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The Tequila shits…

I will start off with this classic story. I would say that it’s one of the best, if not the best, that I have in my arsenal. A few months after this story took place I was at a house party with some friends and I started shotgunning beers and telling my tales. I quickly became the center of attention as I dropped this bombshell on everyone. People were shocked and laughing hysterically, some were practically in tears… man, I love entertaining! The next day, even though I had never written anything outside of school requirements, I decided to write down this story. This was the genesis of my career as a writer and this classic story is where it all started…

Back in the fall of 2007, after a failed long term relationship, I got into the booze pretty badly. For a few months I was in a very dark place, unhappy with a lot of things, and I really wasn’t having any fun. Just when I began to feel like I was never going to bounce back, my good buddy Gentry came home for Christmas. I hadn’t seen him in a looong time and, even then, I had been tied down in a shitty relationship for many years. I had a LOT of time to make up for.

I won’t lie, I was actually nervous when I found out he was coming home. I had pretty much dropped my friends when things got serious with my ex. She got super jealous and didn’t like when I went out partying with the guys, so I made a stupid decision and gave up my Meathead ways in exchange for a “normal” life. Definitely one of my biggest regrets…

But, even after being such a shitty friend, when Gentry got home it was immediately like nothing had ever changed. He picked me up off the couch and kicked my ass out of the rut I was in. By the end of the first night I already felt like I was 19 again and the last shitty 4 years of my life melted away. For the first time in months I was able to go a whole night without having that lonely feeling creep up on me. I was actually having fun again!

We even met up with the rest of Meatheads that had made it home for the break – it was like a drunken family reunion! Although they gave me some sarcastic shit for ditching them, they too accepted me back as if nothing had ever happened. But, most of them were in relationships and home with their women, so they partied, but not on the same level as Gentry and I. The two of us were out almost every night and drinking all day fucking long. I spent almost $900 just at the liquor store in the ~4 weeks that he was home, and that doesn’t even count what was spent at the bars! It was a shit show that rivalled the original days of the Meatheads, and it was exactly what I needed!

Then, before I knew it, Christmas was over, New Years went by in an intoxicated blur, and all the boys packed up to head back out West. Just as quickly as we had reassembled, the Meatheads were now, once again, divided across the country. It fucking sucked.

I was used to partying all the time and having fun every night. Now that they were gone, I was forced to hang out at home, drinking by myself and sometimes even walking alone to the bars. I had a few friends that I could call to party with me, sure, but it just wasn’t the same without my Meathead brothers. I kept it up for about a month, trying to find that fun on my own, before I finally decided it was time to take it easy for a bit and let my poor body recover.

Needless to say, the months of steady drinking and endless junk food had taken their toll. I was horribly out of shape and unhealthy. Since I honestly had nothing better to do, I decided it was time for me to hit the gym, and I hit it hard!

I quit smoking, I quit drinking and I busted my ass in the gym every single day. Cardio every morning and lifting every night. The weight was melting off and I was feeling a million times better about every aspect of my life. I ended up going 35 days straight without a sip of alcohol or even a puff of a cigar. I was doing great!

Then, on a random Thursday night in February, my buddy Justin called me up and insisted that I go out with him to karaoke at a local bar. I knew that I had to work the next morning, but I weighed my options and decided it would be nice to get out for a few drinks, celebrate my new healthy lifestyle, and blow off some steam…

So, before long, I had a couple people over to my apartment and I had opened up the quart of Tequila that I’d been saving for a rainy day. Back when I had temporarily quit drinking I had been big into Tequila and I was really missing the stuff. It tasted amazing and it didn’t take me long to get about ¾ of the way into the bottle. After that, I dug into the freezer and found some ice cold coconut rum and poured myself a nice big glass on the rocks. It felt great to drink again after such a long break… and I got fucking wrecked!

We were playing some Grand Theft Auto IV on the Xbox as we pounded back the drinks. Somehow we got onto the topic of stupid things people do when they’re far beyond drunk.

Justin piped up, “Man, this one time my sister’s boyfriend came home to my parent’s house drunk, right?” he says. “Well, the next morning, my mom came charging into my room and was like ‘Justin! What the hell is that in the bathroom?? ’ I had no idea what she was talkin about, but it turns out this guy had taken a football sized shit right in the fucking bathtub, man. It was disgusting!!”

Now, I have been really drunk many times and I have never, EVER done anything that bad! I went on a loud 5 minute drunken rant about how I couldn’t understand how people got to be SO drunk that they black out or do things like that!

“It’s all bullshit!” I exclaimed in my loud drunk voice. “He had to just be fucking around. There’s no way you could be so drunk that you don’t know the proper place to take a shit!”

Looking back, I was just setting them up for karma to knock em down…

Around midnight we decided it was finally time to hit the bars. We started at a local pub/micro brewery called Rudders. As mentioned before, it was karaoke night! As soon as we got there, we grabbed ourselves a table and assessed the situation.

Justin smiled and gave me a challenge, “Dan, buddy, if you go up there and sing all alone I’ll buy you a drink! haha”

“Ok,” I replied, “how ‘bout a double? Maybe a double rye and 7up??”

He nodded, “Yea man, for sure! If you go up and sing by yourself…”

Unknown to him, I absolutely love drunken karaoke singing (almost as much as I love whiskey and 7up!), so up I went!

I was up there solo, killing the mic! After my first song, Justin handed me a glass of double rye up on stage, probably thinking I was done for the night… nay nay, I was only warming up! I sang 3 or 4 songs back to back, mostly country, I think. I’d finish one song and the DJ would yell to me and ask what I wanted to sing next.

“Choose something for me!” I’d holler back with a smile.

After sifting through his book, he’d throw me a song name. If I knew it, he would put it on. More than once I’d get part way into the song only to realize I didn’t actually know it or that the DJ had messed up, so I’d use my microphone to politely request a new one, “HEY ASSSHOOOLE! WRONG FUCKIN SONG!!”

During the quiet interludes between songs I’d use the time to converse with the ever growing crowd, while Justin kept handing me full glasses of whiskey. It was awesome!

As I spoke to one group close to the stage, I began to hear cheers and jeers from deep in the back corner. They looked like an interesting group of guys and quickly became my new targets…

“HEY!” I yelled over the speaker system, “Where are you dirtbags from?” now pointing to the group of half a dozen guys in the corner, still obviously wearing their working clothes.

“Halifax!” someone yelled back, surrounded by laughter and inaudible insults.

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that…” I hear boos now and the insults kept flying, “What the fuck are you doin down here in Yarmouth?”

“We’re down here workin on the new Cour…”

“Sorry, my bad… I actually don’t care.” I cut him off. “Halifax, though? Really?? You know what I like about Halifax?” An awkward silence filled the room as I paused for effect… “Nothing! hahaha”

At this point in my life, I really wasn’t a fan of the big city and I felt like telling them all about it.

“Sure, it’s a great place if you like getting swarmed by little wanna-be gangsters… or maybe stabbed, I suppose. Either way, it’s a fuckin shi…” suddenly my voice was no longer magnified. My microphone had been cut off.

I tapped it a few times before I looked over to the DJ. He was laughing, but he shrugged and just shook his head. It was time for a break anyways.

I looked down off the stage and saw that my buddy Brian had shown up during my rant. With a big middle finger to everyone, I jumped down off the stage to see how my friend was making out. I could see the concerned look in his obviously sober eyes… maybe I had crossed a line at some point? Hmm, fuck it.

“Uhh, I think we should maybe go outside for a smoke, man.” He said with a nervous tone. I agreed.

As we walked towards the doorway I saw an older woman bent over one of the tables talking to her friends. I had no idea who she was but, for some reason, I laid a hard open handed slap right on her ass. It even stung my fucking hand! Poor lady. I never actually looked back, but Brian told me later he had to stop and talk her and her friend’s down and explain to the bar staff that he was taking me away. I was back with a fucking vengeance!

Brian met back up with us shortly after while I was outside having that much needed smoke. As we caught up, he explained that he had just got done playing hockey and was totally sober. He offered to be our driver and, since I had worn out my welcome at Rudders, we decided it was a good idea to go check out the Red Knight (a legendary local dive bar). So we all happily piled into his truck and hit the road…

From here on in things start to get a little foggy… ok, really foggy! I remember the drive and I remember stumbling into the bar. I sort of remember having an old friend buy me another double rye, which apparently I spilled more then I drank, and I barely remember taking a seat somewhere out near the stage.

Then, out of the shadows, I saw my ex girlfriend lurking around. I had finally gotten over her and, because I was no longer interested, she had recently started stalking me again. I was getting the calls, late night visits, letters, etc. I was able to stay unattached but, now that I was completely liquored, I was suddenly worried for myself. I knew that nothing good could come from me being near her in this state. Drunk Dan (aka Diiirty Dan) does not have the willpower necessary to avoid this mess. Not tonight, anyways.

Luckily Brian, my sober friend, had seen her too and knew exactly how I felt about it. I caught his eye across the table and could tell he had my back.

He nodded to me, then over at her, “You wanna get outta here, man?” Perfect timing.

We bailed on the Red Dirt. On the way out the door the world started spinning… spinning really badly. I had the mad staggers, but I somehow managed to make it out to his truck under my own power. Once inside I just laid my head against the cold window and tried to hold back the oncoming sickness. I was in rough shape.

Brian told me later that he had stopped quickly at the Irving for gas on the way home. When he came back out to the vehicle I guess I had the window all the way down and my head hanging out of it. Not a good sign! He knew exactly what was coming and wanted to get me home as quickly as possible. Luckily for him, it’s a relatively short ride to my apartment.

Unfortunately, about halfway there, it started… I began to vomit violently out the window of the truck in a way that I’ve never experienced before or since. It was unbelievable!

I guess I covered the side of his truck pretty badly and, in his exact words, “It looked like I went mudding in a mountain of puke! I had no idea someone could throw up that much!”


Eventually, though, we made it back to my place. Brian said he pulled into my driveway and put the vomit covered truck into park. “Dan, buddy, you’re home…”

“Ugh, uhh… ok…” I replied, without even moving a muscle.

He had to walk around, open my door and physically help me down out of the truck and up the steps to my front door. I was a fucking mess!

Brian was an awesome friend, though. He made sure I got the door unlocked and made it inside. I guess I turned to shake his hand before he left and offered my arm covered in chunks. He said he politely declined.

Anyhow, that’s where things went from foggy to completely black – I have absolutely no memory from this point on…

The next thing I know, I woke up with the warm sun beating down on my face. I was in my bed, on top of the covers, bare ass, with the blinds wide open. My brain was totally melted and something smelled fucking awful!

I looked at the clock as my dry eyes strained to focus… it read 10:42am. It took a few seconds to register, but then it hit me… I was supposed to be to work at 10:00am! FUCK!! I jumped out of bed and that’s when I was greeted with possibly the worst scene imaginable…

Ok, so let’s rewind a bit and I will piece together my evening (as best as I can tell) from a bit of crime scene reconstruction…

(Author’s Note: When I read this next section to myself I picture a CSI-style computer rendering of my apartment with flashbacks of the events, as narrated by that douchebag Horatio Caine from CSI: Miami… It makes it sooo much better!)

“From speaking to our witness, we know that our victim was dropped off home at around 2:00am. He is a white male in his early-to-mid twenties, approximately 5’10” and 180lbs. He has no priors, but has been known to associate with a well known drunken gang calling themselves the Meatheads.”

“He appears to have entered here, through the front door of the apartment. There is no sign of forced entry, but there is a huge smear of dried puke on the door. Interesting. Just a few feet inside the door we find a discarded sweater, shirt, jeans and shoes lying on the floor – all of them covered in lumps of vomit. It appears that he got naked immediately. How strange…”

“After stripping down, he must have made his way over here to the nearby bed – stumbling badly, it appears, judging by the additional smears on the bedroom walls and door casing. In my professional opinion, I’d say he was lucky to have actually made it… but look! He didn’t stay in bed for long…”

“At some point, he got up and apparently had to use the bathroom quite badly. Look here! He must have crawled across the bedroom floor and over to this fish tank in the corner. Yes, the tank stand has been left wide open and there are still tools and decorations scattered everywhere. But, what could he possibly have been looking for??”

“Ah, yes, the bucket! It appears he must have grabbed this 5 gallon bucket from inside, still with nets and cleaning supplies in it, and proceeded to use it as a makeshift toilet. Yes, there is definitely a massive human shit in there. Well, most of it is in there, anyways…”

“Either he gave up on this disgusting idea or just fell off the pot, because look… there is also a large amount of human feces over here on the floor. I’m guessing that he must have fallen over because, honestly, our vic’ was completely covered in it.”

“Even worse, the carpet here looks like… well, there’s really no other way to describe it: I think he made shit angels on the floor. This whole 4’ by 8’ area is covered with blotches and clumps of body exhaust. What a disaster! I can’t imagine how, but he seems to have made it back up into the bed after all this, still covered in his own excrement. This is where the battered body was found early this morning…”

“Bag everything, gentlemen. We need to get it back to the lab right away. I want a full investigation! Our primary suspect is still out there; Karma has struck again!”

“Sadly, it’s too late for this guy, but there’s still a chance we could save the next one – I guess this “Meathead” really was… *pauses to put on Aviator sunglasses* full of shit!”


Sure, it sounds funny when I write it that way but, trust me… it wasn’t fucking funny at the time! Not at all. Just imagine being faced with this dramatic realization first thing in the morning. Not just any morning, either, because I was already 45 minutes late for work. It was not a good way to start the day.

My phone had been vibrating all morning in the pocket of my jeans that were discarded by the front door. I gingerly picked through the mess to retrieve it and saw all of the missed calls from my work supervisor. This was going to be fun to explain…

I grabbed myself a quick (relative to the situation) shower and managed to get to work by just after 11ish… still drunk, still un-surprisingly smelling of poop and generally fucking shell shocked.

“What the hell happened to you?” my manager asked, looking concerned, “We’ve been calling you all morning! Is everything ok??”

“Uh… yea, well… you see… I had a bit of a rough night.” I replied shyly, trying to think how to properly word this. “I kinda… well, fuck it; I shit all over my apartment.”

Everyone in my small department got a huge laugh out of the whole situation, as you can imagine, while I worked off a massive, smelly hangover. The worst part was knowing exactly what I had to go home to. I had all morning to think about it and, at 3:00pm, I went home for my one hour lunch break.

I lived alone, thankfully, and when I got back to my apartment and opened the door the stench hit me like a brick wall. It had been festering in the heat all morning and my poor cat was inside staring at me with a look of anguish on her face. I could just picture her thinking “Dude, what the fuck did you do???” I laughed.

This would be the last pleasant thought that I would experience for the next few days. I held my breath and stepped inside. I’m not exactly equipped to clean messes of this nature… well, who really would be? So I filled a mop bucket with steaming hot water and half a bottle of Mr. Clean, wrapped two old t-shirts around my face, put two pairs of old socks on each hand as makeshift gloves and went to work. I scrubbed, dry heaved and gagged for my entire lunch hour before giving up and returning to work. Many of the things in my bedroom simply had to be bagged and thrown in the garbage bin outside. It was horrible, just fuckin horrible…

During the afternoon at work I finally sobered up and was hit with a bit of a hangover. I had thrown up everything I’d eaten the day before and had yet to eat or drink anything that day (you’d be surprised how much this type of thing can kill an appetite), so I was not feeling that well at all… and I stunk. I smelled even worse now that I had spent an hour on my knees scrubbing a shit covered carpet. It was brutal.

A cute girl from another department came over to talk and I told her my story in gruesome detail. She laughed hysterically while giving me a nice back rub. I knew that I smelled horrible, but it just felt so great that I let her continue.

The painfully long work day finally came to an end and I returned home to my poop covered apartment. Before getting into the problem at hand, I decided to have a long hot shower and properly clean myself up. As I was stepping into the tub I caught the reflection of my back in the mirror… what I saw made me laugh in total disgust. I had a huge smear of fecal matter right down the middle of my back. I must have missed it in my rushed shower that morning. That poor girl had just given me a back rub, and all the while, she was rubbing shit into my shirt. What a trooper!
Anyhow, it all worked out in the end… sort of. I ended up having to rent a steam-cleaner and I spent the entire weekend sanitizing my place over and over. No matter how clean I got it, though, I just couldn’t shake the disgusting images of what it had been.

I went through two whole bottles of the carpet solution, a few cans of Febreeze and I had scented candles burning nonstop for days. But, even after all of that, I still could not bring myself to sleep in my bedroom (or drink tequila) for many, many months after the “incident”. Damn karma…

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