These drunken stories

[13]

here's a short one 98% true.


I sat there in a drunken haze listening to Morrison do his thing, while Dan sat cross-legged on the floor in front of me, cradling the bottle of Montezuma in between his crossed legs. He’d been ranting about something for half an hour and I had the feeling that the he was finally coming to the point as he waved his hands and became increasingly more animated. Finally one phrase sliced through the tequila delirium and earsplitting blues.

“BREAK ME!” he says.
“Eh, what?” I said, coming slowly back to reality. We’d been drinking for about four hours now. This was the second six dollar bottle of tequila. The first one we drained like it was Evian in the Sahara. The walk into town for the second bottle had gone miraculously fast. Booze has a way of puttin’ a spring into a man’s step I think. I’d asked the cat at the liquor store for a pack of Luckies, but all they had was Camel shorts. Ya win some, ya lose some. I only smoke non-filtered tailor-mades when I was really drunk. The walk back was quick and uneventful, except for Dan crying about this wart on his foot. ‘**** your foot’, I told him ‘the sooner we get back, the sooner you can be off that motherfucker.’
“BREAK ME I SAID!”
“What the **** are you talking about?”
“Hit me dude.” He said, taking a drag off of a pilfered Camel. This is one way I know this cat’s drunk. He hasn’t smoked a cigarette in over five years according to him.

You don’t have to tell me twice. I rared back and cracked him right in the back corner of his head pretty hard.
“What the **** man?!” he asked me.
“Well ya told me to hit you. You tell me? What the ****?”
“Here dude, not in the head, you nearly knocked me out man.”, he said, gesturing to a patch of road rash on his shoulder blade. Dan was the kind of guy who would ride his 10-speed to the biker bar, and park it right up in the line of hogs and Indians and Triumphs. This usually meant Dan rode back the four miles to where he was staying, shitfaced drunk. He frequently crashed. This left what I called road rash. Basically big scabs. So I balled ‘er up and mashed him right in the shoulder before he could say anything more. He started hollering, but didn’t stop me.
“DO IT AGAIN! BREAK ME!!”
Bet your sweet ass. I hauled off and wailed him a real hard ****€™ solid lick in the same spot. The scab was totally gone now, part of it on my hand, the rest in little clotty flakes adrift in the knee-high carpet of the ‘rumpus room’.
The rumpus room was the end bedroom in a shitty trailer my old lady and I were renting outside of town. The blood was flowin’ pretty good. I checked him out and he asked me if that’s ‘all you got?’. **** no it’s not all I got, are you shittin’ me? So I started just plowin’ him like a piston in the same spot over and over again. Hell, I like this game. The Doors had given way to some Grand Funk and I started keeping time on this ****€™s shoulder. Eventually we both collapsed dead-ass drunk.

I woke up, tried to ignore the random lightning bolts in my brain from the hangover. Dan was sleeping face first on the shitty rug in my room in the trailer. That rug was nasty man. It was so thick, anything could get lost in there. Once I turned the black light on in there. It looked like it had ******* snowed on the carpet from cumstains. I like to jerk off, so sue me. So the damn room looked like a ****€™ crime scene. You woulda thought some sorry son of a bitch had got murdered in there. There was blood all around Dan on the floor, and all up on his back. Then I looked down and noticed that I was covered in blood. All the way up my right arm and on my shit. Looked like I gutted a ****€™ pig with a butter-knife the night before. Anyway, I walked into the kitchen, avoiding the pitfall spot (where a floorboard or two had given out) and got a big ass drink of water from the kitchen. I went to take a piss and was extremely dismayed to find a pair of shitty underpants next to the stool. Not like shitstains, like ******* poop. Turds. I just left the shit there and went back to the room and sat down on the couch. My girl had been home from work and left already I guess, she was gone, no note. Who cares. I got my glass bong out and started breaking up some bud on a stack of amputee porn mags that this ******* weirdo had given me a few months back. I smoked a couple bong loads and decided I was gonna live, and that life would be richer if I **** with Dan a little. He was still racked the **** out, facedown in the shag. I got the South of Heaven cd out and popped ‘er in, then went and got the underwear (fully loaded) and brought ‘em into the room, and set them on the floor about an inch from old Danny-boy’s face. I kicked into the first tune on the disc and cranked it. No response.
“HEY MOTHERFUCKER!!!” I hollered over the music.

He twitched.

“HEY GET THE **** UP SHITSTAIN!!!”

No reply. Dan was a tall dude, probably six foot four or five, with a limp blue Mohawk and a bunch of jailhouse flash tats. He was a real punker, a hell of an entertaining guy, and a great front man, if you could get him to commit. So here’s old long-shanks stretched out next to a pair of shitty britches. He’s so crusty with last night’s blood that you can’t see half of the shitty tats on his back. Then I looked over on the desk on the other side of the room. ‘I know just the ticket’ I said to myself. I stepped over and got the bottle off the desk. I proceeded to empty the last ¼ of the bottle into the open wound in his shoulder. Well this was a double-edged sword that I didn’t expect. The first thing that happened was it must have hurt like a motherfucker, because he hollered at the top of his lungs and bolted clean up out of a dead sleep. At the same time he ripped the scabs off the front of his face and head. He had been stuck to the carpet. There were all kinds of itty bitty carpet fibers stickin’ out of the wounds on his face and forehead. I was aghast for a second, but then I realized what had happened and started laughing my ass off. He looked pretty ****€™ mad for a minute, but then he grinned when he realized that we had four tabs of Blue Felix to eat on the way to the beach, and it was gonna be OK.