Fuck My Liver

Throughout my collegiate career, my friends and I would engage in an activity most of you are probably familiar with.  Kegs and Eggs is an annual St. Patrick’s Day party.  Drinking starts early in the day (usually around 7am) and continues throughout the day and throughout the city.  Most go to the bars with friends; others go to the parade; and some don’t even make it out.

A few years ago, we started nice and early.  Our friends had a party with some close friends at their house (about 20 of us).  I’m pounding Irish Mist like it’s going out of style.  Green beer is flowing and everyone is building up a morning buzz.  My boys are cranking that soulja boy in the whitest manner possible.   You can tell this day is already on its way downhill.

At about 10am, we hop in some limos and head out.  Changing the lyrics to music is a ton of fun when you’re drunk.  I’m belting, “This ain’t a scene, it’s a goddamn limousine.”  We arrive at Market Square, the area where all the college kids go to party on St. Pat’s.  You can’t move, wait forever to buy beers, and restrooms are nowhere to be found.  It’s so bad over there that we literally formed a circular wall around a friend while he pissed in the street.

A couple of hours (and many beers) later, a couple of us decide to head to Station Square, another area of town where you can drink outside.  Of course it’s snowing in March and my buddy wipes out on the bridge heading over.  Not falls.  This was a Doug Butabi wipeout ala Night at the Roxbury when the brothers go to see Mr. Zadir.  We get there and start rounds of bombs and let the beer flow for hours.

It’s probably around 7pm now and time to head to southside.  We take what has to be the longest walk ever to get there.  Although, that could be because we couldn’t walk straight.  We walk into one southside bar and you can’t even move.  Fail.  So we head to another with the same result, but my friends want to stay.  I’m flooded and decide that it’s time to find food.

I find a pizza place and the line is out the door.  I don’t care though.  I need food immediately.  I wait in this line for 30 minutes and order three huge slices of pizza.  I’m stumbling.  I turn around with my food and there is nowhere to sit.  I can’t eat outside because it’s still semi-winter.  In my stupor, I think to myself, “Hey, my car is parked around the corner!  I can eat in there!”.  Wow.  I get in start it up and listen to music while I’m slamming this pizza.  Wouldn’t you know that as soon as I am finished, I pass out in my car, with it running.  How a cop didn’t see me and fuck me over is anyone’s guess.  Nine missed calls, five text messages, and two hours later, I wake up.  Fuck my liver.

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