07/23/2005 - 4:33 p.m. | suss suspect device

I apparently have got to learn to stay up later. The night I drunkenly passed out real early, fireworks were shot off, CO2 tanks were exploded with nails, math books tossed at moving vehicles, and loads more people came as Kyle and Tebben sat out on the front porch drinking wine until the sun rose. A more energetic drunk, I must be. Some sort of solemn oath I should make. With words scrawled on my forearm with a dagger or some sort of firewalking. It�s weird how I�m starting out on a tangent.

It�s been a long, exotic weekend, and details are not as clear as I would like them to be, but I�ll try to fill you in on what I can. Friday, after doing about the minimum amount of work possible, I came home to found Smacko had arrived. Yay, Smacko! Well, more specifically, yay pills! See, through a series of shady contacts I don�t quite understand, Smacko can now pretty much manage to get any prescription drug you could ever want � from this guy in India named Rajeev. Maybe this doesn�t sound entirely safe to you, but the pills do come in rather official looking blister packs, and Rajeev did frequently refer to Smacko as �friend� in e-mails, so that�s pretty much grounds for trust, am I right? So, this guy can get you whatever � and I�m certainly tempted with the idea of boner pills for life � but for now Smacko just got a whole lot of Xanax and Valium. I�d tried the former before (stolen from my late grandfather during his funeral actually), and the most it did was give me a headache, but I thought I�d have a chance with the latter � doin� the Valium Waltz and whatnot. A sucker for bargains, I bought 10 � only 25 dollars!! � and popped 2, then another 2 later on. Nothing. We read some guy�s drug log online, and it made it sound like time would be slowing down or I�d feel sort of content or something. The most I ever felt was a little stumbley for about ten minutes, and the hangover stomach death did not bother me quite so much, but that could have meant it was actually going away. Worse still, though, was that I couldn�t drink for the rest of the evening, as doing that might have a slight side effect of death. So I was stuck feeling nothing, unable to do anything so I could feel something, and meanwhile Smacko and Kyle are getting blitzed all around me. On the plus side, that was annoying to just about everybody, as their drinking dwarfs that of everyone else. As Shelly said, you can�t really get drunk around the two of them when they�re together; they�re like some sort of two-headed intoxication-sucking monster. They take what little buzz you have and absorb it their souls, leaving you sober and them that much drunker.

They did, however, invent a new drink... or at least a new, highly-obscure name for a drink. Earlier in the day, they were discussing a Hot Carl - a sex act wherein one shits on another's chest, at which point they are wrapped in cling wrap, as I am made to understand it. When they were doing quaffers of warm root beer and brandy later on, I guess they equated it as a similar experience and would call it the Hot Carl. Shelly, however, misundertood them and took it to mean something about Carl Winslow, the father on ABC's hit sitcom "Family Matters." This of course led the drink to the name of Urkel and from there Jaleel, as in Jaleel White, the actor who played Urkel. So there you are. Also, upon completing one of these concoctions, one is required to do the Urkel (the dance, I mean) or to ponder, "Did I do that?" in one's best Urkel impression. I don't make up the rules, I just note them.

I was getting ready to settle in for a really slow night, when suddenly fate intervened with a fun little side project for me. Andy was over (and Big Boobs and Becky maybe and blah blah blah), and his friend Jackson from IMSA was in town. Suddenly, Jackson gets this call from this girl Brianna in his hometown � a booty call specifically. I guess Jackson�s wanted a piece of this girl forever, but the most he�s ever gotten was a kiss, and now she�s calling him drunkenly, repeatedly, telling him how she�s at some party and how she wants him to come and fuck her. Jackson is a man incensed; he�s about to hope in his car and drive there himself, but of course he�s drunk off his ass. Now, I have no idea who Jackson is at all really � I met him one other time at the high school party we crashed while getting the Gays � but this certainly seemed like the best way to have an old fashioned sober good time! So I tell him I�ll drive � he lives in Mattoon, so it�ll only take about an hour � and we head out the door. The two of us are in the car, raring to go, even as various people come out from the house to try and prevent our little mission. I just keep telling them off so that we can get on the road, even if I am a little apprehensive about sharing a vehicle for an hour with a drunk stranger. Luckily, Kyle comes out and tells me he wants to come along two, but first he has to go grab something blah blah drunken mumble. So we wait another minute or two and Smacko jumps in with a bottle of brandy and some root beer. Andy follows shortly thereafter, trying to wrench the root beer away from Smacko for reasons unknown to me. Clearly, we can wait no longer (Kyle is operating on drunk time and cannot be trusted to do anything quick at all), so I pull away. Andy leaps on the side of the car, still trying to grab the brandy. I briefly weigh the options: Keep driving, and he will fall and get hurt. Stop again and start the whole crazy cycle of waiting some more. Eh, Andy�s a tough guy. I speed up and he drops off. Unfettered, we make our way to Mattoon as quickly as my maroon beast will allow.

So we�re cruising, and I�m happy because there are now two drunks in the car, which leaves me free to not make conversation if I so choose (Other than letting Jackson tell me how awesome I am). Brianna, the potential fuck in question, calls about every ten minutes, telling Jackson again and again how much she wants him and asking when he�ll be there. He keeps telling her to stay awake, just stay awake and then drinks more root beer and brandy to make sure he�ll be able to last along enough. Clearly, this must be a very hot girl, so I drove at a frenzied pace � the unspoken agreement being (I hope) that I will not be in charge of any tickets I receive. To calm his nerves or something, Jackson lights a cigarette and immediately starts puking out the winding as we�re driving along at 90. Yeah, good thing she�s drunk, I think � I would not want that mouth anywhere near mine at this point.

That came out gayer than I meant.

We get to Mattoon and stop for gas and a quick piss. Smacko comes back, stumbling happily (Of course they peed outside), and Jackson follows a little later, somewhat upset. �Man, I got things mixed up, man! I was taking a piss, but I got messed up, and all of a sudden I�m sharding.� I had not heard the term before, but I eventually figured out from context that he had tried to fart and had instead shat himself a little. Oh yeah, this boy�s ready for action!!

So we drive to Wal-mart to get Jackson some new boxers, and he�s kind of tearing through the store � except he doesn�t want the shit to get rubbed in further, so it�s more like a speedy waddle. And he�s running about at random, trying to find appropriate boxers in a drunken haze, the calls from Brianna now more and more frequent. �I want to fuck you, too! Just stay up ten more minutes.� lol, not a bold promise, is it? Smacko pulls a pair of socks out and suggests Jackson wears one on his cock. Vetoed, he tosses them on the floor and starts laughing to himself. I walk closer to the sock rack to see what�s so funny, and he�s pissing on the pair, right there in Wal-mart. How could this night not end pleasantly?

So, Jackson finally grabs a pair of silk dollar sign boxers (His logic there still eludes me) and asks some Wal-mart drone if he can just put them on and pay for them. She says a sale associate would have to monitor his changing, and that�s really fucking creepy, so we just pay and get out. We walk out to my car, and he needs to change, so we figure he�ll do it in the back or on the other side, but nope! Just rips off his shit right there in front of God and Wal-mart security cameras. Smacko and I quickly run around to the other side of the care while he does� whatever fucking took him so long. There�s a strange sheen on my windows, so I swipe my finger across and ask, �Is this fog or something?� �No, man. That�s vomit.� Oh. Jackson leaves his poopy drawers where they are.

Turns out it is an additional ten minutes to get to this party the girl is at. Unfortunately, from the discussions Jackson�s having with Brianna�s friends, it becomes increasingly apparent that they do not want Smacko or myself there at all. I feared they had heard of our last drunken journey into town, but they hadn�t, so we didn�t know what it was. Jackson just kept telling them over and over how hot we were. Uh. �No, they�re not drunk at all!� Uhhhhh. Finally, Jackson hands the phone to me, and I am told to describe myself, so I do. She goes, �Wow, you sound like you look just like me.� �Well, I do have the body of a 15 year old girl�� I�m not sure if that helped or not, but it hardly mattered, as we were nearly there and Jackson assured us we would be getting in no matter what.

We get to the street where we are supposed to be, and it is completely pitch black and silent. No cars around anywhere. We wander about for a little bit until some girl is sent out to get us. Jackson runs ahead, blood in the water now, and Smacko and I run to catch up, getting admonished several times by leader girl to �stop that whispering.� We go inside.

Clearly, we were misinformed about the whole �party� situation, and the girls� apprehension becomes a little more grounded. Apparently once upon a time there was a party there, but that filtered down long ago, and now we are in a completely dark house, keeping as quiet as possible, and there are a total of three drunk girls, Jackson, and ourselves (Smacko and I covertly high-five when it will go unnoticed). We stumble in, and the girls start going, �Who are these guys? What are they doing in my house? OH GOD WHY DIDN�T YOU TAKE YOUR SHOES OFF!� Sorry, my dear, we are grievously misinformed when it comes to trespassing etiquette.

I don�t even catch a glimpse of Brianna, as she and Jackson whisk away to get down to business. Smacko and I are shoved into a bedroom and told to sit on the bed where the other two girls join us presently. �Oh my God! What are you doing on my parents� bed?� Smacko�s patience is wearing thin; �You told us to sit on here, woman!� His frequent use of the term �woman� would always bring them to a froth whereas my coquettish �girl� somehow only earned my giggles. Perhaps they thought I was cuter.

Anyway, it was a rapid-fire getting-to-know-you session, and since I know Smacko�s been trying to get some for about 3 months, I tried to keep things on the up and up. Girls were divided in that unspoken code guys just seem to have built right in (Just like you girls have the ability to make anything passive-aggressive and horrible!!) � Smacko was to focus on Sarah, the dark-haired, just slightly chubbier one, and I was to have Meg, the blonde Abercrombie girl whose house we were invading. She was wearing shorts. They were both 17 and had had roughly a dozen shots. How could this not succeed? So we talked for a while, and they giggled at the nonexistent Southern accent Smacko supposedly has (I don�t hear anything other than Smacko in my mind, but he was about Forrest Gump to them, and they couldn�t go long without cackling), and Meg kept freaking out about us being there at her house because she is senior class secretary and if anyone caught her drinking they could call the school and she would lose the coveted position and so on and so on and so on. We continued to assuage their fears, but I could tell Smacko was getting just a little sick of it. Personally, I didn�t mind, because Meg was sort of hot, and her mood would sort of fluctuate between being frightened and being flirtatious, and that is actually fairly hot in and of itself. What can I say? I�m a sicko. They thought I was funny, though, as drunk girls usually tend to do, and I have a feeling that with a little more time and a lot more booze, we might have got somewhere, but clearly it�s not an adventure if things work out well.

Maybe 20 minutes in to this whole tryst, Jackson and Brianna come bursting out of their little love den and all hell breaks loose. We get the full story later on, but long and short of it was Jackson was finger-bangin� (Classy term, right? I was also so very appreciate that he noted he could still smell her on his fingers when we were driving home) her for about 10 minutes, her all going, �Yes! This is exactly what I wanted!� and such nonsense like that� until the alcohol, the very same alcohol that made her want Jackson in the first place, suddenly made her feel sick and not so very horny at all. Ah, Bicardi Raz, you tricky mistress. So, anyway, Brianna stumbles in and collapses on our bed, and Jackson storms off superpissed to go have a smoke on the porch, Meg and Sarah follow him, and suddenly we�re in a whole new awkward situation.

Incidentally, since we had gone through all this trouble for this girl, I�d been kind of disappointed when I didn�t get a good look at her when we came in. I was even more disappointed when I did get a good look at her, however. I thought she was gonna be all hot or something, and she was just this mediocre nugget.

Incidentally again, I have a Nate-Walsh-specific definition of �nugget� because every seems to vary on it a little bit. When I say nugget, I mean a short girl who is chubby (but not fat) and has big boobs. Usually a pig face is required, but we won�t set that in stone. And this doesn�t mean I love them any less when I�m drunk!

So now Smacko and I are faced with the awkward task of talking to Jackson�s once-potential-now-failed fuckee. Luckily, she is pretty talkative on her own, talking about what an asshole he is and how she�d already been with three guys that night (�Been� in the Victorian sense? I can�t say) and how Jackson was actually her second choice for booty call, the first guy not answering his phone or something. Oh, good. Well, that�s about enough to crush Jackson�s soul, thanks so much. Girl is clearly still sick, and we offer to help, and while most drunks like having their backs rubbed a bit, I eventually decided this was not the right course for the time.

Eventually, she decides to go talk with Jackson, which brings Meg and Sarah back to us. Smacko asks for some water, and Sarah brings him a shot glass, repeating his name several times. I took this as a good sign, like she was trying to at least remember the name of the guy she was going to hook up with. Meg laid down next to me, and I thought maybe it was a good idea to play with her hair, but I have such conflicting concepts of sin and morality that there was no way I could make that decision in five minutes�

�which is what we had because then Brianna and Jackson burst back out, and now it was time for us to leave. Sarah and Meg seemed genuinely sad that we had to go � see, we�re charmers, right? (Meg even said she bet we�d hang out if I was around more� That�s all the ego stroking I need for one evening) And like that we�re unceremoniously tossed out of the house, never to return, I�m sure. Jackson sent Brianna a text message with something like, �You�ve ruined me,� or something equally hilarious. There was talk of vandalizing Meg�s house, but as the sober voice of reason, I pointed out that we would pretty much be the prime and only suspects. Instead, we headed to the bar Jackson�s parents� owned, despite the fact it was 2:30, to see if we could get in for some drinks. We met with failure yet again� and yet somehow it was not the last time for the evening.

When I was lost delivering cookies in Savoy last week, I ended up at some poor person�s apartment complex (No doubt I have mailed them hundreds of letters already). While I rushed around trying to find the right apartment number, I spotted this John Deere Power Wheels vehicle just sitting on someone�s front walk. I did not have the time or manpower to get the job done, but like the Gays sign of so long ago, I made note of it. As we drove in silence (Smacko passed out in the front seat, Jackson nursing his boner in the back), I decided that we needed a win, so I took a turn by the theatre and quickly explained the situation. Smacko grunted unintelligibly, but Jackson knew the score. We parked right in front of the place, and I popped open the rear as Jackson dragged the vehicle over. As we struggled to make it fit in place (�I should been better prepared for this,� I self-admonished), a voice from nowhere suddenly yelled, �What you doin� there?� As always, standard vandal response: �Nothing� (Along with a whispered, �Drop it and let�s go!�) I already had the car started and rolling forward as Jackson leaped in and shut the doors as the voice yelled, �I�m callin� the po-lice on you!� Like hell you are, woman. This is my town, and I know how to dodge your law. Of course, I do have the most easily-identifiable car in the history of the world, but I made enough random turns and took enough strange lanes that I knew we�d be safe by the time we made it to the parking lot �round back. Of course, the next time I deliver cookies there�

In the end, it was pretty much a series of nonstop failures, but I think those make for the best stories anyway. I�d lost nothing, as Jackson gave me money for both gas and a car wash, and Smacko got to shoot down some fat goth who made eyes at him at the gas station. And there is one overtly positive note, however, in that I found an electronic lighter at a gas station without all those damn child safety devices.

I didn�t say it was a huge positive note.