This one’s from the vault. My friend Bill turned 21 a few years ago. It was probably the spring of ’04 if I had to put a number on it. For some reason we decided to go low key and just get a few people together and hit a bar. I guess it was mostly because Bill was already well on his way to full blown alcoholism at this point and the fact that he was 21 didn’t change much except to add new venues for his inebriation.

It was the standard fare for a 21st, we went to the bar, rounds of shots were ordered, beers were chugged and good times were had. Our core group consisted of myself, Bill, Bill’s girlfriend, a slutty girl that Bill would have been banging had it not been for his girlfriend, and my roommate Jim although we did not live together yet at that time. There were some other stragglers at various bars along the way and some dudes the slutty girl attempted to extract free drinks out of. (She ended up becoming a stripper and I’m pretty sure is probably now dead).

At our final bar of the evening, Bill was pretty much unconscious. Props to him for not hurling. The bar closed and it was time for the five of us to make our way back to the apartment building that Bill and I lived in. It was clear that Bill was not up for this journey which was only about five blocks. Jim and I had to help him. I really am surprised that we did not get stopped by the police while doing this as the most direct route back to the building was straight across the campus of our university.

Once back at the building, the real fun began. Our building was a complete shit pile and frequently the elevator would stop working. This was one such evening. Bill is not a small dude and during the journey from the bar, his condition got progressively worse. We dropped him on the floor in front of the stairs and told him he was going to have to start walking. His apartment was on the sixth floor and there was no way we were carrying his fat ass up that far. Bill didn’t move, he just sat on the floor making moaning and grunting sounds. Not wanting to abandon our friend, Jim and I decided that the best course of action was to start kicking him in the ass and yelling at him until he started to crawl up the stairs. This worked. It was slow, and lots of people came out of their apartments to see what was going on, but eventually we got him up to his floor.

Once on the sixth floor, Jim and I decided that since he had gone up six flights of stairs, Jim was capable of propelling himself down the hall to his apartment, so we employed the same motivational technique that we used on the stairs and got him moving. At this point we had a pretty big crowd assembled as there were some parties in the building that had shifted to the hallway to witness our spectacle. Finally Jim and I got Bill into his apartment and left him on the floor next to his bed.

Jim and I went down to my apartment to recover, drink more, and laugh at Bill’s expense for a while. After about an hour, we decided we should go up and check on him. We went up to his place but he wasn’t in his room. The door to his bathroom was closed and there was no response when I knocked. I tried to open the door but it was stuck, after some considerable effort, I was able to get the door open enough to stick my head in. Bill was passed out on against the door and there was a big wet spot on his crotch. Jim and I could not stop laughing. We invited some of the neighbors in to take a look and then left him there for the remainder of the evening.

The next day was even better. Bill came down to my apartment looking particularly hung over. He walked in and commented, “Man, I wish you guys had turned on my air conditioner, when I woke up this morning my pants were all wet from sweating in them all night”. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed that hard. He was not pleased when I informed him of the source of the humidity in his pants.

-Ice Man

Now that I find myself living through my mid-twenties I’ve come to realize certain things that come with getting a little older: the good looking physique I had when I was 17 probably isn’t coming back, hair is starting to grow in places that I always hoped it wouldn’t, and the idea of getting married and having children is becoming an inevitable reality.

As for the physique and funky hair growth, well I don’t think there’s all that much I can do about that. As far as being a husband and a father, now that’s something I think I can be pretty good at. In respects to being a husband, I think I have lived through enough trial and error relationships that I can figure that out, but a father, well that’s something I’ve only began to think about.

Now as a father, it’s going to be my job to help encourage my children and allow them to participate in activities that facilitate their growth. Maybe they’ll be really good at math, want to join a basketball team, or even be into boy scouts. That’s all fine with me, but the one thing my child will never be allowed to do is take karate lessons. Have you ever met anyone cool who took karate lessons? Now I know we all wanted to take karate lessons after seeing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Secret of the Ooze, but none of us made it passed the third week before quitting. We retired our white belts just as soon as we put them on. Then there was that one guy who participated in karate all the way until he was 18. Just admit it, that guy never had much going for him.

When I was in High School, there was this kid; we’ll call him Karate Kid. What Karate Kid lacked in stature, he made up for in ego. This was the kind of kid who still was hazed in his senior year of high school by guys younger than him. It was so bad that I even think teachers at our school were fairly annoyed by his presence. Personally, I tried my best to not hang around Karate Kid. I always tried to be nice to everyone, but for some reason I just couldn’t force myself to look past how much I couldn’t stand this guy. His normal comebacks always had something to do with how he was a black belt and he was doing us all a favor by not kicking our butts. Now I’m not a fighter by any means, but I was always knew I could take Karate Kid if the situation ever arose.

That day came in gym class my senior year of high school when Karate Kid was spouting off at the mouth about something during gym class. I then took it upon myself to put Karate Kid back in his place with a snide remark. This upset Karate Kid. He flashed his normal “black belt” credentials and got in my face. Normally I would just back down and avoid confrontation, but on this particular day I had, had enough of his unwarranted arrogance and accepted Karate Kid’s challenge.

Now this fight was over before it began. Karate Kid came at me and in a flash. I threw him to the ground and put him into submission. His karate moves were useless. It was not my intent to hurt Karate Kid, but just to teach him a lesson. What I ended up doing was embarrass him. I held him on the ground and emasculated him like a much older brother would do to his littler brother. At one point, I think I even held him down and hung a big loogie over his face only to suck it up right before it fell on him. He squirmed like a fourth grader getting his lunch money taken. Once I let him up he didn’t fight back; he knew that he lost.

Who knows, maybe I was the arrogant one that day. Word is, after that day, Karate Kid had a new outlook on life and really turned the corner. I hear he’s a really likeable guy nowadays. Maybe I did him a favor, but at least I know my kids will never venture down the same road that Karate Kid did.

-Costanza

Ask any guy out there what his primary sexual fantasies are and I guarantee you the list will be topped by two things, two chicks at the same time and anal sex. Regardless on their views about the cleanliness and morality of putting it in the pooper, all guys are at least a little intrigued by the idea. Seriously, why else would it be in nearly every porno I have encountered, and not to brag or anything, but I’ve encountered a lot of porn in my day.

This story begins as many do, in a bar, drinking heavily. Near the end of the evening my friend Bill and I had been making casual conversation with a woman who was reasonable looking but probably in her mid 30s and definitely not the type you want to take home to meet your mother, or even your friends for that matter. The three of us were having a good enough time though and decided to go back to the building Bill and I lived in to continue our evening. I rode with the girl from the bar to show her the way which was a harrowing experience to put it lightly. I could write a whole other article about that ride alone. In the end we made it. As we arrived, a girl from the building, whom I had previously attempted to bone, was also arriving. I waved to her and we went on our way.

As the evening progressed, it became clear that the girl from the bar was not planning on leaving any time soon and that she was intent on boning one of us. I was trying to figure out how to get out of this situation because Bill had a girlfriend so I knew he was going to dump her on me and then I’d have to get rid of her. Finally, we ran out of liquor, so the bar girl and Bill went up to his apartment to get some more. I was left alone in my apartment to figure out a game plan. At that moment, the solution literally walked right in. It was Alice, the girl we had seen when we got to the building. She came in and we started talking and I got out some beers I had kept hidden from the bar freak. I was pretty drunk and as I mentioned had previously tried to bone this chick, so I was laying it on pretty thick. We started making out and then right in the middle, there was a knock at the door. I went to the door and it was Bill, alone. He looked at me with this scared look on his face and said, “Dude, I don’t know what to do; as soon as we got up there she took off her pants. Now she’s standing in my apartment naked and I think she wants me to fuck her.” I pointed to Alice and told Bill that I was sorry but he’d have to figure out a way to get rid of the freak because I was busy and closed the door. I’m going to claim he’s the one that invited the freak back anyway, so it was really his mess to clean up from the beginning.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand, Alice and I get back to it and end up in my bed. Score, it’s going to happen. We get naked and just as we’re about to start, she whispers in my ear, “Do you want my pussy or my ass?” I was at a loss for words. You normally have to hound a woman for months to get her to give up access to the dirt star and here this slut is willing to open it up before we’ve even had normal sex. I was in a conundrum. I always had a fascination with anal but had never tried it. This was certainly an opportunity to say the least. Something about it wasn’t right though, it was too easy. The way she had offered it up without any hint of desire for it on my part didn’t compute in my mind. It was too slutty. She was too slutty for anal sex. To this day I wonder if it was the right decision, after all I did continue to hit it off and on for the next month or two. I could never go for the ass though; she had spoiled it on that first evening.

As for Bill, he came down the next morning mad as hell. He didn’t end up having to screw the freak but she did stay the night. I wonder if the girl he was dating ever found out about that.

-Ice Man

What is a drunk dial? I mean, I have dialed many a women late in the evening, but what for? Do I have a purpose? Not really. So why? I guess the main reason I drunk dial is because I am an idiot.

Lets get to the basics of a strong drunk dial. All you amateurs out there, take notes, or print off this article and carry it with next time you go out.

Rule #1 – You must be hammered drunk:
None of this I went out for 3 beers shit. You need to be rumbling stumbling drunk before you are ready to drunk dial. You should have consumed at least two types of alcohol as well ( a shot, beer, wine, cocktail…). This will ensure you have the proper liquid courage you will need for the following steps.

Rule #2 – You always call the opposite sex:
If you are a dude, why would you call another dude? If you are a girl, why call another girl? Ladies, don’t be that one girl who makes a fool of herself on her cell phone yelling at “her ladies” about how crazy you guys needs to get. You will sound like an idiot, and people like me will make fun of you.

Rule #3 – Say something you have always wanted to say:
This is a huge factor when drunk dialing. Its like being able to get free information from someone. It is ok to put your heart on your sleeve at this point because you are drunk. And if you make a fool of yourself, you can always blame it on being drunk. Its perfect.

Rule #4 – What do I do if the person I call isn’t drunk?:
Easy. Start yelling and don’t stop. Then proceed to make fun of them for not being out and then picking up the phone from someone they could 99.9% guarantee was drunk dialing them. They are more amateur than you are.

Rule #5 – Don’t leave voicemail:
Why would you? What good or purpose comes out of leaving a voicemail early in the morning? If the person calls you back the next morning, you can make up any number of excuses to get out a drunk dial conviction. Seriously, be creative with your excuses, they may impress the right person.

Rule #6 – Do not drunk dial in front of people:
This should be obvious, but I need to state it anyway. You don’t want other people thinking you are lame and that you still drunk dial. Do it in the confines of a bar bathroom, your house, or while going home.

Rule #7 – It’s ok to steal phones to drunk dial:
If you have friends you like to play pranks on, always take their phones and call ex-girlfriends, old hookups, parents, or their bosses. You can always downplay this by saying you meant to call someone else and that your finger slipped due to your drunkness.

Rule #8 – Once in a while it is ok to claim an emergency:
For the extremely desperate person, faking an emergency will work to get your receiver to come meet you, pick you up, or deliver food. However, you must be careful when using this method because this can really piss some people off.

Rule #9 – Have fun with it:
Remember, the more you drink the more you can drunk dial. As you are drinking your liquid courage, your creative juices will begin to flow and more ideas will come through. Don’t be afraid to try new things and mix it up every once in a while.

These are my drunk dialing rules.

-sinbad

I live and work in a semi-major southern city. My office and apartment are literally around the corner from one another. This lifestyle is fantastic. My car is safely tucked away in a parking deck and on average I see it about once a week. In minutes, I can walk to the main bar district in the city and should I be unable to walk back afterwards, it’s five bucks to take a cab home. Metropolitan living really has its advantages and I am surprised more young professionals in my area have yet to embrace it. You see, the city is what they call transitional. This means that 40 years ago it was a thriving urban center but throughout the 70s and 80s businesses and residents fled to the suburbs leaving empty office space and abandoned warehouses and buildings. During the last ten years businesses have been returning and investors have dumped huge sums of money into converting the empty buildings into luxury apartments and condos to attract people not unlike myself. The thing the city is having difficulty shedding is the reputation it gained during its lesser years as a cesspool of gang violence and murder. The truth is, it is very safe now but the myth is perpetuated when sheltered suburbanites venture downtown and encounter the homeless. One such vagrant fills his days in the alley outside of my apartment building. We have come to refer to him as Crazy Man.

Crazy Man: The first Encounter

I first met crazy man before I moved downtown. There is a Mexican restaurant that my coworkers and I frequent and Crazy Man spends a good deal of his time in the alley outside of the restaurant. One day on the way to lunch at the restaurant, Crazy Man was standing on the corner and as I walked by him, he looked at me and said “I want to go to the crack house, that’s right, the crack house”. My coworkers and I continued into the restaurant barely able to contain our laughter.

Crazy Man: The next Encounter

About a week after we met crazy man, we were back at the same restaurant (they have a special I particularly like on Thursdays, so I go there just about every week). While sitting in the restaurant eating, I noticed Crazy Man was outside. He was holding a cup and looking in through the massive windows that make up the front of the restaurant. After about five minutes, he walked in repeating “It’s a crazy man, a crazy man”. (This was when he got his name). Crazy Man walked through the restaurant to the self service soda dispenser. Instead of filling his cup like a normal patron, he lifted the metal grate where the spilled ice and overflowed soda fall and filled his cup with the leftover ice and soda mixture that reside down there before melting and going down the drain. He then replaced the grate and left the restaurant.

Move-in day: Getting to know Crazy Man’s real Personality

In late August my roommate (who happens to also work in the same office as me) and I decided we wanted to move back downtown. We chose an apartment around the corner from our office in a newly converted former commercial building. This building is located next to the Mexican restaurant previously mentioned.

Putting it politely, my roommate’s mom is a worrier. She is one of the sheltered suburbanites mentioned previously and is definitely convinced that the two of us are going to get killed living downtown. On move-in day she was lending a hand with the process. Mostly she held the door while the two of us carted things to the elevator and then into our apartment. On one such trip while my roommate and I were upstairs, Crazy Man emerged from the alley. A car had just parked at the curb and its occupants had exited the vehicle and were standing next to it on the sidewalk. Crazy man walked into one of members of the group. This made Crazy Man very angry. He started shouting “you motherfucker, god damn motherfuckers, shit, god damn shit motherfuckers.” The trouble was, he was walking away from the person he had bumped. We’re not sure what was going on inside his head but we’re reasonably certain whatever it was, it was only loosely based on reality.

Some notes on Crazy Man

I have lived downtown for five months now. During that time, I have learned a great deal about Crazy Man. Turns out, his name isn’t Crazy Man, it is Rodney. Rodney spends his days in the alley between my apartment building and the Mexican place. Mostly he sits and stares at the wall. Sometimes he sweeps the alley with scraps of cardboard, other times he rearranges the contents of the alley. Frequently, Rodney likes to sing. He usually wears jeans with the legs rolled up just above his ankles and has a rotation of faded t-shirts. He has long scraggly hair that is washed out from years in the sun. He wears a bandana around his forehead most days to keep his hair out of his face. The odd thing about Rodney’s appearance is that somehow, he always has clean socks. His socks are bright white every day. They were doing some construction on the building that the Mexican place is in which provided a great deal of entertainment for me as Rodney interacted with the construction workers. Occasionally, when he is out there by himself, especially on weekends, Rodney gets mad. I’m not sure what sets him off, but he will throw things and yell and then eventually storm off to who knows where. There are some videos of this odd behavior. I suppose this is a good time to mention that Rodney does not live in the alley. We are not sure where he lives, though we did follow him one evening when he left. We lost him about eight blocks away in an area that contains a half way house for crazy people. It is possible he lives there. We will follow him again one day and try to confirm it. Rodney keeps a pretty regular schedule though, he shows up in the mornings around 6 AM (singing and yelling which generally wakes me up) and he leaves just before it gets dark in the evening. It’s almost like hanging out in that alley is his job. He is rarely there on the weekends but occasionally, I guess when he has extra work to catch up on, he’ll show up on a Saturday or Sunday.

One final note, if it was not evident from what I have written, it is clear that Rodney is a schizophrenic. He clearly sees things that the rest of us cannot. You will understand this when you watch the videos. The videos were taken from the window in my living room. Because we are many floors above, Rodney cannot hear us open the window and so is not yet aware that we watch (and video tape) him from above.

Check out the video and enjoy.

Ice Man