Outta Here!
House Party Rock
House parties are the shit. They become even more marvelous when the house belongs to a person you could give a flying fuck about.
This story begins with a car ride out to Widener University. A younger, more attractive, and all around much cooler version of myself was in the car with Bunny Stardust, Queen Zip's brother, and another amigo of ours on the way to a friend of Bunny's then girlfriend's house (a mouthful, I know). The girl sucked, but she was having people over and it was something different to do rather than sitting in my parents’ basement blacking out on Natty Ice and Vlady. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
On the way to the house we devised a mythical situation in which we kicked down the front door while carrying a boom box that blasted the song "Rock You Like A Hurricane" on repeat. Air guitars, smoke machines, women in bikinis caressing our greased-up, rock n’ roll bodies. We would have made this a reality if only we had a boom box, attractive females, and a bottle of oil handy in the vehicle, but regardless, the tune would still play a part later in the evening.
We open the door and to our surprise there is actually a decent amount of good looking prospects in the room. A few douche bags to go along with them, but that was to be expected. One of those DB's walked up to us and asked for money for the kegs. This confused me because I saw him holding a can of Miller High Life. I asked the bag of douche "Why aren't you drinking from the keg?" His reply- "I don't drink Natty." That was the last I conversed with that faggot for the rest of the night, but begrudgingly, I handed the cockless ass hole a 5. Not many things in this world get better than handing over a crisp $5 bill for a red dixie cup to fill with countless brews from a metal cylinder with the iconic Anheuser Busch symbol engraved proudly on the sides. There were also handles of Vlady that were just begging to course their way through our veins. This was going to be interesting.
So, the beginning of the party was business as usual: drinking games, flirting with babes, getting a feel for who I was going to make an ass out of myself in front of that evening. As I said, the usual.
Back in these days I was really on my beer pong game. Mi amigo and I were running the table, and getting a good amount of satisfaction from it as well since we had already pre-labeled every dude at the party a fucking noodle. We had no friends there except 2 girls, one of which was Bunny's gf. Those two meanwhile were outside arguing about something or other, probably the fact the Bunny was drinking with us and ignoring the shit out of his babe, which was pretty much protocol at the time.
As we were killing it on the pong table, I had just about filled my bladder with enough liquid to break the levies, so a potty break was necessary. As I walked up the steps to the restroom, an extremely bothersome feline creature was annoying the hell out of me. It had already knocked over a beer of mine earlier and now it had followed me to the bathroom. The fact that I hate cats accompanied with the fact that I thought the cat’s owner was a loser resulted in the only logical action I could think of - throwing the cat out of the bathroom window. It was only the second floor and I had always heard that cats land on their feet, no matter what. And this one did. So I don't understand why the girls outside had a problem with a cat landing at their feet. But a stern talking to was given to me once I had finished with my pee pee.
Strike One.
Back at the party, others were beginning to get reckless as well. Shots were flowing now at a rapid pace with impaired judgment and motor skills clearly visible. Bunny has made his way back to the party, but his babe was nowhere in sight.
-Yo Bunn, where's the misses?
-She had her dad pick her up, he hates me.
-Ha Ha! You rascal. What you do?
-I don't know man, she said something about me being an alcoholic and not giving a shit about her. So I told her to go the fuck home while I stay here and drink with my friends.
-Good move, pal. Let's grab a drink.
As we move into the kitchen to viciously murder as many brain cells as possible, we heard glass shattering outback. Intrigued, we took a gander. No surprise here, just Zip with a dick and our other amigo launching bottles against the house. What I was surprised by was that the moment we opened the backdoor, that ass hole Mr. Zip winged a bottle right above our heads, making it rain glass all over our drunken little heads. No harm done, but shocking nonetheless.
This looked fun as shit. So, naturally, Bunny and I dip into the recycling for a few bottles of our own and do our best Randy Johnson impressions- praying that the fucking demon cat would run by to play the part of the pigeon. It did not, but I did see it over by the bushes. Guess who had to pee again? I leave the bottle-breaking to my pals and make my way over to this feline bastard.
-Pst, Pst, Pst...Here kitty kitty.
Stupid cat, already forgot that I threw it out of a window no more than a half hour ago. The creature stays still as I whip out my member and begin a nice, healthy stream of urine directly on it. I hosed that over-sized rat down like I was putting out a fire (unlike the Steelers’ James Harrison, I would pee on something I dislike if it were on fire- one of many differences between James and I).
As I'm zipping up after the most satisfying potty break of my young adult life, I hear the host of the party whip open the back door.
-What the hell are you ass holes doing?!
The smart ass Zip with a dick doesn't say many things that would make you roll over in side-splitting laughter. To the contrary, most things that come out of his mouth make you want to put your fist in it. But what came out of his mouth next was so perfectly timed that I nearly shit the entirety of my bowels into my pants.
-Getting rid of the recycling, bitch.
Strike Two.
After receiving yet another stern reminder of just whose house we were in and how little respect we had shown, we went back to the party only to find that 75% of the people who were once there were either gone or passed out already. Each of us were nearing belligerency, so leaving Chester was not in the cards for us. We were here for the long haul.
The gang of douche bags was gone and they left behind their precious cargo: The High Life. The keg was getting light and a little on the warm side. These Miller Highs were just about the only drinkable alcohol left in the joint. So, we did what we had to do and went to town on what was nearly a full case. Man, I hated those guys so much at this point.
The four of us ventured up the stairs with pockets full of Miller, not really sure what kind of trouble we could find on the second floor. All of the rooms were empty. Just us. The fourth amigo had a devious plot up his sleeve. He recalled the host stating very clearly to us to stay out of her parents’ room, for they would notice any minute difference in the room. So, in we went. Not to destroy anything. Not to steal anything. But rather, to leave something. A token of our appreciation for their darling angel inviting us to her oh so fabulous par-tay. Yup, we left a few High Lifes under their pillows. Real sons of bitches, we were.
We close that door and move into the next one. Jackpot. It's HER room! First order of business: Who can fit into her panties? We all could. We find an iPod and a dock, fairly new technology at the time. I scroll through the pod and I'm not surprised to see the most horrific list of bands that could possibly be compiled in one 30 gigabyte piece of hardware. But, I got down to the S's and what do I see? "Scorpions." Holy shit balls. Click. "Rock You Like A Hurricane." Sweet Mary Mother of God.
Now I imagine this is how it played out from the host's end:
-So I was like ‘Fuck Sally. Her boobs aren't even real.’ And she was like ‘Yeah well...wait...do you hear that? It's coming from upstairs. It sounds like an 80's rock band or something. And what's that thumping?’
She walks slowly up the stairs. The music is getting louder now. It's an epic guitar solo. Coming from her room. She walks down the hall way, more fearful with every step. She puts her hand on the door knob. Closes her eyes and says a quick prayer. She turns the knob ever so slowly and cracks open the door. What does she see?
"HERE I AM! ROCK YOU LIKE A HURICAAANNNEEEE!!!!" is what the four gentlemen wearing her undies while bouncing up and down on her bed are screaming as they treat their Miller High Life's like bottles of champagne on New Year’s Eve.
Strike Three. YOU’RRRRREEEEE OUTTA HERE!!!
I try to plead with her, tell her it was all my fault and to let the others stay. I'd sleep in the car. I know, I know. I'm a real Private Ryan. This actually worked and I was escorted out the back door. Locked out as my friends were aloud the privilege of sleeping on their couch.
I had no real intention on sleeping in the car. I was merely calming her down enough so she could go to sleep and I could sneak back in. So, as I'm waiting on the back porch in a lawn chair, contemplating this thing we call life, I'm pleasantly surprised to see Bunny come out and bring me a fresh, cold brew. How thoughtful of him. We sit there and try to have a conversation, which at this point sounds like 2 slightly retarded 7 year olds talking about Lunchables.
It seems quiet inside. Should be safe to sneak me back in now. We get up and try to open the door.
-Uhh, hey Bunny. Did you remember to unlock the bottom lock before you came out here?
-Awww shit.
-Wonderful. Real fucking wonderful dude. Now we have to actually sleep in the car. Give me your keys.
-Awwww shit!
Car keys are inside. Doors are locked. We are in Chester. We are fucked.
Not knowing what else to do, we wander the streets. You know, like any young white male should be doing at 4am on a Saturday night in Chester, PA. We only walk about a half a block before we run into a middle-aged black woman smoking a cig on her stoop.
-Hey miss, what you doing up so late?
-Aw don't you even get me started white boy. That nigga in there don't play.
-What do you mean?
-Shh! Quiet down. Nigga finally fell asleep. Fuckin’ junkie.
-Uhhh alright, we'll get going. Have a good night.
We walk fiercely back towards the house. Having just realized what kind of city we were in. The kind of city where crack-heads beat their women until they pass out, and the women shake it off with a quick smoke.
So, we sit on the patio furniture outback of the house, pondering how on God's green Earth we were going to get out of this mess. We're talking for about five minutes about what our options were, which included breaking a window, sleeping on the patio furniture, or going back to crack-lady and asking her to put us up for the night.
So, back to the crack-lady we go...
Just kidding.
We're sitting there, getting angry with each other because we both had fairly equal parts in arriving to our current predicament. All of the sudden we hear a click. It sounds like what a door lock would sound if it were being unlocked. We look to the back door, see nobody. We walk up to the back door and turn the knob.
Get the fuck out of here!
It was open! The door was actually God damn open! There could only be one explanation for this remarkable miracle...The Ghost of Natty. For those of you unfamiliar with him, The Ghost of Natty is the spiritual being that rewards drunken bastards who are down on their luck by throwing them a nice big bone every now and then.
The Ghost of Natty really came through for us. We were able to sleep comfortably in a safe residence until morning.
The host was none too pleased to see me sitting in her living room when she awoke. Looking around the room I noticed that the place had been cleaned. Impulsively, I took credit for it all. She was blown away. Shocked. Dumbfounded. Wet. My boys and I took the opportunity to leave on a high note.
The car ride back was a satisfying one. We came, we saw, we concurred that fucking party. We were real Rock N' Rollers for a night. We did whatever the fuck we felt like, showed no mercy, and took no prisoners. We took credit where it was not at all due. We even planted a few surprises for her parents to come back to. We, wait...getting a text message.
Host: YOU FUCKING ASS HOLES!
-Dr. Funkenstein