There are three days in the summer where people like to get drunk and sunburned in honor of patriotism: Labor Day, July 4th, and Memorial Day. On the latter of these, we honor our fallen veterans by sinking millions of pounds of expensive sunglasses and cheap beer cans to the bottom of our favorite lake. The older fans participate by bringing their big, expensive boats and the younger fans contribute by bringing their young, good-looking bodies accompanied by nudity. It’s like you go to the lake with a mental checklist of things you want to accomplish or find: free alcohol, multi-level boat, waverunner, avoid authorities, random hookup, and a random disaster to make it interesting.
My friend ODB kept hitting me up the week before asking what I was going to do. I told him that I didn’t know yet and that we might be going to another lake. He said that they had a boat and that we could come, bring the dogs and we could stay the night. I agree that this sounds better than other half-ass plans, so at the last minute we decide to make a trek to the lake with Slo-mo and Douche plus Rocky and Gadget for good measure. Since we were late and it’s already dusk, we met them in a parking lot where we left the truck.
ODB could be summed up by the mantra, “It is easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission,” and sometimes this leaves someone in an awkward position but ultimately gets the job done. The person in this instance was the guy who owned the boat.
“Yeah, I’m sorry man I didn’t even think about it.”
“But I don’t think that dogs on the boat are a good idea…”
“Yeah but they’re already here.”
“And they can't leave them in the car, I mean come on it’s summer.”
“Ok… but no dogs on the seats.”
Everyone knew there was no way that would actually happen, but it’s really the gesture that allowed him to feel like he wasn’t a pushover. There’s three other guys and one girl already on the boat, all of which look tired and ready to drink. We immediately headed for a bar about a 20 minute ride away where we tied up the dogs as our security measure.
On the way, ODB recounted the tales of all the naked breasts that he had seen during the day. Typical, the guy seriously is like Ron Jeremy in the fact that he is fat, ugly and hairy and will get more pussy than just about any guy I know because of his sexually aggressive attitude and a Doppler radar for cute girls with low self-esteem. He immediately spots three as we walk up.
“Hey girls, where are you going? The bar is this way.”
“We’re not old enough to go there.”
“How old are you?”
“Ok, how old are you?”
“I told you, we’re 17.”
“Let’s try this again, how old are you?”
“I already told you that we’re 17.”
“Christ, you’re not very good at this are you?”
“How old are you?”
“I’m 21, and my cousins here are 20.”
This is an incredible lie. I’m impressed by his poker face. Not only are the youngest of us older than 21, but he’s by far the oldest. But the girls are cute, and it’s ok if you’re not caught in the act and they don’t have your contact information. I talk to one, but it’s too late. Douche is impressive by himself but a horrible wingman and potential poacher at all times and Slo-mo usually simply gets laid by the girl that wants to fuck the tall guy that night. So they simply stand there and say nothing. And cut. Ok, first group is out of the way and I feel ready to talk to every person in the bar.
That is, until we actually get in this bar. No one is in this fucking little shithole. It’s a tiny little bar at the side of a restaurant, but there is nothing else open so we begin drinking tequila shots and flirting with the bartender. To our dismay she’s a small town simpleton and gets boring after a while and soon she decides we’ve had enough and cuts us off.
On one hand I’m surprised as I have never actually been cut off before. I mean, I’ve been thrown out of bars for stupid shit long after they should’ve stopped serving me but it’s much more insulting to be told you’re cut off or, even worse, for them to offer you a complimentary cup of coffee. Starbucks can fuck off, I want some Jose Gold.
So we go outside to see what we can find when I see this extra long, yellow golf cart plugged into a wall with the keys in it. ODB looks to see what I’m looking at and immediately grabs the wheel. “Cabbage unplug it!” And we’re off on a joyride. ODB sees a girl and pulls up along side her in the parking lot and honks the comical golf cart horn at her.
“Hey, why don’t you come hop on for a ride?”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Driving around, see I work here.”
“No you don’t, I work here.”
“I don’t believe you. I’ve never seen you here before.”
Just then, the bartender comes outside. “Ok, if you boys give me the keys I’ll serve you more alcohol.” Are you fucking kidding me? We got so hammered that you cut us off and we stole your short bus and now you’re offering us more Cuervo? So much for your self-righteousness. Don’t mind if I do!
ODB ends up buying us all shots and I pick up a round too. But, since he doesn’t actually have any money I end up buying both. Fucking ODB. Finally the bar is actually closing and we are kicked out for our final time.
On the way out I spy a large, blue Bud Light cooler- the type that are usually pulled out for large events. I flip the top on it only to reveal a 10’x2’x2’ bin full of tall boy Bud Lights. There was a frozen moment in time where we all stood and looked in shock and amazement, followed by what can only be likened to a 13 year old boy with his parents credit card in an adult book store. In my drunken stupor, I realized that this was one of the most amazing things that had ever happened to me in my entire adulthood. Career, prestige and sex all held no candle to my tub full of immediate alcohol. We grabbed as many as our arms could hold, we used our shirts as slings and felt like we had just hit a bank heist. Midway through, however, I stopped everyone.
“Hey, we really shouldn’t do this.”
“Umm are you fucking kidding me?”
“Seriously, it’s bad fucking karma.”
“No dude, this is our good karma coming back to us!”
This sounds like a much more plausible explanation to me, and we all return to taking what is rightfully ours and dash off to our aquatic getaway ride where our dogs are waiting, of course on the seats. We laugh maniacally as we speed off into the darkness. But it's not quite that easy. If you really want to make God laugh, try telling him your plans.
“Dude, why are you slowing down?”
“I’m not, it’s the boat!”
“Look bro I’m not in the mood to have you fucking around with my boat.”
And she’s dead. Smoke is everywhere. Are you kidding me? Fucking instant karma redemption. But I'm looking at the silver lining.
“Guys we are completely fucked, we are not going to see another boat at 2:30 in the morning. Let’s just drop anchor, start drinking the rest of the beer and hope no huge yacht nails us in the middle of the night.”
I start in with my friends for a while until we actually see another light in the distance. We get their attention and they agree to tow us the rest of the way back. I liked them very much until I offered beer and they all declined as they said they didn't drink alcohol. You are not one of us.
Rocky gets to sniffing at the water while we’re setting everything up. I’ve heard of some people teaching their kids to swim by throwing them in, dogs have got to be easier. “Dude, if you’re curious just get in!” Rocky makes this reluctant and terrified splash as I shove him into the water. And this is how water phobia starts. I see the look on his face of absolute terror. I feel so bad and immediately help him back in. When he looks at me, I feel like I am Judas. Finally, we get hooked up and towed the rest of the way
“Umm dude, didn’t you say we could stay the night here?”
“Yeah, I mean we could if you really want to sleep in the car.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Yeah sorry dude, don’t worry about it I’ll drive.”
“I didn’t see your car here.”
“It’s not, my buddy came here earlier and forgot his keys on the boat.”
This completely distracts me from how pissed off I should be. Now I know this is extremely unsafe, but I decide to ride shotgun considering that I find the owner of the car to be a complete tool and even the prospect of damaging the car on the way home seems hilarious. I put Douche in charge of driving my truck. The straggler girl looks at Slo-mo and tells him, “I’m riding with you.” At the time I felt that no one could have been drunker than me, but it turns out that I was perhaps the most sober.
As we drive down the road, my friend is hitting more lines than Lindsay Lohan in a Hollywood bathroom. Meanwhile I realize that it would be incredible fun to crawl out of the sunroof on the highway and hold on at 80 miles an hour. “Dude, just don’t hit the brakes,” I tell him as his only instruction. Somewhere in my mind I tried not to imagine encountering a roadblock and all the troubles that could ensue. Slo-mo felt this was a very funny sight in front him as he sat in the backseat of my own truck behind me getting a blowjob.
And here's where the blackout begins. Slo-mo drives himself and his party favor home. He later tells me that the only thing he ever said to this girl was the next morning, “Well, see you later.” Free alcohol: check. Random hookup: check. Avoid authorities and random disaster: check, check. We completely missed a huge boat to party on, and we traded our waverunner in for a golf cart short bus, but we ended up forgetting all the beer we had stolen. Oh well easy come, easy go.