It is very common for me to booty call every female contact in my cell phone when I'm blacked out, however… I was so liquor-drunk last Saturday night that I called a girl I used to have sex with and left a two-minute voicemail professing my passionate love for her.
I then proceeded to call a girl from college who I had a one-night stand with, who lives over an hour away, and told her I was going to drive up there, take her out on a romantic candle-lit dinner at a 5-star restaurant where we would use our fake IDs to drink the most expensive bottle of wine they serve, and then take her home to make sweet, sweet love.
Wow. Just wanted to give you a little perspective on how my life is going right now. I still felt slightly intoxicated at 5pm the next day.
Minutes later, I heard the Axe can blow up! I wondered if I had just maimed a firefighter.
Anyway, here is a true story about how my fuckwit friends and I burned down the woods in 6th grade.
My best friend (let's call him a generic Caucasian name…Tyrone; just kidding, we'll call him Jim, aka Satan) and I started experimenting with alcohol and fire. We blew up Axe cans and shit all the time, played with fire and it was great fun. My other friend, let's call him Bob, was also going through pre-stoner behavior and liked blowing shit up too.
One time we lit a fire in Bob's garage (what a fucking bad idea in hindsight) and I poured almost an entire bottle of nail polisher remover on it because it has a warning that says, "Dude you should totally NOT pour this on an open flame because it will be way too much fun." Sure enough, the small, controlled fire went from a couple inches off the ground to the CEILING of his garage for a brief moment. Holy shit! We stomped out the flames and laughed hysterically while his smoke detector wouldn't stop yelling, "Too much fun, too much fun, too much fun!"
One day during the winter Satan, Alex and I were bored at Bob's house and decided, "Hey, let's go light shit on fire!" We were all a couple of Bob's dad's beers deep and marched into the woods conveniently located across the street. We stacked a heap of very dry grass into a large pile and with our only match, struck it across the box and threw it in. Tee-hee-hee-hee!! I then proceeded to toss in a completely full can of Axe body spray (after briefly using it as a flamethrower first), and giggled and ran behind the trees, fearing the ensuing flying shrapnel from the Axe can. After about 30 seconds, the fire was dangerously large and spreading, but the can hadn't blown up yet and fuck if I was going to get my foot blown off messing with it.
Bob eventually kicked the can out of the fire and we all tried to stomp out a giant fire that was almost as tall as we were. I picked up the Axe can and threw it as far as I could. I couldn't help but laugh the entire time, even though at this point we were all scared. Suddenly Alex's hair caught fire and the top of his head was engulfed in flames! Holy shit! Satan and I started laughing hysterically and Bob started screaming. We decided it was time for us to get the fuck out of there and run back to his house. Meanwhile, Bob called his Dad and cried on the phone. I ran by a concerned neighbor who yelled, "What the fuck did you guys do?!"
We finally made it to Bob's house and waited on Bob's dad, who raced home to put out the fire while on the phone with 911.
When Bob's dad got there, he started putting out the fire with a shovel while the rest of us filled up buckets and large bowls to help extinguish our hell on Earth. This fire was fucking massive and raging literally 20 yards from several middle-class family homes. The whole neighborhood was outside watching, nervously anticipating the potential disaster at that point.
The fire department showed up to the scene and made everyone evacuate the general vicinity. As they began working to put out the fire, we all sat on the couch getting scolded by Bob's father.
Minutes later, I heard the Axe can blow up! Holy fuck, I threw that thing at least 50 yards! I wondered if I had just maimed a firefighter.
Eventually they defeated the flames and restored peace to the land. Well, except for the fact that it was scorched black. The fire marshal sat us all down and tried to get an idea of what happened and what our thinking process was. He did not believe for a second that we only used one match (we did) and we conveniently left out the Axe can details. He then ordered us to attend fire safety class for insane children at the fire academy. He also gave us a one-year probation period where if we did anything wrong we would be charged with felonies and sent away to juvenile detention for a long time. He informed us that we were lucky the fire didn't hit anyone's property line, otherwise we all would have been arrested immediately and charged with felony arson. A mere five feet separated us from early incarceration.
After the firefighters left, Bob's dad cracked open a cold one, and we all laughed about how Alex's hair was fucked up and smelled like shit, and how we were retarded for not just throwing our sweatshirts on the flames. My brand new white K-Swiss shoes were completely black with shoelaces burned to shit from trying to stomp out the fire.
Bob's dad turned on the Redskins/Buccaneer's game and we watched Mike Alstott embarrass us pre-RGIII era. Eventually my dad got there and was obviously furious. We headed home and I spent the next couple of hours grounded (tough on crime, right?).
Fire Safety Class
There were some fucking nut jobs in that class. Jim, Bob, and I were in there with a kid who lit matches obsessively (he went through boxes upon boxes of matches a day), a girl who lit her house on fire because she got a bad grade, and some kid who refused to say anything at all. They asked us the most fucked up questions about how intrigued by fire we were and all this bullshit. I pseudo-listened the entire time and pretended to have been an angel who had only experienced fire whilst holding a candle during a vigil at church. (I actually said that.)
On the last day of class a burn victim spoke to us about the dangers of fire. Her skin was so flabby from all the skin grafts that it looked like she could spread her wings and soar like a flying squirrel. She told us how the hose at a gas station broke and she got sprayed with gasoline all over her body. She had gone inside and asked the clerk what to do, and he told her to wash off the gasoline in the bathroom. What a dick. The bathroom had a space heater that immediately caused her to catch her on fire and left her with 3rd degree burns on 90 fucking percent of her body. Fortunately, an off-duty cop saved her life. She told us that all she does now is speak to at-risk youth about the dangers of being a pyro.
Man, what a burnout.
Please note: This story is 100% true. Satan and I are still good friends to this day and we play poker on Wednesdays. I hope you guys enjoyed this because I just forfeited any type of job that requires a security clearance in my future.