December 23, 2009

Waking up. Groggy. The stale, metallic taste of last-nights bourbon, cigarettes and pussy still on my tongue. Feeling slightly disoriented, with the sound of my alarm clock going off and the pounding thunder rattling my head like the old, rusty warehouse windows behind me. I can barely see, but manage to find my phone to shut the incessant sound off. Wet? I feel wet. Wondering what shenanigans I did last night that caused me to wake up on my couch, in a puddle of unknown origin. Did I piss myself? Throw up? No. Its cold, and I feel the drip from the 14-foot ceiling hit my leg. My roof is leaking. Fucking perfect. What a way to start out the day that Im heading home for Christmas. Trying to remember what the fuck happened the night before, I briefly ponder on if Im alone or not. Getting off the water covered, leather and chrome couch, it reminds me of the Harley thats always parked outside in the rain. Youd think people would take better care of those things. My feet hit the cold, wet shag rug with a splash. Feeling like the bottom of the pond I used to play in behind my parents house as a child, I hop off quickly. Walking towards the bathroom, I step in another puddle. Fuck. Another leak. I guess thats the benefit of living on the top floor of a 100-year old building. Thunder crashes more, as I move across the small loft towards the bathroom, feeling last nights debauchery sloshing against the sides of my belly. Really, I may need to puke now. No. Just piss. Relief. Examining the damage in the apartment, I call management. Listening to

their pre-recorded message, I realize that they are probably not going to help me much that day. The rain must be worse than I thought. Beep. I leave a message, telling them about the three leaks Ive discovered in my apartment. About the dripping and the puddles, and the damage they are causing to my furnishings. I hang up, hoping they get that before the roof gives in. Really shouldve had renters insurance. Hopping in the shower I scrub the party from last night off. That smokey film and filth from my hair washes down the drain, cleansing me of whatever transgressions I committed. I turn the water off and step out, drying my hands and face first. Still dripping wet and naked, I walk in the living room and grab a cigarette. I light it up and take the first drag. Bliss. I throw some undies on, and pick up my phone. Four missed calls from my mom. Thats normal. Understand, that no matter how old I am, my mother calls me everyday, and keeps calling until she gets ahold of me. Yeah, its like Im 10 years old. I call her back, and she answers with a hello, that could only sound more relieved if she was taking a shit at the same time. We talk for a minute, but I quickly end it and tell her that Im finishing up packing. Ill be home for Christmas soon, mom. Finished Packing. A laundry basket on wheels full of gifts, a small, rolling piece of luggage, and a duffle bag of dirty clothes with me, I head down the hall way of my floor towards the elevator. The tall ceilings and concrete floor echoing every roll and step I make. I press the button to go down, looking out the window at the rain pouring down, and pooling up on the white roof below me. I look at that roof every day during the winter. So perfectly, bright white it looks like snow as I approach it every morning. Then I remember that I live in the south. There is no snow. Down the elevator I go. Regretting my decision to drive home for Christmas a day earlier than I had originally planned. I make it to the lobby. Pass my mail slot, which Ive neglected to check in about a month. Im sure there are bills in there, but whatever not important today. Buzz. My phone vibrates vigorously, as if its trying to tell me to stay. Maybe thats just what I was hoping. Its my dad calling. I walk out the front door of

the building onto the piss, garbage and vomit stained stoop; set down my belongings and answer the call. Hey dad. Hey, Son. Your mamma wanted me to call and see if youd left yet. Yeah, talked to her earlier. Told her Id be on my way about right now. Well, hows the weather? I hear I-30 is flooded up there, and people are trying all kind of ways to get around it. You might wanna check into that before you get on the road. I know. Ive heard that too. Gonna come down through Fordyce and Camden to get there. Figured that was a safer bet. Probably so. Well, just let us know when youre on your way. Walking to the car now dad. Oh, well aight. I guess well se ya in about 2 and a half hours. Yes, sir. I guess so. Later. You be careful. Thanks. Bye dad. Watching the rain pour down over the rusted covering Im standing under and flood down the alley, I light a cigarette. Relief. As I gather my things, and head to the parking garage, I splash through the alley, like its some kind of water ride at Magic Springs. Scan my key fob to get in the garage and down the ramp I go. Soaking wet, I pile everything into the car. Shit. I forgot the booze. Too rainy to go back up, I decide to just buy more while Im there. Great plan, but the small town Im from is in a dry county. Sounds like a Christmas road-trip to me. As Im pulling onto the interstate I light another cigarette and crack the window. Rain flies in like frantic housewives at Kohls on Black Friday. I hate that holiday. Is that even a holiday? I take the exit off the interstate onto highway 167 south. This is where it hits

me. Im driving home to enjoy Christmas for the first time in a decade without a wife or a girlfriend. Furthermore, my younger brother caught his wife of seven months cheating on him two days ago. I should really call him now. No fucking service. Of course. Coming around a curve, I screech to a stop. Like a long string of christmas lights bending around miles of curves, Im stuck behind a lot of traffic. No way to call anyone. No way around this. I just slowly creep by and enjoy the flooded scenery. People yards turned to ponds. New subdivisions turned to lakes with houses rising out of them. This is going to be a long drive. 22 cigarettes, 4.5 hours, 40oz of Diet Coke, and a completely freaked out mother later. I arrive home for Christmas. ___

December 24, 2009

Waking up on an old recliner. Sore. The smell of dad making biscuits and gravy permeating throughout the living room. Wish I still had a room or a bed here. Need a cigarette. Must find a reason to leave soon. I slide out of the recliner, bare feet landing on the tan, flat carpet in my parents living room. Sit down at the table and enjoy breakfast with the family. My brother, Tyson, isnt looking so well. I cant tell if hes just depressed about his failed marriage or hes actually sick. Wish I could help. The day progresses slowly like everything in this town. I swear, this town stopped moving sometime in the 80s, except half of the cool shit from that time period has closed around here. The old bowling alley is now just empty. I hear it doesnt even have the lanes in it anymore. The old local grocery store, Smittys, in the middle of town is now a dance studio. The old video stores are all but gone, and there is very little to replace any of these things. Hell there are two old Walmart buildings that have been inhabited by some random amount of stores just to fill space around town. The new Walmart is the only place you really see anyone any longer. Its nighttime now, and were headed to Christmas at my grandparents house. Its a long drive out to the town of Village, where they live, but its a nice drive. Tyson and I ride together out there, in his beat up Sport Sedan. The sound of his tuner muffler echoing through the trees and the shadows

from his headlights give me this eery X-Files feeling. None the less, we light up one last cigarette before we get there. Pulling up. We put on cologne to mask the stale ashtray smell on our clothes. Too much. We walk in and do all the usual greeting to everyone. Merry fucking Christmas, right? The food smells good. Mamaw never lets me down there. Turkey, ham, dressing, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, corn, corn bread, rolls, fresh pickles, and probably more shit that I didnt see or care about. Prayer before we eat. Uncle Bud who is some kind of alleged preacher blesses the food. Father. I want to thank you father for this food father, he goes on. 27 fathers. Now I get to eat. Theres a guy at the table behind us talking everyones ear off. I have no fucking idea who he is, or why hes at my Christmas, but he is. I look to see if anyone else is confused and no one is saying anything so I ask my mom. Hey, who is that? My mom just laughs and looks around at all of us. Tyson then replies to my inquiry, Im glad you said something, because I was wondering too. At this point, this unknown guest is sitting at a table talking about cannibals and black colored deification. Hes talking a lot. Fucking Chatty-McChatFace. My sister, Drew is laughing almost hysterically. My dad chimes in, and I was hoping he had an answer, but he didnt. Seriously, who in the hell is that? he responds as serious as he could be. Laughter ensues and the problem is solved when my mom explains that its my cousins husband, and half of us were at their wedding. I wasnt one of those people, so I was safe from mockery. Finished eating now. Full. Too Full.

Mamaw then rounds the corner with my favorite thing on earth popcorn cake. Its so stupid, but so good. Just popcorn, nuts, and M&Ms in a bunt pan, with marshmallow cream poured over it. Cooled until it congeals. Its sticky, dense, sweet and salty. Its amazing. Fuck. Gotta eat some. Not feeling well now. Might need to puke. Gift exchange time. No one really gets gifts here anymore except the grandparents and the kids. Funny how that works. Only the old and the young. When did Christmas become so segregated. When did it become the holiday of spending insane amounts of money on someone or not getting them anything at all? Id take a homemade gift over nothing, but I cant talk. I didnt bring shit. Papaw opens a gift from my crazy, drunk Aunt Lizzy. Its three guitar picks. Wow she really went all out. Papaw acts as impressed as he would with any gift. Hes polite like that. At that point, Aunt Lizzy finds it necessary to yell at the top of her lungs, Who got him a good gift? like there is some gold medal for who spent the least amount of money, but still made a good impression. Tyson is looking worse. I need a cigarette. Its time to go. Me and him head out. Making it just around the corner before I light a cigarette. Relief. ___

December 26, 2009

Saturday afternoon. Christmas is over. All the fun and cheer is dwindling. Tyson is feeling a little better, after his long nap in the recliner that lasted all Christmas day. Drew is itching to go out tonight. I feel the same way. Im recovering from the nonstop dance party we had the day before on my neices Wii and the glutonous amount of eating we did. Its funny. Every Christmas morning, we all eat like were never going to eat another meal for the rest of our lives. Just part of the celebration, I guess. Definitely part of the reason we are all unhappy with our waist line.

Me, Drew and her best friend Wynona come up with a plan to go out that night. We cant quite figure out where we are going though. Shreveport is top on the list, though we want to take Tyson out to get his mind off his failed marriage and we have to work out some way of getting him in everywhere, seeing as hes only 20 years old. 20, I remember that year. Wasnt so good for me. Me and Tyson hop in the car for a trip to the liquor store. Takes us 30 minutes to get to the nearest one. Driving there, we pass run-down shack after run-down shack. A reminder of the many reasons I got out of that small town. Me and Tyson didnt talk much about his relationship, other than degrading conversations about his ex-wife Leslie. The best one was when he told me that her pussy smelled more like an unclean shit hole than the delicate lady-flower it was supposed to resemble. Even going as far to say that when she undressed, the smell of her vaganus would fill the room, much like getting trapped in a public restroom with that guy who makes all the noises in the stall next to you. We laughed. It felt good. Arriving at the liqour store, we go in to pick up a few things. Even Williams? Check. 100 proof Peppermint Schnapps? Check. Tom Collins mix? Check. Grey Goose? Check. Coke, Diet Coke and Cranberry Juice? Check. We get in the car and head home. The party starts at Tysons house around 7:30. I run out to pick up my longtime friend Charles, or C-Bag as we all called him. I really dont know why, just seemed to fit. C-bag is a nice guy. Too nice most of the time, and I believe something is very wrong with the way he approaches the thought of women and partying, but hes a really cool guy to hang out with. He gets in the car wearing his usual attire. Grey hoodie, Corona t-shirt, jeans, and the same sneakers he wore to work that day at the Tire Shop. He always wears that fucking hoodie. Party starts. Not too big, and the people dont seem to blend well. Theres me and C-bag, Drew and Wynona, Tyson and his friends Herbert and Zack,

and Zacks girlfriend Dorothy. Herbert is possibly the weirdest person Ive ever met in my life. He is a raging, paranoid, druggie, who looks like one of those creeply trannies you see on the COPS late at night. He is also rockin a scullet. Fuck yeah! Scullet. So I start mixing drinks for everone. Its a weird cocktail, that I called Christmas Cheer. Vodka, Peppermint Schnapps, Tom Collins Mix and Cranberry Juice. Tastes good and gets the job done pretty quickly. Dorothy is standing behind me in the kitchen. Were the only two people in there, and shes just staring at me. I offer to make her a drink, and she keeps looking at me and playing with this weird bunny tobaggan she has on. I think shes a serial killer. I need to get the hell out of here. I step outside with C-bag to have a smoke, and we start discussing the nights plans. With all the issues weve had with sneaking Tyson into places, he suggest we go to Texarakana. Not as far as Shreveport, and he said the club Fat Jacks was pretty good. I run inside and tell everyone else, and it seems everyone is on board. We make one last toast, Tyson and Herbert disappear into the back of the house for a few minutes, and we load up in Wynonas caddillac Pearleane. Thankfully the weirdos decided to stay at the house. Its just me, Tyson, Cbag, Drew and Wynona heading an hour a way to Texarkana. Love this crew. Fuck. Shouldve had another cigarette before we left. 10:30 P.M. We arrive at Fat Jacks. Pulling up in the smooth riding, pearl-white Cadillac, we were all somewhere between losing our buzz and so excited to be out that if it took more than five-minutes to find a parking space, we wouldve left the car and fucking walked. Hopping out of the car, I admire for just one second the crew Im rolling with. C-bag, wearing his usual grey hoodie. Tyson, wearing a green, untucked dress shirt, black tie hanging loose, some skinny-but-not-so-skinny-they-look-gay jeans and torn up Toms. Drew is rocking a black leather jacket, black boots, and pink dress that is so short its guaranteed that somebody is getting a free show tonight. Wynona is rocking a slinky black dress that is sure to drive the men wild and it completely accentuates how tall and slender she really is. Me? Ive got on some bootcut, torn up jeans, loafers and a plaid shirt that I bought at Forever21 one time as I ran in, and pretended I liked cock in my mouth just long enough to not look out of place in that store.

Seriously. Walking in, I was worried about Tyson getting passed security. Me and him are technically using the same I.D., but luckily his is an older picture of me. Works just fine, and we are all inside. HOLY SHIT! I swear to fucking God, when we walked in this place, the amount of teeth in the building fucking tripled. It was retarded. I dont exactly know what C-bag was talking about when he said it was crunk in there, but Jesus Christ. Unless I was planning on taking home a geriatric biker lady and her dentures, or the meth addict that wont get the hell out of my way at the bar, Im pretty shit-out-of-luck here. At least this is a smoking establishment. Fuck it. We hit the bar. Tall, double bourbon and diet for me, Jager for C-bag, Bud Light for Tyson, and two long islands for the fairer sex in our party. We grab a table just as I think some redneck Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band really started rocking out. That is when we make the toast that we make every time we go out To not remembering. I then walk up to buy a round of shots, that Im not quite sure what was in, but I told the bartender something that the girls and C-bag would like, and she laughed and handed me a tray of shots that tasted like life-saver filtered piss. Oh well, went down the same. I finally see a pseudo hottie in the club. Brunette hair, long legs, and from what I could tell she had most of her teeth. Fuck she isnt even that hot, but its the best we got going for us here. Its really time to go. Shes standing by the bathroom. Maybe Ill chat her up on my pit-stop there. Fuck no. Shes flirting with some guy wearing a rebel flag shirt and drinking Busch Light beer and not in an emo-ironic way. Better off, I really gotta piss. Knock. Knock. I hear C-bag say, Occupied. Fuckin hell, I gotta go. The door opens and him and my brother both pile out of there. I was slightly curious how they were both using a single seater, but had to piss too bad to actually care. Finished. We head to some place we heard of called Club 7, that is supposed to be the craziest, drunk, dance, ghetto party club in town. Trying to

find this place was a bit challenging, but I think we were trying too damn hard. We pull in the parking lot, and all hop out of the car. Walking through the parking lot, its clear we are at the right place. Caprice Classic on 22s, Escalade on 24s, Caprice Classic, Caprice Classic, Etc Me and Tyson Rock, Paper Scissor to see who is going in first. Shit. Tyson. Me and C-bag hang back in the parking lot as the other three head towards the door. Lighting up a cigarette, I suddenly hear a big ruckus right in front of them. Everybody get the fuck back or youre going to get maced! Cops are screaming, and throwing people out of the front door. Tyson comes running back towards me and C-bag, while Drew and Wynona keep walking towards the door. They are either too drunk, too crunk or got bigger balls than my younger brother. Five cops are standing in front of the place holding up mace, and then one other, portly looking officer is about to die of a fat mans asthma attack in the corner right beside us. I have no fucking idea whats going on, but I know it is not looking good for us. Cops are still screaming, and people are flooding out of the place, while Drew and Wynona are still desperately trying to get into this joint. What the hell is wrong with them? Finally they return, with some story of how some Monique looking bitch working the counter wouldnt let them in. Really? I cant imagine why. I pull out my phone and look up other clubs in T-town. We narrow it down to some place called Club Next, which sounds kind of promising in the same kind of way that a Matrix trilogy sounded promising to adolescent males before they actually created that awful mashup of sequels. We hop in the car and start heading that way. I notice Tyson is sniffling and Im getting worried that he might not have had time to heal properly. That sucks, but Im happy hes persevering. Were all getting a little frustrated and Im desperately hoping this next place works out. I guess its time to Rock, Paper, Scissor again.

December 27, 2009

Next. Its 12:30 A.M. when we arrive at the club. Works out that its going to be me, Drew and C-bag who enter this establishment first. Walking through the packed parking lot toward the door, the street lamps hit us just perfectly for this to be that scene from Swingers where they pay homage to Reservoir Dogs. Wish life could really move in slow motion. The plan is set that we would enter and then 15 minutes later, Wynona and Tyson would come in. That is, as long as they arent scanning drivers licenses. Us three enter, and what do you know, they arent scanning. Wait there is a hold up. They write down everyones name. Shit maybe it wont be a big deal. We make a fucking B-line to the bar and I am ready to get my drink on. First thing I notice though on the way to the bar, is that we might possibly be the only white people in this place that came to dance or arent working there. The bouncers were white, the bartender looks white, and the guys and girls to the right of the bar playing pool are all white, but everyone on the dance floor is Hispanic or Black. Fuck yeah, we are at the right place. Finally I arrive at the bar, and Im as thirsty as those little orphans Sally Struthers used to try to sell my ten-year-old-ass in the middle of the night. Wait a minute.. hold on. The fucking bartender is wearing pajama pants. Fucking pajama pants. Like hes a freshman in college going to his first class that he specifically planned to start sometime after ten in the morning. But thats not who this fucktard is. This guy is definitely in his forties, overweight, and is working at what seems to be a pretty decent club on a Saturday as the bartender. Probably shouldve told me something, but fuck it. I order a double, Knob Creek and Diet Coke to get things started. Drew is questioning on if we should wait for the rest of them to get in first, but thats just not happening with me. 15 minutes is a long fucking time. Shit. They dont have Knob Creek. He offers me Crown Royal, like canadian whiskey is in any form what I was asking for. He shouldve taken a few bar tending classes in those PJs. Jim

Beam will do just fine, though it does not have the same kick. Drew orders a long island, and C-bag orders his usual glass of straight Jger. God that shit is sick, and I know hes going to be feeling that later. We hang out at the bar, talking, listening to music and waiting on the others to get in. The music is pretty good. Jay-Z comes on as I get a text from Tyson saying that they are coming in. I tell Drew to go flirt with the bouncer and distract him from the whole thing. I light a cigarette and watch as Wynona has no problem getting in, but she catches on pretty quick and starts really paying attention to the people watching the door and flaunting her flirty personality and other assets. Tyson makes it passed the door, and comes straight to the bar. We high five, he laughs and tells me that the bouncer said, Hello again, Jason Rogers. Funny as hell in my opinion, but who gives a fuck, its time to party, and Im on my third drink at this bar. I want to dance. Drew and Wynona hit the dance floor without a thought. I roll up and start dancing with them and Tyson soon follows. C-bag, as per usual, sits at the bar alone and watches us. Hed be a great D.D. if he could hold his liquor or just not drink. The four of us on the dance floor are feeling the music, but we are all doing what I call the Prairie Dog. No, not the dirty thing when youve got to take a shit. Were all dancing, but randomly we all keep popping our heads up and looking around to see if anyone in this place looks like a P.P.T.L (Possible Part Time Lover) or at least looks good enough to grind on for a few minutes. The answer is hell no. Im having trouble finding one attractive mother fucker in this place, other than my own crew. Me and Tyson break off for a minute and start dancing with some real ghetto girls that got so much ass I feel like Im ten feet away, but still touching the girls booty. Im happy to see Tyson out like this. His girl has some kind of issue though , because she is straight up dancing away from him. I really dont know why, hes a much better dancer than my ass. Wait. My girl is dancing away from me too. Fuck those hoes. I turn around and I swear to God, Im confused by what Im seeing. My sister is dancing with this short, nugget version of Mario Lopez. Fuck, he looks like A.C. Slater, minus the cool jackets he always wore on that show, but with the Jheri Curl. I laugh my balls off, as Im walking to the bathroom.

Relief. Wait. Hold on. Is that Stanky Leg? I bust out of that bathroom so fast, Im still buttoning and zipping my pants as Im running out. This is my jam, and me and Tyson are owning it on the floor. We are impressing everyone. I look over at Drew and I can tell her head is getting heavy, and as hard as shes trying to do this dance, her legs just dont seem to be working. Oh well, shes still having a good time. Wynona, who I believe doesnt know this dance too well, is doing her usual one-arm-in-the-air dance. Time to hit the bar again. Double bourbon and diet for me, Tyson gets the same, and the girls oddly enough get water. I guess those long islands are finally kicking in for them. I think C-bag is still sipping that same glass of Jger he ordered when we came in. Wynona and Drew head back out to the dance floor, and I see this girl that I swear looks just like Rhianna. Long legs, short hair, even a tattoo on the back of her neck. I tell Tyson and C-bag they need to go handle that, because she is dancing alone. How is the prettiest girl here dancing alone? Neither one of them have the balls. Tyson keeps telling me that he needs another drink to build up the courage. I say fuck it and I head over there to show them how its done. Given, I pussied out a little and did the Creep Behind. None-the-less, Im dancing with the prettiest girl here, and Im having a great time. From behind she seems into it, though I slowly start to realize that her friends are staring at me and some of them are laughing. Oh well, Im having fun. Songs over. Damn. She turns around and smiles, and I laugh and walk back towards the bar. Tyson is bent over the bar giggling as I walk back. Seems my Rhianna doppelgnger was laughing her ass off at me the whole time. We both light up a smoke, and stand at the bar watching everyone dance for a few minutes. Wait, C-bag is still there, still drinking that same glass of Jger, and hes acting drunk. Fucking light-weight. Looking over the dance floor I see Rhianna head over sit down next to this guy that looks like Debo from the movie Friday. Now, I know why she was dancing alone, because shes dating some drug lord, whos got a posse taking up one whole side of the club. I bet hes the on driving the big yellow H2 on 26-inch chrome rims out side. Me and Tyson go into some back and forth drunk story that would only make sense to us about how I should be

biting the curb behind the building right now, but lucky for me, Im just some drunk white boy so Debos not threatened. It made sense at the time. Wynona comes running up, with this pissed off look on her face telling us that these Mexican muchachos reached up her skirt and felt on her ass. Now, I dont like that at all, and then its followed by the same story from Drew. Me and Tyson blow it off at first, but then as they walk away one of them disrespects my girl Wynona one more mother fuckin time. Now anyone who knows me, knows that I am about as non-confrontational as they come, but something had to be done. Tyson jumps up and bolts around the bar with this look in his eyes that Ive only seen from Lou Ferrigno before. I jump off my bar stool to follow him, trying not to burn my self with my cigarette, when suddenly Im accosted by this fat, manly, hobbit looking bitch who pushes me up against the wall and starts talking to me. Yo. I like yo shirt. she says in a voice that could possibly be lower than mine. With my arm in some kind of death grip being pushed up against the wall, Im seeing Tyson reach the insulting guys and I know Ive got to go. This is the definition of rock and a hard place right now. I finally manage to pull this wildebeest off of me and I throw her in the direction of C-bag, because I figure he could use a little lovin right then. I round the corner, just as Tyson is screaming at the guys with his finger all in their face, Id appreciate it if youd quit feeling up on my girl friend and my sister. Ok? I come around just in time to let out the best I could come up with. Yeah! They apologize and we think everything is alright. Girlfriend? I guess Tyson was trying to emphasize the situation to those guys, that i swear the old one looked like a really old Chong. Its getting late, and I think we are all tired of dancing with and partying with ugly side of Texarkana. I turn around to grab C-bag, and that girl is still talking his ass up. Shes got him pinned up against a wall now, and she is acting like she is taking his ass home. I smile at him, grab the rest of the crew and we run out the door. When we get outside, I explain that we are leaving his ass with the girl, because hes found a ride home. Really, I was trying to my boy a favor. Hes 27 and has yet to cash in his v-card, so I thought an aggressive woman-ish type person might be able to teach him a few things. We get outside and hide behind the dealers H2 trying to see if C-bag is actually getting a ride home. He comes out, and they are holding hands. Looks more like shes dragging him around like a reluctant toddler, but shes got him none-the-less.

Fuck. He spots us and looks unimpressed. She pulls him around the corner where we cant see him anymore, and at that point, I think hes in. We walk to the back, hop in Pearleane, and start driving away while laughing our asses off. Suddenly I get a call from C-bag and hes asking where the fuck we went to. I told him we left, and were going to IHOP, because we thought he had a ride. Hes severely unimpressed and wants us to turn around and come get him. We bust two U-turns and were there. Now he wont get in the car. Hes just walking down fucking state-line cussing me out, saying hell meet us at IHOP. Now I know this fool has had two drinks and a shot tonight, so his stomach is probably about to erupt like a geyser, so I hop out, kiss his ass, and get him back in the car. Im hungry. Food time. We get seated at IHOP in the back corner and we are all looking like weve crossed over to the other side and come back. Drew is falling asleep, Im telling stories with my eyes closed, Wynona is leaning on a wall, and C-bag is starting to look pale. Tyson is oddly looking very awake, but hes still got the sniffles. Must be nice to be that young. C-bag finally goes to the bathroom to throw-up and Tyson follows. A fight breaks out in the middle of IHOP with some people that I can only assume just left Club 7. Everyone is back, and the food is delivered. Fuck yeah. Pancakes. C-bag continues to tell us, that he did get some action from the girl. He said that she straight planted one on him, and was trying to get him to come home with her. We explain to him that big girls need lovin too, but he said that when they kissed he could feel her mustache tickle his baby soft upper lip. Holy shit. She was a man underneath those tits. Finished, we tab out, and head to the car. C-bag goes to throw up one more time and Im not sure if its from the alcohol now or from kissing tranny. Me and Tyson light one last cigarette up to hold us over for the ride home as we talk about the night. Drew takes the drivers seat, I grab shot gun, and everyone else is in the back. Its time to head home. Merry fucking Christmas.