While I was in West Virginia last weekend my parents took me out for a grand tour of the area. I mean, I grew up there and know it like the back o’ my hand, but things change a little here and a little there. And we always go out in the car and just drive around. This would make some people insane, I realize, but I don’t mind it. It’s pleasant time spent with my folks. In any case, when we were in Dunbar we went past a house where my friend Rocky and I introduced alcohol into some kind of ludicrous no-alcohol party. This was in high school, a million years ago, but that house will always remind me of that night of high-craziness.
I’ve told the story many times, so I’ll just summarize it now. Rocky dragged me to this thing because he was hot for some girl who was going to be there. When we walked in people were playing backgammon and drinking soda and listening to a novelty song based on the Who Shot J.R.? craze. I told you it was a long time ago… But we walked into this nerd jubilee and I think I audibly blurted, “What the fuck?!” There were fedoras and a sheet cake… It was hard for my brain to process what was happening before me. What is this, My Three Sons?
But Rocky set off on his mission to woo some young lass, and I just wandered around absorbing the “Why is he here?!” looks that were being hurled my way. And within seconds, Rocky was back and agitated. Apparently his mission had failed, in an accelerated fashion. “Let’s go get some beer,” he said. You told me this is a no-alcohol party, I reminded him. Screw that, he replied.
Fast forward an hour or two and the place was rocking. People were filing in at a steady clip, more and more alcohol appeared, the Who Shot J.R.? record was ripped from the turntable and flung behind a chair, replaced by Molly Hatchet. And Rocky went wild. I’ll bullet-point his most memorable antics:
- He repeatedly locked himself in bathrooms, refusing to come out. I was enlisted to convince him to open the door. Why was he doing this? Who the hell knows?
- Without provocation he wound up like freaking Catfish Hunter and hurled a slice of pizza against a kitchen wall. The “Italian fastball” as it came to be known. It stuck there for a second or two, then slid down in a big greasy streak.
- He rifled through the host’s underwear and bra drawer.
- He took a majestic arcing piss off the second-floor deck, in the direction of the now-displaced nerds huddled in the backyard.
In addition, there was a wig (belonging to the host’s mother?) that ended up in a toilet and pissed upon (and through) by dozens of people, and my friend Bill hid many empty beer cans all over the house — down inside boots, behind the soup cans in the pantry, inside toilet tanks, etc. I have no doubt they were finding them 10 years later, reminders of the no-alcohol party.
The parents made some phone calls the next day, and I got into some low-grade trouble because of that night. But I didn’t really do anything, except help bring in that first batch of beer. Rocky, on the other hand, was grounded for a long, long time. Heh. The man was unleashed!
What’s the craziest things you’ve witnessed at a party? Tell us about it, won’t you? I’ll leave the comments open for a while, but please no politics, OK? Just tell us about the ridiculousness you’ve seen at parties. We don’t need any of that other stuff.
I was also at a so-called “attic party” in Greensboro many years ago and a big fight broke out, like something off TV. It was wild! During the process a glass coffee table was shattered into about 10,000 pieces, and I high-tailed it out of there. Craziness. People were throwing haymakers.
What do you have on this subject? Please bring us up to date on it.
And I’ll see you guys again soon!
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Tell the story about vacuuming up the plant – for the kids who have not been here long.
I like the assumption that we remember parties at all once the start getting a little wild. Though, there was the one New Year’s Eve party I threw at my folks’ house when I was 19 that turned from ‘let’s all be sophisticated and grown up and drink wine punch’ to ‘let’s all puke on the velveteen living room furniture or on the stairs or in the basement.’ I sobered up REAL quick when the puking started. I think maybe only 1 or 2 other people are able to help me clean up before the parents came home. What a mess.
Now I miss the ‘edit’ feature in the comments. Typos irritate me, especially when they are my own.
I saw my 16-17 year old brother make out with a fraternity “sweetheart” (like their nomination for a homecoming queen or something) at party at my best friends fraternity house.
Years earlier I ended up stepping up on the neck of a kid who bulldogged him into a refrigerator. We discussed his actions. He expressed his remorse and undertook never to repeat such behavior.
The bachelor party I threw for the best friend from anecdote one above has become legend. Details shall forever remain undisclosed.
I remember cutting a couch apart to get it out of my brothers house after one of his buddies passed out face down on it then pissed himself. He urinated so copiiusly that he peed through the cushion, through the body of the couch and created a puddle on the floor. No one wanted to hat to get close to it to put it in the curb, so I cut it apart with a bow saw.
Three things. All at parties at a guys apartment named Gene. I think Rocky was there at all three.
1. A dishwasher from the Bob Evans days, named John Burke was invited. It was my birfday, and his mom made me a boob cake. John Burke got so wasted he was about to puke. Genes roommate grabbed a pot from under the sink amd everyone yelled “in the pot, John, in the pot. He hurled an epic Life of Brianprojectile across the room, on the couches, on the quaterbounce table, floor, you name it. Once he passed out, in the kitchen table chair he was sitting in, he was carried outside and locked out. Despite his pounding on the door a few hours later, no one would let him in.
2. I had been involved with an older woman named Diana. I was 16, she was 27. Another birfday story. My new girlfriend, who looked like a young Chrissie Hynde pulled me into the bathroom at Genes. We were banging away on the bathroom floor, and Diana just swung the door open, as she had to go. We just kept on doing it as she was pissing within 3 feet of our heads.
Next birfday. I had drank so much, I fell againt Genes apartments paneled wall. It made an imprint like Wile E. Coyote. The next day, you could see exactly a hole of my giant self in the paneling. Those were all great nights!
And it sucks that the Rays are 3 outs away from pissing away the World Series.
RIP
As Tiff pointed out, there’s not a whole lot of “remembering” going on here. About the best I can do is New Year’s Eve at my parents’ house, when they were out overnight – classic movie premise, but it only happened that one time. All I recall is waking up really early New Year’s Day… sitting on the toilet, undershorts around my ankles and full of redolent vomit. Good times. And my sister appearing in the doorway and emitting some sort of Look.
This is all I got…While still living with my parents. I came home from a date, said hello to a few friends my sister had over and went to bed. About an hour later my parents came home and I awoke to shouting/yelling, doors slamming, cars peeling out of the driveway. Turns out some friends were smoking pot on the porch (BIG NO NO in our family in the 80s) and my sister and her boyfriend were boinking in her bed. That may have been my mom’s first stroke or shortly after.
Other than that, all pretty tame. From what I can remember, anyway.
We used to have parties in pastures with bonfires. One party this guy Carter was drunk to the point of falling down and was being a prick to my girlfriend. Once he passed out I dragged him to the fire and placed his feet in the fire. It ended up fucking him up pretty bad – he had to get skin grafts and things like that. Today we’re good friends, oddly enough.
I imagine Carter treads lightly around you. . . jtb
Very drunk (naturally), in front of many onlookers, I once peed off the balcony of my host’s apartment, directly onto the hood of his brand new, bright red F150 pickup truck. This was circa 1980.
Fun fact: the host was Mike Scully, future executive producer and showrunner of the Simpsons from 1997-2001. He was a friend of a friend, which is how I wound up with an opportunity to pee on his truck.
Another fun fact: at the time he was a driving instructor, and he taught my younger sister how to drive.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Dishes.”
“Dishes who?”
“Dishes Sean Connery.”
RIP.
At an underage keg party in a strip mine field about 30 years ago, a crazy ass friend of mine looked at me and quietly said “watch this.” He pulled out a small caliber automatic pistol and emptied the magazine into the air. People were shitting their pants running in every direction, not knowing what the hell was going on.
It was all a diversion so that he could steal the beer tap for the tap deposit money. Pretty ingenious. I was the only person that didn’t run from the gunfire because he gave me advance warning.