Archive for April, 2012


Cat The Immortal

Whoever said that cats have nine lives…..well, I won’t get ahead of myself. I don’t wanna ruin the ending before I even get started.

A while back, one of my buddies, Remicks, had an extremely convenient hook up. Near his place of work, he met a guy who has a medical marijuana card. So, obviously, he proceeded to befriend him. And this became oh so useful to all of us. On occasion, this guy would hook us up with a nice batch of wonderful pot cookies.

Now, if you have never had pot cookies, than you don’t know first hand how much they fuck you up. It’s a completely different high than smoking a joint or taking a bong hit. And it takes a while to hit you, usually around an hour or so. And when it hits, it’s like a fucking wall shoots up in front of you out of the ground. There’s no gradual escalation of your high. One second you’re completely sober, and the next you’re as high as a fucking space station.

So on this particular occasion, Remicks, FlipSide, Blowfish, and I all have two cookies each. And we get into our cars to drive to our chosen destination for tripping massive balls. We expected to be safe until we get there. In other words, we were complete fucking fools.

Remicks is driving, FlipSide in the passenger seat, and me in the back. And at this point, we’re all baked to shit.  He turns onto some random, rather lengthy street. At the end of the street, a cat walks out, stops, and stares toward us. FlipSide sees it. I see it. Obviously Remicks sees it also, right?

As we get closer, the two of us still believe it. There’s a cat in the middle of the fucking road. Remicks sees the cat. It’s right fucking there. There’s no way he doesn’t see it. And last second, the realization hits us.

Rooster and FlipSide: REMICKS THERE’S A FUCKING CAT!!

And Remicks comes to a screeching stop. ON THE CAT. On. The. Fucking. Cat.

This is not good. Not good at all. You need to understand something. I love cats. I love cats so much, sometimes it’s overwhelming. And we just hit one. This is not good. And to top it all off, we’re all stoned out of our minds from the pot cookies.

We are legitimately freaking the fuck out. And for what seems like an hour, we don’t do shit. We don’t say a goddamned word. Remicks is completely frozen, eyes staring forward, gripping the steering wheel as if it’s the last thing left in the world. Seriously. I genuinely believe that if he was not holding that steering wheel….Remicks would have literally disappeared. I think his steering wheel deserves some form of medal. I have an old one from my grade 6 science fair, but I don’t know where it is right now. So, I suppose it’s the thought that counts.

So, at this point. My buddy Blowfish pulls up next to us, since we’re just stopped in the middle of the road.

Blowfish: Yo guys, what the fuck’s going on? Why did you stop?

FlipSide: We hit a cat man.

Blowfish: What?

FlipSide: We hit a fucking cat man.

Blowfish: You hit a cat?!?

So, completely baked out of our skulls, we are now tasked with whatever the next step should be. And this is not immediately clear to us. We are still freaking the fuck out, And this is not a good state of mind for our current situation. What in Zeus’s flying fucking lightning bolt are we supposed to do? What. The. Fuck?

Blowfish tells us we gotta get outta the road, because there are other cars using this street. So I get out of the car.

Now, I can honestly say, that this up there among the scariest moments of my fucking life. I stood outside Remicks’ car as he drove to the side, with my hands covering my mouth. Completely expecting to cry my eyes out at the site of this dead cat. I was ready to break the fuck down.

Remicks pulls over………..to reveal nothing. No cat. The road is clean.

This makes no sense. FlipSide and Hurley get out of their respective cars and stand beside me. And none of us can make sense of this. Where the fuck is this fucking cat? What the fuck is going on? There is actually fur, FLOATING, through the air. ACTUAL CAT FUR. This is proof that we were not JUST fucking high. I mean, obviously we were totally high as fuck. But still, this cat did exist. We hit it, and it’s floating tufts of fur was proof. But there is no cat. And in our high minds, this leads to the worst possible thought.

Rooster: Oh my god. No. Nononononononono. What if the cat is under the fucking car? What if it’s stuck under the car?! Oh no. Oh my god.

If I said we were freaking out earlier, it’s nothing compared to what we felt after this inevitable conclusion. Remicks was still in his car. He has not said a word. Blowfish won’t even get out of his car. He wants none of this. And FlipSide and I. We’re flipping the fuck out. This is not happening. Not fucking happening. We’re good kids. We might do some questionable things! But we don’t deserve this.

What are the chances of this happening on one of our only pot cookies trip ever? Seriously? Come on!!!!

But none of us will confirm this suspicion. You kidding me? Hey Rooster. Wanna look under this car for the dead cat that must be stuck to the undercarriage? It’ll be a hoot! Totally sweet man! FUCK THAT.

But luckily, we have a sober friend. Hurley. Now, to this day I dunno why he didn’t have any pot cookies. I’d like to say I remember everything, and that I have a reason. But when I think of it. He should have been high. Hurley would get Medicinal Mary Jane high with us annnnnny day. But this day he wasn’t. For some reason.

Hurley: Fucking shit guys. I’ll check.

Hurley checks under the car, while the rest of us make extremely feminine sounds of terror. Actually, that might not be true. I’m not sure about Blowfish and Remicks and them. But. I most definitely shrieked. There’s no way I didn’t.

Hurley looks up at us and shrugs. There’s no cat.

WHAT THE FUCKING MOTHERFUCKING WHAT THE FUCK!??!

I can’t take this. This is too much. What the fuck is happening?!???

And at this moment. It happens. Our cat. Runs out of the bush on the side of the road, and darts off across the park. Leaving all of us speechless.

This fucking cat was fucking immortal. If anything, we proved the validity of the 9 lives myth. We hit that crazy motherfucker, Knocked bunches of his fur through the air. And he just ran from that shit like it was a tiny hindrance in his 6 hour day.

Yo. Cat. You are totally boss. And I will always remember you.

And that is the story of Cat The Immortal.

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A little liquor….

So I’m gonna kick things off with the most recent story I have.

So one of my best buddies, FlipSide, has this big night planned for his birthday. Though I’m not a clubber, even in the lightest sense, obviously I’m in for this. How could I not be, right?

Limo, to and from, the club. VIP section. Six 40 oz bottles of hard liquor. Unbelievable beyties* as far as the eyes can see. (Just to clear up any confusion. “Beyties” is a term coined by Hurley, another friend of mine, who comes into this story later. It is basically a much more polite way of saying, “Hot Bitches”. Pardon my French.) Anyways, where could this go wrong? Word of advice, don’t ever ask yourself that fucking question.

Now, I am a beer drinker. I’m all about the beer. But I can handle my liquor when the night calls for it. Or so I like to think. I’m pretty sure you can see where this is headed. The warning signs were in fucking plain sight. Here, I’ll lay them out for you.

1. We arrive at the club at 10 o clock. It’s fucking empty. So the 16 of us storm into that place like a fucking Tractor Storm of amped up anticipation. Someone brings us our first two bottles, so obviously we start things off with a round of shots. We all down our shots, and mine hits me like a punch in the balls. I sink into the VIP seats and put my head in my hands. Everybody looks at me with disgust.

FlipSide: What’s up dude?

Granola: You’re kidding me right?

Rooster: Dude, that shot did not go down well. What the fuck?

PornStar: Get the fuck up and drink you pussy.

When PornStar is into something, it’s goddam contagious. So obviously, I stopped being a pussy, got the fuck up, and he made me a drink.

2. For those of you who know PornStar, his drinks contain about 50 percent alcohol, 50 percent whatever we’re mixing with. And he mixed my rum with what apparently is supposed to be orange juice. Fuck that shit. If that was orange juice than I’m a fucking light bulb. If oranges could piss, than that’s what their piss would taste like. I’m sitting next to my buddy Strong when I take the first sip.

Rooster: AH. What The fuck!? This tastes like shit…..And Ice Cream! This tastes like fucking shit and ice cream! What is this!?

Everybody around me is laughing their asses off at my reaction.

Rooster: Strong. Drink this. Taste it. Drink my shit and ice cream!

Strong: I don’t want that shit man!

Rooster: TASTE IT!

I cannot stress this fact enough. This was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. But PornStar would have none of my pussyness. So obviously I downed the whole thing as fast as I could.

3. The conclusion.

So here we were, after another hour or so of drinking, and it hits me. I think I’m gonna die. I sit down with this look of death on my face. And a friend of mine who I haven’t seen in forever sits on the end of the booth. And motions for me to come over. I shake my head. She keeps motioning. And somehow I manage to scooch over.

SheFriend: So how have you been?

I look at her, motion to wait one second, and turn my head away.

Rooster: BLEEEEEEGGGGGHHHHHHHH.

My body just decides at this point; “Fuck you man. I’ve had enough”. I start puking all over the inside of the WHITE booth. And like a fucking drunken fool, I cover my mouth with my hand. And obviously it sprays out the sides. All over the fucking place.

The Aftermath

I don’t remember if I even got to talk to SheFriend after that, so I have no idea how she reacted to this display of pure trash. But my friend Hurley was sitting right next to the point of impact. And the look on his face could have books written about it. As he noticed me puking, his face contorted into the most jokes look of “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW” If I wasn’t too busy puking my life out, I would have died laughing.

But like a total bro,  he gets up, somehow procures a massive amount of napkins, and we manage to clean it all up without a single bouncer noticing. It was like magic. It was glorious. And the best part is, after that, I felt like gold. And I just continued my night, and partied like a motherfucker with all my people. And now I have a jokes story out of it.

I asked Hurley later on in the week about it. Just to see if he remembered all this happening.

Hurley: Oh ya man. I was so fucking drunk. It was the most fucked up thing that could have happened at that point man. I looked at you, and there was puke fucking spurting out the sides of your mouth. It was so trippy man.