It wasn’t a date rapey, BRAH frat but it wasn’t exactly the place to be either. It was just sort of…there. But, like I said, a friend lived there and he invited us over so we obliged his request.

I’m already drunk as hell when we get there as evidenced by my thwarted attempts to stand up in the bed of my friend’s truck while he was driving through town (a poor man’s Teen Wolf impression). From what I can recall, the party was what we all expected in that it was about half as full as they wanted it to be and the ladies there looked like they would have fit in better at a slaughterhouse. Like I said, this house was not known for much but it was definitely better than sitting around our condo and watching our dicks get smaller. Sensing that he was losing us, our host invited us down to his room for some 6way anal love/access to his stash of hard liquor. Since the only other option was probably something gross like kegged Natty Ice, this was a welcomed idea. I pictured fountains of Grey Goose and barrels of Captain Morgan; this was going to be HEAVEN!

What I got was a full bottle of El Toro tequila. Now, if you are not familiar with THE BULL, please do not make it your life’s mission to sample it. All that you need to know is that instead of a twist-off cap, it features a twist-off red plastic sombrero. It truly is the worst of the worst. With all that said, the 6 or 7 of us down there just kept passing it around. After about the second time around the table, I couldn’t help but notice that my friends were bowing out of our journey to the bottom of this bottle. In fact, once it got to about a third or quarter left, it was just me with no partners. I said, FUCK IT AND FUCK YOU, and housed the rest because I AM AN ATHLETE. How I did not throw up, I will never know. It seems physically impossible for me not to, doesn’t it?

Normally, this amount of horrible alcohol consumption would turn a man a ghostly shade of white and render him worthless for the rest of eternity. Yet that did not happen to me on the evening in question. Actually, the opposite thing happened and all of my blood rushed to my face and started getting me all salty. For some weird reason, I was PISSED at nothing and everything at the same time.

We headed back to the party upstairs and I’m just trying to stay calm and fight off THE BULL inside of me just dying to gore some poor sap. My buddies, however, did not want to see that. They banded together and cooked up this huge lie about some guy talking shit about me and that he wanted to kick my ass. Normal me would have tapped these liars in the scrote and carried on. Not on this night though. I demanded that they show me who was running smack at the King. They picked some random guy who was dancing with the only attractive broad at the party. I just stared daggers at that guy for, I don’t know, 5 minutes while THE BULL gathered steam in my nether regions. He was ready to charge with his nostrils flared and no matador in the world would stop him (not even El Matador Tito Santana). This guy was completely oblivious of my rage (as he should have been since he did nothing to me and was just trying to get laid). My friends kept it up; getting my blood hotter and just waiting for me to explode.

FUCK THIS SHIT! Barrett, pull your truck around because we’re out of here.” And then I made my move much to the delight of my peers that just watched me empty that EL TORO bottle. I grabbed the completely innocent guy by the shoulder (thus breaking up his grinding rhythm with the hot girl), forced him to look me in my bloodshot eyes, and landed a right hook to the temple. From what I am told, he fell backwards and knocked down the girl he was dancing with after they bumped heads. I didn’t know though because as soon as I made contact with this poor bastard, I had already started running out the door like a true champion. I’m pretty sure that that was the only punch that I’ve thrown in my life (/makes sad face).

Somehow, we made it out of the house without anybody stopping us, all of my boys are giggling like fucking assholes as they ran, got back into the truck, and headed home. For some strange reason, I was really proud of myself for setting that punk bitch straight. That was short-lived, as you can imagine, once they all told me that that guy said nothing about me. Boy that was a shitty feeling. Sucker punching an innocent guy makes one feel extremely remorseful. I have never even considered putting El Toro up to my lips again and hardly ever touched straight tequila after that night.

So if you’re out there, unfortunate soul that got a close-up with my fist, please accept my humble apology. It was a really shitty thing for me to do. But I hope that maybe you got a pity fuck from that girl later that night. If I was able to help with that then I’m glad that I could be of assistance to your penile cause. That might have been my last foray into BRAHdom. I never want to go back. This ends my public service announcement against El Toro Tequila.

This story is to be used as motivation for the Boston Celtics tonight. Finish the fucking job, fellas, end that fucker’s night/season! Unleash the awesome power of THE BULL!!!

23 comments:

Grumpy said...

I figured you had punched Dut at least once.

Anonymous said...

Embarrassing sophomore drinking stories? I've got one of those. So, I dated this girl when I went to UNC. She went to a nearby all girls college, which was bot hot and horrible at the same time. It was a Friday night and she we decided to take the next step and meet her parents. Her parents lived on Lake Norman which is a badass lake north of Charlotte. They lived next door to Jeff Gordon, a faggot, so kind if a big deal.

Now she had to work that night so I did what I normally did on a Friday night; got super high and played Madden 2002. Well she decides to get off work and call me promptly at 5pm. Did I mention that I told her I was adamantly against drugs to sleep with her, because she was? So I do what anyone would do in my situation, I finish getting ripped in my car on the way down to see her. A few drops of Visine and a liberal amount of Abercrombie Woods and I was solid. Both of these things were available in my car at all times back then.

I meet her parents without much fanfare, except for the fact that they knew we were heading to a party and knew that drinking may be involved. So, ger father deemed it was up to me to safeguard his daughter. Being stoned, I heartily agreed. Dumb.

We get to this party and the place is like a $1.5 million dollar house and I know NO ONE. I start drinking immediately to make the fact I am stupid high less awkward. Now keep in mind this is long before I actually knew my limits and what I could and couldnt do. I have a few brews and her friends seem to really like me. Then the bottles of Skyy make their way out. Chasers are for pussies was the last audible thing I said.

I awoke next morning completely naked in a strange basement. My girlfriend had taken me back to her place! I asked where my clothes went and she not so happily told me why they were in the washer...

Shortly after my chasers comment, I got fairly belligerent fairly fast. I raided this guys kitchen and made an entire thing of bagel bites not sharing a single one. I aggressively challenged anyone in the house to a game of Madded 2002 (Marshall Faulk was like Tecmo Bo). Then it all came down, violently.

I threw up on a $3000 couch, in a potted indoor tree, the bathroom completely missing the toilet, a trash can and off the side of said sofa. Oh, and on myself.

So I gathered myself. I smelled like a raped hobo outside of PD (lil poopson possibly), my eyes were a shade of maroon, and my breath could wake the dead. Up to breakfast we go where her dad wanta to talk fantasy football. I obliged but I had zero idea what I was talking about still being drunk. We had a 10 minute conversations about Kevin Johnson. I was too drunk to acknowledge he played for the Browns. It was bad.

My gf then wanted to do the most appropriate thing she could think of. Going wakeboarding. I didnt want to sound like a total pussy but this was the last thing I could gave wanted to do. My stomach was already in knots and now she wants to take a fucking speedboat on the high seas.

After throwing up at the mere sight oc the boat it was recommended that I stay ashore while they go out. Fuck that. I went. No less than 4 lbs of high grade waste came out if me. Half of which I might add, made it into the water. I kind of felt bad for ralphing on that guys Kottonmouth King album but what can you do?

We ended our relationship that day.

Ide

The Iceman said...

The transition into hard liquor is always a rough one. I remember when we started experimenting with Jager. Well...I don't REMEMBER, I was just told stories.

The most unmemorable was the night we went to The Aztec (when it was still around) for 2 beers 2 tacos $2.50 Tuesdays. For some unknown reason we decided to start shooting straight Jager after we ate the tacos. Well, long story short...I woke up in my bed the next day with my head in my trash can wearing a t-shirt, boxers, socks and boots.

I was told that after stumbling out of the bar an trying to sleep on the sidewalk, I was picked up by my group and tossed like a dead hooker into the backseat of the car. They said the mystery of the socks and shoes but no pants can only be solved by me since I was fully clothed when I was chucked into my bed. I fucking loved college.

And tomorrow's post is gonna be nice a juicy so be sure and ready your loins.

GMoney said...

Ide, you are always belligerent. Never forget that.

MUDawgfan said...

G$ - I guess this goes without saying, but you HAD to have to have had a blistering hangover the next day, right?

It wasn’t a date rapey, BRAH frat but it wasn’t exactly the place to be either. It was just sort of…there.

Acacia, Sigma Tau Gamma or PIKE would be my guess.

MUDawgfan said...

For my first trip into hard liqour territory, I made the mistake of drifting away from Tequila, Rum, Whiskey, and Vodka and into the ridiculous little liqour mixers that nobody should ever drink.

Gold Schlager, Rumplemintz and sour apple were the mixers at a party the summer between freshman year and sophmore year at MU. Eventually we just switched to taking shots and I think I threw up 4 times the next morning. Hellacious hangover.

Anonymous said...

Good stories from G$ and Ide....Iceman not so much.

El Toro is gross....good tequila is delicious though....like really, really delicious.

I actually drank liqour mainly in high school...not much beer. Then made the switch to tons of beer obviously my freshman year in college...and proceeded to get real fat due to that. I remember teh days in high school where a third of a fifth of Captain would make me shit-faced, puke and hungover. Not even sure I would notice that little amount anymore.

Anyways....sophomore drinking stories. I played TONS of beer pong my sophomore year. Like five nights a week of staying up until 4a.m. playing this game and then sleeping in until 3. I scheduled evening classes to allow this lifestyle to work. But, this lifestyle led to A LOT of pissing the bed. I would say that I pissed my bed roughly 15 times my sophomore year. It's just what I did. I don't know how, but somehow this ended my Junior year and never came back. I had a roommate that it stayed with for years though...guaransheed he pissed the bed over 200 times in his life.

One more sophomore year story off the top of my head. My first wine night. So, the girls that we were friends with decided to have a wine night at their apartment. I lived on 16th...they lived on Woodruff. This is roughly a ten minute walk. I start plowing through wine....different type of drunk. Next thing I know I'm shit-faced and pukeing in their bathroom sink. This is obviously gross as hell, so then I'm trying to clean their sink of my puke while shitfaced. After I do this I try to get home. This is a simple walk. I don't know how I did it, but I was walking for at least 90 minutes...at some point I'm on the railroad tracks by North 4th street...and I'm walking with vomit all over me and in a complete downpour of a rain. I remember somehow finally getting home and it was one of the happiest drunken moments I've ever had.

--Drew

GMoney said...

STG baby! You nailed it. Excellent memory there, Dawg! That place sucked. But at least they weren't BRAHs.

I actually don't mind Rumplemintz now. Between Gold, Jager, and Rump, I choose Rump every time. I am an assman.

GMoney said...

Drew, wine drunk is a pretty fun drunk when used sparingly. Very sparingly. You look like a guy that would sleep in his own piss.

I have a better "drunken walk journey" story about one of my boyzzzz that involved a construction site, sweatpants at a bar, 80 pounds of mud, and Ohio State beating undefeated Illinois in hoops. It is fairly ELITE!

Anonymous said...

Grain alcohol - challenged by two football players - after first my first shot while coughing and gagging they filled their shot glasses with water - it went that way for several rounds and then we went out into the dorm to challenge people - violence came out then with me pounding on peoples' doors demanding they accept my challenge - tried to push my way out of a second story window, demanded the campus security to shoot me, posed on grates for pictures, got dragged about a half mile by my brother to his house, pissed on his couch but left before anyone else was awake, walked into the dining hall and everyone turned because the story about a crazed person had already made the rounds, went to bed and slept essentially for two days - had to talk to a counselor and they actually if I considered myself sane

FRESHMAN YEAR

GMoney said...

That's a classic tale, uh, FRESHMAN YEAR. Somebody better stop up and claim that. I miss dining halls though.

The Iceman said...

My freshman year was pretty lame since I went to a small school...and a dry campus. Transferring to BGSU was one of the best party moves I ever made. I knew it was going to be an awesome 3 years when my first weekend was getting into a bar underage that was within walking distance of my dorm.

The bar night was capped off by walking into the bathroom while 3 guys were doing coke off the back of the toilet, then coming out to my buddy's friend Crazy Honky grabbing the front jeans crotch of every girl that walked by. The bouncer's told him one more time and he was out. He responded by pissing on the front of the bar while ordering a round of Jack Daniels.

Back at the dorm we had an after hours party and he started writing "I'm a whore" with sharpie marker on all the girls that would pass out. Right on their tits. Then he started telling all the girls he had "your name" tattooed on his dick. They thought it was funny until he actually pulled his shaft out to prove it. Sure enough...he's a man of his word. I was told that more shananigans happened around 5am but I missed them since I puked ramen noodles and passed out in the dorm shower.

MUDawgfan said...

Sophmore year, having buddies that made it into frats was helpful (especially shitty frats).

The most obvious reason was that you could order beer from the frat house and have it delivered. Provided you made it clear you were tipping at leadt $5.00, there was never a request for ID.

$15 for a case of Natual Light seems horrible now, but for the times it was perfect.

Brady said...

Ahh, hard liquor. As Iceman can attest to I am a complete pussy when it comes to hard liquor. I will go beer for beer all night and probably could finish an 18 if I really tried but liquor is my kryptonite.

My sophomore year was spent hitting every bar in BG on every weekend. I never really liked the bars all that much but if you wanted to get some strange you had to make the trip. Bowling Green is a bar campus as most good parties are wrecked by the cops within 2 hours of starting.

This particular night was at the end of the semester which meant I had some good money in my pocket. Why you might ask? Text Books! It was my favorite time of year. Not only were classes coming to an end but you had a ton of extra scratch by reselling those books your parents had purchased only 3 short months before. It was like free $!

I entered the bar that night with at least $250 in my pocket and there was no way I was leaving without some slut on my arm.

After perusing the talent for 30 minutes I settled on this fine las at a corner table. We sat there for hours going shot for shot. Jager, cheap tequilla and horrible whisky were the drinks of choice. I still don't know why I didn't step up to the plate for better quality as I had said large amount of money in my pocket.

Anyway, closing time is on the horizon and I know I need to make my move. Unfortunately, my stomach/head are telling me that my choice in libations was fucking awful. As we head towards the door I know shit is about to get real. In my desperation I am literally pushing a group of 15 people (girl included who is right in front of me) towards the small door trying to get outside. I never make it.

I projectile vomit all over this girls back, along with numerous other people, in the hallway just feet from freedom. Even in my drunken stupor i knew this was bad. My fight or flight kicked in, I shoved the girl out of the way and ran like the wind down Main St.

People were yelling and maybe chasing me but I never looked back to find out for sure. I don't really remember the night after that but I did end up sleeping in a buddies porch swing across town. I also lost my wallet with at least $150 left from that night. I like to think the poor girl who drank with me all night was the one who ended up with it. Kind of like a consolation prize.

In conclusion, FUCK hard liquor.

GMoney said...

Good story, Brady. She was probably a Tigers fan anyway. GET YO BROOMS READY...AGAIN!

Anonymous said...

Bravo Brady.....bravo.

--Drew

The Iceman said...

So the real story behind Brady's distaste for hard liquor is finally revealed.

Brady has this trademark move he likes to execute when he starts doing shots. I call it the ninja. He waits for and finds that perfect moment when everyone is just drunk enough while engaged in coversation with others to make his exit. That way no one notices he has fleed the scene until it's far too late. You haven't seen someone perfect their craft until you have been part of the ninja escape that Brady has mastered.

Brady said...

What can I say? Liquor makes me do crazy and magical things.

GMoney said...

Unfortunately, my well of stories is starting to run dry. I mean, REALLY dry. I might have to start lying as if I were George O'Leary.

Anonymous said...

FRESHMAN YEAR = Plane through the stadium dude

I am a living/walking cautionary tale

Anonymous said...

Fear not, G$, I have a veritable plethora of great drinking stories I can sluice through on slow days. Like calling Rodney Bailey the n-word to his car selling face. And many more!

Ide

GMoney said...

Rodney is in the top 5 worst Facebook friends that I have. For being an ex-NFL player, he is pretty goddamn annoying with his ten plus status updates per day and none of them mean shit.

Anonymous said...

Yeah, that story gains more respectability with every update.

HATERS GON DO THEIR THING IMMA BE ME AN ROLL. KEEP HATIN!

Id love ro know who he is talking to.

Ide