Third degree burns are funny when you’re drunk.

..and then they stop being funny.

Moral of story: when burned, stay drunk

The more you know.

Here’s how I know this….

My wife and I were watching Scrubs the other night, when a scene came on where JD (our hero) rubbed Crisco (cooking lard) on the back of his nemesis…

instead of using suntan lotion.

What better way to get even at someone other than to induce severe nerve damage?

Hell…I can’t think of one.


This immediately reminded me of my drunken, week-long adventure at the beach when I was 21.

..and now…I share it with you.

You’re welcome.

About a week or so after I had met my wife, I informed her that I would be spending a week at the beach with one of my friends, Kevin.

We had rented what, apparently, turned out to be the biggest shithole that was available for rent on the entire beach.

We didn’t really care that people would mistake us for heroin-addicted squatters for five reasons:

1) We were drunk the entire time

B) We were really, really drunk the entire time

Okay, so it’s really only one reason…

…but I was thinking double because I was drunk.

Our daily routine consisted of this:

1) Wake up

2) Confirm that you were not on fire or, if you were, that you were not in the house you rented (security deposit reason)

3) Start drinking

4) Go to the beach

5) Keep drinking

6) Get off beach

7) Eat something so you could keep drinking

8) Pass out at some point

We would then repeat steps 1 through 8 for the remainder of the vacation.

The “eating” part consisted of opening a can of Spaghetti-O’s, and eating them straight from the can, cold.

Sometimes we even used utensils.


It was cheap, had some sort of protein…

(I THINK that’s a hot-dog…did we buy hot dog Spaghetti-O’s?…I don’t think we did…)

and required no heat (important for step #2 regarding “Fire,” above).

Out-of-the-can cold Spaghetti-Os covered us for breakfast, lunch, and dinner meals.

Me: “Hey Kevin! What’s the neat round spaghetti kids can eat with a spoon?”

Kevin: (vomits)

Great. Now we need more Spaghetti-O’s.


We always had people in the house who were also completely shitfaced drunk.

One night, one of these kids commented on the cleanliness of our rental:

Strange Drunk Kid (SDK): “Dude..awesome party.”

(speak SDK’s lines in any manner you choose, as long as you choose to do it sounding completely stoned, like a surfer or Nick Nolte)

Me: “Thanks.”

* pause

Me: “Who are you?”

SDK: “Hey man…you have a mouse in your house.”

Me: “Oh yeah? Huh.”

I was not shocked we had a mouse in the house.

I was MORE shocked that we did not have homeless people there.

SDK: “I saw a mouse in your house, dude.”

* pause

SDK:I tried to catch him….but he bailed.”


He tried to catch him.

But. He. Bailed.

Me: “Ok. Thanks.”

* pause

Me (holding out can): “Spaghetti-O’s?”


It turns out that being consistently in a drunken stupor leads to some bad decisions.

Most of these were made by my roommate for the week, Kevin.

Bad Decision #1: The Motorcycle Incident

Kevin decided that, at about midnight, he’d take a girl out on his motorcycle.

This was not a good idea for two reasons:

1) He was hammered.

2) He liked to do wheelies.

Kevin discovered the hard way that the police at the beach – strangely enough – FROWN on drunken wheelie people.

(“Drunken Wheelie People” would be a great name for a rock band)

As such, he was summarily arrested after a short chase on the strip, where we had to bail him out…

…while WE were also drunk.

On a related note, the police at the beach also frown on drunken friends trying to bail out drunken wheelie people.

Just a friendly “FYI.”

I’m here to help.

Bad Decision #2: Lard-ass

For some reason ONLY known to drunken Kevin, he decided one morning that the fastest way to a tan is to put cooking lard on yourself.

Since I was also drunk, I let him do it.

(see “coma,” above)

When I say, “I let him do it,” I mean:

“Dude, screw suntan lotion…I’m using this.”

(holds up Crisco)

Me: (vomits up Spaghetti-O’s and something strangely resembling a rodent)

Kevin and I stumbled down to the beach, cooler full of beer in our hands, and sat down.

Kevin then covered himself head-to-toe in Crisco lard and…

…immediately passed out while lying on his stomach.

I don’t remember if I left him to die there or not…

…but I DO remember seeing him come back from the beach…

…looking as though someone could purchase him from a butcher shop.

I also remember having to take him to the Emergency Room, as his burns eventually blistered…

…and required him to be covered in gauze from his head to his feet.

It was like my roommate was The Mummy.

You know, if every so often the Mummy would cry out in Crisco-induced sunburn agony.

(when you’re drunk, this is also comical)

…luckily, we still had booze and Spaghetti-O’s…

…so all was not lost…

..except for that DAMN MOUSE

..who bailed.


If you see a mouse at the beach with a can of pasta, tell him he owes me money for our security deposit.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s