80's Parties

They happen all the time. All over the country. Its theme is almost as well known as Halloween, St. Patrick’s Day or the Fourth of July. But the 80's party is a completely different animal. The 80's party is not for the weak party goer. And you realize this early, exactly when you done one of the most ridiculous get ups of all time.

Who goes to 80's parties? Those who want shit to go down. Everything will need to go over the top, in one way or another. In fact, by just labeling something as "80's" it pretty much will guarantee that someone will be on drugs, someone will be naked, and at some point, however brief, you think the cops just might show up.

When you wake up the next day you think “There was no way that was real. That could not have happened". That is when you spy the camera. Someone, in their infinite wisdom, has brought a device that will chronicle the past events in graphical detail. This is typically a girl, who also is also most likely hosting the 80's party since planning and decorating are not guy activities. This device will be desired immediately after the party with a fervor that is almost inhuman by those who will be hoping to hold on to whatever dignity they have left. Fortunately, the host knows this, and typically gets to the camera first.

What is on that phone is a human train wreck. People all kinds of mangled, smiles that beam with insanity, eyes half open and unable to comprehend what is actually happening. Because everyone....EVERYONE who showed up in that ridiculous outfit went and got absolutely hammered. Dancing, drinking, drugs, and sex. The 80’s were just the quintessential party era, and it gets re-lived on a pretty regular basis.

This story is about my recent experience. It was grand, it was crazy. It made so much and so little sense at the same time my head nearly exploded. It started officially at 6 pm.

I've known about this party for probably a month. I had requested off work, I had intended to go, yet I had put zero effort into the costume aspect. This is okay, because I have at least one hour before I have to go over to my friends place and I have knowledge of where the Goodwill is. Goodwill and the thrift stores across America are the one stop shop for any kind of vintage costume. You can typically find ten to fifteen items that will work within ten minutes of simple browsing. I have decided on an old sky blue Nike running t-shirt and a pair of turquoise shorts made by Speedo. I did not initially think the shorts were swimming trunks, wrongly assuming that in years past Speedo was branched out and made types of pants that were not intended for swimming. However this would later prove fortuitous as I later learned there would be a hot tub at the house. I then picked up a set of glasses and wore my running shoes and 'bam': I was 80's jogger guy. (Except my shorts were swim trunks, but they certainly accomplish the look of jogger guy.)

Needless to say, as you put on your assembled outfit, you begin to realize just how over the top the shit is going to be. It has to be this way out of necessity because as you look in the mirror you cannot believe what you are actually wearing. And once you know how absurd you look, you know that the binge must occur, for no other reason than to settle your nerves and make you feel comfortable wearing tight, obnoxiously loud clothing.

As I arrive at George Michaels house (not his real name, WAS his real costume), I’m immediately offered a gravity bong hit. This is not where the party is, rather, George Michael will be driving me to said party since he has been to the house before and apparently not even the power of a GPS can direct me there. I accept the gratuitous hit of pot and proceed to watch a little bit of the Lakers game and talk to George about how I feel about wearing very short shorts and really hope I might be better off just staying with my sweat pants on.

The drive is about 20 minutes and we are one of the first to arrive. We are greeted by George Michaels girlfriend, who looks like an older version of one of the girls from Kids Incorporated, and friend who I can't really remember real well, but resembled some kind of grizzled hillbilly who also loved marijuana, but not as it appeared to enjoy brushing his teeth or getting haircuts. He seemed nice enough, but clearly was more into George Michael’s girlfriend than he should have been, but George did not appear to be threatened by this behavior. George Michael seemed way more interested in entering and getting out of the cold.

The house was large. I was told it was a big place but in reality I had no idea what to expect. I haven't been to a big house for a party in a long, long time, having recently been spending most of my party time at small college apartments and town houses or bars. The house had wood flooring for the most part, and in reality the whole of the house is wood. It feels like a giant, deluxe edition of a Lincoln log cabin. Hippies would probably love this place.

As I enter the main room, accompanied by George Michael, his girlfriend, and Grizzle, I am being warned by George Michael that these people are a little on the young side. This is fine by me, for although I’m 26 now, my maturity level is approximately lagging by 4 years. As I look across the crowd and see the other party goers I now know that I definitely will not quite fit in. There is a guy wearing a Boy George outfit, who seems like he has quite the personality, but unfortunately also quite the gut. He will later become part of the life blood of the party, crushing shots and beer like it was his job, and dancing throughout. There is a young couple, who I think literally just got out of high school and clearly need to split up, because they are not quite prepared for what happens to people right after high school. With new found abilities to acquire booze, pot, and other assorted nefarious goods that seemed way out of reach when living with your parents, after high school is the first time to really expand you mind about what it is to live and make decisions. This is not conductive to a relationship in the slightest. There are more, but I’ll get to them later. Right now, I’m taking off my pants.

I'm taking off my sweatpants, making sure to smile and laugh because I’m nervous as shit, and it seems to put everyone else at ease. I'm a 6'3, 230 pound man at this point and not in any way on the small side. I've often been described as intimidating, which I find terrible because I want to often be seen as very kind and friendly. My mind and body could not possibly be at further ends of the spectrum. Because it is January, and it is very very cold right now. The lack of pants now seems like a huge mistake. I literally feel like I may play up the jogging man angle just to keep warm, and will at no point attempt to go outside. Instead I suggest a game of pong. Everyone just looks at me like I'm crazy. I know none of these people, with the lone exception of George Michael and his girlfriend. So I'm met with no eye contact and one guy angrily says his beer isn't here yet.

This is no good. I need to get drunk. I need it in a hurry. I don't want to start shot gunning beers or using the beer bong or begin taking shots because that's just what either rookies or alcoholics do. I need George Michael. George Michael knows at least half of these people. He must begin the pong. Thankfully he comes up the steps from the basement and also asks if anyone wants to play. This gets people in motion. Because George Michael is older, and probably cooler than everyone else, and they know George Michael.

As we begin to play, I team up with GM. and we start with typical early rust. Failing several times to hit the starting cup. This is of course due to the sober rule of beer pong, where it is literally impossible to hit a cup without taking a drink first. That ping pong ball might as well be air in your hand. And trying to throw air accurately is not possible. Eventually, after sipping on a beer I had in my off hand, I hit one cup, then another, then three, and then George Michael hits his first. All of a sudden I realize we are an unbeatable team. This proves to be mostly true. We win 5 straight games and several go to the wire and we decide it may be best to stop, since it's roughly 9 pm and we are already drunk. We decide on the resignation from the pong table. This actually has a dual purpose. I don't want to get drunk too early, and George Michael wants to smoke more. I kind of want to smoke, but more than that i want to take it easy and keep my wits about me. Because at this point I decide I really want to watch the oncoming train wreck more than experience it.

As we walk towards George Michael's girlfriends room, we are introduced to her cats, and I'm reminded how much I like cats. I have no real basis for liking cats except for that in my extreme youth, I read a ton of Garfield books. I thought Garfield was cool as shit, and thus all cats would be cool as shit. This is not a great reason, but I think that would be where my fondness of cats probably began. I think if I had watched lassie first, or read an equally funny comic about a dog, perhaps I'd be a dog guy first. I also wonder if anyone else thinks about this kind of shit but I doubt it.

We return upstairs, and now I'm feeling real good. Some girls are dancing, and somehow a circle forms. I don't know why circles always form when dancing but they do. I think it's some kind of weird ritual that is subconsciously handed down within human nature, no different than birds flying south for the winter. We like watching other people dance, no matter how bad it may be. I get peer pressured into the middle. I have no idea how, although the drugs and alcohol probably have something to do with it. I dance for what seems like hours, by myself in the middle of a circle. It was probably 2 minutes.

As the song finishes i head to get a shot. Someone then brings to my attention that there are moonshine soaked cherries. Now i have never had such a thing before and I'm the kind of guy that has a really hard time saying 'No' to new forms of fucking myself up. So i agree that moonshine cherries will definitly suffice since I see no jagermeister.

The taste was like nothing I've ever had before, and I seriously do believe it was a true moonshine, because it felt more like some kind of serum that doctors are dreaming up. I had either taken some serious form of booze or tried mystery cough syrup designed to kill water buffalo.

Now the party has picked up. Roughly 35 to 50 people were now throwing down drinks at a near record pace. 3 handles of liquor are gone and people are scrambling to locate beer. One kid leaning against a stove inexplicably just lost it and fell straight to the ground like he just got shot by invisible bullets. Soon after, someone decided, on their lonesome, that it was time to hit the hot tub. He was the only one, and I immediately felt bad for this guy. He wanted the hot tub, but jumped the gun on it. Hot Tubs, while greatly need the perfect situation to get into. You can't just say "I'm going to the hot tub" and go and expect everyone else to join. So when George Michael passed the guy and asked him how he was doing, he seemed pissed.

"Well everyone said they wanted to go to the hot tub but nobody fucking showed". This is probably because that guy kept asking if people wanted to go to the hot tub. You don't ask that question. You just suggest it, and if people are dropping their shit to get to the tub then it'll happen. If they say "Yah probably, in a bit" and then take another swig of Sailor Jerry, you will no doubt be that guy ends up all by himself in the hot tub.

Now the dance floor has become the proving ground. Dudes are break dancing, and the pong table is being danced on by a professional motorcyclist lacking a shirt. At some point there appeared to be a lack of shot glasses and instead of asking the host if they could use something from a cubboard, someone decided that the candles laying around were roughly the right size for a shot glass. This would later give me a strange sense of happiness that the people loved to get super fucked up but had enough respect for the host that they would not go into a cubboard, or even ask to. Instead, they chose waxy shots of watermelon vodka.

I am laughing hysterically pointing this shit out to anyone in my vicinity. Which at this point been is either a) A really hot girl who finds me amusing, but probably too weird and old to really go for it now, b) A wall flower that's drunk as shit and still insightful BUT still super insecure about acne, their weight, or both or c) one of the guys who thinks he's cool and finds me mildly threatening due to my size and wants me to stop talking to the hot girl that he may or may not be fucking.

As I'm laughing, a girl comes up to me and grabs me by my shorts, hard. Like about as aggressive as I've ever been grabbed by strange girl. She says something i cannot decipher but included 'body, upstairs, and party.' to which I said..."excuse me?" hoping that in someway this would result in non blacked out sex. This would not be the case, as I was then promptly asked if i wanted to do Xanex and Red Bull. This girl was absolutely out of her mind and wanted to know if I wanted to get on her level. This is the aforementioned point where it briefly crosses my mind, that maybe, even in this remote mansion/cabin, the cops may just come by.

I decline the offer and ask if she's ok. Someone says she was passed out earlier and woke up, like some kind of partying zombie. Later in the night she would ask again if I wanted to party and do shots. I agreed to shots but confessed that I doubted that there was any alcohol left.

"Oh no, there's this red stuff." I looked down in terror to see she had picked up a bottle of grenadine, which to a young blacked out girl could be confused with a bottle of some kind of liquor.

"No no, I know what that is. That is definitely not alcohol, and you should not drink it." She looks at me like I'm somehow trying to stop her from having fun. Like it's somekind of ingrediant she couldn't handle. "So you don't want this?" she repeats.

"I most certainly do not, and neither do you."

After a pause of considering that I am not her partying enemy she puts down the bottle. I feel tired and head down to my futon, for seeing the amount of bodies still standing and not getting home, optimal sleep conditions would be at a premium. I finally put my sweatpants back on and slumber. It is roughly 3:30 in the mourning. The amount of insane things I've seen over the past 9 or so hours is mind boggling, and will clearly not be forgotten anytime soon.

I awake 6 hours later to the haunting smell of bacon. George Michael's girlfriend has gone through the trouble of making breakfast for everyone, which to be sure is one of the nicest offers i've ever heard of after such an epic party. What i find most interesting is how much closer everyone is post party. We all saw each other in such ridiculous states of inebriation that we will never mention this to anyone ever again. (except me, undercover journalistic integrity, or I'm an ass, whichever.) All in all, it was a fantastic journey, one i'm not sure that I'll revisit, but certainly one that should be done at least once in a life time. Excess should always be done in moderation. I also notice some grenadine on the floor which was not there when I fell asleep.

A Memo on Moving.

I don't know what to make of the moving culture that is State College. Or rather I've never been anywhere else to really compare it to. About 85 percent of the people I know are moving in the fall. Some going to places nicer, some worse. But in all cases, no one is looking forward to it. Moving shit blows. It's physical labor and a ton of knee bends. Remember ever doing squats, or lunges or anything with that knee bent at 90 degrees or more? Yeah, it's like that but for what seems like an infinite amount of empty reps and you won't be seeing any physical results from your labor.

Anyway. With that in mind I want to just examine all the basic moves you can get yourself into in College.

Freshman- Move in to the Dorms

This is about as intense mentally a move as you probably make until you get out of the school or town. You get bombarded with so much information from different area's it can be difficulty to process. You meet hippies, jocks, hipsters, stoners, musicians, writers, party animals, nerds, pageant queens, gays, black people, white people, and in short, though there are differences, everyone is intelligent, and mostly well adjusted. It is probably for this reason that the actual moving in process is the simplest and least physical taxing because a lot of adrenaline was probably coursing through your body. Also you don't have shit for space when you're a freshman.

Sophomore year you have two choices typically.

A) Once more time with the dorms. You had a good freshman year in the dorms, you made friends with your past roommate or made a friends with someone else who thinks the simple dorm life improves your study habits, and keeping you close to campus is a must. Again, small move and not too much hassle.

B) Fuck dorms, you need space, your own bathroom(or at least one you don't have to walk through a hallway to, nor does it seem to be in the same room as 10 public toilets.) and have room to actually host a group of more than 3 people at a time. This move usually involves a bit more shit, and if unfurnished, usually a couch and a bed. This becomes slightly strenuous, but your still in pretty good physical shape, and plenty capable of the physical work.

Junior year the amount of choices goes to three.

A) Stay ONE last year in the dorms, possibly becoming an R.A. I can't imagine doing this, though I know a few people who did. They were fine with it, but personally, living in sardine cans is not worth the ease of access to the school, especially if you have your own computer.

B) Stay in the same apartment. A great choice if you had a great time and no one is taking time off or dropping out. Not moving is sweet but it tends to make shit clutter up a bit more. It's going to be one more year to accumulate crap, but at least it'll be cool crap that will definitely be used in the next few years....right?

C) New apartment. You didn't have that great a time with the earlier crew, or maybe the place has become to expensive, or you found someplace better. In any event this is the move where you find out how much it sucks moving. Your older, probably a bit exhausted from school, relationships, extra curricular activities, jobs, or internships, they all take a toll. And the last thing you really want to do is go through the trouble of picking up heavy shit, or repeated picking up tiny shit. Thus things get trashed. Things you forgot you had, things you know you had, but are too heavy and cumbersome to bring with you.

Senior year/graduating year.

The same options really remain, except that there is no way you're in a dorm. You might be in some kind of student housing, but it sure as shit isn't the small box you lived in when you were 18. The most likely scenario now is the first move post school which is either

A) Home. What the fuck right? You just lived 4 of the best years of your life, got a degree and due to a shitty job market, rent, student loans and bills are now going to be forced to move back to right where you were before college? Blows.

B) New place, often a city or near a city for your job. In this move you'll most likely again feel a similar rush of anxiety similar to when you moved to college, however now you're more emotionally and mentally prepared. Again, trashing a lot of stuff would be preferable, but somehow you have a tough time parting with that beer funnel that led to a 3 way.

'The Slap Incident'....OR 'Why I had to go Rocky IV on My Russian Roommate.

I like to have a good time. I don't think this is unreasonable. However, there is a point, where having a good time reaches an unreasonable level and your actions affect others adversely. It is extremely important that people figure out where these levels are. If you don't, you're liable to find yourself in a much worse position than you would probably think possible. This is where my roommate, and friend, Stas found himself.

At some point this past spring, what was being in my life a pretty regular occurrence of staying up having a few drinks with friends, playing some pong, smoke a little pot, and in general just having a good time. At this time I feel ecstatic, refreshed and full of confidence. In short, I feel good. As I get downtown to meet up with my friends from work at the bar, I encounter my friends outside and already to leave. With more friends than space in a car, Stas volunteered for the trunk rather than to walk. No one really objected, though I would speak to the fact that facing a 10 minute walk is not that horrible an option either. At this point I also realize that with the exception of our lovely driver, I am the only one in the crew that is sober. As fate would have it, allows me to tell this story even months after it happened.

As I get in the ridiculousness is already at a pretty high level. My one friend, we'll call her E, is eating potato chips, but makes a demand.
"Gimme some fucking ketchup"!
Laughter ensues along with a plastic bottle of Heinz 57.
Now my common sense said that E would take the time to gently squeeze dabs of ketchup on to individual chips. Instead, E decides to use her gloved hand as a makeshift condiment cup. Upon further consideration, while I initially thought this strange, if you really don't give a fuck about your gloves, this is a very simple solution for getting lots of ketchup on any one chip. Also, if you have a trust level with your friend's like E had with everyone there, cleaning off the ketchup from your gloves is as easy as shoulder rub to your neighbor.

As we arrive to my friends apartment. My one friend, we'll call him Mike, has already taken his shirt off in open defiance of clothing being necessary for the night. Mike is by no means an elite athlete, or gym rat, but he is a regular guy who could give a shit about what other people think of what he looks like without a shirt. This is one of the many reasons I like Mike. Fun is about many things, but a sense of unadulterated freedom almost always comes with the best of times.

We unlock Stas from the trunk. And I'm not sure what being in a trunk of a car does to people, but it apparently did something to Stas, and he responded, well, rather poorly.

Now before I get to this section, which I will rip Stas a little bit, I think I should point out a few things. Stas, does have a good heart. He is in no way an angry, bitter or sour person. He wants to have fun, he wants to laugh and have a good time. This is why I like Stas, even though I know sometimes he can rub people the wrong way despite his honestly good intentions.

Stas enters, the room. A blunt is being passed around, which I partake in to relax a bit. The ketchup thing and immediate tossing of shirts has led me to think the night could produce some unexpected results. I should at least be calm for them.

Stas has an abundance of energy. He is frantically searching for his favorite music. He finds it, he dances to it. I am not. I am sitting, just watching the scenes unfold. E is busy being drunk and cute. Our driver is talking to Mike, and others mill about setting up a potential game of pong, the...
"Ow, what the fuck Stas?" My attention shifts back to Stas, who is positioned over our friend D, and is in the process of retracting his fist from her cleavage. E speaks up first, despite her ketchup hands presents a pretty rational argument.
"You cannot just hit a girl there dude"
"Why not?
"That hurt" D says. hand soothing her boobs, perhaps slightly embarrassed over the incident. Though perhaps more so in just pain. I couldn't tell.
I watch....
"Ok, one free slap"
D's head picks up, looks at me, Mike, the other male members of the room.
"Two slaps," suggests Mike, "or a hit to the nuts"
"No way, no way does that equate to a hit in the nuts."
"Then two slaps"
D, apparently satisfied steps up and slaps Stas hard. Twice, both times producing an echoing silence from everyone else.

Then the night continued for a minute or two when during a game of Pong, for some reason he has decided to throw a plastic Gatorade bottle at D at point blank range. He was losing control.
"The fuck?"
"Dude..."
"Oh my God Stas"
The disbelief was widespread. In just minutes prior, Stas had already made an act of aggression upon D. This was uncalled for. It was unnecessary and horrible. In the strictest sense this was really indefensible.

"Ok, I'm sorry. 3 slaps?"
"fuck no, i want a punch" says D
"no way does that warrant a punch"
"the welt on her head now speaks otherwise" Mike says.
"or a ball slap" someone suggests
"No way I'm getting hit in the balls"
"Then one punch", says D "With my ring on"
"alright alright, then we're cool right"
"i mean i guess"

The punch goes through, but i can tell the effect was less. It was a glancing blow. He seemed mostly unaffected and still had not fully gripped his level of asinine behavior. I was worried people would have to ask him to leave, and me, being his roommate would be asked how I could l live with someone who would have such abhorrent behavior. (refer to above)

Then, without warning a new arrival enters the apartment, a friend of the gang's, but not one at this point am very familiar with (though i am now.) This man comes in and immediately ambushes Stas who is sitting on the couch with some playful hits on the body and side of the head. Stas, loses his cool. He stands up and slaps the kid across the face hard and looks like he may just have it out with him. I am now at full attention. Fights suck, and it looks like one might be brewing. Stas, while dealing out damage, perhaps unknowingly, has now taken some. He has a look of aggression in his eye. Again the silence is surrounding us. Stas breaks it.

"My bad, one slap?"
The kid looks down, he does not want it. I could see he didn't really want to. I just watch.
"Dude.."
"No it's cool man, just slap I deserve it."
"Dude..."
The kid looks in my direction
"What if he does it?"
His finger is pointing at me, and my adrenaline sky rockets.

At this point, I am stoned, but I've been on alert. One event after another with my roommate tonight, the halfway nudity of Mike, the ketchup hands...everything has been spiraling, and it seemed that i had to bring back normalcy. At least that is how I looked at it. I rose, slow thinking he may just say no to the slap itself. A 6'3, 235 pound former athlete i suspect can at times intimidate. I was hoping that would be the case. Instead, Stas prepared himself. He took off his shoes, stealing the line from 'The Hurt Locker" saying "If I die, I want to be comfortable."

"Dude, after this...we stop, OK?"
"Yeah"
"No more slaps, no more stupid shit. This ends after this OK?"
"OK"

I look around the room. Everyone is staring. I have never done anything like this before. I have no idea what will happen. The only physical incidents I've ever had were on football fields or in grade school fights. This would be very different for me. I get in my head, that at the very least, I do not want to let people think I held back. But the results, I was unsure of.

As I wound up, I had two scenarios locked in. In one, the shock of being hit so hard in the face would anger Stas to the point I would have to expect a counter punch, and to be ready for it. That he may charge me. These things did not happen, because the other scenario I had in my head, did.

I closed my eyes, or blinked at impact. I could feel the energy begin to erupt around me. As I rose my head back up, lifting my left arm hoping to protect myself, I caught his eyes roll back into his head, and his knees went week.

"Shit, I knew he was going down" I apparently say (I don't actually remember this, my adrenaline was pumping to the point where everything just became blurry.)

The crowd, my friends, Stas' friends, have gone nuts, they can't believe it. Laughter, screams of astonishment flood my ears, but I can only see my fallen friend, and his lack of consciousness disturbs me. What it if something was wrong? A concussion, brain damage, spine injuries? What the fuck just happened. And though order seems restored and there is no silence, I am more worried now than I was at any earlier time.
I lean down and grab Stas by the shirt, yelling "hey, you OK? you alright?" In real time it may have only been 5 seconds that he was out, but to me it felt like forever. He needed to be OK.

Seconds later he was. He looked curious, unsure about what just happened, how he got to the floor. His response was....well not what I expected.

"Wait, you knocked me out?"
"Um, I think so"
"Dude, you were so out" someone calls
"That is awesome!"

And despite everything, everyone is now satisfied. An event has occurred, one that everyone there could retell, and no one had any problems. It worked. There was nothing left to do but have fun. Which only I really could not. To think I had in me the power to seriously incapacitate someone with a slap is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. It meant that I could walk without much fear, but it also meant I had to be careful, to know my own strength and that if I ever became like Stas that night, the results could be disastrous.





A side note. Unless I get permission from people in the story, I'm going to try and not use real names. Not looking to ruffle feathers with these posts, and yes Stas agreed to let me use his name in this one. If you want mentioned I'll ether ask, or come and tell me you don't mind, and I can do a rewrite using names.

The Black Hole of Morality Downstairs.

A few things about me, if you don't know me.

I grew up in State College, a relatively small college town. I grew up mostly without neighbors, and mostly with one or two close friends. This led me to do a few things more than a lot of people. Namely, I love reading, watching television and listening to music. They are forms of story telling and I love stories.

I hope to use this forum to try and touch on the things I like and hope to tell them in an entertaining manner.

It's for fun. And without further ado. The story of the whore's who live below me.




May 17th, 2010.

I've gotten done with my shift at the bar roughly 3 hours ago. I have been looking forward to an easy night at home watching my favorite basketball team, the Los Angeles Lakers, play against the Phoenix Suns in the opening round of the conference finals. The game is fun, and intense ultimately my team wins, leaving me in a great mood. Following the game I typically watch the the post game press conference and analysis from ESPN or NBATV, however this particular night i have become distracted by the sound of Lil' Wayne and Rick Ross blaring from downstairs.

Now living in State College, a college town, and it being the time of year when only summer classes are just beginning, a party on a Monday night is not that uncommon. However, having lived in the same place for almost a year and knowing that typically my neighbors do not end up playing music past 12, the fact that it was still happening kept me a bit distracted.

Now at this point I realized I had way too much anxious energy not to be doing something. The life of someone who works at a bar, especially one that is open both during the day and late into the night leads to some extremely odd sleep habits, and while you may be reading this thinking 1 in the morning is a time when you would be having an extreme lack of energy, this was not the case for me. However doing something did not include partying with whomever may be down the stairs, even though I certainly was intrigued. I knew that I needed to clean the apartment, and felt that now would be as good a time as any to pick up supplies to do so (Thank you 24 hour Wal-Mart). As I descended the stairs to get to my car, I see what would be an attractive girl in a white dress leaning against the wall in the stair well holding a Hurricane high gravity 40.
"Hey! iss..are you our neighbor?" She slurs
"Um...Yup"
"Well, do you want to come and drink and party?"
"Normally I'd say yes, but right now I'm going to Wal-Mart to pick up cleaning supplies"
"uh...Oh...well, that's wierd"
"I suppose so, anyway have fun."

I then move along taking note that everyone there seems to be both A) trashed, B) younger than 22 and C) mostly made up of dudes. I do not make too much of the situation at this time. This is again, a college town. 18-20 somethings that are on their own for the first time, want to do things on their own that in the past have been labeled taboo. They drink, they swear, they do drugs. This is not new and I would be dumb for thinking too much into it at this point.

As I return, cleaning supplies in hand, the door to the neighbors apartment has been left open, allowing me to peer inside. I see of beer pong being played, with one girl in only her underwear. I still pass, and still not think much of it. Strip poker and subsequent games of strip pong are again not new, and while I thought the girl may have been a "party" girl. I still saw nothing of grand interest. I went to bed.

May 18th

I awake around 10:30. I find a note slipped under our door. It reads a racist joke, which I will not repeat, but needless to say was not funny unless you happen to be a radical member of the KKK. However it also happened to read:

"It was fun to run into one you drunk, and one of you pants less last night.
Signed The girls (the whore's) downstairs"

Now things have picked up. I have never once met a girl who wanted their first impression of them to be whore's. But yet that is exactly the impression they made. And it was intentional. I brought the note to my roommate, and after a few minutes of deliberation, we decide to write a note back to the girls.

A few hours pass, I go for a run, shower and get ready for work. Before I leave I see another note slipped under the door.

This one read
What do you call two girls who get slapped with two dicks last night?

I turn the note over to read
US! (first cousins) Next time come and join the party.
drawn on the note was a penis with veins spelling the word 'love' and the 'the whores next door.'

Shocked, I went to work, but still not sure exactly what to make of everything.

May 19th. Judgement Day.

I have again worked during the day. It is Wednesday, the Laker's will be playing tonight. My plans are set. I will have an easy, carefree night at home. Again, after the game has finished I hear giggling outside and these intriguing girls have my full attention. As I walk towards the door, they attempt to slip another note under the door, which I would later find to be the most simple, and non lewd of any of the notes. It read "Let's drink" The night would not be that simple

I open the door two see both neighbors, both slightly drunk, but this time not in a full in party mode. The first girl, is a long, straight haired brunette, she is wearing some silver eye liner, and what I can best describe as a dark gray bustier that is missing sections on her both right and left abdominal's, She is quite tan, but not overtly so that i think she spends all her day in a booth or by the pool. She is undeniably an attractive girl, and dressed so overtly sexually with her breasts pushed up and skirt so short that it seems logical why so many guys were over at the apartment.
The second girl, who seems slightly younger due to her freckles, fairer complexion, and probably most obviously, having a retainer is dressed provocatively as well. Although her outfit is simpler, on her body it seems only slightly less outrageous. A black miniskirt and a top that barely covers her enormous breasts.
Needless to say, I am interested as to what they have to say.

"Hi there" I say, smirking, confident that my past experiences at parties, bars, and other social events will keep me even keeled for whatever is thrown my way.
Both girls grin wildly, I pick up the hint of alcohol on their breath.
"Hi neighbor, would be interested in drinking with us tonight?" propositions girl #1.
I look back at the clock readout on my cable box. It's not that late. Plenty of time to get to a bottle shop.
"Sure, let me get my things and we can go"
I ask for their names, which I get, but more interesting was their self proclaimed nicknames.
"Well I'm 'dick queen" says the brunette "and she's 'boob girl'"
I laugh a small nervous laugh. How far will these girls take this show? Are they as promiscuous as all indications point them out to be...what exactly will happen when I drink with them?

In the car ride, they both tell of their explicit and undying love of the dick. Specifically, how much they love felatio.
"I just love sucking cock" says BG (I will be using shortened nicknames for the rest of the stories. BG=Boob Girl, DQ=Dick Queen)
"We suck off all our friends" says DQ
"Wow" is the best I could muster.

The banter continues for the short drive. The words 'suck' and 'dick' come out of their mouths no less than 250 times. It is to this day the most sexually explicit time I've ever spent trying to go get beer.

We arrive at the beer store. I park and go get the beer myself. Upon my return, I see a man roughly 30 years old, leering into my car. As I approach he leaves but is clearly still as happy as can be.
"What was that about?" I ask
"Oh, BG flashed him" says DQ.
"Ah, well i'm a little bit jealous. Here I am getting beer, being your neighbor, and yet you let a random guy get a peek before me"
(clearly lost on me, is that part of the appeal of a flash is the anonymity of it. I suppose that's why such things are way more likely to happen in Vegas or New Orleans during Mardi Gras. There is no except your friends to bring it back up.)
"Don't worry, you'll get to see them soon enough." Says DQ.
And with that it happens. BG pulls down the sides of her top to me. They are nice, as anyone who would appreciate breasts would attest. But somehow lost was the pursuit, the ease as to which I could see them made them some how less valuable, and thus less attractive than other breasts that I've seen.

When we arrive back at their apartment the discussion finally has moved to drinking games.
"Lets play kings" says DQ
A fantastic idea, I agree, and the game begins. Nothing is to out of the ordinary now, with the lone exception of their rampant use of the word Nigger. I hesitate to use it myself, even in the retelling of this story, but I think in the end that it shows just how depraved and insensitive the girls are. They are so far as morally bankrupt two people could possibly be. They do not care, and in fact celebrate their own depravity.

As the game goes on, I find myself running low on beer and begin to get up to get another from the refrigerator. BG stops me however and offers me a trade instead.
"Don't get up, I'll get you a beer, but first, you have to spank my ass"
"Excuse me?"
"Just slap my ass and I'll get your beer."
At this point I understand very little about these girls. They are absurdly debaucherous. They are young, and they are also apparently from my high school. The stakes have been raised again, and I again agree to meet them at their own game. Also, I definitely need another beer. Thus I oblige.

As the game continues, the girls seem to lose interest for a bit. BG goes to the back room to change the music to 311, ( I had mentioned I recently saw them live and she is apparently a big fan.) while DQ commences a phone call to comcast at one o'clock asking how to set up their Internet. I am now just listening, watching, and texting my roommate to come back for this spectacle.

When my roommate finally arrives, and the girls waste no time confronting him with their antics.
"Would you like a beer?" asks BG
"Sure"
"Well, slap my ass"
His face then contorts into a state of confusion, almost bewilderment, but the excitement in his eyes also shines through, and I have no doubt that I must have had a similar look on my face.
"Go ahead dude, that's how I've gotten my last 3."
Again introductions are had, and the real party begins. A troop of roughly 15 kids show up. Again, all young, and again, mostly guys. They drink the beer and begin playing games of beer pong. DQ has also brought a small whip toy out. Apparently jealous of all the attention that BG's ass has gotten, she wants to make her own mark, or rather have myself make a mark on her. She insists that I whip her, and that I "should not be a pussy" about it. A rather upfront challenge to one's manhood. I look at the whip, then to my roommate. I can't not use the whip. And then the real party begins...

Now a small troupe of young adults, whose age range i would guess between the ages of 16 and 19 arrive at the small apartment. Their are 2 girls and approximately 14 guys. My roommate and I take this time to talk about what exactly is going on. And what is going on is the following.... The girls parade half naked (I believe BG's nipples are an extension of her lungs and they need to be freed to the open air for her to breathe, not unlike a whale or dolphins blow hole, guys are taking out their wieners for STD inspection, (apparently the girls are experts) and my whole reality of what the youth in America is, has been shattered. Both myself and my roommate were fondled without asking, propositioned to slap the girls with our dicks and in general lower all standards for how one should behave with the opposite sex.


I have many theories as to why these girls are the way they are. Lack of parenting or abuse is at the forefront. Drugs and alcohol introduced at an early age. Our sex driven media, and the ease of access to pornography and the popularization of that particular industry. Sex-ting and other forms of exhibition. But the point of this story is that these girls are real, and I fear they are only the beginning. The reactions I've gotten when I tell this story are mixed but they change with age. The closer I get to the 18 year old range, the less shock is seen in the response. A new wave of exhibitionism and sluttiness is appearing, and I wonder what the reaction's of the public will be. Speaking of which, feel to post your reaction to this story below.


P.S. This is my first post, I apologize for any readability issues. My next story should be shorter, more concise and funnier. I knock out my roommate with an open handed slap in that one. All feedback welcome here, or email me at baney84@gmail.com