(Neh-neh neh-neh-neh neh neh nah)Tequila!

Once again, this story takes place in 2001. That was Year One; it’s just how these things are going to start. Deal with it. Anyhow, we were all sitting around on a Tuesday night talking about what kind of liquors we had imbibed, and which we had abstained from. Everclear was a universal. Everyone had had it. No one had really enjoyed it, per se, but it was a standard. I think because it’s illegal in ohio. You see, we had to go down to West Virgin-i-a to score a bottle. And if someone was making a “Duke Boy Run” they would take orders, and thus provide illegal booze for most of the surrounding parties. It was a moonshine ring of sorts, taken right out of a movie starring Burt Reynolds and shit.

The code words for someone was going to WV soon were “The last train to Clarksville is leaving soon.” Yeah, the Monkee’s are lame, but when you can’t trust some of the people you party with to not take orders from some asshole 15 year old living three houses down, you have to speak in code. It’s just how it is, dude.

Where am I going with all this? We alphabetically got to “tequila” and it turns out only 2 people in attendance had had the stuff. This would not stand, especially since I was one of the majority of people to have “not drank the worm juice”, as the kid were calling it. This had to be remedied, as soon as was possible. I had the next Saturday off, and the other brave lads of The Oregon didn’t work weekends, so a date was set. Friday was going to be Tequila Friday this week. No cover charge, and we don’t take American Express. The innocent will pay with blood, and so forth.

DW was put in charge of getting the drinkables, as was the standard of the day, and I was put in charge of rustling up some ladies to come and watch us make fools of ourselves. I promptly called the girlfriend and placed an order for at least three girls of the age of eighteen or above (See The Oregon: Year One - The Tale of Cock Blockery for the Why of the Voting Age Party Rule of 2001) with low moral standards, all having had their vaccinations, and with a strong enough stomach to handle our kind of hijinks. She confirmed herself, Carolina roommate and at least three other ladies to be named at a later date. All was good.

Friday came around, DW got a fairly nice bottle of mexico’s finest, the limes, the salt, and we sank jumped in full force. Salt was applied to necks, cleavage of the Kent Crew, and, in all gay-fairness, other dudes. Then came the shots. And the lime wedges. finally, came the complete loss of memories, and zany antics we were famous for.

I had quit smoking at the time, due to my girlfriend being a complete twat about me always skipping out to smoke. In all fairness, it was to get five minutes of silence from her insane ramblings AND to get some calming nicotine in my blood stream. But I quit, once again to get her to stop talking, and went cold turkey. To say I was a complete bastard for a couple of weeks was a bit of an understatement. I was a trainwreck. And a verbally abusive one to boot. I had been cigarette free for about two weeks when Tequila Friday took place, and was Jonesing for some sweet sweet Camel lovin’. Camel Lights. Soft pack. $2.99 at the Dairy Mart behind our house. YES! A smoke run HAD to be made!

So I stumbled down the hill to Dairy Mart and saw that Mac AKA ‘Carolina’ was working. Carolina was a kindly older southern gentleman, who worked midnights five days a week. He was familiar with the boys, and we with him. We called him Carolina because his car had North Carolina plates on it, even though he had lived in Ohio for well over three years. We knew this information due to Mac being a kindly gentleman who loved to get to know his customers. By talking to them, weather they were intoxicated or not. He kind of sounded like Foghorn Leghorn. You know, if he was a real person and not a cartoon chicken.

I walk in, put a dollar on the counter, and grab on to the lottery machine to steady myself. I tell him my story of quitting, and ask him to sell me one, but only ONE, camel light. “Sorry there, son. Now, you fella’s know I caint open these here pack’s and sell y’all’s single’s. I’d lose my job! Smokin’s a terrible habbit to have anyhow, son!”, he said as he took a drag off a menthol light.“But Carolina! If I buy a whole pack, I’m going to smoke the whole pack! Can you sell me like 5?” No deal, he said. So naturally I bought a whole pack. With no regrets. I would just cleverly hide them from the girlfriend.

So I’m back at the house, taking more shots and smoking my happy little drunken head off. And Carolina roommate sees me. Even though she was a smoker, she supported my quitting full force, and promptly took my cigarettes and hid them. Where did she hide my cigarettes? “Oh, I saw her put some cigarettes in the toaster” said a passer by. Carolina roommate and I were equal distances from the toaster. Eyes narrowed. Distance was judged. Gun hands twitched. a tumbleweed rolled by. A mad dash was made, towards the vicinity of the toaster. She made it there first. But me, being of a safer mindset than she, went to unplug the toaster before we struggled over my ill-gotten smokable's. Wiped out on tequila or not, I'm not sticking my crazy hand in a toaster plugged into the wall. So I unplug it, and she has it in her hands. I reach in and grab my smokes and make a break for the back door, all in one smooth move. I was hoping to make it out and down the hill to safety before she noticed they were gone. But tequila, apparently, made her into a ninja-like assassin. She Double Dragon jump kicked me as I was halfway out the door. In the middle of the back. Needless to say, I went flying. Soon I was rolling down the hill. Then she came up to me, took my smokes, lit one, and kicked me in the ribs. And walked away mumbling about how bad a habit smoking was. I got mugged by a drunk Kent girl. One who smoked.

I decided to cut my losses, cleaned the grass off my ass and out of my hair and went into the house. Somehow I wound up in a fur coat. Grabbing a beer in each hand I went to find DW to procure some more cigarettes. Finding him in the front yard, I proceeded to dance the robot, down both beers and somehow throw both bottles simultaneously without moving my arms. Right into Frito Lay’s truck across the street. “After that wonderous dance, I dub thee “Atomic Robot” and will go buy you some cigarettes!” he proclaimed to everyone in the front yard. I went back to dancing, my victory sealed in mock silicone.

Quite honestly, I don’t remember much more of that night. I woke up at around 4 a.m. wearing nothing but the fur coat and some boxers. I had $14 worth of one dollar bills and an almost fresh pack of cigarettes and disposable lighter in my waist band. I was laying in the yard, smoking. The girlfriend yelling at me for starting smoking again. I looked up and saw a familiar pair of pants on the roof. “Hey…..why are my pants on the roof? And where did I get all these $1 bills? ” I asked myself aloud as she stomped off. And to this day, I’m not entirely sure….

Thanks for reading, but that’s it for now, kids

Dr. R.