Just two formerly nice dudes, ranting about anything
// JRad // June 24th, 2011 // No Comments » // Random Awesomeness
A woman comes home and finds her husband in bed with a female midget. Furious, she screams, “you promised you wouldn’t cheat again!” The husband replies, “for f*ck sakes, can’t you see I’m trying to cut down!”
bam
// JRad // February 2nd, 2010 // 1 Comment » // Drunken Debauchery, Jrad's Blog, Stories
It had been a fine evening with two friends – we had polished off a couple of bottles of bubbly and a third of soju in celebratory fashion to mark the first night for one of them at a new unit. The clock stroke an hour past midnight and with solemn farewells, I declined a passing taxi and set off on foot, homeward bound.
With my earphones in and the harmonies of Muse blaring deep into my aural canals, I was in a world unto my own. Suddenly I looked up and saw a young lady talking to me. Who are these people (she was with a friend), and are they perhaps after one of my beloved kidneys, I thought. With earphones out, I discovered the two English lasses were seeking good times at Barsoma but had no idea of its location. The bar was very close and I could see it was closed. Being a Thursday night I knew the girls would have a better chance of social glorification and alcohol consumption in the city (student night) so being the gentleman that I so strongly strive to be, I proposed a mutual adventure into the city. Heck it was on my way home anyway.
When we got there we were disappointed to find that two of the bars had closed, with a third living up to the lame standards it had previously set by way of karaoke and bogan beer garden. Not one to leave my new friends forlorn, I swallowed my pride and took them to the only other viable spot – the casino – home of drunken students and freshly turned 18 year olds, Asian ladies spending their husband’s pay cheques, a multitude of lower socio-economic folk, and people desperate to keep their night times shenanigans alive. I would like to think that we fell into the latter category.
Nothing of notable excitement happened at said gambling house, and we soon found ourselves at the back exit, pondering the next move. But by divine intervention, our banter was interrupted by an enterprising middle-aged chap asking if we would like to come back to his hotel room for complementary beverages and general merrymaking. It appeared he had rounded up others with the same intention, so the group set off to the casino hotel, the next block away.
The hotel room was large and regal. Old style furniture no doubt made of rich mahogany, lush patterned carpet, and a wrought iron chandelier above a giant well made bed graced us as we entered the temporary abode. Tim, as I came to know him, was a successful business man, boasting ownership of five companies and a modest hourly income of $10 000. Money was accordingly of no concern for him and he instructed us to the mini bar. Like a pack of hungry monkeys on an unguarded banana, we attacked whilst our shrieks of delight echoed through the hotel, sparking the occasional noise complaint.
Jack, another young recruit from the casino, phoned room service and coolly ordered three bottles of Moet & Chandon. He is a gentleman and a scholar who is going long ways in my books. In the meantime, Tim had but one thing on his mind: Cocaine. “I want Cocaine! Get me cocaine! I will pay anything for it… I will buy it for all of us… I love cocaine! Make some calls! I will pay $1000 for a gram. I will pay anything!” as he produced a handful of hundreds from his pocket. Much to his dismay, no one was able to rustle up any so he had to settle for the hotel liquor instead. Apparently his usual dealers were well known footballers in Melbourne or Sydney.
A young bellhop arrived, pushing a cart with the three finest bottles of champagne one could purchase this side of the casino and a pyramid of flutes to assist with the oesophageal consumption. Tim casually signed the surprise $360 bill, without a worry in the world as we popped the bottles. He also accosted Young Bellhop for “ladies”. Young Bellhop said he would see what he could do, though we knew he would not even be entertaining the thought.
And so continued our joyous activities. We were but a group of strangers moulded together like adjacent pancakes in an overcrowded pan. And Tim was the chef.
Soon enough he had his eye on one of the English girls. And while I was enjoying conversation with the other, he stole her away to the stately bathroom. Some time later, my girl became anxious about what may be happening behind closed doors so like a well practiced home invader (or someone with a coin) she picked the lock and pushed the door open, exposing Tim and newly acquianted lady-friend in a highly compromising position on the bathroom floor. In her shock, she backed away, leaving the door open. “Ah, you should close the door” I pointed out. With this she retreated out of the hotel room, stating she had to go home. She was clearly upset with her friend, and was no longer in the partying mood. Walking down the corridor I tried to reason with her that her friend is able to make her own decisions, but she had made up her mind. A few seconds later the girl in question came chasing after us and the two got into the elevator. I stood there with another of the guys, without saying a word, and as the elevator doors closed we turned around and headed back to the hotel suite. It was not time to call it a night just yet.
And as the scorching sun rose over the horizon, we continued our ingestion of the French dry white sparkling wine, enjoying our free bounty and reminiscing on the finer things in life. Tim was passed out in his bed (waking only once to expel the malevolent contents of his stomach) – he had a meeting to attend in a few hours, and as six in the a.m. rolled around I departed for home, laughing to myself over the events of the night.
I wonder if Tim ever made his meeting.
// JRad // December 16th, 2009 // No Comments » // Random Awesomeness, Uncategorized
One of the wittiest dudes I know, Mr Joel T.I., had a very amusing pondering some time ago which I believe should be put out there for all to consider:
“Imagine if you had a canary yellow v-dub painted like pacman and you drove around in the middle of the road over the white dots while you leant out the window and screamed “NUM NUM NUM NUM”. Also your steering wheel would be a joystick and your seat would be vinyl. Plus it would cost 20 cents everytime you wanted to drive somewhere.
Sweet.”
Sweet indeed…
// JRad // December 10th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // Random Awesomeness, Uncategorized
A good mate of mine was recently in the gym when he came across a midget. Trying to subtley snap a pic of the little man on his blackberry, he made one rookie error – the flash, combined with the mirror at the gym. So much for stealth photography…
Also, read a hilarious separate article about Midgets and Bigjets on his blog.
// JRad // November 29th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // Drunken Debauchery, Jrad's Blog
6) It was our annual college ball. This meant nice venue, suited up, and unlimited drinks. I was still in the amateur stage of not knowing my limit which was quite dangerous, as there were literally tables full of pre-poured spirits, there I assume to save the bar tenders’ time. I attacked the bourbon and coke table. Pretty sure there were at least 10 cups necked within half an hour. And this was after pre-drinks. Some time soon, all was blurry and I stumbled to the bathrooms. I found the cubicle, turned the light off, and sat there in the dark, intermittently spewing, and passing out. That was the entire night. Somehow I emerged as the ball ended and I stumbled to the bus heading back to college. Luckily I had a window seat, for as the bus rolled on, I had my head pressed between the small gap of the window and the frame and continued to hurl. I’m pretty certain the driver in the car next to us was thinking is this how I want my life to turn out?
7) I was in grade two, and awoke one morning feeling quite sick. Unfortunately my parents showed little compassion and made me go to school. Mid-morning I started to feel feint and very sick. There was little time. A millisecond before I projected the vileness from my stomach, an unsuspecting girl had walked across my path. A millisecond after she was covered in my vomit and I was being escorted to the sick bay. Amid her tears, she would have been agonizing, is this how I want my life to turn out? (Karma is a bitch though, if not a little delayed – 17 years later in Germany, I was puked on by some lame American student who could not handle his shot of Jager).
8} After a heavy night of full-moon partying on Koh Chang, Thailand, I awoke feeling somewhat unhealthy. I made it to the dodgy outdoor “restaurant” and ordered a fried rice with beef. As I waited, I thought perhaps a cold drink would help relieve my discomfort. That was the day I learnt not to drink anything citrusy when hungover. After sipping at an icy lemon drink, I immediately knew a big mistake had been made. I was up and looking around in panic for a nearby bathroom. “Toilet” I said to the lady there but she returned my angst ridden statement with a blank look. “Toilet?” Nothing. So I motioned the action of peeing and made a “pssssssss” noise. Body language truly is the universal language. She pointed away, up the hill. By this time I was desperate. Walking past the cafes, I suddenly realised I wasn’t going to make it, but not wanting to draw attention to myself, I didn’t run like I so desperately wanted to. I just kept the steady walk. Then it happened. Still in upright position and moving forward, I vomited, a projectile liquid storm shooting horizontally and splashing onto the ground. But I kept my calm face and controlled pace, felling the vomit splash on my feet as I walked. Two seconds later, another large amount of lemony water and stomach acid came hurling out of my mouth escaping from the dark pit of my stomach in protest to my holiday party lifestyle. Finally I reached my destination – a large tree that would shield me from the public view. I stopped, bent over and released what was left in my gut, then walked back and ate my fried rice and beef. The thai lady was probably asking herself is this how I want my life to turn out?
9) We were 15 years old. My mate was staying over one night but we had snuck out to the local park with a bottle of Wild Turkey. We sat on the fort and drank it straight being the naïve youths that we were. The rest felt like a dream, but I do know that we stumbled and tumbled down to a service station where we had concocted a brilliant plan to steal some chocolate. But it was closed thank God. Upon returning home, I had decided it was best to expel the evil spirit within, and whilst laughing like a madman, proceeded to park a glorious tiger all over the driveway (thankfully it was a long gravel and dirt driveway so no hosing was necessary). Later that night I awoke in a mysterious liquid. Turns out loss of bladder control is also a symptom of extreme intoxication. The next morning we watched “The Young Poisoner’s Handbook” which on several occasions sent me running to the toilet for more spew-time action. I knew, this is NOT how I want my life to turn out.
10) Another big night at the Uni bar in Toowoomba had been had. It was always worth the trip back home! We had stayed at a mate’s house and in the morning I painted the toilet bowel all sorts of colours before he drove us home. I only prayed his mum had not heard the gurgling and coughing in her small house. On the way home, he was making small talk as I sat there as pale as a zombie, trying desperately to hold on. The God’s of Gag however had different plans. “Pull over man… NOW”. Car door open, head over the road, hurling again. And this was all in the early days of our friendship, where no such line should have ever been crossed. Embarrassment level 10. With me leaning out his sporty car heaving like an old man, I would dare say he was thinking, is this how I want my life to turn out?
// JRad // November 15th, 2009 // No Comments » // Drunken Debauchery, Jrad's Blog
1) One night I had a small gathering at my parents place in Toowoomba while they were away. We drank heavily. My poison was cheap red wine given my poor student status. Later that night I woke with some serious stomach trouble. Stumbling out of my room and down the hall, I tried to hold it in but couldn’t. The pressure was too extreme and a burgundy liquid explosion erupted from my mouth in all directions. It was everywhere – floor, both walls and even on the ceiling (I kid you not). It was like letting off a paint grenade in the hallway. Then I slipped over in it. Sitting in my boxers in a puddle of my own sick, I got to wondering, is this how I want my life to turn out?
2) We had been out at the local, drinking heavily. Back at college a group of us were sitting in my mate’s room chatting and listening to music. I fell asleep slumped on his bed. Soon I woke, wide eyed and panicky and without saying a word, sprung up and ran out the door and to the closest exit. As I made it out the back entrance of our wing, my rice dinner came up, all over the landing where everyone had to walk. It was like a covering of rice pudding. I should have written “Welcome” in it. In the morning the cleaner was heard complaining about the vomit. I’m sure she was asking herself, is this how I want my life to turn out?
3) Back at college from a night out, I was having a tandem shower with a friend, C, (our bathrooms were co-ed). She was in one, and I was in the other. We were both blind drunk and feeling sick. I convinced her to stick her fingers down her throat as I did the same. We tandem spewed. It was great, but I’m sure C was pondering, is this how I want my life to turn out?
4) I had been drinking for hours with a friend of mine, V. When another one, J, turned up, she only had 20 minutes to catch up before we headed out. Unfortunately we matched her “catch up” drinks. We did six shots in 15 minutes. After several more drinks, V passed out in the club on some couches as I sat wearily next her. Then she puked on the fine leather seating. Time to go. We were sitting in the gutter while J tried to hail a cab away from us so we would actually get picked up. V was puking in the gutter. On the ride home, V and I had the window seats with J in the middle. V and I simultaneously spewed out the windows of the moving cab. I am sure J was sitting there wondering, is this how I want my life to turn out?
5) It was race day and I had been drinking for twelve hours straight. We had basically pub crawled back to college. As I lived in “top flat”, on the third floor of our wing, I invited some others up to continue festivities. And by that I mean, watch me spew off the balcony into the garden below. For entertainment (and vomit catalyst purposes), I filled a cup with milk, red curry paste, juice and milo. Then I drank it. As my body rejected the foul concoction over the rails, surely someone there was contemplating, is this how I want my life to turn out?
// JRad // November 6th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // Blogs, Jrad's Blog, Stories
It was past 3am and I had been drinking from late afternoon that day. It had been my brother’s wedding and a group of us made it out after. When I started to fall asleep on the dance floor I knew it was time to go home, via pizza of course.
Arriving home I reached into the inside jacket pocket of my pin-stripe suit, where I kept my highly durable, water-resistant polymer desmopan wallet (with built in stainless steel money clip). But something was wrong. It was not there. That’s odd, I thought as I searched the remaining pockets of my jacket and pants. It is usually so secure in that inside pocket and that’s where it rightfully should be. But the wallet was no where to be found.
A wave of panic swept over me. Was this to be the first time I had ever lost my wallet on a night out? “I’m sorry man”, I said to the cab driver. “I have lost my wallet. I can’t pay you.” My drunken logic reasoned that he would understand and with a smile on his face say, “No problem my friend, have a good night.” But instead he just sat there looking at me. It was not going to be that easy.
After another few searches of every pocket on me, I looked back at him helplessly. “I’m sorry, I really cant pay you – my wallet is gone.” Again he just sat there looking at me. It was an old fashioned silence-off. First person to speak loses. In attempt to help, I searched again. This time however I brushed against something in my jacket, literally inside the lining. My wallet! With such relief and excitement, I started screaming at the cab driver. “I found it! I fucking found it! My wallet! I found my wallet! Fuck yeah!” He returned my outburst with silence, but secretly I knew he was happier than a junkie on smack – it was pay day.
Clearly there was a hole in my pocket and the wallet had slipped through it into the lining. So I dived into the pocket. What the hell? There was no hole. Check the other pocket. Same again. How then, did my 6 card, patented design, electric yellow and black moulded wallet get inside my jacket? I was confused. And drunk. And certainly not of problem-solving capabilities.
Ten minutes later I was still trying to work out how this had happened. I could feel the wallet through the wool of my suit, but just could not get to it. I was like a blind man trying to win the rubics cube. Once again, I stammered “Look I’m sorry – I seriously can’t get my wallet out of my jacket. I can’t pay you”
…
….
“You can see I clearly can’t get it out of my jacket. Here, you try” and I tossed him the jacket. He was not too interested. Being a man of high ethics, I reached into my pants pocket and produced what small change I had – $10 worth and gave it to the driver – surely he would waive the remaining $7 for a man in a suit. He finally spoke: “This is not enough”. “Well I don’t have anymore – my wallet is stuck and I can’t get it out. There’s $10 for you.”
….
….
Finally I conceded and did what I probably should have done fifteen minutes before. “Wait here while I go and get some money”.
Victory was all but his. I went inside and knocked on my flat mate’s door. She eventually got up and stood there at the doorway but before she could abuse me, I jumped in, “Okay, I can either explain this now, or I can explain it all in the morning, but I need $10 from you right now.” Surprisingly she went and got it for me and guessed right that it was indeed for a cab fare. I tipped the driver $3 for the ordeal and stumbled back inside.
The next morning, with somewhat clearer sight and more light, I discovered the lining had torn away from the seam just above my inside pocket, forming essentially another pocket into the jacket-abyss which is where I must have placed my wallet. It took all of about 2 seconds to discover.
// JRad // October 11th, 2009 // 4 Comments » // Blogs, Jrad's Blog, Random Awesomeness
No I’m not talking about lime Bacardi Breezers. I’m talking about the real stuff. The drinks that put a cringe on your face, stars in your eyes, fire in your stomach, and insanity into your head.
Agwa and Absinthe. Two of my favourite spirits out there, these sexy and herbalicious drinks can be served up as shots, mixed into splendid cocktails or combined with an energy drink to get you completely wired and out of control…
Agwa
Claimed to be the world’s first “psycho-active” spirit drink, this magical, light green nectar is made from distilled Bolivian coca leaves, and has the added zap of guarana and ginseng. Talk about a winning combination.
Agwa is ideally consumed as the “Bolivian Kiss”. Even the label on the bottle instructs “respect the Bolivian Kiss”. How is this done you ask? Easy. Squeeze a wedge of lime into a shot of Agwa. Bite a second wedge of lime, then shoot the Agwa. The lime plays an important part of Agwa’s effect on the mind and body:
Biting the lime first works in the same way as the South American practice of chewing Coca leaves with limes. The lime changes the PH of the mouth, which activates the alkaloids in the leaf to produce a powerful oxygen buzz.
Coca leaf alkaloids work by speeding up the rate of absorption of oxygen into the body’s capillary system. It is a natural ‘rush’ and naturally controversial. Source: www.agwa.com.au
Now I have had many a night out, after much agwa and lime consumption, and I can attest, that this drink 1) makes you happy and 2) sends you crazy. There are no negative effects that I am aware of.
Absinthe
Ah old faithful. What sort of a world would we live in without this mysterious, alluring and misunderstood spirit? A very sad one I would bet. “The Green Fairy” is said to give a lucid intoxication and disconnectedness from the body. These effects are supposedly brought on by the combination of herbs and/or wormwood it contains. Absinthe has a controversial past plagued with myth and lies which saw it banned in most countries during a period of the 20th century. It has also been incorrectly labeled a hallucinogen. Thank God people have come to their senses and there has been a modern day revival of this wonderful drink. Absinthe connoisseurs are knows as absintheurs and even Marilyn Manson has brought out his own absinthe label – Mansinthe.
Abinthe is traditionally prepared by pouring cold water over a sugar cube, which rests on an absinthe spoon, over a glass containing a shot of the absinthe. The water turns it a cloudy colour known as the louche. A popular variation of this is to light an absinthe doused sugar cube on fire and to drop it into the drink.
I was first introduced to the A-Bomb when I was traveling through the Czech Republic many years ago. Just like a Jager-bomb, one drops a shot of absinthe into a glass of redbull and necks it. Very good stuff. Only a few weeks ago, the iaawd crew decided to indulge in a cheeky absinthe before heading out on the town. We mixed a large amount of absinthe into some Monster energy drink, forming what we now refer to as “the Memory Destroyer”. I recommend to enjoy this drink but proceed with caution. Apologies had to be made the following day as we tried to recount the night and justify our behaviour.
Bottoms up.
// Jimmy // September 14th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // Jimmy's Blog, Random Awesomeness
Humanity is pretty dumb. It is beyond me why anyone would subject themselves to a whole bunch of pain just for shits and giggles, or maybe some respect. It’s undeniably a downright stupid thing to do, something only a complete idiot would consider for a lazy Sunday afternoon because they had nothing else to do.
Nevertheless, I was still going to do it. I knew it was retarded, but I had be raving on about this thing for so long that if I didn’t back up, I’d just be a little bitch. I always had this idea that when I finally got to chowing down on the World’s Hottest Burger, we would make a day of it, have a whole crowd there with a few contestants, one or two designated drivers and maybe some cheerleaders. With pompoms. Alas this was not the case. Instead it was only your two idiodic IIAWD contributors, James and Jarad, who set out for the Off The Wall Diner at Wellington Point.
On a side note, holy shit Wellington Point is a long way away. I think there is a direct relationship between distance from Brisbane and level of insanity and or boganness, so bring your yobbo shield.
I honestly believe that anybody attempting atrocity thing should definitely not be driving home. Get yourself a DD, like Jarad. This also meant Jarad would not be completing the challenge. His idea was to wait for me to give up, then have a bit just to see what it was like. Even more reason for me to finish.
The place looks innocent enough, when we finally find it, except for the massive “World’s Hottest Burger” firey sign prompting fools from across the land to take up the challenge. We notice the infamous plaque on the wall with all first few hundred people who beat the burger. Looked like they have a good burger menu too, until Jarad’s came out on normal bread.
Jarad offering support
I informed them that I am not prone to heart attacks and am not in fact pregnant. They told me the rules, including no leftovers are allowed to be removed from the premises in case ir hurts or kills something and you have to down the whole burger, keep it down for five minutes and you <b>are not allowed to drink</b> during the challenge. That final rule made Jimmy a sad boy.
So the waiver was signed. It read something like “blah blah blah we are not responsible for any injury or death caused by this blah blah blah”. Everything else seems pretty meaningless next to the word death. I thought it was scare tactics and hype and it wouldn’t be all that bad…
Gloves were provided, in case you should end up getting the sauce on your hands and touching your eyes or your dick later on in the day. Then the wait began. I already had an audience of little kids who definitely did not share my belief that I am made of steel.
Out came the monster. Yeah, it was huge. I guess it makes it more of a challenge else you could just stuff it all down and not even worry about chewing. I guess they thought of that. There goes my plan. I dabbed the end of my finger into a drop of sauce, putting the tiniest amount onto my tongue. Cue the burn.
Oh fuck.
Monster Size
If the beef patty was alive and had arms and legs, it could have literally swum out of the burger with the amount of sauce in there. And here my mouth was burning from a tiny drop of sauce.
Chow down begins. It takes a good five seconds to register. You’re thinking oh wow this won’t be so bad, then BAM, it smacks you in the face like a stray fireball from a nearby volcano. But, I still thought it would be ok. After a while you’re thinking hell yeah I’ve been eating for a while. You look down and you’ve finished a quarter of the damn thing. It was about now that the staff brought out a bucket for use in the situation where your body decided it was too much and that the burger should go back out the hole it came in.
The quarter mark isn’t too bad. You can probably quit here and be satisfied. Like, you tried it and thought wow that’s a hot burger. But not if you, like me, had talked this thing up for ages. I had made no out-loud promises that I would finish it, but I had secretly convinced myself I would.
One quarter down, three to go
So then twenty minues later, it’s the halfway point. By now you would think the hotness would have become a dull burn after having destoryed all of my taste buds. Yet, every bite still scorched my entire mouth. And to add to that, my hands had begun to go numb. It’s not like the gloves were tight, so there were no circulation issues. Just numb for no reason. Maybe the chilli was starting to burn away my nerves.
Halfway - Starting To Hurt
The final half of the burger was just a continuation of the first half albeit much much slower. Every bite was still just as painful, and I was regularly coughing, spluttering and fighting my stomach periodically convulsing trying to squeeze the devil food back out my mouth. There were no smiles except maybe a nervous giggle here or there when Jarad cracked a funny.
The final bite of the burger would have been OK if the rules didn’t dictate that you had to wipe the plate clean. The amount of sauce covered lettuce and onion that had fallen off the burger was to be a whole other challenge. Let me make this clear, I hate brown onion. I hate it in small doses let alone the half a ton they had put on this burger. Downing that salad one piece of onion at a time had me almost throw up about fifteen times. Not fucking pleasant.
The Pain
Eventually the last piece of onion was downed and the five minute countdown begun. It also meant I was now allowed drink! That was probably the best slusie of my life.
At this point I probably would have stood up, thrust my closed fist into the air and yelled “VICTORY!” in true Johnny Drama fashion. That is of course if I my throat didn’t feel like I had eaten a bucket full of glass. Jarad filled out my name in the book and we were on our way.
Oh Yeah
But it doesn’t stop there.
I felt like shit for a good 24 hours after the event. Nothing in particular, just a general feeling like I had done something that my body did not like at all. Later in the evening after consuming the atrocity of a meal, we happened to be at the local footy game. I wasn’t turning down free tickets ust cause I felt a bit shit. Bad idea. By the end of it I couldn’t walk without support from rails and/or the girlfriend due to the most hardcore stomach cramps I have ever encountered. And then there was the pain at the other end of the digestive system. Not long after getting home from the burger place, I took a piss. Somehow sauce had got from my mouth to my hands and subsequently, my equipment. Also not very pleasant. A case of the chillipenis.
Other then that, it wasn’t too bad. There was one hell of painful crap the morning after and a mildy painful one later in the day, but I think I got off ok. I have heard of guys having to go home from work the day after even after only consuming a few mouthfulls. Either I’m tough as shit or I got lucky. I’m going with the latter.
This is one occasion when my life motto “I’ll try anything twice” definitely does not apply. It sits up there with placing my nuts on hot coals and pressing broken glass into my eyeballs.
// JRad // July 29th, 2009 // No Comments » // Jrad's Blog, Stories
So I just got back from New York. The trip was awesomely epic and I could probably write a novel about all the stuff that happened there, but thought I would share just one small adventure at this time. Also, big thanks to my sister Ally who played tour guide for the 12 days.
So my second night in New York and I decided to go on the hostel club tour. A small group of us sat in the lobby waiting for our ‘guide’ only to be told that we had to get there ourselves and the ‘tour’ was just us meeting in the lobby to go together. Customer service in the US is awesome by the way…
The group consisted of three Belgians, a Swede, two Germans, and a Dutchman. After big dramas of us battling massive lines and trying to get in for free because we were from the hostel, we made it in. Webster Hall is the name of the club – pretty young and trashy – the type of place you get excited over when you first discover the night club scene. It was however tremendously huge, with four floors, multiple bars, dance floors, DJs and a really cool room with flat screen tvs covering the walls forming an epileptic fit inducing radiation sauna.
Early in the night we befriended some locals and ended up hanging out together the whole night. One of the guys invited us to his house party the following night where he would be DJing.
So the next night, the Belgian, the Swede, my sister and I decided to mission it to the house party. We were armed with the napkin which Max (the host) had written his address on the night before and a dodgy map of Manhattan. The address was odd – there was no street number but it seemed to be on the arch of two converging streets. My sister thought it was a fake address and we had no phone number we could call to confirm. But we were all down with the adventure so we embarked on the expedition, with hopes that we weren’t going to end up ambushed and drugged at some kidney trafficking warehouse.
Low and behold, after a long walk in the rain, we found the party. We entered the unit to be greeted by a mess of alcohol bottles and people, neon and black lights, and a small DJ setup on a Macbook.
But something was amiss. The night was still young, but there were unconscious people everywhere. I wondered into a bedroom on a self-guided tour of the small flat. There were four people passed out – three on the bed, one on the floor. Someone was being sick in the bathroom. There was an unconscious guy on the couch in the living room, soon to be two.
I walked past the kitchen where one of the girls was washing puke out of her hair, and also puking into the sink. Soon she passed out under the entrance table, curled up in everyone’s shoes, as if they may offer some sort of salvation. What’s more is that the girls we had met at the club the night before had been and gone from the party and Max was on his DJ setup, so we really were just standing there with looks of WTF on our faces. What was going on? Was the deadly Ebola virus sweeping through the New York flat faster than wild fire? Were we the next victims?
It soon dawned on us that the average age (besides us) at this party was about 18. And just as we have all been there before, these inexperienced drinkers were yet to learn their alcohol tolerance boundaries. But I couldn’t blame them. It is a journey of self-discovery and physical magnitude that every one must take, preferably before they are old enough to hit the clubs.
Luckily we had beers so decided to play catch-ups. A game of Kings helped the cause. Soon after though, the party was in its dying stages (this happens when the majority of people are passed out). Luckily it was early enough for us to make tracks to some decent bars. We said our farewells, had one last laugh, and cabbed it the hell out of there.
Lessons learnt of the night:
1. You never really can tell how old people are in a club
2. DJing on a macbook is not that fantastic
3. Kings is always fun
4. Black lights are still really cool
5. Always be down with having an adventure
6. When attending an 18yr old’s party, go early before everyone passes out in pools of their own vomit
7. Be a gracious guest but…
8. Know when to leave a party
Copyright © 2012 i ate a whole dog. All rights reserved.
