This may or may not be a rant you care to read, but at the end of the day, we don’t care. We write because we think we are funny and want to satisfy our own smugly distorted sense of worth. Which is ironic since we celebrated our one year anniversary this past weekend with 2 of us blacking in Raleigh, one blacking at a college graduation party, and one sitting at home live blogging Roller Derby. One of the four found himself yelling at his significant other at 4am for interrupting him as he was urinating on the blinds in their bedroom.
So at what point does it stop being funny and start being an issue when you piss your own bedroom? Seriously? We’re talking about a guy who’s never had any problems holding his liquor. But 5 glasses of wine, a few double bourbon and cokes, and a brahsome bomb later (tequila and red bull- patent pending), there he was pissing on his own window. Back in the day, drunk stories were a dime a dozen. Maybe you were the guy seen leaning so far over a railing that you ended up pissing your own face, or you were the guy who somehow got a DUI on a skateboard, or 
you were the guy got ‘phantomed’ (where people draw on your face with a permanent marker after you pass out) and then go home and your dad is working in the yard and he asks you what ‘that shit all over your face is’ and you tell him ‘there’s nothing on my face’ and then when you get to ther shower, you realize you had a penis drawn on one side, and the other side was completely blacked out except for some skin-colored tears. Either way, is that still OK? And the answer, of course, is yes. That’s what Brahsome.com is all about. So if you’ve got some stories about blacking your way into an absurd or obscene situation, let us know about it. I’m sure we can get you a shirt or a hat or something to help ease your pain.
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
Okay, I’ll bite here. This little gem happened when I was in school with The Piler. I head out to the local watering hole with a buddy where I get blackfaced. After the festivities are over (Read: The bar stopped serving alcohol altogether, or just stopped serving it to me.), I get a ride to my apartment. He drives off. I head down the stairs to my apartment, where I live alone. I get there and come to the realization that I have neither keys nor phone. Tits. I headed around to my little front porch area and sit in a chair attempting to sleep when a little exchange must have taken place in my alcohol-addled brain:
AAB: “Dude, why sleep on this hard-ass chair when you have a perfectly good bed inside that’s all yours?”
Good Judgment/rationality: ZZZZZZZZZ
AAB: “Just head over there and give that window a few taps and see if you can bust it”
Good Judgement/rationality: zzzzzzzzz
I head over to the window, pull off my t-shirt, wrap it around my elbow and “tap” the window. Now, either I didn’t “tap” the window so much as I “slammed the ever-loving shit out of it”, or that was the shittiest window of all time, or both. Whatever, the window shatters, which I guess was the plan.
I begin to crawl through when I hear my upstairs neighbor call out: “Who is that? Are you okay?”. Having never had a conversation with this person, I respond with the emminently nonsensical “It’s just me”, which of course gives this guy nothing to work with. He calls the cops. I crawl over the window ledge and drag my stomach across the broken glass. Bleeding ensues. It is now around 3:oo a.m.
A little exposition a better writer would have given the reader earlier is that our little local apartment community had been having trouble with a violent sex offender around that time, as well as a host of nonviolent break-ins. Needless to say, Winston-Salem’s finest came in heavy, guns drawn.
After a pat-down against the wall, profuse apologies eminated from my semi-drunk, semi-asleep exhausted and bloodied corpus. The finest left without pressing charges. I think they may have felt more sorry for me than anything else.
So you can know what a truly hellish twelve hours or so it was after I left the bar. The then-future Ms. Sam (i.e. current Ms. Sam) was working night shift at the hospital that evening. Which means she works the unenviable twelve hours from 7p.m. until 7a.m. She was never what you’d call a happy camper by the time she finally got to my pad to sleep after a long days work. Well, on this particular occassion she was even less than pleased with her significant other. The apartment was a little more breezy than usual (window still broken in the winter); there was blood all over the walls where the finest had Terry-frisked yours truly, and I lay on the couch, a miserable disgusting vile heap of humanity.
In conclusion, may I please have a hat?
Actually, one of my favorite drinking stories happened to a friend of mine, let’s call him Thomas (his real name) while we were in college. Thomas was a science major of some sort and he had a morning class. One day, he had a paper due. Apparently, the teacher was distrustful of e-mail submissions for one reason or another and the paper was to be handed in, in person, at the start of class. (”Man I sent it to you, I don’t know what happened.” “I forgot to attach it, can I have an extension.” We are talking about liberal arts majors here.) So, like any good college brah, Thomas waits until the evening before to start this paper and works all night on it. The class was at nine or ten the next morning and Thomas finished this paper that morning around five or six. Now, and here’s the type of decision-making that makes him a true specimen, Thomas decides that since all he has to do is hand in that paper and he’s golden for the rest of the day, instead of sleeping for three hours or so, he’s just going to drink. I actually think he drank a bunch of MadDog, but in the interest of candor I will qualify that statement and just say that I’m not sure what kind of shitty, gas-station purchased wine it was.
Thomas blacks out and heads to class running completely on autopilot to turn in this paper. From here, the details have been provided by a compatriot of ours who probably should have helped Thomas out a bit more. Thomas finds himself in the hall, waiting for the class before his to get out. Ever the jovial fellow, he strikes up a conversation with his professor. Thomas finds out the professor went to Virginia Tech. Thomas then turns the subject to Virginia Tech football ever so smoothly by saying “Ernest Wilford is a motherfucker who will never catch a single touchdown in the NFL.” Exit professor. Thomas hands in his paper, passes out snoring in his class, sleeps through his class and well into the next. Wakes up in a Spanish class with no recollection of whether he turned in his paper or, just generally, what the fuck is going on, and walks home. Thanks to the wonders of blind grading, I believe the man earned a B on that paper.
Sam,
By any chance did your “climbing through the window” story occur at the Trails of Bethabara? I am thinking it did…
It’s my earnest hope that you know this because you are either a) my neighbor from above, or b) a member of the Finest. Sadly, you are probably just somebody who went to school with me.
I was actually your neighbor – the window directly to the RIGHT of the window you broke (we’re talking, like, 2 feet) was my bedroom window. I think Prazak introduced us a couple of times, actually (and, also, I work with Brinson in High Point – so whether I am considered one of the Finest by the Finest, I consider myself one of the Finest).
Ironically, I was passed out and only vaguely remember the sound of glass breaking. The next morning (re: afternoon) when I woke up, I saw the window and called the front office to see if anything happened the night before…
Hilarious, well, belated apologies. That probably would’ve scared the shit out of me if our roles were reversed. Prazak was the one who dropped me off that evening. He had my keys in his truck.
Now you know nothing happened, I’m just a retard.
No need to apoligize… I wasn’t scared, I was sleeping (er, passed out). You could have broken my window and I probably wouldn’t have moved much. Small world though.
Brahsome.com. Bringing former neighbors together since 2007.