Someone Tried To Kill Me Last Night
May 27th, 2006So it’s about 10am, I just got back to my place from an insane night that I don’t completely remember, but I’m pretty sure that someone tried to kill me at a bar. I am relatively certain that this episode serves as warning that my Memorial Day weekend is not going to be pretty.
It all began around 10pm, when I started the night off with two 16oz cans of Sparks Plus alcoholic energy drink. Hardcore drug users always talk about chasing the high that they got the first time, and such is the case with my relationship with Sparks Plus. The only difference is that I still feel like I am on crack each and everytime I down a can of Sparks Plus. Fuck, actually every can of Sparks Plus that I drink makes me feel better than the last.
Following my second can of Sparks Plus, I rolled out to a party with the crew and cracked open a 40oz of Mickey’s. Such is my style at any given party because dudes always say things like ‘Yo, dude! I fucking love Mickey’s!’ It never gets old. I met some pretty cool lesbians, whom I gave my blog address to and had an extended conversation about the porn industry with, and then I proceeded to urinate in the sink. I guess you could say that things were going pretty well.
About three quarters of the way through my forty, things took an unexpected turn for the worse. I had been heckling a guy all night who was making out with some chick in the middle of the party, and his friend decided that it was necessary to tell me to shut the fuck up. Rather than cutting to the chase he gave me the ‘Hey, it’s cool that you’re here, but you need to just stop talking’ speech. I was like ‘Um, did I even say anything to you?’ Obviously, I had my strap, as well as a crew to back me up, so this fool had absoutely no idea what he was getting into. Fat Dick is a lover not a fighter, though, so I was just like ‘Yeah, whatever’ and he went elsewhere. Wait, actually, correction. I had to say ‘Yeah, whatever’ like four times and after saying ‘Yeah, whatever’ the fourth time I also added that I had just said ‘Yeah, whatever’ three times before that ‘Yeah, whatever.’ Then he was like ‘I know you just said yeah, whatever three times.’ So I was like ‘Cool, so why are you still here?’ What a guy.
After that douchebag got out of my face I resumed heckling his friend and downing my forty. I guess you could say things were looking good. I was macking the honeys and sipping some quality malt liquor. Unfortunately, the cops showed up at this time. Why? Everyone knows that telling Fat Dick to stop heckling people at a party will eventually lead to police intervention. It’s as simple as that.
So the cops come through and I down the rest of my forty so I can bounce. Actually I downed all of my forty minus a sip that I was planning on saving for my homies until my Asian roommate was like ‘You didn’t finish all of your forty.’ I proceeded to leave the party, but I noticed a text from a chick telling me to come out to a bar. I then split up with the homies and head down to the bar, but I was having volume issues with my stomach at this point of the night after the forty and two Sparks Plus sixteen ouncers, so I kept dry-heaving while walking to the bar. I think everyone who passed me was a little freaked out.
Once at the bar I immediately hit up a Red Bull and vodka because I needed a little pick me up from the malt liquor I had just consumed. I met up with the chick who had texted me and her friends and everything was looking good. Oh yeah, when I arrived at the bar, ‘Juicy’ by The Notorious B.I.G. was playing. Not only is that song about me, but it is also probably my favorite song ever. I took it as a sign that good things were about to happen.
The next thing I knew, I was on my back. Not on the floor of the bar because that would have been nasty, but I was on my back on a barstool and some fucker was strangling me. At first I thought it was some kind of a joke done by some dude who had not seen me in a while, but this fuckface actually had beef with Fat Dick. So I’m on my back and this guy is strangling me and all he keeps saying is ‘Yeah, just keep talking’ but I keep trying to say ‘What the fuck are you talking about,’ which is kind of difficult considering I am being strangled. Then he switches to repeating ‘Just keep being sarcastic. See what happens.’ I tried to point out the fact that I was a really big deal, but I could not get out a whole sentence because I was being strangled, so I think I just said ‘Big deal!’ I don’t think he liked this, so he started saying ‘It’s real fucking easy. See, it’s real fucking easy.’ I think he was talking about how it was really easy for him to come out of nowhere and strangle me, which isn’t that amazing, but then he like wanted me to promise to stop talking or some shit like that. I actually have no idea what he wanted me to acknowledge, but he kept soliciting some type of response from me. The flaw in his plan was that he was strangling me, so I couldn’t really be like ‘Sorry for talking, sir.’ Eventually, this fucker pulled me back up and ran away like a pussy. I was completely confused as to what had just happened.
Actually, I am still pretty confused. Granted, the booze I consumed after that altercation helped a little with my confusion, but what the fuck? I don’t think that I had said anything to that guy. I saw him run back to his friends and even they were like ‘Um what the fuck did you just do?’ Very, very questionable.
I snagged a few more drinks at the bar and was out. I was walking back up to my place with the chick who had texted me and it was about 2:30am, so obviously nothing was open to quench my thirst for further activity. Nothing was open… except for hookah bars!
Somehow I got the idea to roll through a hookah bar. This idea never results in anything good. Not only did I go to a hookah bar, I went to the VIP room of a hookah bar. Why? Fat Dick is a big fucking deal. He doesn’t have time to fuck with peasants.
So we roll up in the hookah bar, experience really shitty service, and dance our asses off with like fifty new Persian friends. I was getting pretty freaknasty, and this creepy Persian dude in the corner kept pointing at me and saying ‘That guy!’ That was pretty sweet. There were some Persian hotties up in that piece. Basically, the hookah bar was going off and your boy Fat Dick was tearing it up on the dancefloor.
Once we were over it, I went to get the bill, which was like fifty-five bucks. That was quite surprising considering that we only ordered a hookah and two waters. Actually, we didn’t order the water, but this hookah bar does this thing where they just bring you water and then charge you like five bucks for it after you drink it. I was a little curious about the fifty-five dollar tab, but I was really wasted, and I genuinely enjoyed the dancefloor, so I didn’t ask any questions. Instead, I kept pointing at my credit card and saying ‘Run that shit, big guy!’ to the waiter. He really liked me.
This hookah bar escipade took us to about 3:30am. We got back to my place at about 4. I was still pretty wasted and ready to get the party started, but I was significantly disappointed when I noticed that all of my roommates were asleep when I returned to the crib. Come on, now.
I don’t know if it was this sense of disappointment or the heavy drinking I had done earlier in the night, but something prompted me to begin a blow session at that time, which was a blatant violation the rule that I had recently made for myself called ‘No blow after 4am.’ I thought I was really smart in making this rule because I was sure that it would eliminate the all-night binges and embarrassing afterhours activities that had been plaguing my life, but I failed to take into account the fact that blow always sounds like a really good idea when I am with a chick and I am significantly wasted and it is very late at night and/or early in the morning.
After we were done, I walked back to this chick’s place with her, and I am pretty unclear about what happened after that. I think one of us ended up passing out mid-session and then I woke up about an hour ago.
It is pretty clear that this three day weekend is going to be filled with a lot of drunken activities and me further embarrassing my family. Probably at least one other douchebag will try to kill me, also. Next time, I am pulling out my strap for sure.