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Story Time with EG - ***OFFICIAL THREAD*** (The "Magnum Opus" is complete 5/17/18) (2 Viewers)

Evilgrin 72

Distributor of Pain
By popular demand, I'm firing this up. This will now be the thread in which I deposit stories and anecdotes for public consumption. I appear (as of now) to have a small block of time and am hoping to put up the story before COB today that I promised a little while back in another thread - detailing the one and only time I have defecated in my own trousers. It's also been requested that I put the other stories I've told here in one place for folks to read, and that's where I need your help. A few, I remember off the top of my head, but by and large, I tend to forget which ones I've regaled the FFA with and which ones I have not yet typed up. So, if you have a favorite, please feel free to copy and paste it here. If you recall one, but are having trouble (or don't feel like) finding it, give me as many details as you can and I'll see if I can locate it at some point. I truly appreciate it.

These slow afternoons come so much more infrequently than they used to that I can't promise any kind of regular contribution, just know that when I have the requisite time and inspiration, I will add to this. Now, to get down to typing on the story promised above - if I can get through the next little while without interruption, it should be up fairly soon.

 
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Imagine if you will....

It's early December of the year 2000. My brother (the Ox from the eat-off videos) and I are living in a 5th floor penthouse apartment in downtown Salt Lake City, UT. Ox is moving back to New Jersey to be with his then-girlfriend (now wife) after about a year of complete drunken debauchery (yes, in Utah) and we're having one last send-off bar crawl for him. About 25-30 people have assembled at the apartment and we're striking off to hit 10 bars before last call. Everyone has been equipped with maps, the bars have all been contacted and are expecting our group and providing drink specials for us. Everyone is in festive spirits - everyone except me, that is. No, I'm not experiencing intestinal distress, I've just noticed my ex-girlfriend standing in the corner of the living room. An aside, for some brief backstory.

This gal, we'll call Kerry, is someone I met at a bar some 6 months prior. Not long afterward, we began a passionate but tumultuous "relationship" that lasted about 2-3 months before I was able to admit to myself that the girl was a raving loon with whom I certainly had no sort of future. The novelty of the new p---- had worn off by then, and I ended things. Without providing all the gory details, let's just say she didn't take it well. A couple of her close friends still hung out with my brother and me, as well as the rest of our group of drunken pirate friends, so every once in a while, she'd be around when we convened at certain bars and house parties. Always made for some uncomfortable moments, especially when she'd had too much to drink, but nothing too bad. There were a couple of nights where she ended up back at my place and despite my locking myself in the bedroom, she'd pick the lock and starting barking about this and that until I threw her out of the apartment. So, yeah, she was a little bit batty.

Anyway, she's lurking in the corner, but I don't mind all that much. There are so many people coming out that I figure it won't be too difficult to keep my distance from her. We all strike out and begin imbibing. For a couple of hours, everyone's having a great time, but then things start to take a turn for the worse. By about bar 5 or 6, Kerry is actively soliciting attention from basically every bartender and male patron of every bar we enter, in a futile attempt to make me jealous. The problem is that I GENUINELY do not give a rat's ### and further, am thrilled that she's devoting her attention elsewhere so I don't have to deal with her at all. Naturally, my indifference is fueling her fire and eventually, she starts handing out my address to these dudes, inviting them to a non-existent after party at my place. When I catch wind of this, now I'm actually annoyed, not because she's going to hook up with one or more dudes, but because she's now inviting throngs of people to my apartment. I live in perhaps the nicest building in the city, and the neighbors aren't going to take kindly to a 2 AM parade of horny guys marching up and down the hallway trying to get into my apartment. I pull her aside and tell her that no one is coming back to my place after the crawl, and kindly ask her to stop f---ing giving out my address and phone number to random strangers. Now, she's grinning ear-to-ear because she finally got under my skin. Awesome.

Flash forward about two hours. We're at bar 9 and suddenly, I feel a rumbling on my bowels. Nothing urgent, I think, but definitely something to keep an eye on. About 15 minutes and another beer later, I start sweating. Just as I'm questioning the wisdom of eating a burrito from the guy with the cart on the corner, it hits me. I go to DEFCON 1 faster than I even thought was possible. It's gone from troublesome to extreme desperation in the blink of an eye. My sphincter is spasming in rhythm with the strobe light in the bar as it desperately tries to hang on to this avalanche of diarrhea with which it's suddenly been confronted. I put my beer down and sprint to the bathroom........ only to see a line 12 deep to get in. Knowing I can't possibly wait, I begin to just walk past everyone on line, figuring I can always resort to the "it's easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission" adage after the fact. However, even as I shove my way through the line, I realize the situation is hopeless. There's 1 urinal and 1 toilet in the bathroom, with someone urinating in each. Add to this, the toilet has NO barriers around it of any kind, and is facing the bathroom door directly, which is being propped open by the line of people waiting to get in. So, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to have to drop trou and then drop wolfbait in full view of a line of disgruntled customers, whose places in line I just usurped. This isn't going to work, and I have mere seconds to figure out what to do. I turn on my heels and run out of the bar onto the main drag of downtown SLC as I contemplate my options.

I run out and the plaza outside the bar is mobbed with people, as it's roughly 11 PM on a Saturday night downtown. There are people everywhere. I start frantically looking around for somewhere to leave this ungodly deposit and I see nothing. Not a restaurant, a public toilet, anything I can access quickly, and I have no time to think it through. I choose a direction and begin walking and it happens. I feel a blast of liquid escape into my boxers. I realize now that all is lost and my motive shifts from finding a bathroom to finding someplace that will simply shield me from the gaze of my fellow barflies so I can crap on the sidewalk. In full panic mode, I run behind a large concrete structure that looks like a big salad bowl, about 4 feet high, in which are planted about 6-7 trees. This gets me at least out of sight of the vast majority of the crowd, but there's one guy and his girl standing back there smoking cigarettes. As I stare at them, trying to figure out what to do, the floodgates open and about a gallon of liquid s--- pours out into my slacks. The girl turns around and I'm staring right into her eyes as molten lava runs down my legs, onto my socks, and into my shoes. At this point, all is lost, so in order to relieve the unbelievable pressure in my abdomen, I abandon all dignity and simply stop fighting. All I have left is the relief that comes when the mother lode makes its way out. It's now pooling around my feet and at this point, the happy couple figures out what's going on. The girl shrieks in horror and runs away while the boyfriend begins laughing harder than I think I've ever seen a human being laugh. He looks at me, and all I can muster is : "Dude...." before he runs out after his girlfriend and starts yelling : "Hey !! Some guy's s--tting his pants back here !!!!"

Now, the deed is done, and the pain is over, but I have no idea what to do. I'm standing in the epicenter of a fair-sized US city with a load of s--- in my pants, dripping out onto the sidewalk, and Tom Brokaw here is spreading the word at top volume into the street. I have no choice but to get the hell out of there, so I quickly get my bearings, figure out in which direction my apartment is located, and simply begin sprinting home, splashing feces behind me as I go. The whole block had to have looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. I ignore the catcalls of those who have seen me and pieced together the fact that I'm the guy who just s--- himself and manage to get away from the bright lights of downtown and off to a side street, which at least gives me a modicum of cover. I'm running as fast I can towards home base, when the unthinkable happens.

Just when I think I might get away, a car pulls along side of me and slows down to match my running pace. Praying it isn't a cop, I turn to the left and realize it's four of my female co-workers who are leaving the crawl a touch early and are heading home. All of them are hot, by the way. I hear a window rolling down and a voice saying : "[EG] ! What are you doing ?!" Having no idea what to say, I yell out : "I just have to run home for a minute !" They pull over in front of me and say : "Well, hop in, we'll give you a ride..." I have no clue how to respond to this; for what reason would I decline a ride? It's about 14 degrees out to begin with. My only saving grace is that I realize they couldn't possibly have noticed the giant brown stain that covered the entire back side of my lower body. I can't run by them now, otherwise they might see it, so I stop and angle myself so they can only see the front of me. "Ahh, no, that's OK, I didn't get a workout today and I kind of like this cool air. I want to run it out.." "Don't be silly, come on" Brandy says as she scoots over in the back seat, leaving room for me to park my crap-soaked buttocks. Now, I'm really at a loss, so I do the only thing I could think of. I take a few sideways steps away from the car and then sprint down the nearest alley to get away. I can see the looks of sheer confused disbelief as they watch me do this, and then I'm gone. As I reach the end of the alley and prepare to double back and get home, I can see the car full of broads now creeping down the streets, looking for me down the alleyways. I duck behind a dumpster and wait for them to pass before springing out and heading back in the other direction. I feel like Emilio Estevez in "Judgment Night" as I duck and dodge, trying to get away from a car full of babes, while spraying diarrhea everywhere.

Eventually, I lose them, and figure I'll come up with an excuse for my behavior on Monday; it's not my primary concern at the moment. After 15 minutes of cat and mouse, I get back to my building, eschew the elevator (too risky) and begin the sprint up 5 flights of stairs to my apartment. I get in undetected, jump into the shower with all my clothes on, and turn it on. While in the shower, I strip down, kick everything I was wearing into the corner of the shower, and scrub my body, gagging and retching the entire time. Ultimately, I get cleaned up, climb out of the shower, find a garbage bag, and scoop up all my soiled, wet clothes with it. I change and run down the hallway to the garbage chute and throw everything down it.

A few minutes later, my cell phone rings. It's the Ox, wondering where I went and why I left my expensive wool overcoat in the bar. I ask him to bring it to bar 10 and I meet the group there, having wolfed down two Imodium tablets and run back to where they were headed. My brother notices I was wearing different clothes, so I make up a story about the guy next to me in the bathroom throwing up and it splashing onto my shirt and slacks. That, you see, is why I had to go home and change ! He buys it, no one else says a word, and I'm home free.

To complete the evening, this girl that I work with who had a crush on me for months was loaded out of her mind and openly flirting with me when I get to bar #10. She's climbing all over me, and I'm having to essentially hold her upright. Just then, I notice that Kerry is still with the group, and now she's pissed. She thinks I'm doing this to aggravate her and make her jealous, and she goes off in the middle of the bar.

"How DARE you hook up with that f---ing SLUT in front of me, you piece of s---, rotten SOB !!!" blah blah blah.

She's so loud and so angry, that at this point, I notice a circle of about 20 strangers has formed around us, watching the goings-on. I'm trying to tell this lunatic that this girl is falling over drunk, and that the reason she's in my arms at the moment is because I'm keeping her from hitting the floor. She's not having it and then endless stream of epithets is unbroken until...

***WHAM***

She slaps me across the face as hard as she can. It was enough to make my eyes water. The crowd gasps : "Ooooooooh !" as Kerry storms off, out of the bar, and out of my life forever as it turned out. I never saw her again. The girl in my arms looks up and says at conversational tone :

(slurring) : "That bithc.... just take me back to my hotel, I want to (assorted sexual things I can't type at FBG)" I clamp a hand over her mouth and look up to see some random bloke standing next to me, staring at me as if I'm Jesus Christ.

"Dude........... niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice..................."

He shakes my hand as I begin to head for the door, and suddenly, the crowd begins to applaud and whistle as I reach the exit. The applause builds and I'm literally walking out to a standing ovation. I extend one hand over my head and give a thumbs up like an injured football player being carried off on a stretcher as the cheering reaches a crescendo - then out into the night. I drag this girl two blocks to her hotel and get her up to her suite, when I realize she's sharing the place with the 4 girls that offered me the ride earlier. As I fumble for something to say to them when they invariably ask me what the hell I was doing, I walk into one of the bathrooms and realize that one of them is in the hot tub, naked. She spins and looks up at the two of us. I turn to exit, when drunk girl in my arms grabs me and stops me from leaving. "It's cool..........." she purrs.

That's right, boys and girls, I ended up having one of the VERY few 3-ways of my lifetime that night. In the hot tub, near the hot tub, in the bed, on the table, etc. etc. Not more than 60 minutes after I stood in the road unloading a waterfall of crap into my own pants. It just goes to show that a little resourcefulness and a lot of alcohol can turn a nightmare into a dream come true if you just ride it out.

Every single detail of this story is true, the names have simply been changed/obscured to protect the innocent.

 
Sit back, crack a beer, and enjoy. One night well, WELL after Warrant's heyday, a friend of mine and I were drinking in a bar in Southampton. On the other side of the bar, someone was being relatively loud and belligerent. Come to find out it's Jani Lane, lead singer of Warrant. Being a little tipsy myself, we engage him in conversation, trying to save the two girls he was "hitting on" (they were horrified.) We figured if we got rid of him, maybe we could slide in. Well, they wanted no part of us either, and fled the scene shortly thereafter, but now we were locked in conversation with a staggering drunk, nearly incoherent Jani Lane. After humoring him for a bit, we attempted to beat a retreat, as he was now obscenely drunk (and still doing shots) and had gone from mildly entertaining to exceedingly annoying. We started for the door and had just gotten outside when Lane comes flying out, babbling about needing a ride home. My buddy has borrowed his rich uncle's Jaguar XJS (rich uncle is the only reason we were in the Hamptons to begin with) and he's afraid Jani is going to yak in it. I'm laughing hysterically, not able to believe what's transpiring. Eventually, we let him in the car and ask him to direct us to where he's staying/living. After about 20 minutes of him pointing in different directions and mumbling (he's now shifting from manic drunk to almost comatose mode) we realize we've gone around in circles. We felt like Spinal Tap in Cleveland when they keep encountering the same janitor over and over. My buddy's looking at me, disgusted, as he's now driving the same roads over and over, probably above the legal limit, in a very expensive car with a vomit risk in the back seat. Finally, he just pulls up in front of a bank and says - "Here you go, dude !!!!" Jani, not realizing where he is, fumbles for the handle and gets out. Before he can process what's happening, my buddy hits the gas, swinging the back door shut, and tears out, leaving the singer from Warrant standing piss drunk in a bank parking lot with his arms extended, palms up. No idea where he is. All I could think about as he shrank in the rear view mirror and we were laughing hysterically was what a great story this would make. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 
Some years earlier, I was working the front desk of a hotel on a nondescript Friday evening. An individual by the name of Bob Rush was checking in and as I was processing his credit card, I noticed he was wearing a ring that had the ace of spades playing card on it. I look up and it's indeed, the legendary Ace Frehley. Remaining professional, I finish his check-in and process his (yes, this is true) AAA discount and hand him his room key. I let him know if he needs anything, to give me a call at the desk. Several hours later, a haggard-looking woman who was probably hot in about 1975 comes in and asks me to ring Bob Rush's room. She then proceeds upstairs to join him. As I'm still trying to process the fact that my girlfriend is better looking than Ace Frehley's, his crew arrives and checks in. Apparently, they're in town for a show at the Birch Hill that Sunday.

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon. I get to work around 11:00 and am almost immediately accosted by Ace's road crew. Ace needs some beer and some booze, and he needs it with all speed. The bar/lounge is closed Sundays so I go in there and grab a case of Heineken and a bottle of Jack and bring it out to the crew. They tell me they'll be right back with payment. The hotel manager is nearby so I tell him what I've done for our celebrity guest and ask what I should charge them, figuring we'll bill them for packaged goods. He explains to me as they don't have a license to sell packaged goods, they have to ring everything up individually as if they're in the bar. Comes to $136. I figure "what the hell, it's Ace Frehley, this won't faze him." Wrong. His flunkies arrive at the desk a few minutes later and tell me they HAVE NO MONEY, but are willing to exchange memorabilia for the beer and liquor. They hand me the copy of "Love Gun" I'd brought in, which my friend Mitch had given me and asked me to have Ace sign for him. Well it's signed all right - "Dear John, thanks for the stuff - Ace." I guess he won't want this one back, guess I'm buying him a new CD. He also brings down a bunch of picks, a drawing of the ace of spades doodled on a hotel sketch pad, and a backstage pass they say is good for the entire tour. I have no idea what to do, I've told them a few times I need cash, they say they don't have it, and have already gone through half the alcohol, so they can't return it. Eventually, I take the stuff and they leave. Now I'm in the hole for $136 out of pocket (I was making $9 an hour.) I explain what happened to the hotel manager, and after fixing me with his best "you're an idiot" stare, he agrees to ring it up as a steward's sale as if he brought it home himself, and I'm only liable for about $50. As he prepares to depart for the day, he tells me that it's past checkout time and that Frehley and crew need to be removed from the honeymoon suite they're hanging out in. I call up and they tell me Ace needs to hang out for a bit before the show. Manager says no chance and tells me I have to go evacuate the room. Now I don't know what to do - go up there and evict one of my boyhood idols or defy the manager? I choose the latter and tell the manager that I'd done the deed, knowing the guy was out for the day in a few minutes. He leaves without incident and I call back to the room telling them they need to get out sooner rather than later. About 30 mins later, the gaggle comes downstairs, thanks me, and departs for the show, telling me Ace (and only Ace) is still in the room sleeping, and they'll be back for him after they set up at the venue. About 15 minutes later, I hear the Spectravision printer at work. When someone orders an in-room movie, a dot matrix printout comes up at the desk after 5 minutes, and we manually post the charge to the guest room. A couple minutes later, I hear it again. Then, a few minutes later, again. Ace has ordered all 3 porn channels simultaneously at $9.99 a piece. Now I'm panicking because I've already closed out his folio as "proof" to the manager that I booted him out. I yank the printout from the printer, crumble it up and throw it away, hoping it won't come back on me at the end of the month when they reconcile with the Spectravision bill. I quickly turn his phone and movie privileges off (should have done that earlier) and hope this is the end of it. Nope. An hour or so later, the newlyweds who have the honeymoon suite for that night arrive. Oops. I have to tell them the room isn't quite ready (even though it's about 6 PM by now) and give them a key to a standard room, telling them I'll ring them when the suite is ready. They grumble a bit, but shuffle off. OK. Gotta get Ace out of here - besides, the show is at 7:30, he's got to be leaving soon. I can't leave the desk unattended, so I call the room. No answer. Another call, no answer.

Mercifully, not long afterward, one member of his crew returns to pick up Ace. Thank God. There's no housekeeping crew at this point, so I have to wait for the girl who comes in at 7:00 to arrive (any minute now) so I can leave the desk and go prepare the room for the newlyweds. She arrives a few minutes later and I sprint up to 402 and open the door. Are they gone? No. The room looks like... well, a rock star stayed in it. There's #### everywhere. Drug residue, empty booze bottles, the place REEKS of smoke of various origins.... and to boot, a nude Ace Frehley is passed out cold in the hot tub. When I say passed out, I mean COMATOSE. His roadie can't come close to waking him up or getting him to move. At first, I think he's dead and imagine the headline the next day : "Former KISS guitarist found dead in NJ hotel suite, moron desk clerk provided murder weapon !" The roadie is in a panic and begs me to help him extricate and clothe Ace. I have no clue how this guy is going to play a show in a half-hour, but that's not my primary concern at the moment. I go up the steps to the hot tub and grab an arm and between us, we manage to hoist him out, still unconscious. The roadie asks me to hold him upright while he gets some clothes. Meanwhile, back at the desk, the honeymooners have come back down to find someone new at the desk. They ask if the honeymoon suite is ready. My co-worker, who knows nothing of what's going on (by design), checks the board and finds the room marked "Ready," exactly as I was forced to display it for the managers' benefit. She hands them the key.

Back to the honeymoon suite. I'm holding a swaying Ace upright, wet and naked, as the roadie starts grabbing clothes. Ace is about 1% conscious at this point, which is good, because I'm barely able to hold him up and avoid coming into contact with Little Ace simultaneously (this is a very high priority for me at the moment.) As the roadie heads towards me with clothes, Ace's legs go out entirely. His dead weight leans on me, and I'm too close to the top step. I go down the steps, still holding Ace's upper body, and the two of us go down the steps onto the floor. Just then, the door opens and the honeymooners walk in just in time to see me in my uniform, on the floor, with a stark naked Ace Frehley on top of me, dripping wet. The bride screams and they pull the door shut. Eventually, we manage to get Ace upright (I could have said erect, but under the circumstances, I chose a different word) and dressed and out the door. It took me an hour and a half to clean the room, and I had to explain in detail to the honeymooners everything that had transpired. Luckily, the groom was a huge KISS fan and I gave him an autographed pick and asked him not to rat me out to management. No one ever noticed (or at least called me out on) the missing Spectravision bills and the manager and other desk clerk never knew what had transpired.

I never used the backstage pass.

 
A few years ago in Vegas, we were at a bachelor party in the bowling alley suite at Hard Rock and my buddy Kev (the Rotato guy for those of you who read that thread) stole off to one of the bathrooms to get some "extras" from one of the strippers. We'd been out on the strip for roughly 40 straight hours at that point without going back to the room to sleep or shower,so we were pretty grimy. I opened the bathroom door and stepped in to piss and a second or two later realized what was going down and spun around to leave. As I did, I heard this brief exchange just as the door was closing behind me:

Her: "Mmhmmmmm... I love sucking your balls."

Kev: "How is that even POSSIBLE?"

I was laughing for about the next 10 minutes solid.

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A few years back, I got a room at the Grand Bohemian in downtown Orlando for myself, my brother, and my buddy. We went out on Church St drinking for a few hours and I got totally feces-faced. I'm talking 10-15 beers and at LEAST as many shots, it was that kind of night. Went back to the room around 1-2 AM and I passed out COLD, and when I say passed out cold, I do mean comatose.

Apparently, my brother and his buddy, who weren't quite done for the night, opened the phone book, called an escort service, and had them deliver a small hair-pie with pepperoni (nipples) to the room. She did a strip tease for them, to the dulcet tones of "New Faith" from Slayer, as we only had 1 CD in the room. They tell me that her hips gyrating as Tom Araya belted out "I keep my Bible in a pool of blood so that none of its lies can affect me!!" was particularly alluring. They then had her give me a face dance for a few minutes as I slept, and my buddy insists he saw her beef curtains flap in the breeze as I snored into her lady-parts. After an hour or so, she had to leave because "she had another client at the airport" but said she'd be back to give them the goodies they'd paid for but not received (oral.) I am completely unaware that any of this is going on. If I'd been awake, I'd have told them there was roughly a .0001% chance that she'd actually return, but they must have found the one honest hooker left in America.

Fast forward to 6:30 AM. I wake up, but am so catatonic, I am unable to open my eyes or move yet. My head is throbbing and it feels like someone glued sandpaper to the insides of my eyelids. I'm desperately trying not to heave all over the carpet of this nice hotel room when I hear a woman's voice saying "so, you guys want those BJs now?" I have no idea who this is or who she's talking to, so you can imagine my bewilderment. I try desperately to see who it is speaking, but my eyes are crusted shut and I'm afraid I'll throw up all over the bed if I lift my head. I hear my brother (Yams) saying - "No, it's cool, it's like 6:30 in the morning, we just want to sleep." She replies, "are you sure?" No response. I hear her get up and walk to the door. She opens the door and says : "OK, have a good night guys........" followed by a long pregnant pause, clearly giving them one last chance to come to their senses. The door does not close, so I know she's just standing there waiting for a response.

The response comes from my brother's posterior in the form of a ten-second fart that audibly drops in pitch every few seconds. If you wrote it out in sheet music it would look like :

xxxxxxxxx---------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------xxxxxxxxxx-------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------xxxxxxxxxxxx--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------xxxxxxxxxxx-----------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx------

...followed by the closing of the door - **ka-chunk**

I was laughing so hard, still unaware of what was going on, that I threw up all over the floor between the beds. Shortly thereafter, I fell back to sleep.

6 hours later, we all woke up, 30 minutes past checkout, and leaving my brother and friend 30 minutes to drive the hour back to Melbourne to get to peer review for their PhD theses or some s---. Needless to say, they didn't make it. After pulling over in a Burger King parking lot on the way back, at which point all three of us threw up out of individual doors of my friend's Civic, they stopped and bought a big bag of beef jerky at my behest to apologize to their professor/advisor for missing peer review. I wish I could have been there when they gave whatever BS excuse they dreamed up as to why they missed the meeting and then tried to bribe their way out of trouble with dried beef.

That's all I got vis-a-vis hookers.

 
Several years ago, my buddy Mike was in school to join the Merchant Marines. I was up in Boston for a week on vacation and staying with another friend of mine, Tom. Mike and his buddy Sean used to drive back to school after weekend breaks at about 2 AM on Sundays so they could get hammered all day and then get back just in time for Monday AM activities. Well, this one particular Sunday, Mike decided to go out at about noon to watch the Pats game and proceeded to drink Irish Car Bombs (and Guinness and Bushmills as well) all day long. By the time we found him at about 8 PM, he was completely destroyed. He asks Sean if he can borrow his keys to go take a nap in the car, and after some ribbing, Sean agrees and gives him the keys. While we were all in the bar drinking, Mike had his own adventure.

Mike passes out in the car and wakes up about three hours later. Realizing we'll be in the bar for another 3 hours, he decides he's going to drive the car to go get something to eat, figuring it will help him sober up a bit. No more than 5 minutes into his drunken sojourn around Southie, he's cruising along at about 45 when he notices the traffic light he's approaching turn red (didn't see the amber stage.) He jams both feet on the clutch of the 82 Camaro he's driving and screeches to a stop, only to see a cop car parked perpendicular to him at the intersection. The cop's light is green, and he doesn't move. At this point, Mike knows he's screwed.... when his light turns green, he simply goes through the intersection and pulls over immediately. Cop pulls up behind him and doesn't even put on the lights. He walks to the driver's window and shines the light in.

"You been drinking tonight?"

Mike looks directly at the cop and says :

"Sir, I'm not saying this to be a wise ### or to mess with you. I'm as drunk as I've ever been in my life."

"Would you like to take a field sobriety test?" the cop asks.

Mike replies : "If you open this door right now, I'm going to fall out onto the ####ing street. I cannot impress upon you enough exactly how drunk I am."

He then goes on to tell the cop everything about how he's training to become a Merchant Marine and that it's his friend Sean's car and Sean is at the bar and they're going back to school right after this, etc.. etc.. The cop listens to all this and says, unbelievably :

"Ok, you've been forthright with me and I appreciate that. If I hit you with DUI, you're going to get kicked out of school, it'll ruin your career, and I don't want to do that, you seem like a good kid. But I can't turn you loose on the streets of South Boston in this condition, so here's what I propose. Follow me back to the bar you were at so I can talk to your friend Sean. If your story is legit and he promises not to give you the keys back, I'll let you walk."

Mike, amazed at the break he's being given, thanks the cop profusely and accepts. So he gets back into Sean's car and begins following the cop back to the bar. About halfway there, he pauses to light a cigarette and looks up just in time to see the cop car in front of him stopped at a red light about 20 feet in front of him. He again slams both feet on the clutch with all his might, skids noisily, and......

**CRUNCH**

Hits the stopped police car at about 30 MPH and shoots the cop right through the frigging intersection. At this point Mike gets out of the car, holding the keys over his head, just preparing to be arrested. The back of the cop car is dented up, and he knows he's going down. Cop gets out of the squad car, yelling :

"ARE YOU ####ING SERIOUS ?!?!?!?!?!? ARE YOU ####ING SERIOUS ?!?!?!?!?!?"

Mike figures he's done, but what he doesn't realize is that at this point, the cop really can't bust him or he'll have to explain why he was let go in the first place and why his car is dented up. So the cop just yells to him :

"Park that ####ing car and get in the back, I'll take you back to the bar, you stupid ******* !"

Mike replies : "I told you 15 minutes ago I can't drive, you think I can parallel park? You park the ####ing car !!!!"

So the cop proceeds to parallel park Sean's car, puts Mike in the back seat of his squad car, and drives him back to the bar. We're standing there as the cop walks in and pulls Sean aside to check Mike's Merchant Marine story and admonish him for giving him the keys in the first place. Of course, we had no idea he was even gone; as far as we knew, the car was still parked out front with Mike asleep in it. As the cop is grilling Sean, Mike's telling Tom and me what had happened in the past half hour and I'm trying my damndest not to break out laughing while the cop is still there. Eventually, the cop makes his exit and Sean comes back to the group, pissed as all hell. He starts giving Mike a ration of s--t when Mike busts out in hysterical laughter. He's laughing so hard, he puts his head against Tom's shoulder (though he might have just been trying to remain erect at that point.) Sean asks him angrily what's so funny and Mike answers, through panting from laughing :

"I have no ####ing idea where your car is !"

At this point, Tom and I both lost it. Sean looked like he was going to kill Mike, so we had to take him aside for a while and calm him down.

Instead of sitting in the bar until 2:00, we had to leave around 12:30 and spent the next 2 hours driving up and down the streets of S. Boston until we found Sean's partly mangled vehicle parked along the side of the road.

 

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