Thread: True Story #11

6:00pm: Rich shows up at my place. I have not seen Rich in 7 years. He has put on at least 60 pounds of muscle. I am shocked at his size. He is with one of his friends, "Eddie." They are both in an elite special operations unit that is shipping to the middle east in a few weeks. Eddie is Hispanic, tall, angry, and muscular. He looks around my apartment as if deciding what piece of furniture he wants to break first. I consider that perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.

6:01: "So Tucker, I hear you finally learned how to drink a little bit?" Rich smiles at me. They have 2 cases of beer with them. I think maybe this is not such a bad idea after all.

7:00: They tell me some of the best stories I have ever heard. Many are tales of clandestine and violent death brought upon unsuspecting international terrorists or stories of sex with third world hookers. I think that this was a good idea.

7:05: We finish our first case.

7:45: I tell them two of my best stories. They are in tears laughing. Eddie tells Rich that he was right, I am the funniest guy he’s ever met. I think that this was a great idea.

8:40: We have finished both cases, and a few shots of moonshine. I am already 6 beers behind each of them, and feeling the alcohol. They look like they could do an iron man triathlon. I begin to think that maybe I am not in their league, drinking wise. This worries me. Then I remember that I am Tucker Max. I am no longer worried.

8:45: Eddie thinks my site is the greatest piece of literature in existence. He says that he aspires to be like me. He wants to hear more stories about me ridiculing fat people and hooking up with hot girls. I decide he is one of my best friends.

8:49: We walk to a pasta bar for dinner. The waitress is immediately displeased by our behavior, "We usually don’t get people as drunk as you coming in here." I decide her attitude needs an adjustment, "Do you know who these guys are? They routinely risk their lives so you are free to toss your fat ass around Lincoln Park like some haughty tramp, and you question them? Woman, get us some food and liquor, and be quick about it."

8:50: The manager asks us to leave.

8:58: We go to McDonald’s. The woman in front of me in line spends more than 5 seconds contemplating her order. This infuriates me, "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?? MC-SEABASS?? IT’S THE GODDAMN MCDONALD’S MENU, IT’S BEEN THE SAME FOR TEN YEARS! IT’S ALL MCSHIT! JUST ORDER!"

8:59: She quickly departs the restaurant. One might have described her departure as "fleeing in terror."

9:00: I don’t know what I want. I just point at the Dollar Menu and say, "Give me all of that."

9:05: I am displeased with what I get. I try to send back certain items, like the apple pie. The 14 year-old Mexican boy working the Friday late shift doesn’t understand. I get frustrated and just throw everything I don’t like on the floor.

9:07: We decide to play Rich’s favorite game: Window Pickle Races.

9:09: We have about 8 pickles on the window, each making ketchup and mustard streaked trips to the bottom. We argue about who owns each pickle. These become intense and profanity laced arguments. Military guys use very creative curse words. I didn’t even know I had a "cock-holster" or a "man-pleaser."

9:14: The last people finally flee in terror. The restaurant is empty. We taunt them, and cheer as they leave. They, along with their small children, are all cowards.

9:15: The manager comes out and asks us to leave. Eddie is confused, "We can’t get kicked out of McDonald’s? This is like the DMZ of drunk eating. THIS IS WHY WE CAME HERE!"

9:16: The manager is a frail Mexican woman. She is scared of us. She goes behind the counter, then tells us to leave again. She waves the phone at us, threatening police intervention. We go.

9:45: We arrive at the party. I find the friend who invited me, and introduce my friends.

9:46: We are apparently drunker than I calculated. My friend is appalled, "Dude, man…I told you not to show up this drunk." Apparently he is confused. I politely attempt to straighten him out, "Who the fuck are you talking too?" This angers him, "Man--look around. This isn’t that type of party."

9:47: I spend a good 45 seconds perusing the scene. It is a large townhome. There is a big bar, with a bartender. There is a table of hors de’oeuvres. I see several sweater vests. A few anti-war buttons. A couple guys holding glasses of pinot grigio. I tell my friend, "You sir are incorrect. It most decidedly IS that type of party."

9:48: We walk directly to the bar. I turn to my friends, "Gentlemen--this is going to be a show. You kill terrorists; I destroy poseurs and idiots. Get a drink and watch the artist at work. These people think they’re better’n me."

9:48: I order 3 top shelf vodkas. They only have well. This angers me, "WHAT KINDA LOW RENT SHIT IS THIS?" I argue with the bartender. I think he is hiding the good stuff from us. I tell him that my friends kill people for a living, and that unless he produces good vodka, he will become a "target of opportunity."

9:50: An attractive girl comes up and asks what the problem is. I tell her that the rat-fink bartender is trying to make us drink cheap donkey piss. She laughs at this. Since I literally wrote the book on shameless flirting, I shamelessly flirt. She flirts back. I tell her that flirting is nice, but it’s not getting me drunk. She looks at me seductively, and tells me to follow her upstairs. "Can my friends come?" She smiles, "Of course."

9:51: Eddie whispers in my ear, "Man, I thought your stories were at least a little bullshit, but we haven’t even had a drink and we’re gonna run train. Rich was right; you are the fucking MAN."

9:52: She takes us to a bedroom. There a few other people there. They are smoking pot and drinking. There is a solitary bottle on the table with greenish liquid in it. The label has the word "Absinthe" on it. I don’t know what absinthe is. I am not afraid.

9:53: The girl takes three glasses, pours sugar over ice, and then pours the green liquid over the ice. It turns clear. This fascinates us. She hands us the glasses, smiles, and says, "This is better than anything down there."

9:54: I take a sip. Goddamn--my neck muscles flex involuntarily. I can feel my heart start beating irregularly. This shit doesn’t fuck around. I drink more.