“A hot dog at the ballgame beats roast beef at the Ritz.”
Humphrey Bogart
With 25 days left in my undergraduate career, I’ve come to the conclusion that I just don’t give a shit anymore. To emphasize that point, I have two papers due by this Saturday and a major exam in two parts on Monday and Wednesday of next week. Rather than write either of those papers or study any bit for this exam, I decided to go to a baseball game.
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This will be my first experience with 4-Loko. Because I’m a little bit hungover from last night’s drinking experience and I’ve got a little cold, I’ve chosen the “Orange Blend.”
Cracking the can, the distinct aroma of ambiguous citrus permeates the air. Let’s see how this goes.
It tastes like a mimosa! Holy shit!
1:31 - I’ve finished about a third of the can and I’m actually starting to feel it. My stomach is doing something very odd which I can describe in metaphor as a paraplegic doing a cartwheel.
2:02 - My brain hurts. Little more than halfway through. Panic and paranoia beginning to set in. Loko beginning to taste less like orange and more like plague.
2:10 - Started chugging because every time I sipped I vomited in my mouth a little. Bad idea. Looking through Facebook photos and discovering that I make some of the most bizarre facial expressions while inebriated. Need to work on that.
2:16 - IT’S IN MY EYES. AHHHHHHHHHHHH IT BURNS.
2:29 - You may have noticed I have changed my shirt. What a fucking ordeal that was. Rob has finished his 4-Loko and is not even buzzed, which clearly means he is either an alien who lives off of crappy alcoholic beverages, or he’s the Michael Phelps of drinking 4-Loko.
3:05 - It took me over an hour to finish the rest of this. Friends told me I was shouting when I clearly was not. They don’t know anything. Stupid friends. My mouth tastes like orange-flavored anger and rage. I’m glad I did this early so I can take a nap.
3:12 - Holy shit, I’m really drunk.
“ My goal is to have a tolerance that rivals Marion Ravenwood’s from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.
It’s been snowing all day in Southwest Virginia. So far it’s accumulated about two inches total, which is enough to coat the grass and be a pain in the ass when you want to drive somewhere.
Now, I live with two friends in a college-owned apartment located about a mile from main campus. The annex campus also has two fraternities, a sorority, and an empty building. Remember this, it might be important later.
I just dropped one of my roommates off at her car parked on main campus. As we left our apartment, we noticed that one of the fraternity houses was throwing a party.
“Huh,” I said. “Seems kind of early. Must be a cocktail.”
As we drove around the bend, my suspicions were confirmed as a handful of young women in very short skirts/dresses/shirts that look like they could possibly pass as a dress if the wearer is small enough exited a black sedan that looks fairly similar to my Honda Civic. Except for the fact that it looks nothing like my Honda Civic.
“Oh look,” I said. “They ordered strippers! That’ll be one hell of a party.”
After dropping my roommate off, I returned to my apartment’s parking. A young man in a shirt and tie and a young woman in a very short dress wearing her date’s coat were standing in the lot, apparently waiting for something. I slowed down since they were standing where I wanted to go. They began to approach the car. Confused, as soon as they were out of my way, I sped forward, twisted my steering wheel, and parked in the open spot.
After exiting my car, I decided to use a blank but ruined poster-board to clean off the rest of the snow from my windows. Meanwhile, the couple who thought I was the frat party’s designated driver stood confused in the freezing cold, wondering why no other cars were rushing to the parking lot to pick them up.
