Phishr Chronicles

This is an embarrassing one. This was the last time I acted like this. The most ridiculous state I’ve ever been in. If it had a name, it would just be the adjective to the 8th power night. Me and an old fraternity brother “Norm” had developed a friendship fueled with the same love for belligerent drunken actions. This night is still talked about amongst people we don’t even know.

I lived in a house right near the college that everyone walked by on the way to the bar.  Majority of the times we would just sit on the front porch, discuss fraternity issues like a couple of savvy entrepreneurs and shotgun beers. When 2 would roll around all of the people leaving the bar and clubs would walk by and we would either chat with the passing friends, catcall at the cute girls, or ramble drunken obscenities to the other frat guys. This night in particular Norm and I were celebrating/mourning his new found “freedom”. He was gone. I remember him eating a can of snuff for shits and giggles. I, on the other hand, was a 2nd year freshman in no hurry to grow up so I found myself staying up with him and drinking… Alot.

This was my first house in Tahlequah. Our house had this shed behind it and I was pretty confident that a homeless guy was squeezing through a gap in the building and living in it. Tonight would be the night that we would verify this. As Norm and I stumbled back through a back yard that resembled something like a rice paddy in Laos (because mowing was a thing of the past, if it grew long enough it would just lay down, right?)  I distinctly remember grabbing the old maroon slugger and Norm grabbed a mag lite in case we were ambushed by the “Tahle-prowler”. I used my tee ball slugger to “unlock” the shed door and we jumped into the shed screaming and throwing things. No one was in it, however the shed was filled with goodies (read: old breakables and antiques). This is were I experienced my first pleasure overload. I giggled and shattered everything in a 3 foot radius of myself. I was falling into walls and soaking in the pleasure of making smashy smashy with everything around me. Norm, however, was in his own zone.
When I slowed down to catch my breath I noticed Norm standing in front of an old weak window and mindlessly chuckling. My eyes got big. He reached out quickly and put his hand through it. I was in awe for this was the first time I’d seen drunken ignorance reach a whole new level, I wanted a sample. As he inspected his hand it was of course all cut up. The ratio of alcohol to blood flowing through his system had thinned his blood so much that it was pumping out of his hand in rhythm to his racing heart. I won’t get into the blood so much because it wasn’t important to what happened next. I put my hand through the window right next to it.
 
I don’t know why. I had a hard time remembering what happened that night. That town does weird things to you. I left with pride and dignity for college. I came home in need of restoring myself because if I were to stay there I’d end up dead from the drinking and partying, no kidding. You ever wanna have a final blowout for something, go to Tahlequah. I’ve partied at many college towns and what I learned was this. The bigger the college, the bigger the town. The bigger the town, the more structure and stability. This town is outside the realm of college towns. You party so hard it’s disgusting.  The ONLY night people don’t go out is Tuesday. This town is so small that you know everyone. A campus filled with people who were kicked out of larger colleges, or people who were too nervous they would party their way out of a scholarship so they decide to attend in Tahlequah. Everything is backwards there. Here is a mathematical formula for this town. Old town+Drunk Indians+Drunk College Kids+Small Surroundings-Morals+A River=Tahlequah. It grabs ahold of you and transforms you. Even the girls in the Christian Sorority were drunken floozies.
 
Anyways, We had wandered back around to the front porch covered in our own blood. It was a mess. There was blood on the ceiling, the walls, the concrete, everywhere. “Maybe this was a bad idea, I’m getting light headed”. Norm slurred back, “Yeah, maybe we should wake Pucker (my roommate) up to fix us”.  I stumbled into the house and into Puckers room, “Pucker… Pucker’s fiance.. We need some help out here….”  He immediately thinks my car is in a ditch and Norm is still in it. They both jump up and run out to the front porch. “Jesus Christ, did somebody get shot”, Pucker said. “Noooo… Norm and I got hurt and we need something to stop the bleeding” I said. Puckers fiance grabbed Norm, and Pucker took me and they began dressing my hand wounds.
 
Cleaned up and bandaged we continue drinking again. I proceed to pull my hand dressing off so I can inspect my cuts. It of course starts bleeding again. (Side note: I for one am very lucky, this was by far the deepest cut(s) I have ever had, from punching a filthy old piece of glass. Hepatitis, Lock Jaw, and General Septic Shock come to mind when I think about what we did. I never went to get stitches, I just wrapped it and cleaned it with rubbing alcohol.) As the morning progressed my hand throbbed out of control. I decided to walk to my ex girlfriends sorority house. Norm tried to stop me but it was 5 a.m., I was bored, and my hand hurt.
On my journey I felt an urge out of the ordinary. I had to make a bowel movement. And I wasn’t about to do it in a house filled with pretty girls. I had one option. And that option was a vacant lot behind the old pawn shop… The sun was breaching the horizon, it was an early Sunday morning and I was wearing house shoes, shorts, a yellow tank top that had the ingredients to a “Freddy Fuddpucker” covered in blood and an ugly brimmed camo hat. I looked like shit. And I was squatting over as cars were driving by defecating in a lot. visualize that…
 
I showed up to the girls house and the eldest one bandaged me back up and put me to bed on her couch. She wrapped me in a throw that her grandpa gave her before he passed away and put me to sleep.
 
I woke up a few hours later soaking wet. I knew what I did the moment I opened my eyes. One of the girls said, “You’re wet… I bet you peed on her blanket”.  I was still drunk so I blabbered “Nahhh, it was a beer in my pocket”, I got up and ran home. 
 
I peed. Alot. All over her dead grandpas blanket. I reached a new level of prick. Once again, very cosmopolitan…
 
Years later, the scars on my hand are barely visible, The infamous “tank top” is somewhere in the Illinois River, but a little piece of my dignity is strewn about along a dotted line between 2 houses like it was a damn Family Circus comic…