Latest Entries »

A Sword Fight and A Foursome

So, as of a few nights ago, I received permission from granola to tell a story. Now I’m my own man, and I don’t need nobody’s permission fo shit. I do what I want yo!
But I respect my bros. So I kept it locked in my mind safe. And only I have the password for that.
But here goes. Not sure how much I remember from this night. It was a motherfucking American Pie party. So I was as smashed as Robert Pattinson’s pug ugly fucking face.
This is the story of Granola’s condo-warming/ 21st birthday party.

So Granola had just moved into his condo, and it was conveniently in the same month of his birthday. So this party was an obvious necessity. Which we most obviously need a repeat of. Eh Granola? Big wink.

So. Big turn out. Lotsa booze and lotsa peoples. And lotsa fucking crunkness. A lot of it coming from me.

Now to start off. Two beast swords. Two beast ass motherfucking swords. This was my gift to the beautiful man. And when he opened his gift, he tripped some major fucking balls. The idea came from How I Met Yor Mother. My hope was that he would hang these up in his new condo, just like in the tv show. That was a year ago now, and I still haven’t seen them. I may have spent nights crying over this. But I also may not have. It will forever remain a mystery.

But we did get good use out of them. It goes like this.

It’s not too far into the party yet. A decent turn out so far. Good guy girl ratio, which is a definite plus. Tipsy bitches here. Drunk assholes there. PornStar’s girlfriend, Princess, was in full fledged judge the sluts mode. I think she breathed fire.

And it’s around this point, the flirtiest damn girl in the place demands a sword fight. When I say flirty I’m being generous. This girl would drunkenly latch onto one guy, and when that guy stops paying attention, move onto the next, and repeat. And this happened repeatedly throughout the night. I think there were times that I looked at Princess, and she was actually lost for words with this disgusted look on her face. The way she looked at this girl could have killed a fucking rhinoceros.

So, sword fight. This chick, we’re gonna call her……Screech; she was so into the idea of having a sword fight that it was actually annoying. She kept going on and on about it. Someone should have stuffed something in her mouth.

Like, I dunno, cabbage or something.

But eventually drunken Granola agreed to the terms. And I followed them outside onto the front lawn of the condos. I’m not sure if anyone in the upper condos got a look at the new tenant trying to have a sword fight, but if they did, that’s fucking awesome. So they’re circling each other, and Granola has this huge, anxious smirk on his face. And last minute he bails out. And what did I do? Fuck that. I wanted to have a fucking sword fight. Which is funny because…..

Rooster: I wanna have a fucking sword fight.

So I grabbed the sword from Granola and got into this crazy ass pose with my right hand holding the sword over my head, crouched with one leg in front like a fucking Jedi.

Screech: Be careful! We’re having a fake sword fight!

Drunken Rooster: Fuck that! These are real fucking swords. I’m having a fucking real fucking sword fight!

If I’m holding a real fucking sword, I’m not having a fake sword fight. That’s fucking ridiculous. When I fuck, you think I fake fuck? Jesus fuck.

So I attacked. Now I don’t know if it looked awesome or anything. But fuck it. I felt like a fucking king. And it was extremely gratifying. It went on for about thirty seconds and then she screeched.

Screech: You cut me!

And she ran inside.

I fucking cut a bitch. I stood there for like, 10 drunken seconds all like……woah.

And to be entirely honest. I felt good. I walked back inside and everybody was talking about it. Asking me what happened and tripping balls and shit. And I go up to the bathroom and find that she’s in there with Granola, and she’s crying. I’ll admit, I felt a pang of guilt. But.

Rooster: Well fuck. She wanted a fucking sword fight. She knew what she was getting into.

And besides. It was just a cut on her finger. Yes, it bled. But come on.

Ultimately, I feel no guilt. Fuck that. This is super jokes. She wanted so annoyingly bad to have a sword fight. And she got what was coming to her.

I’m not saying I wanted to cut her. But it happened that way. Which is easily foreseen.

It’s not like. Don’t have a sword fight! You might get hit by a plane! Now THAT would be entirely fucking surprising. But one of these sharp weapons that we’re fighting with just happens to break the skin? Easily foreseen.

So this took up a lot of attention for the next hour or so. And I swear, the fact that I just cut her with a sword actually turned her on. She latched onto me for the next hour like she was gonna jump down my pants and fucking live there.

But I was so fucking annoyed with her that I wasn’t responding the way a guy should have. This night should have ended in a particular fashion.

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl have sword fight. Boy cuts girl. Girl cries. Girl wants boys cock. Boy power fucks girl.

But this isn’t what happened. I was a super dick to her from that point on, because I was so fucking FUCKING FUUUUUUUCKING annoyed with her and the whole situation. I was so mean to her, that it drove her away entirely. And ultimately, to another guy’s cock. Which leads to the rest of the party.

So after this the party fills up like a fucking U2 concert. But for better reason, because U2 wasn’t there.

But it’s safe to say the noise level rose like they were. In one corner FlipSide and I are jamming out on our acoustics with some of Granola’s older Jamaican friends. Which was fucking fantastic.

Middle of the room has a tiny game of Flip Cup going. And when I say tiny, I mean that literally. It was on a tiny table with tiny cups. People were actually on their knees.

In another corner, Princess is sitting there. Likely past judge and onto executioner mode. I’m not a slut, And I was terrified for my life.

Screech is making her rounds, from guy to guy, until she ends up in another corner. She’s dancing all slutty, with her super hot body. And starts make out sessions with a couple other girls that are present. One of Granola’s Jamaican buddies was literally open mouthed watching this occur. While a couple guys are filming this shit. Like I said. American Pie party.

All this is going down with music going in the background. It was fantastically chaotic. And you can quote me on that.

And after another ten minutes or so, I find out that Screech and two girls have moved into Granola’s bed room and closed the door.

No. Fucking. Way. I was entirely tripping balls over this. And I needed to see this. Just like every other guy present. So I walk up to the door, where JimJim and Strong are standing.  And I start telling people that I’m going in. My plan was to walk in all surprised looking for the bathroom. In the least subtle way possible. Foolproof. I know. But as I walk up, JimJim and Strong hold up their hands as if they’re bouncers.

Strong: You can’t go in man.

Rooster: Come on man! My plan is fucking brilliant!

JimJim: Granola’s in there.

Rooster: What?

Strong: Granola’s in there man.

Rooster: GRANOLA’S IN THERE!?!?

And the news spread through the party like a fucking forest fire. Granola was in the room with 3 fucking girls. 3 FUCKING GIRLS. Everybody fucking freaked out.

And Princess exploded. It took a bunch of us to put all the pieces back together. Princess and PornStar were the first to leave. With JimJim. And she wanted out so bad, she grabbed JimJim’s fucking newly opened beer and dumped it.

Now I won’t go into specifics here. Granola did get a good fucking time outta that experience. But unfortunately for him, the rest of the party owned his face.

This happening signalled the end of the party. And everyone started peacing out. And more than one person had stuff in Granola’s room. So needless to say. His party performed the biggest cock block in Canadian history. I included.

People kept opening the door to get shit. Screech was almost completely fucking naked fucking right away. And she may have gotten a little bit of Granola Bar. At least in the mouth.

But every time it happened.

Granola: GET THE FUCK OUT!

He screamed that at least 5 times before FlipSide and I got outta there.

And unfortunately. Granola’s hook up with 3 women, was rendered incomplete.

But despite that. Come on. What a fucking thing to happen when you get your first condo. Fucking boss mother fucker that Granola. I apologize on behalf of the entire congregation for the massive cock block. And I apologize to your awesome girlfriend for this story. (He was single the night of. Just in case anyone thought differently)

And that, my friends. Is the story of the sword fight, and the foursome.

Kentucky Fried Rooster

Good day my friendly friends. Today I go a fair distance back, 5 years or so. Back to my dumbass days. For those of you who have not read “Ignite Me”, first off, you blow entire ass. Quite literally. And second off, back in the dumb teenage stage, PornStar, Granola, Mysa, TinyBoi and I, used to do stupid shit, film it, and call ourselves Dumbass. We were no Jackass, mind you, but we did some fucked up shit.

The day is Halloween. The year, 07.

Now I am not a fan of Halloween. I stopped trick or treating somewhere around 8 or something. And unless I have reason, like dressing up as Wolverine while a current girlfriend dresses as The Phoenix, I won’t wear a costume.

On this particular occasion however, I had good reason. On this Halloween, I dressed as a fucking chicken. Well, it was a bit of a weak ass chicken, but a chicken nonetheless. Pornstar’s Mom had bought a fucking fifty dollar chicken mask for me, so you know it was legit. And I wore a super small fucking girl sweater that Mysa gave me. So really, I was a guy with a giant chicken mask, which I wore the fuck out of by the way, a tiny yellow sweater, and jeans. I was motherfucking Baws Chicken.

The plan. Go to KFC.

Yes. Mhm. I, Dressed as a chicken, went to Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Mysa filmed the entire thing, and to top it all off, she was dressed as Charmeleon. Fucking motherfucking fucking Charmeleon. It was excellent.

So I walk into KFC, all nonchalant and not giving any fucks at all. I hadn’t even done anything yet and all the patrons in this evil fucking fast food joint are mindfucked. People doing double takes and staring open mouthed and shit.

So I walk up to the counter, and stand at the end of the line. I’m entirely winging it. No plan whatsoever. Standing there basically acting as if I’m reading the menu. And most of the people in the line haven’t even noticed this motherfucking chicken kid standing there.

It gets to me, and I approach the counter. And the person next to me fucking freaks the fuck out. Silently, but rather obviously. And I look at her for longer then what is acceptable glance duration. Which freaks her out even more. And then I turn to the person at the counter. And this chick be trippin. And without even thinking about what I say.

Rooster: I want my kids back.

These wonderful KFC fucking employees were not trained for this shit. What the fuck are you supposed to do in this situation? COOK the giant chicken man? I can see the headline.

Hybrid Chicken Man Accuses KFC Of Stealing Children, KFC Cooks It

So these people have no idea what to do. How to proceed?

Rooster: Someone took my children. I really miss them. And I know it was you!

The younger employees weren’t even laughing. What the fuck, you think this ISN’T a joke? You think I’m a real fucking chicken?

Cause obviously I was.

So at this point the “badass” one steps forward.

Mr. Badass: C’est quoi tu fait man. (French for what are you doing man. For those of you non French speakers)

Rooster: You kidnapped my fucking children. And now you’re gonna fucking cook them. And bread them. Then Bitches are gonna eat them. And I want them back! Gimme my fucking kids!

Mr. Badass says nothing and just looks at me. The other employees behind have no more fucking jaws, seeing as they fell through the fucking floor.

Rooster: GIVE ME MY KIDS BACK!

And Mr. Badass’ response was to grab the chicken mask and yank it. Oh now you fucken gone and done it fuckstick. I’m a fucking chicken. And a fucking chicken does not take kindly to having his face pulled. So I slapped his hand away super hard. Which completely scared the fucking everything out of him. And I screamed fucking loud as shit.

Rooster: THAT’S MAH FACE!

And this is the point I felt it appropriate to squawk in his goddamned face. I swear to fucking Yoda, I got so close to his face when I squawked, I could have snapped his nose off with my real fucking chicken beak.

I then proceeded to run around KFC multiple times flapping my arms and squawking like the pimp fucking chicken I was.

What a fucking scene I made. Rest assured, everyone in that place will never fucking forget that crazy shit. I made their lives.

P.S I fucking hate KFC

A Blowfish Wedding

As of last Monday, Blowfish is married. You already knew this was coming up if you’ve read my previous blog entry. If not, go read it. Fuckerface. So Blowfish is now married to an awesomely awesome woman. Blowfishette is so sweet and she’s the best thing that has ever happened to Blowfish. I’ve never seen him so happy. Although I am legitimately disappointed that Blowfish is not my wife, I think I can get over it. I think it’s safe to say they’re the best married couple ever in existance. Until I get married that is. *Wink Wink*.

But Seriously, to Blowfish and Blowfishette, I wish you guys all the best. Do me a favour and own the shit out of all other married people. If that’s cool with you. Kthxbye.

So moving on, the story of the Blowfish wedding.

Part 1. Morning.

So Chinese weddings are different than the weddings of us normal people. (I’m kidding about the normal people bit, for those of you who are sensitive) To start things off, all the groomsmen need to go to the groom’s house, for something they call pickup games. I’ve never heard of anything like this and I’d be surprised if you have. Basically, the groomsmen and the groom have to do these mad embarrassing things in order to get into the house so the groom can see the bride. Super weird, BUT. It was awesome. And mad fucking jokes.

So the best man, FlipSide, and the rest of the groomsmen; Aces, Hurley, Granola, Remicks and I, all suit the fuck up, and head over there for 930 in the morning. (Remicks wasn’t a groomsmen, he was actually the priest. Hold onto that info for a while, I’ll come back to that later.) None of us had any idea what this morning entailed. So everything was normal, we went about our business, getting ready and shit. The photographers took crazy boss photos of us manly fucking men in our beast ass attire. We were totally pimp. And the photographer was super jokes and kept talking in a british accent. His line of the night being the word “tight”. And Hurley saying some of the jokesest fucking things. Sometimes we don’t even know where they come from.

—    Photographer: Alroight Guys, Lets git toighta Now. C’mon now. TOIGHT!

Hurley: Toight Loike A Potato!

Rooster: What the fuck is tight like a Potato?

Hurley: It sounded good with a British accent.

So to the pickup games. The first game, each of us had to hold a yoga pose for one minute. Aces got the worst fucking one. He had to bend over backwards and plant his hands on the ground. Needless to say, his was not a success. But fucking Hurley DESTROYED. Seriously, looking over at him, he had this weird pose where he was on one foot, leaning forward with his body in some strange position. And he was as still as a statue. If I was a pigeon, I would have landed on this guy. Maybe even taken a shit on him.

After this we had to make a pyramid. Which is self explanatory, and as a story not all that funny. What was funny, was Aces. He was next to me on the bottom of the pyramid, and after we built it, he randomly starts dying. Laughing like crazy and trying to keep it under his breath.

Aces: Dude. Oh my god. There’s like a hundred asians watching us right now. We’re like their white entertainment. I’m tripping so much balls.

For the third game, the bridesmaids gave each of us a diaper containing a mess of whipped cream and chocolate syrup. And our task was to do 10 pushups, and lap up the “shit” out of the diaper every time we go down. 6 fucking guys in tuxes and suits, doing pushups in their front lawn, and eating from a diaper. Everybody was nice and clean though. No mess.

Wait. What? Did I just say no mess? Sorry I’m a fucking liar. I Obviously got chocolate stains on my tie and my fucking shirt. Those of you who know me, would not be surprised by this. Everyone else was fine and fucking dandy, no stains, no mess. But me. Somehow I got it in my fucking HAIR. Needless to say, the Mcdonald’s bib that they gave us for protection didn’t do shit.

So two more relatively embarassing games later, we finally help Blowfish get inside, and see his bride. And she looked beautiful. Good fucking job Blowfish you lucky guy.

Part 2. The afternoon.

So after eating lunch, where the bottomless pit that is Remicks ate the equivalent of a fucking whale shark, we hop in some limos and head off to the Botanical Gardens for pictures.

Getting in this limo was fucking paradise. It was so hot outside in our full tuxes, we almost fucking died. And getting inside, the others won’t admit this, but I’m pretty sure we collectively orgasmed.

To the Botanical Gardens. Though it was totally worth it in the end, this was probably the most uncomfortable I’ve been in my entire life. Midday, outside, and in a fucking tux on one of the hottest fucking days I can remember. All the lucky ass bridesmaids got to wear their damn dresses while us men were roasting. I think there’s a mild possibility that I would have swapped a while with one of them, I think I could have looked rather pretty in a shiny purple dress.

Now as soon as we got to the Gardens, we knew bad times were comin. Crazy clouds in the sky called for a nice downfall of rain. Our best hope was to get all the pictures taken before this happened. Unfortunately for us the sky opened up and just dropped everything it had on us. And we managed to squeeze the 20 of us or so under some kind of random shelter we found. And after a little bit it was pretty fucking obvious that we were fucked, and this rain was not about to let up.

It’s at this point that the photographers and Remicks start trying to convince everyone to make a run for the indoors section of the garden. Which was a decent distance away, and while it may have been possible for us, and maybe even the bridesmaids. This was not a good idea for the girl in the damn wedding dress.

And that’s when an idea comes to Remicks. Next thing I know, Remicks and Granola are taking off into the rain. Their self appointed task? Stealing a giant fucking umbrella from the tables across the courtyard. The few people around were frozen watching these two guys in suits trying to get this umbrella free. In the POURING rain. It took them like 3 minutes to figure out how to get it out. Even some of the employees stopped to watch. It was fucking heroic. I’m gonna hire a bard to sing songs about them all across the land.

So they come back to escort the first group across. And on the second trip, Remicks takes off again while Granola brings the second group. And then fucking Remicks is back in a matter of seconds with a fucking second umbrella. Like I said. Heroic as fucking Thor.

Part 3. The wedding and the night.

Given that the place they had their ceremony and reception was totally fucking boss, obviously the ceremony was beautiful. Blowfish and Blowfishette looked amazing. And Remicks married them.

Yes. Our short Italian Godfather married the two Asians in front of an almost entirely Asian congregation. And wait, I’m not sure, but did I mention he did half of it in Chinese?

No? Well now you know. It was totally boss. And a little bit jokes. Before the ceremony I was with Remicks, Blowfish and one of his cousins, and Remicks was reciting the Chinese part. As you can probably expect, this isn’t the easiest languange for an English guy to learn on short notice. And there was one line he couldn’t get right. According to Blowfish’s cousin, if he had said it wrong, he would have basically said, “They’ve been together for two nipples”.

So he didn’t say that line at all.

So now to the reception. Apparently, the 97 course meal was fucking amazing. I wouldn’t know seeing as I can’t do any kind of seafood. So I basically just ate a bunch of bread. Which meant that I proceeded to get fucking facefloor smashed. Sitting at the table with the groomsmen and Hurley’s girlfriend, one course in and I’m already on my 6th drink.

At one point Aces had the amazing idea to ask the bartender about a drink one of our favorite songs is named after. The drink being Soco Amaretto Lime. Excellent drink. And I had about fucking twenty of them. At least half of these before fucking 8 o clock. Here are a few exchanges involving drunken Rooster.

— While repeatedly hitting a bunch of dangling tear drop shaped ornaments on the lamps.

Rooster: THESE THINGS ON THE LAMPS LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF BALLS.

Granola: Dude you’re fucking drunk.

I get up and run to other tables.

Rooster: THESE LAMPS HAVE BALLS. LOOK AT THE BALLS!

— For some reason, at one point we all started singing I Will Always Love You by….what…Whitney Houston or some shit?

Hurley: Rooster, I think you’re singing just made me pregnant.

Rooster: It’s cause I have a really high sperm count in my voice.

Maybe halfway into the meal, we had to do some of our groomsmen duties. This consisted of following the bride and groom and their family and cheersing EVERY TABLE. It was simple really. We had to drink anything anyone gives us. Whether it’s wine, champagne, or fucking rum. And if anybody said the words, “Yam Tsai”, you had to down your entire drink. And as you can imagine, any time Remicks or FlipSide or anyone looked at each other. Yam Fucking Tsai.

It got to a point where we needed refills so often, a waitress followed us from table to table with a bottle of champagne. She had this look of complete astonishment at how fast she was going through bottles. It was fucking hilarious. And we were beast.

Now I’ve already mentioned how awesome the photographers were. On top of that, they set up this photo booth with props and all this shit that anyone can use for free. And it had a huge screen that displays each photo that’s taken for the entire reception to see. Obviously we destroyed that fucking booth. Our group spent at least a third of the reception in there at least. It was some of the most fun I’ve ever fucking had. And I’ve been inside a vagina. So you can take my word for it.

After the Yam Tsai business, we’re back at our table. And Remicks is with us talking some drunken nonsense that I don’t fucking remember. Whatever. And the next thing I know he’s gone. I look over at the photo booth and see a photo of a bunch of chicks, And Remicks fucking right in the midst of them. It’s like he fucking teleported. He was just talking with us 20 FUCKING SECONDS BEFORE. This guy has some fucking beytie sixth sense. If there is a congregation of the opposite sex, Remicks is drawn towards it like a fucking asteroid.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. Random shit happened at random times. Everybody is fucking drunk as fuck from the goddamned open bar.

At one point I come storming into the photo booth screaming.

Rooster: EVERYBODY OUT! I’M TAKING THE BEST FUCKING PHOTO IN THE WORLD!

I was entirely serious about this statement. And nobody seemed to fucking get it. Actually, it’s more likely that everyone didn’t care and wanted to fuck with me. Cause my buddy Yams wouldn’t get out. I remember him refusing, laughing the entire time. And people started throwing shit at me, and taking photos of me nonstop to document my ensuing drunken fucking temper tantrum.

I was completely adamant about this, and I would not leave until the best photo ever was taken. And eventually I succeeded. I haven’t seen it since, but at the time, I was completely overwhelmed with pride. If I remember correctly, I’m centered in the photo, coming towards the camera screaming intensely with my hands balled into fists. Like the motherfucking Hulk. I love myself.

So by now most of the family has cleared out and it’s basically just the younger crowd. So we found ourselves partying with Blowfish’s Asian cousins. And these guys are fucking monsters. Fucking huge partiers. And everyone is entirely fucking drunk. Which was then helped further along by the cousins.

— FlipSide: Bartender! 4 tequila shots.

Cousin: MAKE IT 20!

— Remicks: Could I get 2 rum and cokes?

Cousin: Fuck that. MAKE IT 20!

FlipSide: TWENTY!??

— Aces: Bartender. Gimme what you think I look like I need right now.

Bartender: ………..

Cousin: FUCKING MAKE IT 20!

So again. Just to reiterate. All of us. Smashed.
Blowfish ends up back with us and he is destroyed. Completely fucked out of his mind. And unfortunately by the end of the night, puking his mind out to the world. Apparently his plane ride was not that amazing the following morning.

And at one point I approach FlipSide and he is SMASHED. He’s got his arm around one of the cousins, and I kid you not, this is what he said.

FlipSide: ROOSTER. Rooster! This guy right here! This guy is the understanding of drinking!

What the fuck does that even mean?

Epilogue.

So I was the first to peace out. My ex girlfriend was there with the current boyfriend. And he started having some kinda tantrum. So I was like. Fuck that. Drama starting? I’m out.

So I walked back to the hotel and went to sleep. And about an hour later, I get a phone call that takes me out of my drunken stupor.

FlipSide: ROOSTER! ROOSTER WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!? ARE YOU AT THE HOTEL?

Rooster: The fuck are you yelling for? Yeah I’m at the hotel.

FlipSide: Dooooooooooood. Can you come find me? I don’t know where I am. I’m so drunk.

Rooster: ………

FlipSide: Wait. Waiiiiiit. I see the sign.

Rooster: What the fuck are you saying?

FlipSide: I see the sign for the hotel! I’m good.

Rooster: Alright. Where’s Granola?

FlipSide: Oh my god Granola. Where the fuck is Granola? *Click*

I think I layed there for a couple minutes thinking the same thing before falling back asleep. And when I was woken up again as FlipSide stumbled into the room. I found out where Granola went.

It turns out the motherfucker had a crazy adventure of his own. Him and Aces went with two of Blowfish’s cousins to find an after hours club. But just ended up in china town. They drunkenly ordered 150 dollars worth of fucking chinese food. And they served them beer in tea pots and tea cups since it was 4 in the morning. Which leads to wake up # 3.

It’s fucking 6 o clock in the morning, and I’m woken up by fucking pounding on the door. When I open it I’m completely baffled by the sight in front of me.

Granola and Remicks are standing there. Remicks is holding boxes of food. And they’re both fucking COMPLETELY drenched, still in their suits. Apparently it had rained up a motherfucker while we were asleep. And Remicks was stuck in it all alone for 3 hours. When the China Town group showed up, he started devouring noodles with his hands because there weren’t any chopsticks.

It was a fucking heartbreaking sight. I stood there half asleep without saying fucking anything. Just staring at them. Granola comes in and takes my comforter.

Granola: I’m just gonna fucking sleep on the floor.

I barely got back to sleep when AGAIN, there’s fucking pounding on my goddamn piece of shit fucking door. And I get up and there’s another one of my boys. He was nicknamed Fucker by PornStar back in the day.

Fucker: Dude. I need somewhere to sleep. I can’t drive my car.

Rooster: Uhhhhh. Alright just come sleep in my bed.

And I finally got to fucking sleep. With Fucker next to me, for like 3 fucking hours.

Crazy fucking day.

Bachelor Party: Blowfish

So I’m not entirely sure how to start this, as I am still tripping balls over the awesomeness that is the night that spawned this story. So awesome was this night that I don’t think I will ever sleep the same again. And I love sleep. My future children will pale in comparison to the memory of this night. No woman will ever be able to rock my world like this night did. Seriously, I cannot drill this home enough. I FUCKING LOVE THIS NIGHT. I think I might wanna take it for a midnight walk, possibly on an old stone bridge with a nice midsummer breeze blowing through this night’s hair. Hopefully with a full moon high in the sky, casting a beautifully natural night light across the bridge. So I can take this night, right there, for all the world to see.

Okay, so I think I’m good now. But seriously, read this story. It may be a little long. I don’t know yet, seeing as this is the second paragraph and I’m not Future Rooster. Take the time though, or the devil will eat your children.

We’re all still pretty young over here. So there’s definitely more of these to come. But the first of us is taking the leap into the bottomless pit that is marriage. (I say that to try and sound cool. But I totally don’t mean it. I’m totally stoked to eventually get married. I’m a hopeless romantic. So line up ladies. Rowr.) But yes, this beast of a man, Blowfish, is getting married. And now I get the privilege of telling the story of his bachelor party.

So we start off by suiting up to different degrees. Some more than others. Like Remicks and Aces. These guys suited up to the max. Which is fucking crazy because it was FUCKING HOT. But Remicks was hilarious. This guy is a short, loud, Italian dude with a bigass fucking personality. And he looked like a fucking mobster. So for this story, I’m changing his name to TheGodfather. So we surprise Blowfish, make him change out of his work clothes in the middle of the street, and head off.

Now I get to tell you about bachelorette party number one. As we’re walking down the road we see a group of women in ridiculous spandex clothes of bright pink and yellow and green. They looked super jokes. They were a strange assortment of girls. Some looked like they were 40 years old. And I kid you not, one of them was preggers. Like, 6 month Preggers. And they ask us to take a photo of them. And as we’re walking away I get everyone’s attention.

Rooster: Yo, guys. We gotta get Blowfish to take a fucking photo with them! Why the fuck didn’t we?!

At this, TheGodfather, without saying a word, fucking tears off around the corner after the bachelorette party. Picture this. A short dude with a big, grey suit on, sprinting towards a group of colorful spandex-clad girls screaming for them to wait. That’s Super Bowl commercial material.

Now even though, collectively, this was not the most attractive group, they were fucking crazy. Upon asking the girls to take a photo with Blowfish, shit just went bananas. I don’t even know how it got to this. But next thing we know, Blowfish and the bachelorette are standing face to face, holding hands. She has a veil on, with little dicks all over it, which the chicks just procured out of nothingness. And TheGodfather is literally pronouncing them husband and wife. Right there on the side of the road. Luckily for him she was probably the cutest one of them. At least he wasn’t marrying some pregnant chick. And following this one of the girls comes up with the fantastic idea to make him take a shot from the bachelorette’s tits. They weren’t large tits, rather small actually, but they were perky. So it’s all good. Nobody has any alcohol on them, so one of the girls runs up to her, and pours water into the shot glass. Well, to be specific, she dumped water all over her tits, and some of it got in the shot glass. But none of us were complaining. Fantastic way to kick off this motherfucking night.

Fastforward to dinner. We all eat a boss ass dinner at this Italian restaurant that I don’t remember the name of, whatever, it’s irrelevant. What becomes relevant is what occurs next. We’re all outside the restaurant waiting for Blowfish to come out. And out comes bachelorette party number two. These girls were FUCKED UP. Like, I don’t just mean intoxicated, I mean Fucked the Fuck up. Fucking screaming and being all insane and shit. We convince the bachelorette to hide at the side of the door, with some big blow up baseball bat that she’s carrying around.

Now I need to put something into perspective here. Blowfish has been safely drunk for an hour or two. Tipsy at least. And I never told him this, but I realized that the drunker this guy gets, the louder his speech becomes. He doesn’t know this is happening either. So the entire dinner anything he would say was rather loud. And when this chick jumped out at him and smashed him with the bat, he fucking yelled. It scared the shit out of him.

So the girl starts slamming him with the bat. And starts screaming something so fucking funny. And I had no idea what the fuck she was screaming it for.

CrazyBachelorette: PEARL HARBOR! PEARL HARBOR!

She was screaming it over and over again with her high pitched screech and her french accent. I fucking died. Later on Hurley told me he told her to do this cause Blowfish is Asian. Fucking guy. And as she’s doing this one of the other girls comes up to Blowfish, We’re gonna call her, EvenCrazierThanBacheloretteGirl. And she’s also screeching at the top of her lungs.

At this point everything is mayhem. I couldn’t tell you a thing anybody was saying. Because in my head, it’s just a mass of screeching like barbarian warrior women from the fucking jungle. Like fucking Xena Warrior Princess. And the more I try and bring it back the more funny it’s getting. CrazyBachelorette is still wailing on Blowfish with the bat. And EvenCrazierThanBacheloretteGirl fucking tears off his shirt. Seriously, it came off so fast I would have believed that he wasn’t even wearing one in the first place. And from there she proceeds to get on her knees, undo his belt and pull down his pants. We all were genuinely convinced that this crazy girl was gonna blow him right fucking there in front of the restaurant. It was crazy as shit.

She didn’t end up doing it, but fuck my face was it jokes. They were good sports these crazy girls though. After all this they gave the guy hugs and then ran off down the road. I think they actually just fucking ran away. I can’t say for sure. Blowfish had a few words to say about the matter. I’m going to type it in caps since he was still drunk, and therefore still yelling.

Blowfish: I THOUGHT THEY WERE FUCKING HOOKERS. I TRIPPED FUCKING BALLS. I SERIOUSLY THOUGHT YOU HIRED HOOKERS TO BLOW ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. BUT THEY’RE JUST ANOTHER FUCKING BACHELORETTE PARTY!? TONIGHT IS FUCKING CRAZY.

Fastforward to one of our oldest pubs. We’ve been going to this place for 7 years. So many memories at this place. Fucking filled with nostalgia. And after drinking there everything Blowfish says is a yell. We buy him shot after shot and he gets Trainwreck drunk.

One of the best things about this bar has always been the bartender. For the first 5 years we’d been going there, it had this bartender. Loud, saucy, hilarious, totally inappropriate. Everything this women said was the funniest it could possibly be. She was always so awesome with us. And she had huge fucking boobs. HUGE. And she knew it, exploited it, and threw it in our faces. Pun intended.

So Boobs hadn’t been there any time that we went there for like two years. Which was a total bummer. I might have cried a little. But I’m not admitting that. So fuck off. Assholes. Anyways. By some crazy act of faith, she was actually there this time. Which blew our minds. And after drinking a significant amount we all get ready to peace the fuck out to our next destination. But as we’re going out Boobs uses her gift to distract the entire lot of us. Which worked, obviously. And she basically MADE Blowfish take a shot out of her tits. And this one was unbelievable. Fuck that other girl with the tiny perky tits. When I saw Boobs standing there pushing them together with a shot in them, I’m pretty sure my eyes shot out of my head like a fucking cartoon. Blowfish is tripping mad balls. And Aces and TheGodfather get to fucking ride a goddamn motorboat on those things. Which they totally didn’t deserve, and I am legitimately jealous about.

So once Boobs let us go, we go to our next bar, Hurley’s. But on the way there. We meet bachelorette party number 5. There were two more before this, but they don’t make a good story. One was a bunch of old bitches. And the other had candy stuck to her dress. Which some of us got to eat.

But this girl. This girl was a knockout. Fucking stone cold fox. And all her friends were hot too. And we see them across the street coming out of a hotel stumbling around and shit. And one of us screams BACHELORETTE, which sends them into fits of hysterics and next thing we know we’re all across the street with them. A buncha hot drunk beyties and a buncha suited up drunk guys.

All of this is jumbled together and shit cause I was fucking wasted at this point. Her friend tells us she has a checklist she needs to complete. First thing being, she needs to exchange clothing with a guy. So Blowfish takes off his shirt, and puts on this red sash that she had on. Which looked super gay, but super jokes.

Another thing on her list was to find someone with a condom, which turned out to be me. I gave her a condom, and she blew up that condom in the middle of the road. She wasn’t very good at it either. But again, like many other times in the night, we’re not gonna fucking complain. And then she got Aces to practice walking down the aisle with her. And then she actually had TheGodfather undo his shirt. And she yanked out his chest hair. Not just a lock of hair. It was like a fucking handful. And she was entirely disgusted with herself. Imagine being someone on the sidelines, watching a huge group of drunkass fucks doing all this. Fantastic shit.

So that is the story of Blowfish and his many bachelorettes. Honestly, nobody could make this shit up. When going out for this night, we could never have imagined this crazy shit going down. One of us should get married every fucking month. Goddamn.

That wasn’t the end of the night, we went on to drunkenly stumble through bars and strip clubs. Fucking round after round of beer at Hurley’s. Giving deep speeches and cheersing all around. TheGodfather asking this random older chick who was talking to a bunch of us if she’s 47. She didn’t take that too well.

We Jammed out with a hobo on the side of the road. Singing Pink Floyd and Guns N Roses. FlipSide and Granola totally hit it off with this fucking hobo. And Aces busted out the best fucking freestyle I’ve ever heard in my life. Which we’ll never remember. Unfortunately.

And the strip clubs? Hah. Well. You know.

When I was in kindergarten….. we never did have nap time. And I am gravely saddened by this.

Naps are totally fucking sweet.

Pick Up Fuck

So. As you all know. I’m Rooster. And with this little entry here I’m gonna try and help you understand what it’s like to be Rooster.

Not like, by explaining to you about crowing at the sunrise, that would be strange. But I suppose I could if you insisted…….you fucking weirdo.

No, today I’m going to tell a short story to give you a bit of insight into my absentminded retardobrain.

Place: PornStar’s pick-up truck.

So PornStar and I are headed out to get FlipSide from his place of employment. Now I’m relatively used to his pick-up now, or so I like to think. But at this moment in my life, I was most certainly not.

So we pull up at FlipSide’s work. And he walks around to the passenger side to get in, while I move over into the middle seat. And just as he opens the door:

ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

The truck accelerates like a motherfucker, slamming the passenger door, and leaving FlipSide freaked the fuck out behind it.

Now all of this happens in a total of about five fucking ridiculous fucking seconds.

I’m completely oblivious, head in the fucking clouds, no fucking idea what’s going on. And I look at PornStar with huge eyes. He is already looking at me, and I completely misjudge his facial expression. Which obviously said something like, “You are so fucking stupid, you waste of human space”.

Rooster: Dude. What the fuck are you doing?
PornStar: You fucking idiot! It’s fucking you!
Rooster: OH SHIT!

And I looked down, and took MY FUCKING FOOT off the gas pedal.
Yes. That’s right people. I actually UNKNOWINGLY pressed on the gas pedal, while a PASSENGER. Following this, I, completely unaware, kept my foot on it for FIVE FULL SECONDS before taking my foot off.

When FlipSide got in the truck finally, he flipped the fuck out. Obviously, at PornStar, because what other conclusion could he have come to?
That, somehow, the other guy in the truck did it? HAH. How is that even possible?

FlipSide: Dude. That was so gay. I almost fucking died.
PornStar: It was Rooster.
FlipSide: Fuck off man.
Rooster: No really it was me.

And FlipSide looked at me with complete astonished disbelief. Obviously.

And I think you’d believe, I’m never gonna live this one down. These two guys certainly haven’t shut up about it.

I genuinely did not know what I was doing. And I don’t understand it, really. It fucking baffles my brain. I actually thought it was PornStar just fucking around. But it was just my clumsy absentminded fucking self.

And that, my lovely four readers, is an insight into what it’s like to be a fucking idiot. Wait no, sorry, an insight into what it’s like to be me. My bad. You’ll see as these posts keep coming, it’ll be a recurring theme. I’ve tried to analyse these situations, maybe understand how I can be like this. But fuck if that’s paid off.

I’ll keep you apprised.

Ignite Me

Alright, so, I took a big break. After only writing like, two blog entries. Cause I’m a huge loafer and didn’t feel like sitting in front of my computer and typing up another story.

So this one I’m going fucking legend.

Back in our younger days, a group of us used to do stupid shit. We still do, but we did back than too. And we called ourselves Dumbass. Which is obviously cheaply derived from the legendary Jackass boys. But fuck it. I don’t give a shit. This story became the stuff of legend. (Possibly only in my mind)

PornStar was always the craziest motherfucker out of all of us. Seriously, any amount of time with this guy would lead to such a torrent of hilarity and crazy shit that I’m surprised one of us isn’t dead right now. We could get him to do the most ridiculous shit. And half the time he would come up with the ideas for the most ridiculous shit. And this particular occasion was probably the dumbest fucking thing we have ever done.

PornStar wanted us to set him on fire. I mean, really wanted us to. Like to the point where I think it was just safer for us to light him on fire than not. I don’t know what drove him to want this so much, but he was so adamant about it, that obviously, it became the best idea in the world. I remember his girlfriend at the time was flipping the fuck out.

Girlfriend: No! I forbid you to let them set you on fire!

PornStar: Bitch! Shut the fuck up!

I don’t think PornStar said that. But I like to believe he did.

So we get together with Granola and a guy who we used to chill with sometimes, Carpenter. And the question arises. How do you intelligently set a guy on fire? HAH. Intelligently set a guy on fire. That sounds fucking stupid as shit. And we have no idea how to do this, so we wing it. I had this huge ass sweater, and we stick it in the freezer for a couple hours till it froze. And we head out.

The three of them get themselves some forties, and get Fuckass drunk, while I stay sober. Because, well, a bunch of drunk guys with the intention of setting a guy on fire sounds about as smart as fighting a pack of rabid dogs. None of us have a pool for him to jump into to put out the fire, so we walk to a nearby bridge, the Jacques Cartier. The place is fenced off so we have to sneak in under the fences so we don’t get caught trespassing. I think on that day we were fucking wizards. Cause we were probably as subtle as a fucking headshot. Falling over fences and screaming and shit. And than setting a guy on fire? Somehow nobody caught us. Skillzz with a double zed bro.

The Ignition

So here we are under the bridge. Granola is holding the video camera, and I am the designated lighter of the fire. PornStar puts on the frozen sweater, puts the hood up, and I take out the gasoline.

So now he has 3rd degree burns all over his body. It’s really unfortunate.

Trollllllllllllllllin. I didn’t use fucking gasoline. The fuck is wrong with you? Are you that easily convinced? Jesus. Who’s dumb enough to pour gasoline all over their friend and then set him on fire. That’s fucking crazy. Dumbass.

It was rubbing alcohol. I doused PornStar from head to toe, in rubbing alcohol. At least we took the smart route right?

So now it’s time to do this thing. We’re all set, PornStar is ready, he gives the signal, and yells the most epic two words he could possibly use to kick this thing off.

PornStar: IGNITE ME!

And I do just that. In quick succession, I light his two pant legs, his back, and the back of his head (hood up obviously) on fire.

It was completely and fucking entirely insane. One of the most insane things I have ever seen in this mediocre fucking life. As he stands there, with the camera trained on him, he raises his arms up to both sides, and starts yelling like he’s trying to go over 9000. The flames raised from his head and hands what seemed like fucking 10 feet in the air. And he looked like a goddamned monster. Like the fucking Human Torch. He took the flames for about a full 20 seconds. It was fucking Legendary. And than when all was said and done, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He fell back into the St. Lawrence river. And for those of you who aren’t from Montreal, which is none, The St. Lawrence river is a dirty ass fucking river in Montreal.

So to make things simple.

PornStar got set on fire, and jumped in the St. Lawrence.

Legend.

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.

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.