AHDRS 3 Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

The music bumped. The lights were dimmed, everyone was still dancing. I felt silly, liquor surging through my veins and all. A strobe light flashed, surreal. I'm at a social gathering, yet I'm acting anti-social? Fuck that, time to integrate. I whipped out my sack, everyone around me gasped, then I whipped out the mushrooms I'd been saving. Not the mushroom tip, just the shrooms.

“Ashley, let's make this party a classic night....”

She nodded. I liked that, she didn't have to talk all the damn time like some other girls. We went upstairs to the kitchen, the whole house was starting to smell like shit. Feces, vomit, piss, whatever. A quick glance over of the fridge scored us a gallon of Orange Juice to catalyze our trip. It's a vitamin C thing, you wouldn't get it cause I certainly don't. It's science.

The caps went down pretty easily; the stems, not so much. My mouth was numbed out, and I felt a body high rolling in like storm clouds over the Rockies. I got a tooth pick for Ash and I, and we got all the remnants out of the spaces between our teeth. In my opinion that shit is the number one detractor from mushrooms, besides shroom booms (horrible gas your body produces after digesting the shrooms). It's disgusting, but so is liquor. No one drinks because they like the taste of liquor, they drink because they have to!

We sat on the counters and talked, waiting for the drug to take effect. Once it did, we went back to the basement which was, by all means, completely changed. Can you say Alice down the rabbit hole? I wasn't scared, the flashing lights and roaring music soothed me. I felt as if I was one with the party. Ashley and I danced until we were one tangle of arms and legs and costumes. It was the costumes that freaked me out. Some kids faces looked hollow and dug out, other smiling faces were comically exaggerated. The room was breathing.

This went on for another thirty minutes. Beer in hand, I danced like an idiot. I could actually see the sound waves from the music vibrating through the air. When I was too tucked to continue dancing Ashley and I made small talk with the other guests. The boys were all playing beer pong now, except James. Earlier I had seen him take Kelly by the hand and walk her upstairs. We all know what that means.

Party, party, party. Get fucked up, get more fucked up. It all becomes so repetitive after a while. Partying is no way to constantly live your life. Constant bowls are no way to live your life. Drinking to excess...no way to live your life. I was on my podium, waxing philosophical to anyone who would listen. It was probably annoying a lot of people, because suddenly I had no friends. Not literally, but people were going out of their way to escape my rant. Don't give a fuck, never have, never will. I cracked another beer, drained it, and I asked Ashley if she'd like to go upstairs and get some water. I pocketed two more beers, took her by the hand, and lead her upstairs. You know what that means. Winkey face goes here... you know the drill.

The nurse slut who had been cashed on the couch was now lying on the floor. She'd thrown up, I could kinda smell it, probably had smelled it earlier in the kitchen while eating the mushrooms, but it didn't matter now. My focus was concentrating on a singular goal: DON'T FUCK UP. The mantra echoes in my mind which had apparently packed up and left planet Earth without so much as a “sayanora, sucker!”

Walls... breathing. Heart... pounding. Fingers.... lookin like some Tim Burton shit? I could no longer smell the stench, just perfume. I could tell I had reached my peak. At least I think I did. My insides felt like a calm sea, gently thrusting benevolent waters into the beach, before retreating back into my core. This may seem like the beginning of a weird water/sex metaphor, and it is. Almost. It's a drug metaphor, and be grateful you get that far, you tease of a reader. This isn't that kind of story.

Of course, bad luck befalls everyone. Some people may seem like they have everything, but that's superficial. Only that person knows their own trials and tribulations. But it certainly seemed like bad luck loves company, and I'm the best. Why did karma have to seek retribution on all the party goers? I do not know. I do know that she strikes hard, and has horrible timing.

Ashley and I were drinking the two beers and sitting in the chic-fuck room. We were laughing, kissing, enjoying the trip. Some kids left, some kids arrived. We cracked peanut gallery jokes about their costumes, whispered not-so-quietly to each other through cupped hands. I hated the room. I looked around, spit on the carpet, and thought about burning it down. But I didn't.

Coming off the peak sometimes is uncomfortable, but mine wasn't. After another thirty minutes of fucked up ecstasy I was finally experiencing some sobriety. Not much, just a little glimpse of sanity through the window shades to my soul. Ashley hadn't ate that much, I did, yet I was amused by the short trip.

Ashley was more sober than I, “How are you feeling? That was fun but how long were we gone?”

I checked my phone, the background was still twisted into an obscene vortex of color. “Shit, we were gone for almost an hour and a half! Let's go back down...”

But that's when I heard a scream. Or a moan. I couldn't tell what it was. Somebody having sex? Someone dying? Ashley had turned pasty, she heard it too. We looked at each other for a lingering second, a nice contrast to the whirlpool that was the last hour.

“You go downstairs and have fun, I'll go see what's going on upstairs, OK? I'll be back,” I promised. She looked concerned, but nodded and returned to the basement.

What was going on? I could smell again, and it was stanky! Ascending the stairs was like walking into an abandoned meat-packing facility. A feeling in my stomach gripped me, and I began a second peak in my trip. I had to catch my breath as the world around me began to break down again. I called for Tiffany, and then for James. No answers. I stumbled past a side room and heard moaning from inside. Typical.

I looked at myself in a hall mirror. No lights were on, but I became entranced by my own dark silhouette. I raised an arm, but my shadow did not. I danced, I jerked around like a gumpy epileptic Micheal Jackson, I made faces in the mirror, but no matter what action I performed in that lonely hallway my silhouette just stood in place. Maybe I was going crazy, but I shrugged it off, brushed my shoulders with my hand, and fixed my pumpkin hat. I grinned at myself. I'm just fucked up. I think I saw it grin back seconds later, or smirk, but maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I'm just fucked up.

I went to the master room in search of Tiffany. The door was ajar, I heard muffled moaning. Not the sex type. I turned on the lights, only to find that no one was in the room. But the sounds continued, now noticeably from the bathroom where I left Jon the Bunny. I walked into the room, and peaked my head through the door.

Blood. Everywhere, on the mirrors, walls, the door itself. The mirror had small red hand prints, the fingers trailing to the floor. I looked down. A mass of bloody white fur was hunched over something, snarling and moaning.

“Hey Jon, are you OK?” I tapped him on his shoulder, and he turned. At that instance I shit my soul out of my pumpkin costume. The “something” he was hunched over was Tiffany. Parts of her cheek, arm, and neck had been ripped away. By teeth. I focused on Jon. His teeth. He was enthusiastically chewing on a bloody strip of flesh.

His eyes....they were all pupil. No color. His skin was pasty, but not scared pasty. You could see his green and blue veins bulge from beneath. His costumed was soaked in blood, and he smelled dirty and rotten. He made eye contact. For the longest second of the night I stared into those hollow pupils, and I saw a flash movement in them. He lashed out at me. I slammed the door shut, and pressed my back into it at the same moment. I could hear howls and his teeth mashing behind the closed door. “Please just let me be fucked up!” I prayed over and over. I called Frank from my phone, but there was no answer. “HORRIBLE timing, bro,” I said as I desperately searched the room for a weapon. I pushed with all my strength against the door and smiled for the click of the door coming home to its frame.

Jon, what was Jon, was pounding on the door, hard. Real hard. I figured that whatever he had become he probably didn't possess enough brainpower to work the handle. They had a fireplace in the room, and I found a fire poker with some other fire tools. I picked it up, it had decent balance to it. The handle end was awkward in my hand, but the pokey end looked sharp enough. The room was still rhythmically breathing the scene in, and a tear rolled down my cheek. I fell to my knees, and put my face in my free hand. “I HOPE I'M JUST FUCKED UP!” I screamed. This is just a bad trip.

A snarl brought me back to reality. I looked up. Jon had opened the door, and stood before me heaving in and out. Hungry. He jumped, arms reaching for me. I fell backwards and drove the fire poker up with my eyes closed. I waited, waited to be eaten by this dirty rotten scoundrel. Nothing. I cracked my eyes, and saw that the poker was now firmly lodged into the forehead of Jon. His eyes were still fixed on me, but he was done fighting. His breathing had stopped. I kicked him off of me and dropped the poker. I began to sob. Blood covered my hands, my costume too. Smeared with blood, I rose.

I hurried over to the bathroom and picked up Tiffany's head. I checked her pulse, but it was gone. No more blood gushed from her wounds. I set her back down on the blood-soaked tile. I turned to leave, but stopped. I heard wheezing. I checked Tiffany again, and she was breathing. I was overjoyed! Until I checked her pupils. Dilated like Jon's. I closed the toilet, and sat down on the back of the seat which happened to be the only clean seat in the restroom. I waited.

As I sat there I began to think again. I was still tripping, this is unreal. It's not happening. This is real life, not a Robert Rodriguez movie. There's no such thing, there's no such thing. I felt like a child: helpless, vulnerable, scared. As you get older you outgrow your fear of the dark, fear of the boogieman. You outgrow these fears because you come to accept they aren't real. That was the route I was trying to take. Will this whole mess out of existence. If I don't believe, then how could it be real? Tiffany's breathing persisted, and although it was raspy her breathes came faster and faster. She smelled so foul, but it could have been the restroom itself. I waited.

Five minutes passed. Her eyes began to blink rapidly. I stood up and rushed to Jon's body. I dislodged the poker from his head by leveraging it with my foot. It had been four inches deep. I returned, positioned myself over Tiffany and held the fire poker above her head. Without warning she began seizuring. I jumped back, and waited. Tiffany's whole body stopped moving and contorted as if she was having a full body spasm. Her eyes stopped fluttering and focused on me. She roared, and I winced as I rammed the poker through her skull. I finished her off with a twist inside the skull. With two hands I pulled it out. I closed my friend's eyes. It hadn't even been more than a couple hours ago that she had been flirting with me, trying to get in my pants. Now she was dead.

My other friends flashed before my eyes. What about them? Were they safe? Fire poker in hand, I bolted into the hall. I turned the lights on, and halted. There was blood all over the hall. The door to the guestroom James and Kelly had occupied was especially splattered. Hand prints were smeared all over the doorknob. More blood lead down the stairs. Nike footprints. It was James, God, why didn't I see the door earlier? I had to see what was in the room.

My first knock pushed the door open. I hadn't noticed it wasn't closed. Light from the hall filled the room forcing the stench out into the hall. I got a waft, and gagged. Something from within snarled. I flipped the light by the door and cautiously tip-toed in.

Whatever was inside would not shut up. It snarled and growled and moaned and shrieked. The bedroom was a typical guestroom apart from the pools of sticky blood and the stank of shit and piss and death. It looked empty, but I knew better. I've seen a million zombie movies, folks, and momma didn't raise no fool. Zombie James and Zombie Kelly were in here. I raised the poker, keeping my guard up, and stepped around the bed.

There lay Kelly, pale and moaning, at the tail end of a growing pile of what looked like her own entrails. One of her arms had been gnawed to a stub halfway past her elbow, the other greedily tore handfuls of her intestine apart before shoveling them into her mashing mouth. The mushrooms did nothing to help me comprehend the situation at hand. I felt like my legs and torso had become the trunk of a tree. My feet stayed firmly rooted in place. Kelly continued to engorge herself on her guts, and I became nauseous as I watched flesh and bone exit her mutilated intestines only to be eaten again.

She stopped for a second, and sniffed the air. I tensed up, and tightened my grip on the poker. Kelly sniffed for a second longer. She violently whipped her head to look at me, blood and bile covering her face like some macabre bar-b-Que sauce after ribs. A supernatural scream of rage erupted from her desecrated mouth, and I ran. I ran into the hall, scared for my fucking life, and the half-being that had been Kelly rapidly crawled after me, roaring and snarling.

I tried to close the door on her too, but one of her arms jammed the doorway. It wriggle and writhed and clawed at me with an animalistic desire. I slammed the door, teary eyed. I opened the door and slammed it on that arm so many times that by the end the arm was only attached to the shoulder by a single tendon, yet she shrieked and moaned on. Once more, and it was severed. I opened the door. Kelly lay there, smelling like shit, and freaking out like a suburban housewife getting off Xanax. I raised the poker, and brought it down with stoic determination. She moved, so the iron shaft impaled her neck releasing a gush of stanky blood. The end was embedded in the wood floor between two planks. She gnashed her teeth and spit at me. Scared shitless, I locked the door from the inside and left Kelly's reanimated corpse staked to the ground.

AHDRS Pt 2 An Escalation of Events

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I sat there holding the bag of shrooms awkwardly in front of Ashley. I answered my phone, exchanged a few brief words, and hung up. She looked at me eagerly, but I, not so much. I pocketed the shrooms. I looked at Rampy, who was simultaneously kissing both Candace and Sara at the same time. Without skipping a beat he formed a fist, I looked at it, to Ashley, and back at it. I tentatively pounded, and Rampy giggled a little. The girls did too. Skanks. I strolled over to the minibar, poured a rather large Grey Goose and Cranberry. Rampy needed some privacy right now. I gestured for Ashley to join me, and I lead her by the hand into the hall.

“I have to check on my friend real quick. This will only take a second, but a few of my friends just got here too and I have to go meet them upstairs. Come with me.”

She looked at me and coyly asked, “Where's the bathroom?”

“Well, how convenient that you asked,” I sang as I skipped down the hall to the bathroom. “My friend was passed out in here the last time I saw him, and he wasn't going anywhere. He passed out standing up with his dick in his hand. How funny is that?”

She laughed and followed me to the end of the hall. I knocked. Slappy didn't answer. I put an ear to wood. I could hear violent retching and the toilet water splashing, but nothing else, even when I called for him. I tried to open it, but it was locked. The lock was the type that needed a key, not just a little screwdriver to open. I knocked harder, and Ashley did too. We both hollered his name, asked if he was OK, but Slappy wouldn't answer. Just throw up, or shit, but regardless what it was the stench drifted through the cracks in the door and stank up the hallway. I couldn't handle the stench. It made me want to throw up, too.

“Come one, Ashley, let's go upstairs and meet my friends. Slappy's fucked up, and he's not goin anywhere. I feel bad for the guy, he sounds really sick, but this wreaks.”

“He sounded pretty bad, but he's probably just embarrassed. It's OK, some kids can't handle themselves as well as others.”

She followed me out the door at the end of the hall, and we waded through the crowd of ever increasing kids. I couldn't even count them all, and I barely knew any. James was still on the table, and I wondered how one could play that many games of pong with out getting bored. Oh wait, ego masturbation. Some people just have to prove themselves to everyone. Kelly was updating her facebook via her phone. Rampy and the girls danced in the darkened corner that many of the other couples had congregated in. I saw Joker leading cow girl slut into the hall where the super fucking cool room, bathroom, and a few guest rooms were located. I guess they got kicked out of upstairs. Weirdos.

Hiking up the stairs seemed like it would suck at first, I was drunk by now, but I strode up the steps with relative ease. Ashley gracefully followed suit. We opened the door into the kitchen, and I noted the Hitler mustache, added cock and balls, unibrow, and other scrawls on the passed out nurse slut. I asked Ashley if she wanted to add something to the growing mural, and she drew a smiley face out of a cock and balls.

I heard some voices from the family potpourri room, and recognized Frank's booming voice. I heard Tiffany, too. She sounded like she was crying. Sobbing, actually, and loudly. Ashley and I tip-toed around the corner, where I was surprised to see Frank consoling Tiffany, but they weren't alone. My friends Danky, Mike, and the foreign exchange student that was living with Frank, Salvatore, had arrived. They were dressed as the Three Stooges, Larry, Moe, and Curly. We walked up to them, I introduced Ashley to the boys, and I asked Tiffany why she was crying. Her cakey makeup was ruined, and her eyeliner streaked down her face. You could tell she was really, really upset.

“It's my new boyfriend, Jon, the bunny. Do you remember him? You were right, he's really sick. I found him outside and he threw up blood. I don't know what to do! I took him up to my parents room to rest, but he's still throwing up. He won't stop. I just don't know what to do...Aaron can you help him? Please? You're really smart, you know what to do, right?”

She hugged me, that same awkward hug, and I glanced over her shoulder at Ashley. Tiffany sobbed into my orange pumpkin shirt, let go, and started using her tears to smooth out the creases in her skirt. I felt really bad for her, not really for her boyfriend, but for her. I think it's because she was so excited to show this kid off to her friends, but now he's making her look like an ass.

I put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Hey, hey, hey, don't cry! I'll go check up on him with Frank and the guys, isn't that right?”

I put on my best serious face. It's not that serious, but they got the message. Van Halen and the Stooges nodded, and Ashley followed us as we made our way up the huge staircase. The top level of the house was as massive as the other two. Tiffany had directed us to the third room on the left, and we entered into the master bedroom. Bunny boy was lying on the bed, there was a trash can moved up next to him. Towels were on the floor, water bottles on the bed. You could tell she had tried her best to take care of him. That same stench from earlier, from the kitchen, it permeated the whole room. Salvatore gagged, and ran out. “I don't like....I don't like...ugh! Gross Americans..... He never learn to drink?” Danky and Mike were disgusted as well. Danky looked pale, paler than me! Ghost status, sheet status, the albino stooge. I looked at everyone, and told them to go down to the basement study. The bong was there, I'd take care of this and meet them there. We could smoke some bowls, I mean, the night was still young. It was only 9; I explained to them that this kid, Jon, had just cashed out and he was fine. His breathing was regular, anyways. They left, and Ashley stayed. "No use in you staying too unless you can put those witch powers to use," I teased. She dove straight into my eyes, and we stared at eachother. Sexual tension, who doesn't love it? I told her to leave, no woman should have to stomach this stench, she did, and I approached the bed.

This kid was FUCKED up. Just entering his general vicinity gave me a buzz, it wreaked. I figured it was a combination of that couple from earlier along with the vomit. He'd already filled the trash can. I took it to the bathroom, dumped it in the toilet, washed the can out, and brought it back to him. I talked to him, asking questions about how he felt, but I think he was passed out. His breath was rank, but at least it wasn't labored. Maybe he was just passed out? He needed sleep if he was this drunk. Jesus H Christ, that smell! Fish and vomit and shit and body odor and rotten food. His skin was pasty with a green tint, and I could see blue veins popping up on his face and neck. For some reason Slappy came to mind, and I decided to check on him too. I exited the room and gave Jon some privacy.

On the main floor I encountered Tiff again, filled her in on Jon, and promised her I'd regulate the party if she wanted to keep him company. She thanked me, tried to kiss me, but her breath was awful too. Had she tried to make out with Jon? I turned my face and took it on the cheek, then tried to hustle back to the party. She stopped me. “Aaron, if I find out you've been smoking weed in my Dad's study like last time I'm going to kill you! He was soooooo mad last time!” I smiled, winked, then turned and headed towards the basement.

The number of kids here had swollen close to 75 or 80, but everyone was behaving. I hardly recognized anyone, damn costumes. I spotted a girl wearing a nun's habit. She was playing beer pong against James and Kelly, but she was doing really well. Surprisingly well. James was down to his last cup, but had only made two. I laughed to myself, not because he was losing, but because he was losing to the only girl who hadn't transformed herself into a total skank for Halloween. It was truly a sight to see: A girl with morals in a sea of midriffs, cleavage, and ass beating an alcoholic athlete at his own game.

I asked James if he'd seen Slappy or Rampy. He pointed at the corner.He refused to break his concentration, took a shot, and missed.

“FUCK! Romeo's over there...”

Rampy was still there, doing the same thing he had been. Sara was humping his leg. Is that dancing? Slut. The other was licking his face. He looked at me, his pupils were dinner plates and he grinned. I thumbs upped him, and asked Candace if the shnozzberries really tasted like shnozzberries. She stared at me with eyes that were almost black, confused. Clearly she didn't get the reference. I turned to James and interrupted Kelly, who was complaining about the liquor selection.

“Shut the fuck up Kelly, just drink. After a while does it even matter? Pull your panties out your ass, girl." I addressed James: "So have you seen Slap dick?” I told him what happened in the bathroom.

“What do you expect,” he joked, “No, not since we smoked.”

This worried me, and I went to go see if he was OK. I opened the hallway door, and sneaked inside. I staggered down the hall, feeling the effect of all that liquor I'd drank. I passed the study, smelled burning herb, and heard my friends teasing Ashley. They're good kids, really good friends. I got to the bathroom door, and tried it. This time it was open, but Slappy had left. The floor was covered in piss and vomit and blood and shit. “What did this fool drink? Acetone? Cologne? Fucking Listerine?” I thought to myself. The stench, the stench. Well, now I gotta go find Slappy. I couldn't live with myself if one of my best friends died from alcohol poisoning, especially if I could have done something about it. “He probably went somewhere to pass out. One of the bedrooms. I'll check there first. Worst case scenario is he wondered outside. No, no, he wouldn't do that. God, what the fuck did he drink?”

I strode back down to the study, informed the Ashley and the homies about Slappy's disappearance, and began my search. It didn't take long to find him. I followed the smell, rotten molecules fish-hooked my nose and painfully dragged me to two doors, side by side. One was locked, but I heard moaning and a rocking bed frame. Joker and cow girl slut. The other was open. I strolled in, found Slappy on the bed, and rolled him over. There was red vomit, blood, all over the floor and the white satin sheets.

With urgency I shouted,“Slappy....SLAPPY! Are you ok, man? Do you need to go to the hospital? Dude, you're throwing up blood.”

He looked at me, and whispered, “No, I drank cherry vodka with that bunny kid. It was red. I just need some rest and privacy.”

“Are you sure? Dude, it smells awful in here and the bathroom. What's up?”

“Dude....Aaron......dude. I'm just really gassy and nauseous. Could you bring me a trash can and leave me alone?”

I didn't feel comfortable leaving him, but he insisted over and over, so I got him a trashcan. He barfed into it, and I rubbed his back. My mom used to do that when I had stomach infections. I don't get stomach infections anymore. Alcoholic genocide, remember? Anyways, it always made me feel better. Slappy didn't say anything as he violently yurked and yurked. Finally, he told me to leave, he passionately begged me to leave. He said he was embarrassed, and that he had never been this sick from drinking before.

“I think it's probably just food poisoning...I had some sushi before this. Just go. Just go.”

He sounded more sober than he was when he left the study. Maybe he was alright and the chronic just had me feelin paranoid. I looked back at the vomit on the floor, and turned on the light. Slappy moaned, and covered his face with a pillow. It looked like blood to me. But who am I to say that? Slappy was probably right. I wished him luck, and closed the door. I stopped for a moment, and tried to remember what Slappy, Frank, and I ate for dinner. I thought it was Chipotle. I shrugged. The couple next door were going at it still. Their sex sounded crazy, the cow girl slut was wailing like a banshee. I pounded on the door a bunch of times to fuck around with them. They briefly stopped, but after 10 seconds they started again. These two were gumps, for sure.

Another group of guys entered into the hall. It was the Village People freaks.

“Hey, you guys aren't supposed to be in here. Tiffany's rules. Sorry.” I declared. I told Tiff I'd help her out, and I will.

“Sorry man, sorry, we're just looking for a place to blaze...” replied the cop. The others nodded their heads.

“We don't want to be smoking out in that main room...”

“Or outside...”

"Or upstairs..."

“Yeah, and who are you to be telling us what to do? You're back here too, asshole. You're costume's fucking stupid, B-T-W”

I glared at the construction worker, the piece of shit who had spoke up last. I was drunk and testy, my fists clenched and unclenched. Deep breaths, in and out, it helped me calm myself down. No need for violence tonight.

“These 3 rooms are occupied, and the shitter's a mess. Otherwise, you can smoke in the last guest bedroom. Don't make a mess.”

They thanked me, and walked past. My nose couldn't pick up the smell of reefer, so I figured they must be going to the room to blaze some weak dro, or gang bang each other. The construction worker passed me last. I grabbed his vest, and yanked him close to my face. He looked like a rat. Pointy nose, beady eyes, and he smelled rotten. He was smaller than me, and his friends were already in the room. I could hurt him if I wanted to.

“The hostess gave me permission to regulate. You gotta problem, well so do I. Shut the fuck up, and stop acting like hot shit or else you're gonna find yourself on your ass. Got it?”

He shook his head and I let go, “Only girls and fags use internet abbreviations in conversational speech, shit head”

He scurried away into the last guest room like the rodent he was, and I reentered the super-cool man cave. As I came in, everybody looked up with their glazed eyes redder than the devil's dick. That's what I wanted. That's where I wanted to be right now. Cloud nine, nirvana. Ashley looked baked, Frank looked cashed, Danky looked bombed, Mike looked cooked, and Salvatore, well Salvatore looked absolutely hilarious. All he could do was grin at me. His English wasn't that good yet, but his mannerisms and body language were so funny!

“Was that your first time smoking weed, Salvatore?” I asked.

He grinned. “No. Dos, my second time. I, uh, I like smoke the pot.” He fell backwards cracking up, rubbing his chest with his hands and snorting after each laugh. Everyone else started to giggle too. I swooped up the bong, grabbed my sack from the table, and loaded a big rip for myself. Consider it “catch up”. I torched the bowl and inhaled slowly, constantly. The smoke curled and twisted in the main chamber, percolating through the dirty bong water. For a second I had an “oh shit” moment as I saw how much the bong had filled up with smoke. It was yellow, I knew I was toast. Yellow bong smoke is harsh, filled with THC, and the total fucker of all weed smoke. I pulled the bowl like a pin on a grenade and air rushed through the bong, forcing the prior contents into my lungs. I cleared it, breathed a breath of fresh air, and held my breath. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi....all the way to ten. Exhale. Instant retardation. I felt prettay, prettay gumpy. Forrest gumpy. “Special”.

I swear to dog, I fucking coughed up a lung. I had to spit into the trash can. The rip was harsh, but don't blame me! I yam what I yam, a monster, animal, beast. For some reason the stoners on the couch thought this was hilarious. Mike almost cried, his body convulsed in laughter. I flipped them off, “What, never taken a big hit before? Fuckers.” I coughed more, and walked to the mini-bar. I poured another Grey Goose with Cranberry.

“Aaron, when are we going to eat those mushrooms?”

I looked at Ashley, drank a gulp of my drink, and coughed. My eyes were tearing up.

“Ummmm, hold on.” More coughs, I had to spit again.

“Well, it's only what, 9:45? The party is just starting. Let's wait till 10:30 or 11 unless you want to eat your half now.”

"No, that's fine...we'll nom on them later." I smiled at her, because who the hell says 'nom' instead of eat? It's kinda quirky and endearing. She's a cutie.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” interjected Frank, “Where'd you get shrooms from?”

“I smoked Rampy up, and he gave them to me...”

“Fucker!” he spat, “He showed me them and I tried to buy them off him. Fucker. I don't know where he got them, but they're the blue caps. The blue caps always have a shit ton of spores. Those are the best.” His brow creased and he frowned. “Will you share them with me?”

“Uh, yeah dog, you can definitely have some. The more the merrier, you know. That shit. Hey did anyone see Rampy with those two juniors?” I chuckled, “Those freaks have been hanging off him all night. They're trippin balls, on another plane of existence right now or something.”

Mike looked at Ashley, and blurted, “You're really hot, did you know I'm an underwear model? Internationally famous! Wanna go have a lovely time with me? Fuck that pumpkin bitch! I'll treat you like a woman.” He smirked at me and I punched him in the arm.

“OW! You fag, you didn't have to beat on me! This body is worth more than your life!” He rubbed his nipples, what a weirdo, right folks?

“Have some manners, Mike.” I retorted. “Don't be a goon to a girl you hardly know.”

Ashley got up, walked behind me, and started massaging my shoulders. I don't know why, I must have hit the right note there. Salvatore got up too, and joined her. We both gave him a weirded out look, but he didn't get it until Danky pulled his jacket and told him that he was being strange. Salvatore looked confused, but stopped and asked, "You no like?"

"Just let Ashley do it, in America we aren't so touchy touchy."

"Oh," he replied, "Excusey, excusey." He started to wonder around and inspect the awesome room we were in.

“Ah, the metal heavy music. This is the music I like, the metal heavy type. Fast guitar, yes?” He got to the book shelf, and started pulling books out. He'd thumb through one for a second, but he couldn't read the English so he'd put them back. He wasn't putting them back where he'd taken them out, though, and was making a mess. Danky made himself a strong drink from Tiff's dad's liquor, and sat down.

“Bowl?” He pulled his own weed, and we loaded half each. I felt pretty anti-social. I was hanging out with my friends and this sexy witch, but we were barricaded in a room in a hall that no one was even supposed to be in. If Tiffany came down she'd probably get mad and kick me out. Wouldn't be the first time, but hey, why risk it? As we finished the bowl I suggested we rejoin the party and go drink. “It's Halloween mothafuckas, let's get weird, wacky, crazy, let's go HAM.”

Salvatore looked at me while pulling out more books from the shelf, “I love ham.”

“Sal, it's an expression that means hard as a m....” I didn't get to finish my sentence. No one talked. Sal backed up from the suitcase, and pointed to a leather bound book. It wouldn't come out all the way, just far enough to where it was at a 45 degree angle in comparison to the bookshelf.

I made a pushing motion, and suggested that Sal try pushing the bookcase in. He didn't understand, and pulled. Nothing happened. Mike got up and tried pushing it. It gave. My jaw dropped, hit the floor, and stayed there. Down for the count. I glanced at my friends, who were all experiencing the same reaction. Stunned silence blanketed the room, and we could hear the party music again. I could hear my freakin' heart beat. I looked at Frank, who looked at Sal, who looked at Mike, who looked at Danky, who looked at Ashley, who looked at me. What. The. Fuck.

Frank finally spoke up, “Ummmm, Aaron? What...exactly does Tiffany's dad do for a living?”

I couldn't speak, I just stared ahead. Frank snapped his fingers in front of my eyes, his hands smelled like weed. I shook my head. I just couldn't believe this.

“Uh, I think he's a lawyer. I mean, I thought he was a lawyer. Um...I don't, I don't know what to say. What the fuck?”

“He's no fucking lawyer, dude. Do you see this shit?”

When Mike had pushed the bookcase something spectacular and crazy and a little scary happened. The whole bookcase had spun 180 degrees, revealing a hidden backside. The books were gone, replaced with a SHIT ton of guns. Pistols, silencers, and clips were on the left. Shotguns hung from racks in the middle, with boxes of shot resting on a shelf beneath them. There were assault rifles on the right. Banana Clips. Bandoleers. Grenades. Different knifes, gleaming in the overhead light of the man-cave. A machete, brass knuckles, and more guns. Holy shit. What the fuck. My thoughts flashed to Tiffany. I stood up, ran to the gun rack, and turned it back around so the books faced out again.

I surveyed my friends, all of whom had turned pasty. No one said a word. They just sat. My state of insobriety was making it hard to process this whole thing. What the fuck? Who has that many guns in their house, better yet, who HIDES that many guns in a house? Maybe he's a terrorist, yeah, Tiffany's dad is a terrorist. Idiot. A spy? Maybe, that's more likely. A mercenary? Another probability. My heart dropped into my stomach. Mafia? A hitman? Shit.

“Not a word about this, to anyone.” I was dead serious. “I don't know why these guns are here, but it can't be good for us to know. NOT ONE WORD. Mike, got it?”

He nodded, no one said anything. Grenades, really? A machete? This wasn't some run of the mill gun locker. This was some real shit, realer than real.

No one else said anything, no one needed to. We agreed that it wouldn't be discussed, hid the bong under the desk for later, and left. Immediately. I went to check on Slappy again, but he wasn't in the room anymore. It still wreaked, there was still vomit everywhere and somehow it had got on the walls too, but it seemed like he got a majority into the bucket I brought him. Still red, another 'what the fuck moment' for me. The ground was damp, and I noticed a trail of liquid leading from the room next door where the village people were. It was quiet in their room, and the door was locked. Maybe he tried to make it to the bathroom to pee or something and failed miserably.

“Weird,” I thought, and then followed my friends out of the hall, taking Ashley's hand in mine. He must be smoking with them to feel better. Normally hangovers don't come this quickly, they only surface for me the morning after, but I shrugged it off.

Everyone's bodies are different, you know.

A History of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels pt 1

I ascended the steps of the house and a kid dressed in a rabbit costume busted out of the front door like a man on a mission, a bat outta Hell. We briefly made eye contact. I didn't recognize him, a kid from another high school, but I did recognize the look on his face as his mouth puffed out like a chubby bunny. His hand covered his mouth, and vomit was leaking from the corners of his lips. His eyes bulged as we stared at each other in that lingering second before he sprinted around the corner and released the deluge. My friends giggled like children at the kid's misfortune, opened the screen door, opened the main door, and sauntered into the house. I poked my head around the corner, and a blast of vodka-tequila-bile breath uppercut my nose. Bunny-boy was lying in the grass by a huge pile of vomit and, maybe, Burger King. Could have been McDonalds or Arbys or Taco Hell. I couldn't tell. I didn't care. It was nasty.

Nausea bubbled up in my stomach as I stood there observing, and I couldn't hide my disgust for one minute longer. I opened my mouth and threw up the rum I had been drinking at the pre-party. It was only a little, though, and it's final destination was the same pile of bile and vomit that drunky had previously regurgitated. He looked up at me with a goonish smile and red teary eyes, gave me a furry thumbs up and moaned, "Right on, maaaaan, right fucking". He didn't finish, he started yurking again, and I was here to fucking rage so fuck that random pussy! I popped in a breath mint and walked inside the party.

Halloween is one of those nights that's filled with magic, no matter how old you are. I'm 18 and sometimes I still look up at those huge October harvest moons, half expecting to see a witch's silhouette against that glowing orange eye in the sky. I entered the house, it made me sick. Lots of pretentious paintings and bowls of potpourri and fake fruit. That sorta shit, phony shit. White leather couches, white walls, white carpet, as if the hostess's parents were trying to pull off chic. In suburbia for Christ's sake. "Move downtown if you want to impress people with this crap," I thought to myself. That's Cherry Creek for you. Full of phonies.

The house was enormous, and only a few people were on the main floor. Everyone must have been in the basement, I could feel a bass bumpin out hip-hop below me. 3 kids were chillin in the kitchen, a half empty handle of Jose Cuervo Gold and some shot glasses sat on the granite counter top. I didn't recognize them with their costumes on. Mardi Gras slut, cow girl slut, and the Joker. The Joker was overusing that cliche line from The Dark Knight, "Why so serious?". His impression was spot on but the way the sluts laughed made me feel that they were just politely laughing. They saw me, and burst out into a more sincere sort of belly laughs.

"Aaron is that your costume? I LOVE it!"

Mardi Gras slut took off her mask; it was the hostess, Tiffany.

"Have you seen my new boyfriend? He's dressed like a bunny...Isn't that cute?"

She threw her arms around me and sorta hung there like a fucking monkey. She kissed my cheek. "I hope she doesn't smear any of that clown make up on my face." I grumbled to myself (in my head of course).

"Did I say I love your costume yet? You're hilarious! Oh my gaw, so cute....but damn, baby boy, your legs need a tan! You smell good..."

She was annoying the shit outta me. I wore the same costume every year, it was tradition. She'd seen it many times before. A little pumpkin costume probably made for a 7 year old. Green vans, short shorts(emphasis on short, like outta the 80s short), a baggy jack-o-lantern shirt with a little tie in the back, and, to top it all off, a pumpkin hat. I was ready for some pimpin, fa sho.

I just sorta stared at her tits as she babbled on and on about how drunk she was, her parent's new something-or-other, her new boyfriend. They were really nice tits, but I guess you can say that about tits in general. Unless they're just really fat, fat tits on a fat chick, but Tiff wasn't fat. Just ugly, and I'd need a lotta lotta alcohol to be able to even consider it. It. With Tiffany. The prospect almost made me throw up again.

"Hey, Tiff, I have a great idea!"

"Mmmmm, what's that?" She whispered in my ear. Shivers, my friends, and not the good type.

"Your new boyfriend is actually on the side of the house right now throwing up, probably dying. Why don't you go see if he's OK and I'm gonna go downstairs and get a lil stinko. Is that alright?"

A concerned look swept over her cakey-makeup face, she swore under her breath, and ran outside. I turned around, shots shots shots. My kingdom for shots. My fucking left testicle for shots. The Jose was still on the counter, but Joker and cowgirl slut were now eating each others faces off. His hand was up her skirt, it smelled fucking rotten in the kitchen, and I heard the sound of shoes coming stuck and unstuck in mud. Except it wasn't shoes. Gross, fucking gross, I shoulda puked right then and there. But I didn't. I just said, "Hey, get a fucking room. It smells like fucking fisherman's wharf in here, you idiots."

They pulled away from each other and grinned at me. Cow girl slut's face was covered in joker make up and she looked exactly like the fool she'd just been trying to resuscitate. Joker grabbed her hand and they ran upstairs. “Have fun gump-humpin!” I called out. I couldn't stand that stench any longer, so I swooped up the Jose and the three shot glasses and mosied on into the living room. The Colbert Report was on, and some nurse slut was already cashed out on the love seat. I sat on the couch, lined up and poured out three shots, and took them straight and in succession like a fucking man. I sat for a second, letting the booze settle, and then pulled out a sharpie from my shoe. I drew a fat cock and balls on the passed out floozies face, left the marker for any other guerrilla artists, and exited the room.

I was drawn by the murmur of voices and sound of music to a door near the kitchen which I assumed was the basement. I opened the door, and yup, it was. I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes in case you didn't know already. I thundered down the basement steps, emerging in an enormous rec room. The type you'd typically see in Cherry Creek. Sports posters covered the walls, leather couches encircled a huge projector big screen, a billiards table and a ping pong table were side by side, with doors going off to other areas of the basement. A Nuggets game played in muted silence on the screen.

Costumed kids were everywhere. Surrounding the game tables playing beer pong, sitting around the couch smoking a hookah, against walls and in corners flirting with their peers. I tried to sneak in unnoticed, but fuck, I was noticed and suddenly I was mobbed by a dozen kids trying say 'what's up'.

“Aaron! Ma Man!”

“Dude, holy shit, what's happening? Long time no see!”

“Fucking awesome costume dude, fucking awesome.”

“Aaron, come meet my friend I brought!”

I sighed, then hollered, “Alright mothafuckas line up! The Great Pumpkin is in DA hizzzzouse!”

They did, and I ran down the line pounding fists with every person. A few people laughed and called me a goof, a goober, a freak. The two friends I had came with, Frank and Slappy, were standing around, watching the beer pong and waiting for their turn on the table.

I started to walk to them but someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was my homie James and his girlfriend Kelly. I grabbed his extended hand, brought him in and gave him a hug. He'd been having some difficulties with his mom lately, and I was pretty sure he'd been really depressed. She was crazy, a good mom, really smart, but a fucking crazy woman. Kelly was looking around the party, tapping her foot impatiently. She was a year younger than us, and didn't roll with the same crowd. She was probably uncomfortable, but I didn't give a fuck. I had a feeling she was going to start complaining and moaning at any second, like she was better than the people here. She had on little dog ears on, and had drawn whiskers on her face. Dog slut, huh? Bitch. James had a similar costume on.

Without saying anything I whipped out a plastic bag from my pocket and held it up to James's face. Kelly made a sound to broadcast her disgust, and I shot her a dirty look. Inside the bag was a 7 gram nugget, it looked like a Ron Jeremy weed dick. A few people around us flared their nostrils and looked over, giving smiles and nods of approval. One of Kelly's friends walked up behind Kelly and James, and asked, “What smells SO bad?”

I looked at her, police slut, nice, and replied in my best valley-girl voice, “Well, actually two skunks, like, fucked, and like, then they committed ritual suicide in this baggy, and, like, yaaaaa.”

James cut in, “Yaaaa, and like, you know, like the weed fairy took those two brave little martyr skunks to, like, heaven, and then replaced them with this dank ass chronic! Yo, Aaron, let's go get twisted. Lets get hiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. I brought the bong, it's in Tiffany's dad's study.”

High five, my friend. Kelly and her friend mean-mugged us, turned around, and went to check what their status was on the BP waiting list.

I whistled to Frank and Slappy, made a head motion to one of the closed doors, and told James, “Yeah homie let's go right now. Frank and Slappy are coming too.”

The 4 of us ambled to the door, trying to look inconspicuous. It was hard in these damn costumes. Slappy was drunk and singing some opera, and we told him to shut the fuck up for the sake of sneakiness. He was dressed like Chewbacca, and I couldn't help but laugh every time I looked at him. There was a handwritten sign on the door that read, “STAY THE FUCK OUT, I WILL KICK YOU OUT.” I ripped it off, “What sign, bitch?” The homies laughed. Wiz Khalifa came on the speakers, and someone turned off a light. A few dudes asked some girls to dance.

I looked around the big room to see if Tiffany had returned to the party, but she hadn't so I opened the door and ushered my soldiers through the threshold. We closed it behind us and entered a long hallway with doors on each side and overhead lighting. The music was muffled in here, it was nice. Quiet-like. Slappy started humming.

“I left it in this room,” James proclaimed, “I think it's her dad's man-cave. SUCH a fucking tight study or office or whatever the fuck. Let's get blazed!”

He laughed, opened a door on the right, and we dipped into a magnificent room. Cherry wood paneling and built in bookcases, two cushy couches with a coffee table in between, a giant desk at the back of the room, and a minibar snuggled in the far corner. There were autographed posters adorning the open space on the walls. The Red Sox, and Heavy Metal music. Frank smiled, “Fuck ya, this is tight!” and James grinned in agreement. The bong lay on the table and I tossed my weed down next to it.

“Load it up, bros. Dome it, I want people to know that I'm high as fuck.”

Slappy, Frank, and James collapsed on the couch and started discussing the sexiness of the ladies in attendance. The conclusion was that they were indeed, for the most part, sexy. I laughed, and told them, “You fools should go to Harvard or something.” A resounding “Fuck You, Aaron!” was their reply. As they loaded the bowl I walked the perimeter of the room, being nosy and touching everything. At the mini-bar I was pleased to see that Tiffany's dad not only had great taste in music and sports, but also in alcohol. I opened a cabinet, pulled out four glasses, and set them on a tray. I dropped in two ice cubes each, and poured about three or four fingers worth of what must have been $200 scotch into each glass. I found a bottle of carbonated soda water, and mixed that in as well.

I wandered back over to the couches with the drinks and sat next to Frank. He was wearing a long, black wig and a stripey Waldo shirt. Van Halen, it was easy to see. We sparked up the bowl, and sent it into rotation as we sipped our scotch. When it was done we loaded another, and another, finished the scotchs, and then smoked another. I poured another round of strong drinks, and we made fun of a now barely coherent Slappy. He drunkenly mumbled to us about how he was going to go fuck the hostess. It was fate, he said. She's so beautiful, he said. That's Slappy: sentimental when drunk with a touch of down syndrome once weed enters the mix. He got up, mumbled, “I gotsa....yo I gots ta go take a leak. Fuck,” and left the room. James, Frank, and I finished off the bowl, and left as well. What a cool fucking room.

“Lets go find Slap-Dick." I suggested, but James had to go join Kelly who had been angrily texting him off the hook. So Frank and I journeyed off into the hall to find the drunk. We opened door after door, searching for the bathroom and sharing slurred conversation. The last door was the door to the bathroom. We opened it, but then had to hold the frame and the walls to keep ourselves from collapsing in drunken laughter. Slappy was standing over the toilet with his head against a medicine cabinet and his dick out. He was completely passed out, and had done so mid-pee by the looks of the toilet. "Bad boy, Spewbacca, bad boy! We'll just let you Han Solo it for a while, OK?" We cracked up for a few minutes at one of the funniest things we'd ever seen, snapped a few pics with our cell phones, and then left him there to contemplate what he'd done.

When Frank and I got back to the party it was evident more kids had shown up. A group of dudes dressed as the village people knelt before one of the kegs, worshiping it like they thought they were funny or somethin. "Fruity jocks," I thought to myself. James was on the beer pong table with Kelly, hitting all the shots that she missed. The Disney Princess sluts they were playing didn't fair much better than Kelly, even though they had been telling everyone about their 'super sick Beirut skills'. They were the type of pretentious bitches that have to call beer pong Beirut. Who the fuck cares? Frank asked if I wanted to get on the list as his partner, but beer pong is all ego masturbation and adolescent male posturing. I declined.

I was actually pretty skunked. The weed had twisted me up like a candy cane, and, in fact, I felt fucking dandy. I looked around at all the hoes. Need....candy tang. Who's giving the Great Pumpkin a super blumpkin tonight, ladies? I crack myself up sometimes.

I sauntered up to a table, tripped, and ate shit. A couple girls drinking water bottles and talking in the corner looked at me, and started to laugh. "I'm good, I'm good. No worries, girls, this is just what happens when you're cool enough to drink liquor."I flipped them off, got up, stared at the table covered with multiple handles of cheap liquor, grabbed a shot glass, and pounded down a couple shots of Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum. I love that shit; it's liquid FIYAH, folks. I chased with an open coke. Who gives a shit about germs? Not I, alcohol kills germs. If any germs got into my stomach they better be ready for a fucking alcoholic germ genocide. Stupid germs.

I surveyed the scene as I downed another shot, opened a beer that had been sitting on the table, and chased. "It's about that time..." By 'that time', I mean time to get super shitty. You never chase a cheap shot with cheap beer unless it's 'that-time'. I opened the sliding glass door of the walk-out basement, and stepped outside for a cigarette. Triple twisted? I'm a trooper, I can handle it. There was a girl outside smoking too. She was sitting on some of the lawn furniture, staring at the stars. Her cig let off smoky blue tendrils that curled up into the night sky. That harvest moon was fucking gorgeous.

I stared at her for a little while without saying anything. Creepy, I know, but I had to determine whether or not I was going to go sit by her and lay some game. A witch slut, silhouetted against the limpid, orange glow of the moon. I decided I would. Her exposed legs, stretched out onto an ottoman, was the factor that made my decision. Those legs probably went on for miles and miles. I took a swig of beer, and with a stoic determination marched out on the lawn, plopping myself down on a padded lawn chair opposite of her.

She was hot. No doubt about it. Blue eyes, blond hair, those cheek bones a man would love to caress during a hot, wet kiss. Pouty red lips, a slim nose, and a kickin body....I was interested. She watched as I lit my cigarette, and we stared at each other as music bumped from inside. Neither of us talked for a while, it seemed like forever, we just looked at each other. Finally, she piped up, "Fun party?"

"Yeah, I'm enjoying myself immensely."

We paused again, moonlight danced in her big baby blues.

"You have amazing eyes. Like, really really amazing. I can see the moon in them."

She bit her bottom lip, that pouty cushion for angels, and replied, "Thanks, you do too." She looked away and in the dim light I saw her cheeks get red. "I'm Ashley. What's your name?"

Usually I introduce myself as Danger to strangers, and being drunk I gave way to the habit.
"I'm Danger."

She stared playfully at me, grinned and giggled, "You don't look dangerous to me! You look like a big, lovable pumpkin!"

I remained silent, and winked at her. She bit that lip again. God, what a turn on. We stared deep into each others eyes, and took drags from our cigarettes. I sparked up a conversation, and we talked about everything from politics to pot. She went to a different high school than me, Cherry Creek, but lived really close to me. She laughed at my jokes, she rested her hand on my thigh as she spoke. She was easy to talk to. This went on for what must have been half an hour before we heard the sliding door open. I turned, and saw another of my close homies, Rampy, exiting the party. There were two girls accompanying him, an angel slut and a devil slut, both pretty good lookin. Props, pirate Rampy.

He came right up to me and gave me a huge bear hug. We shot the shit for a while. He's one of my best buds, really. I introduced him to Ashley and he shook her hand like a gentleman. He introduced me to Candace and Sara. I shook their hands and sat back down by Ashley.

"How you doin, Aaron?"

"Good man, really good. Good liquor, amazing company, I'm just glad to be here." I shot a glance at Ashley and smiled, she returned it and moved her hand higher up my thigh.

"Fuck ya dude! All the homies are here. Hey, do you have any pot? Let's get blazed! I got somethin too...check this out."

At that moment Rampy whipped a plastic zip-loc bag out of the folds of his pirate costume and handed it to me. I looked at it in the moonlight and saw the distinct stems and caps of some magic mushrooms.

"Mushies?"

"Yeah man the dankest! These lovely ladies and I are tripping BALLS. If you smoke us up you and Ashley can have the rest. I'm tellin you....dank. I mean, DAMN, that moon is freakin me out. It looks like the sky is breathing around it."

Candace and Sara agreed, and started mumbling some crazy woman shit. I looked at them, then Rampy, and he just shrugged and grinned. I pocketed the mushrooms, and pulled out my weed. I asked Ashley if she wanted to come poke smot with us, to which she enthusiastically replied, "Fuck Ya!"

We rejoined the party, but only momentarily. James and Kelly still ran the table. Frank was gone, probably blowin on some trees else where in the house. Slappy wasn't present either, and I assumed he was most likely where we left him. I took Rampy and the girls back into the study where I had smoked earlier. I loaded a bong bowl, let Rampy take greens, and looked at Ashley. I waved the mushroom bag in front of her beautiful face.

"Do you wanna?"

I winked.

"What do you think?" she replied. "Let's do it."

Part 2 to come