Back again with you all, after almost a two week absence. Of course, due to the glory of timestamping, it will appear that this went up in a timely manner. Because if there's anything I stand for, it's falsehoods for the sake of appearance.
Me and a friend drove to Blacksburg, and got there around 1100. We immediately head to a bar for some drinking. We have some beers and some shots, listen to a band play, and then decide to head to an apartment party, complete with kegs and the chance for glory.
We get there, and hard drinking ensues. In my fraternity, we have a tradition where if you go up to someone and say "to the old lady" anyone within earshot who is holding an alcoholic beverage of some sort must chug it, posthaste.
One hour and about eight "to the old lady"s later, everyone is feeling good. I found myself occupied by a fella with a Chris Paul jersey, and we spent some time drunkenly talking NBA, which has becomes among my favorite non-vagina related things to do at parties.
During my hardwood-related conversation, I managed to miss a fight upstairs, which included someone dropping an n-bomb in a crowd of Afro-Americans.
Taking that as a cue to leave, I got a ride back to the fraternity house, and proceeded to get back to what my degree should say I majored in: foosball.
A brief side note: there is no greater game on this planet than foosball. I like beer pong, horseshoes, flip cup and all those assorted shenanigans, but foosball is you number one seed.
So we play some foosball, and it soon becomes apparent that it's well after midnight, and there is precious little alcohol in the house. And by precious little, I mean a box of Franzia and a few Keystone Lights.
Let's clear something up. I'm 25, on my first job out of college, in the newspaper industry in a slumping economy. So I'm no alcohol snob. But I always thought the days when I would consume Keystone Light, Natty Light, Southpaw and Beast out of cans were well past me.
Except for Beast, I would happily drink any of those out of a keg, but I draw the line somewhere. Unless some strange set of circumstances arises, the cheapest tier of beer I make my purchases from is the Bud Light/Miller Lite/Coors Lite triumvirate.
But it was that or box wine. Warm box wine, on a night where I am already shitfaced. So pour that sweet, sweet, Keystone.
I don't remember much else. I vaguely remember telling a pledge that he was going to be my own personal rimshot, for whenever I dropped a particularly good zinger, and I know I got a ride home at about 5 a.m., which was helpful.
I woke up still drunk, and deep in the hurt locker. I stumbled my way to the bathroom, and something happened there that has never happened to me before. I took a piss, gave the ol' johnson a quick shake, and then came the point where I would usually zip up and walk out.
But as I turned around, my knees buckles, and I slammed the shit out of my face on the bathroom door.
It took me another few seconds to get my balance, and I walk out of the bathroom, then I hear the dude whose couch I passed out on yell something from his bathroom:
"Dude, did you just fall in there?"
"Uhhhh...no. I head that noise too though. Weird."
I stumbled back to my couch and lay down just in time for a full-fledged wave of sweaty nausea to envelop me for a few minutes.
Then it was over, and I could get back to being hungover as shit.
I walked to find my car (it's always in the last place you look), and grabbed a Gatorade and beer for the day.
We all gather at the house, and the beer starts flowing, the horseshoes are clanging, and the cops are called as least a half dozen times. They were cool, but some cunt kept calling, so they kept coming.
Funny story: We all assumed it was this lady that was out doing gardening, and when the cops came the first time, she came over and talked to them. She was out of earshot, but we all assumed that she was talking shit.
So as she was walking away, these dudes that were even farther away started dropping c-bombs, bitches, and all sorts of things. Which would normally be hysterical.
Except for the fact that this lady came over to defend us. She had been out all day, and we weren't bothering her in the least, furthermore, she has always gotten along very well with the people who live at the house.
The rest of the day progressed as planned. We got wasted, and played a number of outdoor games.
As the sun faded away, we decided to move the party to a local sorority house, where I was promised hot sorority sluts as loose as they come.
We bought some kegs and headed over there and played some beer pong. As I was waiting my turn, another Va Tech alumni and I were talking. We were right next to the door to the stairway leading to the girls' bedrooms, and as a girl comes down the stairs, this guy gives me a look.
A look that says, "panty raid."
So I ended up keeping watch (I was not about to go up there and get caught, that's about the worst possible thing that could happen that doesn't involve death), while this gentlemen looked for a few trophies.
He got them without any issues, and then the curiosity got the better of him. One of the chicks that lived there was playing beer pong, and my friend began gently inquiring as to which room she lived in.
"Big place you got here, I bet you have a nice room."
"Oh yeah, I got the master bedroom," she replied.
"That sounds right, I bet you're the queen of this castle. Is that uh...the big room at the far end of the hall?"
She gives him quizzical look, which he is able to explain away by saying he used to live here. Nice.
So we're sitting there, waiting through the longest beer pong game in the fucking world, and some chick stumbles in, fresh from downtown on her 21st birthday.
Hoping to possibly see some titt-ays, me and the panty theif follow her and her friends in the bathroom.
She is talking about how wasted she is with two of her friends, and gradually the suggestion comes in that no 21st birthday is complete with out a good old fashioned titty-flashing.
Which she agrees too. As she is putting down her glass, another friend of mine stumbles into the kitchen like a goddam hurricane, slams into the refrigerator, knocking a stack of cups off of the top of it, and then regains his balance.
He looks around, sees this drunk chick and lets loose with a classic, "SHOW US YOUR TITS, BITCH!!!"
Needless to say, the mood was killed, and no titties were seen. Fucker.
So the night continues, people get drunker, fights break out and fizzle, and me and the panty thief are outside. We're talking about his theft, and I'm trying to convince him to give his wife those panties as a present.
He's trying to convince me that he needs to make a second run, since the two pairs he got (!!) were clean, and he wanted to head to the hamper to get a "less fresh" pair.
Eventually this leads to him confessing that his dream is to be in a zipped up sleeping bag filled with soiled panties. The next morning, we have a long running joke about holding a fun run for Panty Thief (I've made it a proper name now), where chicks could run a 5K, on Phoenix, in August, and then donate their panties they wore during the run to his sleeping bag.
Good times.
Sooner or later we all crash at various places, waking up even more hungover than the day before. I head to my friend's place where three more people are crashing, and we're sitting there, recalling the night before, and bullshitting.
One of my friend's decides the needs to take a shower. Well, we here the shower go on, and immediately spring to action looking for something to throw on him. A box of powdered NesQuik mix does the trick.
That about does it for this year's edition of Buffett Day. Not the most embarrassing for me personally, but hey, I think it provided some good laughs.
Until next time.
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