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
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