A River Runs Through It

I've got a lot of random things to share from my past but the problem is that I forget most of it. Usually it's a friend who reminds me of something that happened to bring back the memories.  This story is one such story that has a tragic ending and I want to thank Carmel for bringing it to my attention.

The day didn't even start very normal because I had visitors in town.  This was during my college years, living on campus and my good friend Spank was visiting and brought his cousin along for the trip.

You see, there was a bi-annual tradition that I forced all my friends to partake in and that's why I had the visitors. Every show that came along I made a habit of bringing at least one new person along who had not seen the show before, Vinny was the man this time.

The biggest abnormality to the day was that Spank's cousin was a professional alcoholic which I had not interacted with in quite a few years.  We started the day with a trip to the Beer Distributor so that he could start his daily routine; we bought a 40 pack.

Before lunch hit he had already downed about 6.

So, lets meet our players shall we.

grrouchie: protagonist and all around swell guy

Spank: best friend from high school, in town visiting and showing off his new 'Stang to my chick.

Trish: My chick at the time- though nothing offensive is in this story she opened her self up for future references :)

Vinnie: Spanks cousin (some temptations cannot be resisted).

During the course of the day there was much begging by Trish to take the spank-mobile out for a ride.  This was the first time he had brought into town his brand spanking new (pun or no pun, you decide?) Ford Mustang which was a thing of beauty compared to what we were used to riding around in - Trish's favorite car of all time - the Chevy Cavalier!  In fact, to this day she tells me she's a big fan of Cleveland Basketball 100% because of this car (there may not be a whole lot of truth in that last statement).
I don't recall if it ever happened or not but I do remember that she was teased with the possibility for the entire weekend.  The thought of driving a car with such power was definitely a high point for her after having to deal with such manliness as belching and farting competitions all weekend long and the impending "I'm going to try to out drink you" that would occur later in the evening as the show approached.

Evening approaches and the 40 pack dwindles to nothing and in a rare display of manliness I decide that I'm going to get 100% wasted during the show.  I am going to attempt to out drink the out drinkable.  Even though he had a head start and should be feeling it, he was acting completely sober and could pack down more alcohol than any man I have ever seen before (or since for that matter).

Taking our seats at the show in a room where everyone is packed in tight and the waitresses are doing their best to try and keep everyone happy.  The first time a waitress approaches us Spank shoots her a $20 and tells her to keep them coming back plentiful and often - I look back now and realize he was a smart man.
Over the course of the evening she hit our table up more than any other table and if she couldn't figure out where a drink went we got all of her extras.
It's impossible to recall how many we drank and of what varieties, I just know that every time I had an empty glass I had at least two more waiting for me on the table.  Booze Heaven.

Top of the hour approaches and the room is getting into a fevered impatience.   People are taking sides, Literally.
One side of the packed room starts a chant "The other side sucks, the other side sucks, the other side sucks."
It's met with "The other side swallows..." as if it were pre-planned.
A few minutes to show time the audience stops razzing itself and turns its attention to the main attraction. Most of the chatter dies down but in an uprising the entire room is shouting "Sing fucker sing, Sing fucker sing."
Glasses are raised and beer is spilled, and the place breaks out in a huge ovation and cheer as the curtain is drawn back and none other than the amazing, the filthy, Dr Dirty makes his presence on stage and walks up to the Piano center stage.

The white suit, hat and bow-tie are all part of the routine. He comes out looking like a million dollars and sings dirty songs to a crowd of all denominations.  His routine is brash and offensive, there is no sexual preference, race, creed or anything else that he leaves out - he makes fun of everything under the sun including himself.
He has been performing for somewhere around 30 years at this point and his audience is the most eclectic mix I have ever seen.  From college students to grandmothers, everyone is packed in and having a 100% over the top fucking good time.  And NO ONE is safe from the ribbing.  If you stand out to him in any way you'll probably end up as an extra in one of his songs for the evening.  During "half time" you can even do a meet and greet and request to get your friends made fun of. It's the ultimate in family entertainment.

There is too much to share that I absolutely love so I'm just going to throw out a few of my favorites.

A short summary is that the show went on and I packed an amount of alcohol into me that I never have before. I started (and probably ended) with at least two round of liquid cocaine and a mixture of drinks in between that I can't even begin to describe.  By the time we left after the 2 and a half hour show I could barely even walk.   And now I get to the important part of this story.

I'm f'd up, wobbling and almost in need of assistance to walk, talk or think.
Before heading into the outside, the cold harsh Erie Pennsylvania outside I make my last trip to the rest room. In fact we pretty much all do.  No only are the restrooms in the Kings Rook club a great place to relieve one's self but they also have some awesome eye candy.
You see, the men's rooms in the Rook are wall papered with pictures of hot chicks out of Playboy's and Penthouses - wall to wall titties and ass.  It's great.  Focus on a great pair of tits and relieve yourself (urinate sir, don't get the wrong idea).

I stumble down the steps and pretend I'm doing a dance number that I just made up and wasn't actually trying to figure out how walk again and our group meets up to head to our ride.
We get to the car that will usher us back home and Vinnie decides that now is the proper time to relieve himself - you see the lines were too long inside and he really didn't have to go until that cold air hit him.  Now he must go or there will be a flood inside the car on the ride home and nobody wanted that.
He went and went and went.  Maybe he had been holding it in all day long for this one moment or maybe it's that it was probably 13 degrees outside but it felt like he took a day and a half and by the time he was finished there was a large stream of piss running in front of the car.

We were parked on a bit of a slope and in order for me to get to the car I had to navigate over the river of urine.  This is the part where alcohol takes over my brain.  All normal lines of logic are gone - I'm enthralled by the size of the stream that had been created and my brain absolutely cannot figure out what to do.  So stop a foot in front of the stream and try to wrap my head around how I am possible going to take a large enough step without losing my balance and falling. After all, small steps are giving me issues right now and I've got that drunk boy swagger going on.  I'm a fucking weeble - I'm just not falling down.

So this is when Trish says something that to this day I'm sure she regrets (not realizing that my mind is working in 100% literal translations).  "Babe, just jump over it"
Jump?

grrouch: "brain, did she just say jump"
brain :"yes grrouch, she sure as shit did, you remember how to jump right?"
grrouch: "fuck yes I do, bend at the knees and propel with force"
brain (looking away): "rut roh shaggy"

Jump - it's a simple act that I found out we take for granted.
How many times can we perform this act without thinking about it and not mess up a simple jump landing 3-5 inches in front of where we started?
With more alcohol than blood in my system I attempted to do what I have done a million times over the course of my life.
I started with bending at my knees.
However, instead of a slight bend I had a full bend - putting my ass near the pavement as if I had been crouching on the floor.
I exerted as much energy as drunkenly possible by propelling myself up from this now-crouched position to throw myself over this epic river of piss that stood between me and my destination, shifting all of my excess weight as I went.
In the air, practically flying, I'm a fucking Gymnast, I'm Kerri Strug or whatever that skinny bitches name was.
Landing.
I stick it.
I'm amazing.
I am a God among men.  I landed past my target, both feet touching the ground.
However, when I landed my legs were straight and my knees were locked.
When I hit, my knee buckles and my balances loses it's fight - Gravity takes over.
I twirl my arms in the air and start to fall backwards and end with a crash landing, my ass sitting square in the middle of the epic obstacle that I just tried to avoid.

To this day I still blame the whole instance on Trish telling me to jump.  If she changes her word "Jump" to "step" the day is saved and we don't have to figure out how to take a 250 pound, ass soaked in piss, drunk guy home - but alas the (now) Trish, the editor,  choose her words poorly and suffered because of it.

Looking back on the story now, I'm going to take credit for her future business of being an editor (not the writer portion) because of all the mental scaring that this one incident gave her.  She vowed to never let one poorly chosen word ruin a perfectly good evening again.

And I end with one of Dr. Dirty's Poems.

Twinkle Twinkle
Steam of Piss
All My Beers
Have come to This