So, I opened my mouth and sucked on the hose, as I was held upside down.Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.Up went the beer down my throat.
I was a whiz at keg standing, making my new group proud of me. Actually, it wasn’t that hard to do. I kept gulping, like I had been keg standing my whole life. And probably, my over-consumption of just about everything had prepared me for this moment. There wasn’t much difference between this and sucking down a pint of chocolate milk in no time flat, and I had years of experience doing that.
After a couple minutes, they put me down on my two feet and cheered my accomplishment. “Thank you,” I said, bowing. Then, I fell on my face.
“Uh-oh. Hudson’s mad,” I heard one of them say as I lay there with a face full of linoleum. There were a few loud noises, like wood was being chopped for a fire, followed by a couple screams. I flew off the floor, and it took me a moment to realize that Hudson had picked me up and not that I had suddenly acquired the magical power of flight.
“Thanks for the party, dudes,” he said.
“It was nice to meet you,” I told Hudson’s friends, but it came out like two moans and a hiccough. “I would be very happy to host you at my house next time.”
“What’d she say?” Lance asked.
“Something about her breasts?” Jeremy said, taking a shot at deciphering my blotto speaking skills.
“No, not about her breasts,” Hudson growled and pulled me out of the bar, my body clamped to the side of his with his mega-muscley arm. The guys followed him out, and when Hudson opened his car door, they threw a bunch of birthday presents inside.
“Call Neil deGrasse Tyson because the earth is spinning way too fast,” I moaned.
“Fall back, Marines,” one of them shouted. “She’s about to blow.”
“Okay, let me get you over to the curb,” Hudson urged. “I’ll hold your hair.”
What a hero. He was going to hold my hair. Normally, only best girlfriends did that. Hudson was such a nice guy. Thoughtful. “Are you gay?” I asked and then my body convulsed as if I was turning into The Incredible Hulk, and I projectile-vomited a keg stand’s-worth of beer.
Luckily, only some of the vomit hit Hudson. The rest landed on his Camaro, spraying the interior through the open door.
CHAPTER 8
“A Perfect Innie”
“Your car smells bad,” I complained.
“There you are,” Hudson said. “Conscious again.”
“Can’t you drive without moving the car?” I asked. He was driving away from the bar and getting closer to my neighborhood. I felt like death, like a POW in an old Chuck Norris movie who was begging for death after being locked in a bamboo cage in the jungle for twenty years. I was slumped against the passenger door with my face halfway out the open window.
“We’re almost there,” he said.
“Liar! Oh, God.” Oh God was right. I needed a miracle. I needed God to come down from heaven and suck the alcohol out of my veins and replace my stomach with a new one. Preferably a stomach from someone who never did a keg stand or a Blow Job.
Damned peer pressure. Nothing good came from peer pressure. That’s why hermits and recluses and Unabombers were such stable characters. They didn’t have peers to pressure them.
“I’ll get you back in your house in three minutes. Can you make it that long?”
“What do you mean?” I moaned.
“Are you going to throw up in my car again in the next three minutes? I put a plastic bag next to you.”
“I’m not an animal,” I insisted. “I’m a grown woman, and I know how to handle my liquor and control my bod…”
My body convulsed, and the rest of the keg stand flew out of my body and sprayed the entire dashboard and windshield.
“That’s what I figured,” Hudson mumbled, and I passed out.
“You can’t carry me. I’m too heavy,” I moaned. Hudson had found my house keys in my purse, and he was unlocking the front door while he held me in his arms.
“You’re not too heavy. I’ve carried grown men. You’re not as heavy as a grown man.”
