'The Martini Incident'

Have you ever been really drunk??? I mean reeaaally drunk. Not just your casual down a six-pack &/or a bottle of cheap red wine & wake up with a splitting headache & there's a chupacabra she-beast in bed with you. No I'm talking about professional binge-drinking to the point of hallucination & an old-fashioned stomach pumping. If you'e ever pledged a fraternity, went to college @ Cal U, lived in Ocean City or just lived with my sorry ass, then you know exactly what I'm talking about & I've probably directly participated in making you puke your ever-loving guts out(You're welcome!).

There have been various points in my life when I didn't just want to casually get drunk. I was on a missin to do some serious damage. One of the more significant occurances that sticks out in my fuzzy mind was from the tine that I logged in Philadelphia. In 2001 I kind of went through a, 'What does it all mean?' phase & moved from my beloved San Diego to Philadelphia(I still shake my head in disbelief as to why I would submit myself to such tedium or as my close friends repeatedly asked, 'Why Biff why? Are you a fucking moron?'). I wanted to make a big change, so I packed up the U-Haul & off to Philly I trekked. Nine vehicular breakdowns later(This will be discussed in a future post. God it fucking sucked!), I was in the 'City of Brotherly Love.'

I spent exactly one year & ten months in Philadelphia before I wised up & moved back to San Diego. During my brief tenure, I managed to date a former acrobat from Ringling Brothers & Barnum & Bailey Circus(Oh yes that actually happened!) & I cemented some friendships that will last a lifetime. In a short period of time, I moved in with a surfing friend of a friend named Dennis. We immediately hit it off I think because we had very similar twisted senses of humor & were both reformed fratboys(Sort of...Well...I won't lie. Not really!). We settled into our palatial bachelor estate in Manayunk just outside of downtown, but close enough to the ghetto to ensure that my soft-top jeep got broken into 5 fucking times! This house was 113 years old, had 4 stories on it, was part of the 'Underground Railroad' & also a whorehouse in the early 80's. This place looked like it was designed & built by Dr.Seuss! There were low ceilings. Doors that led to nowhere & various odd angled walls that just didn't make a lick of sense(You know, character!). But I digress, I want to tell you about the night that solidifed mine & Dennis's friendship for life & damned near killed me. This night has since been dubbed, 'The Martini Incident.'

This cold Philadelphia Saturday started out like any other, we threw our surfing gear into Dennis's truck & headed to the Jersey Shore(Yes that Jersy Shore where those orange-hued mongoloids currently have a show on MTV!) to surf some artic waves(I say artic because it was winter & the water temperature was a balmy 45 fucking degrees!). After about 3 hours of sloshing around in the Atlantic Ocean, we headed back home & were amped because we were supposed to meet up with our friend Andy @ a bar within walking distance from our house. On said trip back, Dennis keeps going on and on about how amazing of a bartender he is & that he wants to make us some martinis. There's something that you need to know about Dennis's bartending skills; He will either make you a drink that tastes like candy & IT will sneak up on you like a ninja & smack you in the head or he will make you a drink that tastes like antifreeze w/a broken glass chaser(Rocket fuel comes to mind!) & is guaranteed to make you puke &/or blackout essentially taking years off of your life.

Slowly, but surely I bought into bartender Dennis's martini dinner grandois plan. The only problem was by the time we got home, we had completely forgotten about eating any form of a dinner & commenced to the making of the martinis. I should have known better. There were red flags galore. But I trudged on! Dennis began the gathering of his martini supplies like a maniacle grinning child ready to show off his most prized Star Wars action figures. With 'Reveran Horton Heat' blaring in the background at ungodly decibles(Dennis explained to me that you have to listen to The Rev's song 'Martini Time' while drinking your martini. Who the hell was I to argue this logic???) Dennis brought out a half bottle of Absolut Vodka & 4 bottles of Banker's Club Vodka(This swill literally tastes like turpentine by the way!), Cheap Cooking Wine(Because we had no Vermuth.), & Cocktail Onions for a little flavor. With a twinkle in his eye Dennis exclaimed, 'Relax these are my infamous 'Ghetto Martini's! We're gonna be A-OK!!!'

Just reading that past paragraph you can see how this is a recipe for disaster for a couple of idiots in their late 20's who have serious 'Peter Pan Complexes' & a penchant for property damage right??? You have been warned. Anyhoo...Moving on. It was around 4pm as we began 'Martini Time' dehydrated from surfing earlier & not eating a scrap of dinner. The first couple of 'Ghetto Martinis' tasted like Battery Acid which was just a step above 'EVIL.' 'EVIL' was the moonshine that we had in a mason jar residing in the refridgerator. It tasted so godawful, so unholy, that we thought it had to be 'satan's actual piss' so we put a strip of tape across the jar & wrote 'EVIL' on it. Then everytime we had company, Dennis & I would take great pleaseure in asking our guests if they'd like to know, 'What 'EVIL' tastes like?' & then erupt in fits of laughter when the first few layers of skin would melt off of our victim's tongue! About 4 martinis in, we had to move on to the Banker's Club vodka. At this point of the evening we were full of piss & vinegar & throwing various small pieces of furniture out of the second story window while screaming creative obscenities at the top of our lungs for the world(Or at least our poor, suffering neighbors!) to hear.

Eventually we got bored, but continued to drink our horrible martinis just as fast as we could make them! Dennis decided to turn on the movie, 'Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas.' This is a classic piece of cinema with Johnny Depp playing our titular hero Hunter S. Thompson, who with his Samoan lawyer(Played expertly by Benicio Del Toro!) go on a drug-fueled bender in Las Vegas full of hallucinations & hilarity. He couldn't have picked a better movie for our state of mind that night! It was so interesting that I commenced to pass the fuck out after a few more gasolione martinis. I was eventually woken by the sound of 'Johnny Depp playing Hunter S. Thompson' yelling, 'Biff! Biff! Wake the fuck up you pussy!' I immediatley stumbled off the couch & was transfixed to the television. I knew that I was hallucinating, but 'Johnny Depp playing Hunter S. Thompson' broke the 5th wall & was staring right at me from the television set & he was pissed!

'Why pray tell have you stopped drinking Biff!?!' 'Gee, I don't know 'Johnny Depp playing Hunter S. Thompson.' 'Well that's not how we do it around here asshole! You need to get with the fucking program! That cheap-ass vodka isn't gonna finish itself now is it!????' 'No sir.' 'That's right Biff! Now march your stupid ass into the kitchen & make me proud!!!'

Now in my hallucinatory, drunken stupor, this sounded like a pretty good fucking idea! I stumped into thekitchen stepping over a passed-out Dennis who was lying face-down on the floor. He had attempted to grill some sort of pork product, but failed to turn the stove off & his snack was burned into a grisled, black hockey puck. I turned off the stove & that's the last thing that I remember that night...

I woke up upside-down, halfway up the stairwell to my room. It felt like an H-Bomb had went off in my head & somebody had used my balls as a punching bag. Then I heard Dennis moaning somewhere downstairs asking me if I had puked in a bucket in his room? All that I could muster from my dry throat was a weak, 'FUUUUCK YOOUUUU!' I eventually made it downstairs where it looked like the Tasmanian Devil had a seizure in our house. We had done some serious damage. There was not a drop of vodka left. For those of you keeping score at home, that a half bottle of Absolut & 4 bottle of Banker's Club Vodka between 2 idiots!

This was right around the time that I had the brilliant idea of cooking some hamburgers on the gas grill behind the house. I found the meat patties & started hitting the button on the grill to click a spark & ignite the gas. It wasn't working, so I kept cranking the gas & clicking. Still nothing! I ran inside to get matches, not realizing that the gas was still on just cranking out fumes. I came back outside & stuck a match. BOOOOOM!!!! A fireball shot like a rocket directly at my face! I only had a split second to react as I arched & fell directly on my back as I rolled down the steps. I ran up the stairs to the bathroon with my eyes closed screaming. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, Please let me still have eyebrows!!! I stood in front of the mirror & cautiously opened my eyes. Both of my eyebrows were still connected to my face(Thank God!), but the top of my spiked hair was singed & smoking & the house just reeked of burnt hair. I also noticed that all of the hair on my right arm had burned off as well(It never fully grew back either!). I took a deep breath & ordered a pizza for delivery. I was a walking calamity & refused to leave the house that day.

There was some debate between Dennis & I as to who actually puked. We both blacked out, so we weren't quite sure. Well I had the shakes for the next 3 days, was completely pale & couldn't rehydrate myself to save my life, while Dennis was fine. Guess who puked folks! To this day I have not had a martini, 'ghetto' or otherwise, & if 'Johnny Depp playing Hunter S.Thompson' decides to break the 5th wall again & rally me to drink & I'm going to tell him to go fuck himself!

-ADDENDUM-

Dennis e-mailed me some of the finer points of the evening that I missed:

1. It was chicken, not pork. SO much better rare.
2. I totally forgot about the grill fireball...hehehehe
3. You forgot, you have to pour the bankers club into the Absolut bottle, to make you forget that you're drinking bankers club.
4. I still don't know what was up with the wet paper wads covering the ceiling. Maybe Johnny Depp knows.
5. It's not even 8:00 a.m. and I'm thirsty.