One football Saturday Senior year, we were throwing a party that we had billed as the biggest party ever for the previous two weeks. Two weeks was an eternity in terms of party promotion at our house, often giving notice any earlier than a day or two prior to the party date led to an unmanageable crowd showing up and kicking the kegs by midnight, so we intended for this one to be a blowout.
In preparation, we obtained seven kegs and three taps; the idea was to have a keg flowing on each floor of the house to minimize waiting time. The upstairs kitchen was set up for beer-pong, the living room had the kegerator and was cleared of all furniture save the stereo to facilitate dancing, with ambiance generated from the gaudiest colored light disco ball that Spencer Gifts had to offer. The full, unfurnished basement, our traditional party venue, held yet another beer-pong table and stereo, and some odd remnants of old couches and chairs. We were ready to jam.
Typically, the guests at these sorts of affairs began to pore in around 10:00PM, and the place was filled to a capacity that was a slap in the face to the Fire Marshall by 11:00. I was just finishing up my shower when big Golden Girls loving bowl arrived at 8:30. I have known Bowl many a year, and have seen him in every stage of drunkenness, but this particular evening he was in the rarest of form. He proudly informed us that unlike we pussies, he had not stopped drinking since the football game! And not only had he kept it going, but he singlehandedly put away an ungodly amount of some whiskey or something – I cannot recall exactly because his speech was already slurred beyond comprehension.
I went into my bedroom to get dressed, while Bowl informed me once again that I was a pussy, and pulled a beer from the kegerator. He sat down on one of the kitchen chairs that were scattered around the house. When I emerged from my room approximately eight minutes later, he was slumped in the chair, head hanging low over his nearly untouched beer. I laughed, and shouted “Bowl!” to wake him up. Upon waking, he calmly set down his beer, got up, and staggered into the bathroom, where he remained for quite some time.
I thought nothing of it, and continued helping my five roommates with the party preparations. I left the room briefly, and when I came back, I started to wonder about Bowl. I rapped a few times on the bathroom door, and heard no answer so assumed he had fallen asleep on the can. I opened the door – nothing in my life had prepared me for what I saw at that point.
Predictably, Bowl had puked. Not only did he puke, but he literally covered every surface in the room with his vomit. There was a trail of bright pink slime from the door to the toilet, it covered the outside of the toilet, it was in the tub, it was on the walls. There were footprints all over the floor, and handprints on the sink, and on the mirror. It appeared as if girl from the exorcist had visited our bathroom. Bowl was no longer present; he painted the room in barf and vanished like a throw-up ninja.
I was dumbfounded; the magnitude of the disaster left me in a state of catatonic shock. The stench alone took my breath away. I just stared, until Schwartz came over, took one look, and walked away laughing. But not haha laughing; laughing with despair.
The only solution I could manage was to close the door and walk away. I was content with just locking it, maybe putting some police caution tape across the door, and never using that room again. There was another bathroom upstairs, and we encouraged guests to pee in the large laundry sink in the basement; surely that would be sufficient for the five hundred party-goers who would be arriving in less than an hour. What else could I do?
Unsatisfied with this solution, Schwartz’s girlfriend took one for the team, gripped a mop, and cleaned the whole room. If she hadn’t, I assure you no one would have.
Thanks for coming to our party Bowl, and bringing with you a hurricane of disgusting destruction.
"Throw up Ninja" That is literary genius! Bravo!
We hate that kid. One time, he asked us if we wanted to have a giant tickle fight.We hated him so much that we said yes, just to lure him into a field where we said the pseudo-tickle fight was to take place. Once he was there, we produced a lot of gay men as a joke. Bowl was extremely pleased and penetrated himself over and over with many organic objects found strewn about the field.
I just cracked myself up. I'm watching the olympics and the announcer goes, "and the leader is Blahzay Blah from Uzbekhistan," and I muttered to myself, "assholes."
And assholes Uzbekhistan! Chen-kwee.
Dude, chinaman is not the preferred nomenclature. Asian-American, please.
Shomer fucking shabbos!
Iz this the rite website to put big time nuts in your butts?
Werr, herro, kids! It's a me! Hooray! Now get ya rittre brack asses down a here anna suckonmgroin kids, tanks.
Did someone say assmeat? I really shouldn't be on this website but you kids are so adorable!
Wow. That Bob Costas interview with Shawn Johnson after she won the gold in balance beam was wildly inappropriate. There were like 4 people there and all 4 suffered from some kind of extreme oddity. Some funny, some annoying, but I give that whole trainwreck a gold medal in the "making me feel uncomfortable" category.
8 years down the road, i continuously ask myself - Was it all worth it? Was it all worth it?
Well, since my only recollection is via the Augmentee et al, the answer is a resounding "YES".
R.K. Bowl - Throw-up Ninja Extraordinairre
point of clarification - i was not drinking scotch/whiskey in college (at least not in copious amounts that would have resulted in these events). Odds are that this was a long island iced tea night at the Cafe.
Just my vomit-covered 2 cents.
what about some props to the poor drunk bastard for MAKING it to the bathroom? I'm fairly certain the Augmentee would have used the coat closet...
p.s. "throw up Ninja", BRILLIANT!
and speaking of ninjas...
Bowl because of you we had to replace everything in that bathroom... toothbrushes, razors, soap (even though it's self cleansing) - even the Q-Tips because somehow you managed to fill the little blue box!
I hope you had a shitty walk home that night.
Having just heard the story a second time, I would have to guess in order to make the vomit pink it would have had to have at least 1 part monkey boy
Unless you just ate a lot of strawberries
damn, that makes me want to go back to school
quit talking about Penn State, the only feeling I get is an incredibly strong urge to re-enroll
In my experience, alcohol puke is often pink - granted, much of my experience involves watching Bowl puke.
pink puke? Its usually those snowballs you bought at the 7-11 while picking up that case of Milwaukee's Best Beer (aka: milwaukee beast). You know, the gross choc cake with oddly spongy red outer layer and coconut flakes.
Milwaukee Beast has a spongy red outer layer and coconut flakes? I HATE coconut!
chumpy, how many blogs in a row was that....how's the tree bark taste out in cali?
pink puke usually means blood or snow cone from 7-11....
But 8 of them in the same hour and a half.
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