There weren't no cake, hats or balloons at Keith's birthday party this weekend. But I did find myself guzzling Crown Royal like cherry kool aid along with my brother all night long. Around midnight my higher level brain functioning short circuited and whatever small part of my brain that was still firing told me that the best thing to do would be to get in my truck and go home. I have no recollection of the short ride, however I was greeted at the back door of my house by my wife and my mother, my mother had been babysitting and was just about to leave when I had arrived. I tried to stumble and stagger as straight as possible; I thought I'd fooled them, but then my mother started squawking about blown livers, brain damage and all sorts of other pestilence caused by drinking. I somehow managed the stairs and wrastled my clothes off my body, I knocked a lot of stuff over in the bedroom during the disrobing process; the baby started crying and I hit the bed like cow shit falling on cement: flop! Some time later I awoke-still drunker than hell-and knew that a lot of something was soon going to violently leave my body somehow. I careened down the stairs and crash landed in the kitchen, I remember a lot of stuff getting knocked down again and tripping over tables, chairs and dogs. I aimed for the bathroom door and made it. Then up come the supper: a whisky flavoured ham sammich. I tried scooping it up and giving it to the dogs, but couldn't find my way out of the bathroom. There was more violent heaving and I got fairly covered by it. I managed to operate the shower and again was like cow shit and flopped my drunken self into the tub. I was quite proud of my resourcefulness as I could then puke and get cleaned up all at the same time. Things were looking good until the drain got plugged from all the puke accumulation. The tub kept filling and I kept puking, soon I found myself in a rather chunky puke soup. I sort of gave up and passed out. It didn't take long for the hot water tank to empty, the cold water allowed me to wake up enough to slither out of the tub, still covered by puke soup. I toweled off sort of. I woke up the next day and felt a little groggy. I couldn't find my truck right off. It was parked in between my barns kind of nudged up against a tractor. My brother called me and related that he had a quite similar experience. He also doesn't remember the road home, and he too had been awakened with a certain urgency and wasn't sure if his stomach contents were going to take a north or south route out of him. He decided to sit on the toilet and lean over the bathtub, but he had balancing issues during this precarious maneuver so he just flopped entirely into the tub and used it as a catch all basin no matter which end it was leaving him. We concluded that the whisky must've been bad since if made both of us sick. Sorry, no pictures as I was only able to partially control gross motor functioning.
In an unrelated event, when leaving the party Mark witnessed Kevin scrapping his shoes in the dirt like a chicken scratching for grain. However, Kevin and his two passengers had stepped in a huge, offensive, sour pile of human shit and Kevin was cursing cousin Grover as he was trying to remove it. I think Cousin Grover was blamed for the defecation because he had been complaining of a sore belly and had the poofies all night. I tend to believe it was Mathiew as he is able to shit on command, doesn't feel the need to wipe, and has a lengthy history of shitting on, at, in, under, around, through, beside, and on top of all manner and sorts of targets. Mathiew uses shitting for a variety of reasons other than elimination. Primarily he shits as a kind of ritual scent marking, to prove a point or give more meaning to a point, or just to say hello by reminding you he's been there. I'm sure the mystery shitter will soon be revealed, however my money is on Matt's ass.
