This has nothing to do with the post below. I just had to share that someone came across Hellwagon because they typed 'using Aspercreme to masturbate' into Google search. That has to be one of the most desperate moments in a person's life. That is just plain fucking sad. If you come back here Aspercreme Masturbator, do me a favor and get the fuck out of here and go buy your silly scab dicked ass some lotion. Stat.
Not that I am one to point a fast finger, so on with the story....
I was at the beach with my family the first time I got hammered ass drunk. I was about fifteen. My friend and I stood beside this liquor store hoping to get some cool older dudes to buy us some booze. The guy who finally did it, well let's just say he really wasn't some cool ass dude. It was cool of him to buy it, don't get me wrong, but this guy had an agenda. Not a pervy pedo agenda, but the I am going to get all fucking wrecked on these stupid kids money agenda. He looked like the last three days of his life consisted of the following:
Day 1 - Put out a small garbage fire with his face and beard.
Day 2 - Walked naked through a blistering sandstorm started by the fart of God.
Day 3 - Nearly drowned in a river of frothy monster piss. If Frankenstein ever shot hot angry piss on a dude, it was this dude.
He was wet and dusty at the same time, not an easy thing to do.
We gave him forty bucks for which we received some rancid bottom shelf tequila with a 'worm' in it. It looked more like a bottle of gasoline with some ancient shriveled foreskin floating in it. Not that I have seen a lot of ancient foreskins, I am just presuming that is what they would look like. The bottle probably cost about six dollars, and that is a generous estimate. We received no change. He had his own bag of stuff, he didn't say a word, handed us the bottle and got in his car and left. Now I was pissed about the money, but those are the rules. You expect some random dirtball to buy you booze, you suffer any consequences resulting from that transaction.
We didn't care, we had alcohol.
Now, at this age, I was the most ridiculous looking human being on the face of the goddamn earth. I looked like Napoleon Dynamite's mentally challenged anorexic younger brother. A mullet and braces. It was a testament to my particular brand of dickhead charm that I ever got laid at all when I was younger. In spite of my appearance, I was, and still am, the most conceited and arrogant prick you would ever meet. I am awesome like that. I have always had a problem keeping my mouth shut about me and I don't think I can talk without being caustic and sarcastic.
People then as well as now would always say 'why do you have to curse so much?'
Well, asshole, I can't say fuck without cursing now can I? I don't want to even live in a world where I can't say fuck all the time. I wish there was a rooster outside my window every morning that crowed 'fuck-a-doodle-doo' like a motherfucker when that fucking sun comes up.
When an adult says shit like 'oh fudge' and 'darn it' it sounds so dejected and sad that they should just die with their balls stuffed in their mouth. At a certain point in life you have earned the right to curse. Some earn it earlier than others, there are some babies that should be able to shoot out of the womb and scream 'this is some straight up motherfucking bullshit' or dryly say 'it stinks in there', but I have yet to see that.
Anyway, getting drunk and getting laid and being awesome is not the point of this story. Almost every teenager gets drunk and has sex at some point. It was what happened after that. Something that just does not happen to anyone. I hope.
We met these girls, I have no remembrance of their names, I vaguely remember their shapes, after all this was twenty five years ago. I think the girl I was with her name started with a C. These girls start drinking with us, they are a few years older, laughing at our inexperience and what have you. One thing leads to another and my friend ends up fingerbanging this girl in a giant drain pipe on the beach at three in the morning while me and the other one start screwing in the sand.
At that age, you have no moves. You think that fucking really fast is the way to go, like you are trying to start a fire from the friction, something to light your post coital cigarrette on. So I'm giving it to her all fast and shit, thinking she has got to be so impressed with my speedy delivery. 'Wow, this must be the fastest dude ever, it's like gettin' it from The Flash.' Then it hit me like a tsunami. I have to piss, NOW! So, I mumble 'I have to piss'. So she says 'well, go then'.
My mind heard 'GO, GO, JUST FUCKING GO' screamed in a British accent for some reason, and by some miracle of biological science I was able to switch from sex boner to piss boner instantly and I went. After about five seconds of rampant hot pissing it dawns on her what is happening. The next thing I know I am being thrown violently from on top of her like she was an exploding grenade and she's screaming 'HE FUCKING PISSED IN ME, HE FUCKING PISSED IN ME' and I land with my knob in the sand and start laughing like a complete dick, because let's face it, pissing in someone is fucking hilarious.
If you are into that sort of thing, if that gets you off, you are totally fucked up and gross, but if it is a complete stupid drunken accident it's really funny. She didn't think so, but to be fair she did not wake up that morning thinking she would be my toilet. No one wants a piss douche.
I hear my friend laughing in the giant drain pipe but then he is immediately upset with me because her friend wouldn't let him give her the ol' fast finger anymore. Yes, at that age you fuck fast and you finger fast. Fingerfast would be a great band name. Maybe she thought that was what we were into, that we had some sort of bet going and the finger was going to come out and she would get shat on at any moment. My friend followed them down the beach and left me there laughing and apologizing.
My night went worse from there. I sat on the beach contemplating my eventful evening and the sand was blowing in my eyes, so I brilliantly turned my sweatshirt around backwards and put the hood over my face. No more sand problem. What I didn't know was that it would make me incredibly dizzy and sick to the point I threw up and it blew backwards over my face because I didn't have enough sense or the ability to pull the hood off first.
I rode the bus back to the rented condo, got physically thrown to the sidewalk at my stop by the bus driver. I guess having a pouch in front of your face filled with puke and singing 'Der Kommissar' doesn't exactly endear you to someone who is trying to concentrate on the road. It didn't help that the only lines I knew were 'Don't turn around, oh-oh (then whatever the fuck the noise they make is) Der Kommissar's in town wa-ah-oh'. If he thought he had it bad listening to me sing and smelling my puke, he should talk to that poor pissed in girl about what a real problem is.
Sorry Ms. whatever the hell your name was. I hope your life was all uphill from there. It would almost have to be.
Hellwagon.
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