8/26/10

Best Puke/Shit Story E-V-E-R.

8/25/10

Last night I was witness to and and the lead role in both the single most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life and the single most emergency situation of my entire life, respectively. What follows is a puke/shit story, the likes of which, my words could never do proper justice to the actual viewing of/partaking of, in two parts…

Names have been changed to protect the wasted.

Act 1

Location: The Strip Club Meat & Fish, St. Paul, MN

I arrived at the restaurant at roughly 8:30pm. I should have known by the look on the host’s face when I told him I was there for the bachelor party dinner that my friends had already been up to no good. I found them seated at a long table in the balcony of the restaurant. Aside from my friend Alex, who doesn’t drink, I was the only one that wasn’t d-to-the-runk-drunk. In fact I hadn’t even had a drop, seeing as how it was a Tuesday night. (Yes, a bachelor party on a Tuesday night. Conventional ideas need not apply to a group of artists.) Anyway, Oscar, the bachelor was seated…well, not so much seated, as he was slumped forward, arms and head on the table, in a deep sleep, at the far end of the table. It took several attempts to rouse him from his drunken slumber just long enough to wave a hello at me. (Or was it a middle finger?) Then he promptly returned his head to the table and slipped back into darkness. And believe, as we were about to find out, he was most certainly in a dark place. I was seated next to another friend, Louis, who proceeded to slur-scream at me, “Give me some money!” And then more calmly but not the least bit less slurry ask, “Can I use your phone?” I attempted to let him use my phone but he dropped it a few times and was completely unable to remember which number he wanted to dial. After a few more ill-fated attempts to get money from me, his wife showed up and took his drunken ass home. Apparently just minutes before I arrived he had successfully contacted her with Alex’s phone but had no recollection of this. I knew they were renting a pedal pub around 5:30 but was still surprised at how hammered everyone was. Alex told me they had stopped at various establishments along the way to have shots of Jameson and other libations between relentless poundings of keg beer on said pedal pub. Ah, whiskey; that will do it. Sensing the situation wasn’t going to get any better, as everyone had more drinks in front of them, the waitress urgently asked us to place our food orders. I ordered the Loaded Burger which didn’t have much of a menu description other than “just how the cook wants to make it” or something like that. I didn’t take into account that I haven’t been eating a whole lot of meat lately and absentmindedly ordered it medium but a little on the pink side. This would turn out to be a nearly disastrous mistake, to be discussed in Act 2. Let’s return to the disaster at hand, shall we? I noticed that Oscar didn’t order, as he was sleeping and all, and asked if anyone was going to order for him. Everyone sort of looked at each other and concluded that it was probably not a good idea. Then Todd, who had organized this little party, tells us the Oscar had not eaten today in preparation for the bach party. He was probably assuming the evening would start out with diner. Ah ha, and that would explain his extreme wastoidness. Well a little time passed when suddenly Oscar arose from the dead with a look that any seasoned veteran of the party knows means only one thing: “OH SHIT, HERE IT COMES!” Even if he wasn’t seated all the way at the end of the table in tight quarters there was no way he was going to make it to safety in time. He put his hands up to cover his mouth and that’s when it began. The classic hurl that is the sprung-a-leak-puke began spraying in all directions from between his fingers. Quickly we passed down any empty glasses we could find. People were dumping their waters on the floor in order to provide him with more empties but he was filling them faster than we could get them to him. You know how at super huge keg parties you keep filling glasses without ever shutting the tap off and people just keep pushing their cups in the stream while someone else pumps the tap? Well that’s what this was like, except with a human keg of hurl. Eventually he stopped and we started stashing the glasses of vomit under the table, I guess in hopes of the staff not finding out. Oscar puts his head down again and it appeared the worst wass behind him. A waiter arrived with the first couple plates of food and of course walked right down to Oscar’s end of the table. And this is when it got good. Just as the waiter is starting to set food down, Oscar raised his head one more time. And yes he has that look again. And when I say unleashed, I’m not being liberal with my use of the term. He unleashed what can only be described as a full blast fire hose stream of chunky puke all over the waiter’s crotchal region and down his legs. Now, as a lifelong due-paying member of the party scene, I have seen some amazing pukes in my life. But this was unequivocally the single most amazing display of projectile hurlage mine two eyes have ever had the pleasure of laying themselves upon. The waiter, now wearing puke pants, could only smile. We all tried our hardest not to laugh. Everyone started throwing around apologies and offering to help clean up. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the wait staff allowed us to eat our meals before kicking us out. Yes, you read that right; a little (and by little, I mean a TON) of puke is not going to stop some hungry drunks from indulging on some steaks and pork bellies…and Loaded Burgers. Loaded Burgers ordered medium, but served raaaaaaaaaaare. Oh, and the “loaded” part: yeah that was bacon. Heated; not cooked, but heated…bacon. You see where I’m going with this?

Act 2 (Deuce)

Location: Bus Stop off of 94W at Huron Blvd SE, Mpls, MN


We tipped the wait staff an ungodly amount of money, which I imagine still didn’t make up for the mountains of vomit and mental trauma left in our wake, and decide that this is probably a good time to call it a night. It was about 9:30. An hour after I arrived at the restaurant, and roughly 10 minutes after I hurriedly ingested the first real substantial amount of meat I’ve had in a dozen days: an uncooked bacon burger. I offered to give my friend Austin a ride home, for he of the heavily intoxicated variety could surely use it. On the way to Austin’s house we were not so much having a good laugh at Oscar’s expense as we are discussing what an outstanding maneuver the man pulled off. I discovered that in order to protect his food from being covered in puke (he was sitting next to Oscar), Austin had stuffed his sandwich in the pocket of his jeans. Which would explain why he kept dancing around as we were leaving, singing “sandwich pants, sandwich pants.” I tell you man, these guys were waaaaaaaasted. I am surprised nobody else puked. And especially that there was no chain reaction of hurl started by Oscar’s gross, albeit impressive and quite hilarious feat. Anyway, I dropped Austin off at his place and he headed towards the house, singing the sandwich pants song some more. It’s at this point that I felt the first little bit of discomfort in the nether regions. There was something coming on but it wasn’t enough to stop me from getting on the highway. Just as I am a veteran of the party scene I am also a veteran of the having-to-take-a-shit-right-now scene. (It’s not IBS or anything; I just know when I gotta go.) At this point it felt more like a just-take-a-shit-when-you-get-home pain than it did an emergency. Well, no sooner had I got on 94 than it hit me. And it hit me hard. You know that movie Rumble In The Bronx? Well, my gut was the Bronx, and shit (literally) was rumbling through my borough. My mind went into panic mode, OMG, I’m going to shit my pants…while driving. This is actually going to happen. The sloshing in my belly moved straight to the sphincteral gates of my tightly puckered anus in a matter of seconds. I was now clenched so hard that I was attempting to stand and drive to try to release the added abdominal/anal pressure caused by sitting. (I’ve never shit while standing, so I assumed this was a good idea.) I was swerving around the highway, nervously looking for an exit that would have a secluded area. One thing was crystal clear to me at this point: I was going to be butt-raped by diarrhea and there was nothing I could do about it. I just didn’t want to happen in the car. Ruining a nice pair of Levis is one thing but covering your driver’s seat in liquid stench is another. I took the first exit I could find. It was a bus stop just off the highway used for express transfers. Thankfully there was a fence with vines on it that acted as a barrier between me and the highway. I jumped out, dropped my pants and squatted against the car just in the nick of time. My ass unleashed (again, not being liberal here) what felt like gallons upon gallons of the most vile, disgusting, acidic, chocolate bung pudding I have ever had the displeasure of excrementing. It was like when you put your thumb over a water hose except the water looked like rancid Indian food and smelled like turd and the hose was literally an asshole and there was no thumb. After 60 seconds of straight shitting, I was amazed to discover that not one single drop had hit the car, my shoes, or the back of my pants AND nobody saw me puking out of my butthole in public. I guess the gods of pants-shitting were looking over me. I used a handful of fast food napkins from the glove box to wipe my ring-of-fire and bathed in hand sanitizer before I tore out in a blaze of glory (and relief,) leaving behind me a human cow pie the size of a garbage can lid. You know, something nice for the morning commuters to gaze upon as the waited for the bus today.

-Nathan

25 comments:

  1. Okay Tucker Max.

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  2. JUST MADE MY DAY. FANFUCKINGTASTIC.

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  3. Really long but totes worth it. Wish I could have been there for the puke part.

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  4. This one time I did this one thing and oh boy was it ever wild.

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  5. Hey bro, do you think they serve beer in hell?

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  6. this is some funny rap musicAugust 27, 2010 at 7:39 AM

    Fuck these^ haters. This is really funny stuff. Besides Tucker Max's shit was all fake. He got called out for it a few years ago. I happen to know this story is true because I ride the 134 from Highland Park to downtown everymorning and the pile is still there--shitty napiks and all. But I do have one question--this is reader submitted?

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  7. oh look eveybody anders is cathing on.

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  8. this is some funny rap musicAugust 27, 2010 at 8:02 AM

    Catching on to what--that your a faggot?

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  9. you are fucking clueless anders. i dont want to bust the internet bubble you're living in. it just might reck your world. go make another tumbler page you hdd cocksuker.

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  10. lolz its nice two see nohting has changend haha nathen is still pretnending.

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  11. The comments section of HDD is such a cancer to the blog itself. Everytime I come here and read something really good like this, I want to leave a comment and then I get bombarded by comments with racist and homophobic slurs and people just generally being mean for sake of being mean under the guise of anonymity. I think you should go back to closed comments again. It was fun for awhile but now it's just gotten old and nobody is even being creative in their insults, just childish.

    That being said, I found this piece extremely entertaining. I think you should know you are a great writer and you shouldn't sell yourself short by posting under assumed identities. Also, get a book deal already, dude. Keep up the good work.

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  12. "under the guise of anonymity"August 27, 2010 at 9:47 AM

    @^^ thanks mom. now shut up you jew fag.

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  13. "under the guise of anonymity"August 27, 2010 at 9:48 AM

    and just cuz you can make up funny words and terminology doesnt mean your a good writer.

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  14. I agree with Anonymous9:43AM. A really good post but soiled by biting comments. But that is nothing new. Like BNB said in the X-Files post, negative comments are as old as the internet is. Speaking of negative comments, I find it curious that both SHITCOCK and Former "Fling" returned on the same post. Hmm......

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  15. For the record that is not me up there kissing ass and calling people mean names. I dont ride any bus and I don't even live there. People hate me because I actually admit to liking this blog I guess oh well I can live with that. I made the Tumblr page because I think the franco thing is rediculous and I was bored. Guess I'm cool enough to be imitated tho.

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  16. Oh Anders(sigh)you're really not doing yourself any favors.

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  17. sounds like an amazing evening! great story.thank you!

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  18. giving it to you straightAugust 27, 2010 at 4:21 PM

    Listen up everybody. In real life I know the hot dog days guys or whatever they call themselves and you know what? They are just a bunch of grown ups acting like children. I've dated one of them on and off for years. Since I was in highschool and he was a creeper! He's balding and going gray and still trying to mack on young girls. It's depressing to watch. So then another one of them had a chance with me but he can't keep a job and keeps moving around borrowing money from his friends. Plus he would rather stay up drinking with the other "hot dog days" guys than get laid. My girlfriends and I have known these guys for years but finally had to say fuck it were out. I'm 32 I don't want to date frat boys anymore. Especially 35 year old frat boys. You "followers" of this blog need to know the truth about the people you're idolizing and laughing at. There is the only one of them around that still likes punk and "cathes tags" or even rides a bike. All the other guys think he should grow up but the irony is he is probably more resposible than any of them and takes care of his shit and suprise he's the one that does most of the stuff on here and although he is selfish he is also one of the sweetest men you will ever meet but he prefers to pretend he's an asshole so that he does't have to get close to anyone but he has a really great girlfriend and we all hope he gets over his fear and doesn't ruin it. Some of the other ones are still cool and still like punk and rap and stuff but they all live out west or in philly and some of them moved up north to start families

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  19. giving it to you straightAugust 27, 2010 at 4:35 PM

    I went to highschool with some of the youner ones too. It was a small school so it wasn't wierd to be in 7th or 8th grade and hanging out with seniors. It was a small town and we had to make punk rock from what was available to us not what the internet told us. Mostley we liked rap until Nathan started making us punk mix tapes. I still have them. It's sad that all these guys live in the past still or at least try to. Salad days? I guess. One thing is for sure the "hot dog days" guys sure is "with more assholes." I guess I'm just bitter because my girlfriends and I tried for so long to make it work with some of these guys but ultimatley the party was more important to them and then the ones that did settle down picked up younger girls from outside the circle. Truthfully I never liked that. It's just hard being someone that knows these guys and coming on here and seeing all these pictures and reading these funny stories and knowing that really our friendship doesn't mean a thing unless it results in a comedy routine to be posted on a website.

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  20. Speaking of commenters making returns..... Freshman Comp, where are you? You've got some major work to do on both the post and the comments.

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  21. And 'giving it to you straight', stop being such a fag.

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  22. hey "giving it to you straight,"

    if you wanna write for this blog so bad, fucking submit something. oh, and have something to say that isn't totally boring.

    kthxbye!

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  23. @"giving it to you straight up the ass"

    Cool story, girl.

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  24. I agree with Anonymous9:43AM. get a book deal!

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