I think it was Johnny Depp who on David Letterman observed that when men are drunk, we behave like infants: having difficulty speaking, wobbling instead of walking and sometimes even wetting or shitting ourselves. If that is the case, then my pledge class took to the streets of Windsor, Canadia like a ragtag assembly of aborted fetuseseseses.
For some reason, I remember little of the night. After a long day of drinking an interesting combination of Labbats, Ol’ E and Grey Goose, I regained consciousness laying on my back on the stage of Cheeta’s Men’s Club with a quarter in my mouth, a dollar bill in my pantfold and two asian nipples on my drunk, smiling face. “Make it Rain” was playing.
It wasn’t a bad experience at all considering my next stripper encounter involved nipples, teeth and blood. In that order, two of the listed being my own.
As I drank my five dollar Corona and observed the display on the stage, I imagined making it rain on all those hoes. Or making it snow on them. With my ice.
My next memory was yelling into the drive thru menu of the McDonald’s infront of our hotel, demanding food. As it would turn out, one needed to be inside of a car to utilize the drive thru…Canada is so dumb. This was surely not the first or the last time that weekend a drunk guy from my fraternity would try to walk thru the drive thru.
Being the resourceful young men we were, my “brother” and I somehow convinced a young, possibly attractive Canadian woman to let our infantile selves inside her heart and her automobile.
“That’s right, you bunk bitch!” I yelled into the receiver, vindicated. “It’s us again and this time we’re in a car!!!!!!! I want a Royale with cheese, a small fry and a refreshing beverage,” I slurred.
“…what would you like to drink, sir?”
“Surprise me,” I said. “No homo.”
After receiving our food, we serenaded our mysterious Canadian she-driver, invited her back to our hotel for the after party and gave her our numbers. With that, we stumbled out into the night and into bed, where we promptly passed out with visions of sugar plums or something in our heads. Who knows.
I slept like a Johnny Depp baby and woke up like a very hungover adult. I knocked over no less than three loud objects on the way to the bathroom and threw up.
My roommate woke with a groan.
“Did we eat McDonald’s again?” I asked. And went back to sleep.