WARNING! GRAPHIC VOMIT SEQUENCE CONTAINED WITHIN – READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
This story goes back a long long way back in the middle 1980's. Me, my buddy Mike, and Dave were hanging out planning to have some beers when Dave got this bright idea that we should drink Southern Comfort and Coke instead. In hindsight, Mike was the smart one in this equation because he chose to stick to beer. Anyway, we got a two liter bottle of Coca Cola and some plastic cups to go with our large bottle of Southern Comfort which we brought to a spot down by the alley way and just starting talking and drinking.
I really have no idea whatsoever what we were talking about though it’s reasonable to assume two things: one, it probably included the state of heavy metal music and two, the next day I recalled about as much of the conversation as I do right now. I can also tell you that as logic would have it, there was a natural progression of sober, catching a buzz, buzzed, drunk, right through blacked out. I remember what must have been the transition from buzzed to drunk for me just happened to be within the drunk phase for Dave because out of nowhere, he began to hurl buckets worth of chunks all over East 28th Street. While normally just the thought of someone hurling gets me nauseous, my drunken stupor in waiting had be laughing so hard and even mocking poor Dave and his chunks.
As I was laughing my ass off and kicking into drunkenness, my buddy Mike said, “you really shouldn’t be laughing since you’re gonna be next.” If only Mike was as good at predicting the outcomes of the NFL games that season he might be considerably wealthier because almost immediately after the sentence came out of his mouth, I was struck with a major case of reverse peristalsis that left a pile of spaghetti on the floor in front of me that I swore I chewed before sending it down to my stomach but the evidence before me indicated the contrarian perspective.
Needless to say by this point I was way beyond the drunken phase of the equation and incapable of standing for any length of time without falling back down; walking was out of the question. Mike told me to “stay put” which was silly when you think about it because I had no chance of getting anywhere, so I just laid back on the concrete while mike got Dave to his house. Some time later, Mike returned, hauled me into a semi-upright position, swung one of my flailing arms around his neck and proceeded to walk/carry me up the block to my house (he was my next door neighbor). A few houses away, Mike was totally exhausted after already having hauled Dave home and had to call for help, at which point he rang my doorbell and woke up my parents.
(I learned most of the rest of this from my dad because I hadn’t the ability to store or recall this information) My dad came out and took over for Mike, who retreated to his house, and carried me into the house and up the stairs to the door of my room, which was locked at the time. My dad asked me for the key to my room but evidently in my condition I understood that command as “please hand me your watch” – so I evidently removed the watch from my wrist and handed it to my dad so that he can use it to open my room door. I can only assume that my dad then when picking around my pockets to find my key, opened the door, then aggressively tossed me onto my bed. I do recall the next morning, waking up completely clothed, wreaking, and coming down to the breakfast table. You would think I’d be apologetic or something but not me, I was the complete wiseass and I looked at my father and asked him if he had the time. He was totally pissed and we had a talk about what had happened and that was that. I’ve never Southern Comfort since that night and more than likely never will.