Volume one: Stupid shit we do when we party too hard

 

Let’s face it…We ALL have done some pretty stupid shit when we’re drunk. I know my ex-wife has, big time, her stories are coming. Myself, I learned early in life, not to drink so much that I literally shit my pants. It wasn’t the alcohol consumption per se, although getting blurry-eyed shit-faced did contribute to the particular event and circumstances. 

Story one: Olive Oil, with too much alcohol, and loads of snacks

Follow this as I progress. Great party that night, hosted by our neighbors across the street from where we lived, Bob and Kathy Hanson, who happen to work at the same bank of retiree, Jack Madoff, and we were celebrating.

Everyone cruises through Bob and Kathy’s kitchen….we all do that at other parties as well, you know, check out the fridge, plus the host and hostess has put out all kinds of party snacks on the beautiful tan granite island counter-top.

Early on, there’s probably 35 to 40 people there. Friends and neighbors, some strangers, but mostly people you know. Most everyone cruises thru the kitchen at one time or another.

The noise level of +198 decibels, just lower than screaming, mixes along with John’s wife cackling so loud people around her really couldn’t hear the joke Mary was trying to recite anyway.

It’s crowded, and I quickly grab my plate of Lady Finger Miniature sandwiches, Cheese, pickled whatever (someone said it was really good fish from Norway). You take the nearest exit from the kitchen to the beautiful patio, with two beautiful fire pits, Tiki Lamps leading to the pristine pool, hot tub and Cabana.

“Beautiful pool, you guys” you yell out to your hosts who can’t hear you (You yell that out to them at every one of their parties). Mixing with the neighbors and friends, a few hours have gone by.

You’ve danced on the patio along with all the other party guests, you’ve taken part in a serious discussion around fire pit #1 regarding the city-wide problem with, and possible solutions to the growing, uncontrollable menace of all the pot heads smiling, and smoking, smoking and smiling around fire pit #2.

Of course you eventually migrate from fire pit #1 to fire pit #2, “Hey, Tommy, have a seat”, as Eddie passes a bong to you. Stoned, and shit faced drunk don’t mix well for me my friends. You have cruised the kitchen for snacks and shots, shots, and more snacks, numerous times in the evening.

Those Buffalo Wings and Italian Meatballs they just put out were especially delicious. As you are walking out of the kitchen, you notice over by the stove, a really fancy bottle of wine, wrapped in a basket sort of covering.

You nonchalantly walk over to the beautiful commercial cooking area/stove top, pull the cork on that probably really expensive wine, tip it back to your lips, and because you are so drunk, plus stoned, you juggernaut at least six to 8 ounces before you tip it back and look at the label.

Ummmmmm, not bad. A second later you’re thinking, “What the fuck did I just drink” as you are staring at the wine bottles on a table over by one of the patio doors. But it is Extra Extra Virgin Olive Oil from Italy, imported by Joe Mangassrosa family in Brooklyn, NY. Exactly 31 minutes later, two and a half hours into the party, you and many of your friends are in the massive pool, playing water volleyball. Don’t you just love how the women jump up and down in the pool? I do.

All of a sudden, you hear a noise from deep in your stomach, no it’s not THE fart of the evening, it’s the three second warning, and you know its not a fart building up over that three seconds, as you frantically swim for the nearest pool ladder.

Perfect timing as far as the hosts were concerned, they really didn’t want the party to go on and on and on. Rung number two on the pool ladder, and an explosion of liquid shit comes bursting out of your asshole, which is already a foot out of the water, cascading down and out both legs of your swimming trunks.

What do you do? You sink back in the pool, trailing this jet-stream of molten shit (someone yells out, “Look! It’s steaming!) as you nonetheless walk towards the volleyball game/people who are now screaming and scrambling for the sides of the pool opposite you.

All in all, it wasn’t that bad. The explosive poop-fart lasted about four seconds, but you continued to dribble-fart for at least two minutes as you were now slowly moving thru the water, calmly as if you didn’t know that you had just shit your pants. And actually, for the first few moments, you really didn’t comprehend what had just taken place.

Sure, someone took photos of the once clear swimming pool. Someone had to. And we all know, “Shit” does stink mildly, moderately, or chokingly, depending on what you have eaten/consumed over a period of time.

Especially when you stuffed yourself with so many snacks…..and a whole lot of Extra Extra Virgin Olive Oil, imported Italian olive oil. Imported by the Joe Mangassrosa family in Brooklyn, NY.

Ten minutes or so later almost everyone has gone home. Bob sorta thanked me, “Cleared them out good this time, didn’t we”, I said as we both looked around his now empty back yard. I could see that their were only about six or seven people left in the house, including my wife, talking about the time we were swimming off Malibu Beach. Another story.

Yes Sea Gulls will eat human feces when you take a dump whilst swimming. Yes. It looked like a scene straight out of the 1963 Hitchcock movie “The Birds”. Like I said, another story. That was the first AND last time I got shit-faced and accidentally drank olive oil at a party.

I did go back the next day to help Bob clean his pool, he was kind and understanding even though the pool water had a slight hint of tan to it. The pattern the crap made in the water was almost artistic, (I should’ve had my camera with me),  Bob said not to worry, their were a lot of cell phone pics already going around.  He said he had to drain his pool for health code reasons, makes sense I guess.

I helped wash the residue off the pool walls and bottom. Lots of Chlorine and an industrial sized mop & bucket, and just like new again. Yes, the city health inspector did have to take samples for testing. Bob and Kathy’s pool passed the inspection.

A week later Bob confided in me that while he watched the Health  Inspector walking around in the empty pool with white gloves on, searching for shit, he couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit, at the site and happenstance of the largest poop-fart he had ever witnessed.

So that’s story number one in, Volume one: Stupid shit we all do when we party too hard. Moral of the story: Read the label prior to consumption.

Here’s one of the most important letters I have ever written to someone. Please follow this link. If you don’t mind, please share the following page after reading:

Letter to the Rolling Stones

Strain: Rabbitsshitallovertheplace1A  Harvested a week ago

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