Sunday, March 18, 2007

The Half Elvis

There we were, in San Jose, California at the end of a successful first day of a trade conference. Everything seemed to be going like they always do - tired and exhausted, everyone from our company and our attending clients were out getting smashed before retiring for the evening to repeat the process all over again the next day.

We had just hired one of our long-time friends, a marine named Spike, who was also in attendance. Spike had gotten considerably drunk this evening - because, well, as with all after-conference events, the alcohol was free and the bar was open.

We stepped outside for a cigarette as a bum approached us asking for money. Having been around similar situations in the past and somewhat sober still, I stepped back and watched in amusement at what Spike would do. Moving in the slow motion that all drunks do, he removed his wallet and pulled out a five dollar bill.

The bum's eyes lit up like a kid on christmas morning.

Spike handed him the five dollars, and as the homeless man began to thank him profusely, this hardened marine pulled this newly found, dreadlocked friend of his in for a tight embrace.

"I love you," Spike announced.
"I love you too," the bum replied, eyeing his five dollars hungrily.

The embrace lasted for a good minute before Spike finally let go. Thank you's and You're welcome's were exchanged at least five more times before the bum scurried off to buy his vice of choice.

This would have been enough fodder for jokes for the remainder of the conference, but Spike wasn't done yet. Not in the least.

He set his sites on two average looking girls who were having a heated discussion and a cigarette outside the bar next door. He walked up to them and just stood there, staring. They stopped talking and stared back at Spike in confusion.

"I'm Spike," he finally mumbled.
"We're having a private discussion," they responded.
"What about?" Spike asked, without skipping a beat.
"Our boyfriends," snapped the girls.
"You know, I used to be the guy girls talked to about their boyfriends in high school," Spike said, not giving up.

There was a momentary pause before one of the boyfriends walked out of the bar, obviously looking to corral the girls.

"Enter Mike the boyfriend, Exit Spike," said one of the pair.

Spike just stood his ground, staring. Saying nothing.

I prepared for the worst.

The group eventually went inside and Spike took a swig of his beer, shrugged, and walked towards me. Before I could even point and laugh, our group walked out of the bar, and we headed back to our hotel rooms.

Spike and I were sharing a room.

When we got back to the hotel, I decided to make one last booty call before calling it a night. A mutual friend of ours helped Spike up to our room as I sat by the pool making the aforementioned booty call.

Finally, I gave up on the notion and headed towards our room.

The door was open. I pushed it in slowly and said, "Hello?" uncertain as to why it was left ajar. There was no answer. I walked in, treading carefully, unsure what to expect.

The only light on in the room was coming from the bathroom, and as soon as I stepped foot inside the place, I was bombarded with the most foul smell known to man.

Continuing with caution, I peaked into the bathroom door which was left open, prepared for the worst. Pirates. Ninjas. Who could be certain what would pop out at me at this point.

In retrospect, I wish it were ninjas, because what I was about to witness, the Good Lord himself could not even prepare me for. This would change the both of us, and our relationship, forever.

There was Spike - pants around his ankles, head between his knees - passed out on the toilet while taking a drunken shit. A Half Elvis.

"Spike?" I asked almost timidly.

No answer.

"Dude," I said more loudly.

No answer.

"Hey man, get up and go to bed!" I shouted.

No answer.

I walked inside the bathroom, using my shirt as a makeshift gas mask.

"You ok?" I asked in my loudest possible voice.

No answer.

I shrugged and took a piss in the shower, not six inches away from him.

I shut the bathroom light on my way out and got into bed. If he were dead, I would deal with it in the morning.

Five minutes hadn't gone by when I heard an awful rumbling.

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN!

Spike crashed face first into the wall directly opposite the bathroom door, as if thrown against it by an invisible police officer.

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN!

Spike ran towards our beds and fell onto mine.

"Dude, wrong bed!" the homophobe in me quickly shouted.

He stood up and just let gravity drop him face first onto his bed. But like a god damn trampoline, he bounced directly back up off his nose and into a seated position on his bed.

Each time he tried to take off his shoes he fell into the lamp between our beds. A good twenty minutes later, after finally getting his shoes off, I thought maybe he was passing out sitting up.

But he had me fooled. He was lulling me into a false sense of security for his final act of terror for the evening. He shook awake, stood up, took off every lick of clothing in my plain view, and got into bed and finally passed out for good.

I laid there horrified for about twenty minutes before passing out myself.

We were startled awake the next morning by a co-worker's phone call, letting us know that we were already thirty minutes late to the conference.

As Spike threw off the covers to get up and get ready, two things happened. He realized he was buck-fucking-naked, and more importantly, he saw what I saw - a streak of shit, four inches long, just sitting there on his bedsheet.

He quickly threw the covers back on, but it was too late.

He knew I saw it.

He paused and stared straight ahead. I could almost see his hung-over mind processing this information and trying to piece together the night before, all the while attempting to come up with something clever to say.

"Well, last night obviously came to a screeching halt!" he finally said.

I relayed to him his exploits from the night before, and we laughed and patted each other on the back as we got ready for the conference that morning - knowing that our bond was now stronger than ever, and we had shared something few friends in this world would ever experience.

We were true friends, and that's all that mattered.

Two months later I fucked his ex-wife and we never spoke again.

4 comments:

Willy B. Good said...

Ya I screwed Spikes x too but don't tell him as he might get shitty
cheers
willy

ps funny stuff

annabel said...

I needed a good laugh today!

IQCrash said...

Wow. People actually read my blog.

mark said...

Ok, first- quite possibly some of the funniest (excuse me) shit I've ever seen!

Second- I stumbled on your ships log here today, read the current amusing posts so decided to venture to the belly of the beast and start from day one.

Sorry, but I can only read so quickly while sucking on dry office air and dodging my boss so I've only made it this far... you have game.

I plan on including this in my thanksgiving holiday diet of turkey, stuffing and alcohol and aspire to get current with your life by monday!

Fuck 12 months dude, nice concept and a good way to shake the lazy asses but I can tell you the talent is there and talent, my brotha from another motha, cannot be denied!

peace