POWER ENGAGED I says to no one in particular as I slam back my first shot of Natural Light. Ah the blessed power hour. So for those of you not familiar with the household drinking game of most internet era college students, no worries I’ll explain.
First step: acquire the internet. Check.
Step two: choose the power hour that best fits your friend group/social setting. Check.
Step three: Drink when commanded or more precisely every 60 seconds. Check.
Step four and finally: If you feel like you are going to puke swallow that shit because even the slightest bit of throwup restarts the hour and nobody I mean nobody wants that. Check. Check. Check. Check.
Fuck ya of course you’d pick that one I says to Chancey as we moved to enact the 2nd power hour of the night. There’s so many to pick from how could I go fucking wrong he responds now slightly intoxicated. See with anything from 90’s cartoon mixes, to sad as fuck alternative reels to choose from, the possibilities are endless… well not exactly endless, but if you don’t get the fucking point maybe you should try drinking a little bit more to see if we can’t get rid of that shit ass attitude you’re fucking flaunting right now.
So here we were. It was me, Chancey, Dick Fealey, and HEEYYY it’s BARSTOOL!!! What a crowd of hooligans. We were pregaming for the coveted 90s night at Brick Street. Tonight was meant to be god damn fucking epic or at least that’s what anyone comes to think after shotgunning beer with a quickly followed beer bong mid power hour. We had boos, weed, boos, and just a sprinkle of speed. Basically we had all the ingredients for a solid night. Only one thing was missing: The pooty tang. Ah fucking shit that hurt (mental slap on the back of my head from my mother. God damn was she persistent in knocking the fucking misogyny out of my fucking head as of late. I wonder if that’s gunna stop anytime soon).
See girls are mysterious beings here at Miami. Most of them are too coked up on Daddy's money to be honest. Now I don’t necessarily mean their on coke, well some of them… well a lot might be, but I’m talking strictly money at this point. NO SHIT these girls blow through papa’s money faster than an 8 ball at our fraternity’s jungle party, which is saying something. No fucking shit man these stupid mother fuckers give their 18 year old daughters their fucking black cards, and for those of the middle class such as I, a black card is a credit card with no shit ass fucking limit. What does that even fucking mean, right? So, as I was saying, they give these to their daughters and expect them not to come out as cunts (fucking shit that one’s gunna leave a mental bruise) unless they too themselves are cunts (fuck... actually that one wasn’t as bad. [SMACK!!!] Fuckkk shouldn’t have said anything) then in that case I am no way surprised because you’re a fucking cunnn… I mean shitbag too. Eh I do need to stop saying that word though. Fucking cuts like a knife on the tongue if you think about it. Such a fucking fucked up word. Sorry about that I whispered to my mom’s mental presence.
Ah god damn there is Dick Fealey’s laugh. As it pronounced itself from lips edge it began to boom and echo like an atomic bomb or, even more so, the bass that came out of his tricked out fucking car system. You might be wondering why we call him Dick Fealey. Well mainly it’s because well… there he goes… touching my dick. Ya he gets a little friendly to say the least with the brothers. Well to be honest he gets that way with everyone. Possibly a little bi curious. Possibly, but who is to know in this day and age. Great fucking guy though. Crazy as all fucking get out, but nonetheless caring and genuine. A gentle defiler of what most might even remotely consider appropriate conversation, but nonetheless loving and ever present. I could go on, but that’ll just have to do for now because every single guy here meant more to me than words are often capable of doing right by. For words often dare not touch the perverse smiles of those such as Dick Fealey, Chancey, and Barstool. They were my brothers. We were all dirty frat boys. We were the lowest of the low, but we couldn’t help feeling the highest in the world. That could be because of the weed we just chiefed, but that’s besides the point.
We were a brotherhood stretching back to 1986 dedicated to all things fucking crazy and rage ready. But in all the raging out and craziness there was an undying love about itself. Like we were more in each other’s presence. Like we were meant to do something. Well, at least till the fascist corporation we call nationals came down on us in a raining storm of shit fire. Ok, so we had a little debt from a generation now passed, a less than impressive philanthropy record and like a shitty fucking GPA, but hey at the time we were working on all those things. With dues flowing we were slowly paying off our debt as far as we knew and were doing better on those other things too I guess. What really did us in was when we… well not us per se outside of rampant and unfounded speculation… well until our house caught on fire to put it plain, but that’s another story…
FUCK my head is throbbing I says to Being at large as I tightly gripped my forehead. Yup… Yup… Tits fucking mcgee, I guess I blacked out. I mean that’s the only logical explanation why given my last memory being an empty beer bong, a fully loaded bong of another sort and now… Yup… the classic naked on the floor of my living room position. Wait… I gag a little. Wait for it… Ok nope. I guess not this time. Nope, no vomit to be had which is always a bonus. Especially because I used all of the carpet cleaner the last time I pulled this stunt… a couple of days ago. Hey at least I didn’t piss myself. Not that it was ever a normal occurance… well except from the ages of six to twelve, but that had more to do with an overactive bladder than anything drunken disorderly related.
God dammit that was one hell of a cross fade to preempt my plunge into belligerent darkness. Well i hope I wasn’t to crazy. Wonder what I did. Where the fuck is my… Nope, no phone at the moment, and from the looks of my living space I have as much luck finding that as I do… Well I don’t fucking know, but simply as simple gets my phone wasn’t going to emerge anytime soon. Guess I’ll have to call the guys whenever it shows up to get filled in on yet another one of my missing and long lost nights. As I rose to an upright seating position and leaned back to rest against the futon that lay behind me I thought to myself, maybe my medication for you know the cancer and boos aren’t the best of pals. Well fuck who gives a shit I let slip out to myself. I guess your liver failing amongst other potential failing organs isn’t much concern when cancer’s on the way to get ya. For all I know my disease had already laid claim to my liver as it had already done with my lymph nodes. So, effectively I’ll be dead long before any effects of alcohol abuse and misplaced chemical reactions sets in so fuuuck my body. Why not it’s already fucking me pretty bad. Might as well fuck it right back. Fuck that shit up nice and good while I have the chance. I’m drinking my fucking ass off with my drunk ass friends till they finally put me down to say my goodbyes in some smelly fucking hospital. Fuck it I says. Fuck it.
Anyway I was sitting at starbucks now getting a cup of coffee. I was waiting on Denise and Franky. They were running a little bit late or I was way too early, but either way I was alone at the moment. Alone and waiting for my coffee to slowly cool from smoldering hot to somewhat barely consumable. And then I saw them walking out in front of the store. I saw them and my resentment brewed. I didn’t know either of them, but I knew the look in their eyes. They were falling in love with one another and god damn let me tell ya it is a lonely business watching other people fall in love. Their mutual flaws somehow not seen by their o’ so loving eyes. But for eyes such as mine how could I see anything other than the sort. My soul hated them for my body made it so. For not only was my body devouring itself, but it was eating in a silent hatred that has sufficiently begun to bleed to other faculties of character. Cancer, as it turns, out is quite the emotional extravaganza of feelings and I haven’t the slightest clue as to where or what to do with them. I didn’t know what to do with a lot of my feelings, but I did know their origin. Of that my mind was quite fucking clear.
Fucking shit I says as I burn my tongue with the first swig of coffee I take. I guess I cursed loudly enough to offend the table occupied by another couple next to me. Fuck you and your happiness I says forcibly confining such to the inner realms of my own thought. Great, another fucking couple for which to fix my gaze and not only are they just as annoyed with me as I am with them, but to boot my fucking tongue hurts. Hurts really fucking bad ya see. I just burnt my god damn tongue and you two are gunna look at me like it's some kind of cardinal sin that I offended you as you both drink the koolaid of ignorant youthful lust. Fuck you. Both of you. Fucking pricks I says not fighting to galavantly to keep below the surface of audible speech.
The girl gasped a little in shock and the dude honestly looked like he wanted to kick my fucking teeth in. Ah I guess they did hear, I thought myself. Good, I hushly spoke out loud with a miniscule grin upon me as the small pleasures of resentment settled in. As I nuerotically stirred my coffee in hopes not to scold myself yet once again the two of them got up to leave not, of course, leaving without one final dirty look more harsh than even before. Have a nice day I said quite unsincerely to them as they left, wondering even to myself now whose words were these I spoke. Fuck off they returned in favor. I’ll do my best to I says to no one given that they were well gone by that point. With them now absent I was finally free to sit for a while and saturate in whatever the fuck I was experiencing at this moment. There they went off to be happy with one another I sinfully pondered, not allowing this moment to slip easily into the past. There they went off to be happy. And there I sat alone and bitter. And there I sat living whatever I had left in my life in regret that she was never to be with me.
What’s got you down boo Franky asks me from behind me. I could only assume it was Franky because she was the only one who ever called me that. Why is something wrong Denise asks me. I guess they both were there now. Ah it’s nothing I says to them just burnt myself with this fucking coff… Before I could finish my lame excuse Denise started humping me as Franky began to rub my face. Some might call this sexual harassment, but to us weirdos this was about the most compassionate thing to do. As the onslaught continued, and the people now standing in lines confusion raised, I began to smile. How could I not? Ok, Ok guys save it for fucking later, we’re in public for christ sake. They both just giggled and went to get their coffee. I smiled, watching them skip off to the barista on duty. I smiled, but I couldn’t completely forget my prior onslaught of the mind I had just experienced. Even their love, as bizarre as it might be, couldn’t make me forget the inevitable that lay before me and the awful it produced in me. Why couldn’t I just forget… even for a little bit and be the me I wish to see and not succumb to such cruelty. Why couldn’t their love be enough. Why couldn’t I just… Well I’m done thinking about this for right now. Let’s change the subject for a moment. Fucking shit I says louder and more venomously than before as the entire starbucks fixed their gaze upon me, including even Franky and Denise. Sorry I says to everyone. Hot coffee. I’m sorry I says to myself.