Through some cosmic fluke I managed to end up with a girlfriend. I don't know how but I guess God must have blinked or something because it happened. The girlfriend in question (let's call her Ban) was born on a day and thus has a birthday. Unfortunately (especially for her parents), Ban's birthday is on the 31st of December but, as a result of her inherently considerate nature combined with the fear that none of her friends would attend, she always forgoes celebrations. For some reason I, in my infinite wisdom, decided that she should make merry on her birthday and hence convinced her to throw a birthday party. After getting past the initial sensitivity and worries about having a shitty birthday I comforted her through assuring her that her birthday would be absolutely perfect. To seal the deal I offered her a venue: a family farm which the family meets in often that my Meta-Religious Muslim grandmother takes special pride in. Full of misguided confidence Ban invited her close friends and, for the first time, was truly excited about her birthday. It looked like it would turn out well.
Until The Vulture arrived.
Y'know how sometimes you end up with a friend that is the human equivalent of herpes in that you don't know how you got him and can't get rid of him? The kind of dude that basically functions as human cling film complete with the suffocating qualities? The Vulture is one such dude. Now, I wouldn't mind if The Vulture was just clingy, but somehow he's managed to be a completely douchey barely-sentient pile of dogshit. He's selfish, sexist, totally without any form of class, sleazy and pervy in a way reminiscent of an overly touchy uncle at a family reunion. That being said, his absolute worst quality is that he's somehow (wrongly) convinced himself that he is an excellent DJ. Before he arrived we made bets on how long it would take him to start hitting on Frenchy. Samson bet on 15 minutes, I bet he'd build up to it, so around 30 minutes, Celien abstained.
The gathering was on a freakishly cold and rainy night.We should have taken that as an omen but we're stupid. For the majority of the night we were a total of seven people: Myself, Ban, Celien, Frenchy, Samson, The Vulture, and The Child.
The Child was an unknown factor in that we knew exactly two things about him: he was younger than us (we were 17 at the time and he was around 16) and he was extremely impressionable.
Within 5 minutes of arriving The Vulture decided he was the Alpha DJ and proceeded to make us listen to his "skillz". In retrospect, this was apparently his mating call because around five minutes later he started hitting on Frenchy in a way almost as subtle as blasting Akon's "I Wanna Fuck You" at full volume while attempting a seductive dance. He somehow coerced Frenchy to dance with him which apparently translated to three minutes of The Vulture awkwardly dry humping a vaguely distressed and totally disinterested Frenchy in front of a horrified audience of Frenchy's closest friends and peers.
This was the best part of the night because right after that The Vulture revealed to us that he'd brought three bottles of Vodka.
We were a total of seven people. He was aware of the guest list. He was also aware that we were planning to continue to another New Years event afterwards and still decided that he was going to bring three goddamn bottles of Vodka to the farm which I had informed him needed to remain halal due to the existence of my grandmother. Nobody was planning to drink anything stronger than Sangria (and Sangria only because Samson is a total cunt who believes himself to be God's gift to fine cuisine). Despite all this The Vulture decided that what he wanted was to get really wasted and he sure as hell didn't want to do it alone.
This is where The Child comes in.
The Vulture knew that none of us were going to humour his desire to get totally wasted at 7 PM on Ban's first ever birthday celebration so he targeted the only one there who was as impressionable as warm butter: The Child. It seemed totally irrelevant that The Child was the only one who was being picked up by his parents and that this kid looks like he could get buzzed off of distilled water. The Vulture had decreed it was the time for shots; at my girlfriend's first ever birthday celebration which meant more to her than Cocoa Butter means to DJ Khaled, before the actual New Years event, with The Child (who was going to be picked up by his parents in two hours) and above all in the family farm which happens to be my super Muslim grandmother's happy place. They somehow managed a full bottle between them and, obviously, got absolutely wasted. By the time we realized that they had managed to get absolutely pissed they were sitting by fire-pit in the centre of the farmhouse warming themselves. We realized that they were totalled because The Vulture, out of the blue, looked Frenchy right in the eye and happily exclaimed "I have a candom in my bag". Not condom, mind you, but candom.
It was 7:30.
By this time Celien had decided to pull a Gandhi and go all "peaceful resistance" on our asses by resisting the very concept of Birthdays. She's just sat there all dead eyes in front of the firepit observing and feeling absolutely no empathy like the emotionless bitch she was always meant to be (I'm so proud). The Vulture and The Child were sitting on recliners on the other side of the pit being immensely drunk and debatably singing. Debatably because it sounded less like Frank Sinatra and more akin to neutering cats without anaesthetic. Samson and Frenchy started to worry for the alcohol couple and their latent maternal instincts began to surface. I was in the kitchen sweeping up broken glass with a wet broom. It was at this point that Ban began to cry.
As soon as I returned to the firepit area/ living room where everyone else was The Vulture took a break from his porcine squealing and turned to face me with a shot glass in hand. He made eye contact and visibly pondered the question, "was Newton right?"
then proceeded to let go of the glass, presumably to see what would happen. I don't think I've ever wanted to shove broken glass into a person's rectum before but there's a first time for everything.
Around 7:45-8:00PM The Child became worried that his parents would discover his drunkenness and came to the conclusion that he needed to sober up really fast. In the absence of coffee we decided that our elixir of sobriety would be pizza and water and as such begin to shove these motherfuckers' faces with pizza.
Cue the vomiting.
It started off controlled. The Vulture went into the bathroom (still talking about his "candom") and started blowing chunks in the toilet, on his hands and somehow in his hair but we didn't give much of a shit about him. The Child was the priority. Frenchy and Samson released their inner motherly instincts like a lesbian couple caring for a baby and started feeding him all "open your mouth for the choo-choo" style. Unfortunately The Vulture started to feel neglected, as though not enough attention was being directed towards him and fell into the fire pit in response spraying coals all over the place like a fucking asshole. This was the only time in the entire Fiasco that Celien made any sort of noise and it was an evil, hearty laugh at the prospect of The Vulture catching fire.
This wouldn't have been an issue if there weren't carpets n shit that were worth more than my soul to my grandmother in that farmhouse. She once told me "Sanad, I love you, but I can stop loving you". I fear this woman. It seemed at that point that The Vulture was doing everything in his power to get me castrated.
Instead of the attention he had expected, we yelled at him and relegated him to what we dubbed The Couch of Drunken Shame with a box of pizza and the instruction "eat and think about what you've done". Instead, he vomited into the kitchen sink on my clean plates. He followed this by deciding "I won't let it drain, be responsible and pick up chunks. I'll do my utmost to fuck up Sanad's plumbing and flood the kitchen by turning on the sink". Fortunately I was nearby so I stopped the overflow and turned back into the living room just in time to see my Muslim grandother's living room turn into a scene from The Exorcist as The Child projectile vomited right on my floor. There was a garbage bin less than five centimetres to his left and the bathroom was about three steps to his right but he seemed determined to be an inbred slice of horse cock.
This was made significantly worse by the fact that Samson (who was standing right next to the child caring for him at the time) is a sympathy vomiter, so as soon as The Child sprayed his sick on my floor Samson felt his own personal tide rise quite suddenly. In a vain attempt to combat his suddenly dire situation, Samson ran into the kitchen for a breath of fresh air. He stood there for a moment, took a few breaths, and then turned to his right only to be greeted by my kitchen sink which happened to contain The Vulture's waterlogged, chunky, pizza puke. Samson vomited.
Thankfully (for us) backup arrived.
LSD and the friend managed to arrive at the absolute worst possible time. Samson was heaving into the bushes outside in the rain, The Child had his shoes swimming in a puddle of his own hurl, The Vulture was passed out on the Couch of Drunken Shame, Celien had retained her Gandhi-esque policy, Frenchy was being a mama bird to The Child, I was thoughtfully gazing at the slowly encroaching pool of chunky Vodka pizza vomit on my grandmother's floor that seemed magnetically
attracted to the carpet
and Ban was sitting alone crying her eyes out at the total fuckfest that had become her birthday. LSD is good to have in a panic situation because she's a total boss. She don't mess around; that's why she gave The Child a pep talk, and by pep talk I mean she went drill sergeant mode and attempted to yell him into shape (with some success). The Child then got off his recliner, walked for a few paces like a newborn deer, then fell virtually face first into his own gastrointestinal juices.
At around 9:30 PM just as The Child took his nosedive and was rolling around in his self made, all naturale, kiddie pool his parents called to inform us that they were outside. We cleaned him up a bit and sent him out, confident that we had done all we could. He believed that he could persuade his parents of his sobriety. He was wrong. 20 seconds later we heard very angry knocking. The Child's parents burst into the house like a SWAT team and basically told us that we were to blame for the fact that their son ruined my fucking carpet and that we did not care for him properly, first to us (including Samson who literally hugged him from behind while he took a piss to stop him from falling into the toilet); then to Ban specifically,purposely ignoring the fact that she was already crying at the time, and in that providing an A+ model on how to be the kind of person that everybody hates. This was followed by the dreaded "call to the parents".
From the moment of The Child's departure we had 20 minutes to clean up the vomit, dispose of contraband and make the farmhouse look and smell as presentable as possible for Ban's father. Over the course of the night I got very acquainted with the resident wet broom which I named Lloyda.
We hid all the contraband and cleaned up The Vulture's vomit before Lloyda and I got to The Child's. I touched it with the broom and it rippled. We had some crest, trough action with the vomit. Some Physics type standing wave bullshit. I'm not a sympathy vomiter but I very nearly retched right then and so took a break. It was during this break that The Vulture decided that the best way to make it up to Ban for ruining her only ever birthday was by offering to dance with her in the puddle of The Child's vomit.
You know when a naturally nice person has enough and flips. When someone has been considerate and nice for a freakishly long time and has been bottling up for a very long time until there's a teeny tiny trigger factor and BOOSH, you have your own personal Chernobyl. Ban is one of those people and this "apology" was our catalyst. I've never seen someone scream with that much furious force. It could be a fucking superpower. I have never since heard Ban screech at someone and I'm glad because that shit was scary.
Fortunately through the help of Lloyda and a heinous amount of Green Apple scented Vita floor cream I got the farmhouse looking presentable by the time Ban got picked up at around 10:00. The Vulture found this the best time to ask "hey, you guys going to the event because my parents can't see me like this." Soon, however, he discovered shame and called his parents. Samson and Frenchy couldn't wait until everyone left so they could hitch a ride with me so they called an Uber. The Uber got freakishly lost, got stuck in the muddy dirt roads of the area and ran out of gasoline, forcing me to send the farmhand and my ride to go out and help him thereby leaving us stranded. They wanted to leave before 12:00 as they still wanted to make it to the other event so they called another cab around 11:20. They ditched around 11:50, leaving me alone on a rainy night on December 31st in the Green Apple and Pizza Vomit scented farmhouse. At around 12:05 my ride arrived and I had a last quick sweep only to notice Ban's unopened and untouched chocolate birthday cake.
Happy Fucking New Years.
Epilogue:
Samson aged 40 years that night and complained forever more about irresponsible teenagers.
Frenchy got yelled at by her father for no obvious reason.
Ban got grounded.
The Vulture has been excommunicated
Celien embraced the Dark Side and significantly helped me illustrate this post
The Child puked in his parents' car (poetic justice) but otherwise got off the hook.
Until The Vulture arrived.
Y'know how sometimes you end up with a friend that is the human equivalent of herpes in that you don't know how you got him and can't get rid of him? The kind of dude that basically functions as human cling film complete with the suffocating qualities? The Vulture is one such dude. Now, I wouldn't mind if The Vulture was just clingy, but somehow he's managed to be a completely douchey barely-sentient pile of dogshit. He's selfish, sexist, totally without any form of class, sleazy and pervy in a way reminiscent of an overly touchy uncle at a family reunion. That being said, his absolute worst quality is that he's somehow (wrongly) convinced himself that he is an excellent DJ. Before he arrived we made bets on how long it would take him to start hitting on Frenchy. Samson bet on 15 minutes, I bet he'd build up to it, so around 30 minutes, Celien abstained.
The gathering was on a freakishly cold and rainy night.We should have taken that as an omen but we're stupid. For the majority of the night we were a total of seven people: Myself, Ban, Celien, Frenchy, Samson, The Vulture, and The Child.
The Child was an unknown factor in that we knew exactly two things about him: he was younger than us (we were 17 at the time and he was around 16) and he was extremely impressionable.
Within 5 minutes of arriving The Vulture decided he was the Alpha DJ and proceeded to make us listen to his "skillz". In retrospect, this was apparently his mating call because around five minutes later he started hitting on Frenchy in a way almost as subtle as blasting Akon's "I Wanna Fuck You" at full volume while attempting a seductive dance. He somehow coerced Frenchy to dance with him which apparently translated to three minutes of The Vulture awkwardly dry humping a vaguely distressed and totally disinterested Frenchy in front of a horrified audience of Frenchy's closest friends and peers.
This was the best part of the night because right after that The Vulture revealed to us that he'd brought three bottles of Vodka.
We were a total of seven people. He was aware of the guest list. He was also aware that we were planning to continue to another New Years event afterwards and still decided that he was going to bring three goddamn bottles of Vodka to the farm which I had informed him needed to remain halal due to the existence of my grandmother. Nobody was planning to drink anything stronger than Sangria (and Sangria only because Samson is a total cunt who believes himself to be God's gift to fine cuisine). Despite all this The Vulture decided that what he wanted was to get really wasted and he sure as hell didn't want to do it alone.
This is where The Child comes in.
The Vulture knew that none of us were going to humour his desire to get totally wasted at 7 PM on Ban's first ever birthday celebration so he targeted the only one there who was as impressionable as warm butter: The Child. It seemed totally irrelevant that The Child was the only one who was being picked up by his parents and that this kid looks like he could get buzzed off of distilled water. The Vulture had decreed it was the time for shots; at my girlfriend's first ever birthday celebration which meant more to her than Cocoa Butter means to DJ Khaled, before the actual New Years event, with The Child (who was going to be picked up by his parents in two hours) and above all in the family farm which happens to be my super Muslim grandmother's happy place. They somehow managed a full bottle between them and, obviously, got absolutely wasted. By the time we realized that they had managed to get absolutely pissed they were sitting by fire-pit in the centre of the farmhouse warming themselves. We realized that they were totalled because The Vulture, out of the blue, looked Frenchy right in the eye and happily exclaimed "I have a candom in my bag". Not condom, mind you, but candom.
It was 7:30.
By this time Celien had decided to pull a Gandhi and go all "peaceful resistance" on our asses by resisting the very concept of Birthdays. She's just sat there all dead eyes in front of the firepit observing and feeling absolutely no empathy like the emotionless bitch she was always meant to be (I'm so proud). The Vulture and The Child were sitting on recliners on the other side of the pit being immensely drunk and debatably singing. Debatably because it sounded less like Frank Sinatra and more akin to neutering cats without anaesthetic. Samson and Frenchy started to worry for the alcohol couple and their latent maternal instincts began to surface. I was in the kitchen sweeping up broken glass with a wet broom. It was at this point that Ban began to cry.
As soon as I returned to the firepit area/ living room where everyone else was The Vulture took a break from his porcine squealing and turned to face me with a shot glass in hand. He made eye contact and visibly pondered the question, "was Newton right?"
 |
| Was Newton right??? |
 |
| Does gravity exist? |
Around 7:45-8:00PM The Child became worried that his parents would discover his drunkenness and came to the conclusion that he needed to sober up really fast. In the absence of coffee we decided that our elixir of sobriety would be pizza and water and as such begin to shove these motherfuckers' faces with pizza.
Cue the vomiting.
It started off controlled. The Vulture went into the bathroom (still talking about his "candom") and started blowing chunks in the toilet, on his hands and somehow in his hair but we didn't give much of a shit about him. The Child was the priority. Frenchy and Samson released their inner motherly instincts like a lesbian couple caring for a baby and started feeding him all "open your mouth for the choo-choo" style. Unfortunately The Vulture started to feel neglected, as though not enough attention was being directed towards him and fell into the fire pit in response spraying coals all over the place like a fucking asshole. This was the only time in the entire Fiasco that Celien made any sort of noise and it was an evil, hearty laugh at the prospect of The Vulture catching fire.
Instead of the attention he had expected, we yelled at him and relegated him to what we dubbed The Couch of Drunken Shame with a box of pizza and the instruction "eat and think about what you've done". Instead, he vomited into the kitchen sink on my clean plates. He followed this by deciding "I won't let it drain, be responsible and pick up chunks. I'll do my utmost to fuck up Sanad's plumbing and flood the kitchen by turning on the sink". Fortunately I was nearby so I stopped the overflow and turned back into the living room just in time to see my Muslim grandother's living room turn into a scene from The Exorcist as The Child projectile vomited right on my floor. There was a garbage bin less than five centimetres to his left and the bathroom was about three steps to his right but he seemed determined to be an inbred slice of horse cock.
This was made significantly worse by the fact that Samson (who was standing right next to the child caring for him at the time) is a sympathy vomiter, so as soon as The Child sprayed his sick on my floor Samson felt his own personal tide rise quite suddenly. In a vain attempt to combat his suddenly dire situation, Samson ran into the kitchen for a breath of fresh air. He stood there for a moment, took a few breaths, and then turned to his right only to be greeted by my kitchen sink which happened to contain The Vulture's waterlogged, chunky, pizza puke. Samson vomited.
Thankfully (for us) backup arrived.
LSD and the friend managed to arrive at the absolute worst possible time. Samson was heaving into the bushes outside in the rain, The Child had his shoes swimming in a puddle of his own hurl, The Vulture was passed out on the Couch of Drunken Shame, Celien had retained her Gandhi-esque policy, Frenchy was being a mama bird to The Child, I was thoughtfully gazing at the slowly encroaching pool of chunky Vodka pizza vomit on my grandmother's floor that seemed magnetically
attracted to the carpet
and Ban was sitting alone crying her eyes out at the total fuckfest that had become her birthday. LSD is good to have in a panic situation because she's a total boss. She don't mess around; that's why she gave The Child a pep talk, and by pep talk I mean she went drill sergeant mode and attempted to yell him into shape (with some success). The Child then got off his recliner, walked for a few paces like a newborn deer, then fell virtually face first into his own gastrointestinal juices.
At around 9:30 PM just as The Child took his nosedive and was rolling around in his self made, all naturale, kiddie pool his parents called to inform us that they were outside. We cleaned him up a bit and sent him out, confident that we had done all we could. He believed that he could persuade his parents of his sobriety. He was wrong. 20 seconds later we heard very angry knocking. The Child's parents burst into the house like a SWAT team and basically told us that we were to blame for the fact that their son ruined my fucking carpet and that we did not care for him properly, first to us (including Samson who literally hugged him from behind while he took a piss to stop him from falling into the toilet); then to Ban specifically,purposely ignoring the fact that she was already crying at the time, and in that providing an A+ model on how to be the kind of person that everybody hates. This was followed by the dreaded "call to the parents".
From the moment of The Child's departure we had 20 minutes to clean up the vomit, dispose of contraband and make the farmhouse look and smell as presentable as possible for Ban's father. Over the course of the night I got very acquainted with the resident wet broom which I named Lloyda.
We hid all the contraband and cleaned up The Vulture's vomit before Lloyda and I got to The Child's. I touched it with the broom and it rippled. We had some crest, trough action with the vomit. Some Physics type standing wave bullshit. I'm not a sympathy vomiter but I very nearly retched right then and so took a break. It was during this break that The Vulture decided that the best way to make it up to Ban for ruining her only ever birthday was by offering to dance with her in the puddle of The Child's vomit.
You know when a naturally nice person has enough and flips. When someone has been considerate and nice for a freakishly long time and has been bottling up for a very long time until there's a teeny tiny trigger factor and BOOSH, you have your own personal Chernobyl. Ban is one of those people and this "apology" was our catalyst. I've never seen someone scream with that much furious force. It could be a fucking superpower. I have never since heard Ban screech at someone and I'm glad because that shit was scary.
Fortunately through the help of Lloyda and a heinous amount of Green Apple scented Vita floor cream I got the farmhouse looking presentable by the time Ban got picked up at around 10:00. The Vulture found this the best time to ask "hey, you guys going to the event because my parents can't see me like this." Soon, however, he discovered shame and called his parents. Samson and Frenchy couldn't wait until everyone left so they could hitch a ride with me so they called an Uber. The Uber got freakishly lost, got stuck in the muddy dirt roads of the area and ran out of gasoline, forcing me to send the farmhand and my ride to go out and help him thereby leaving us stranded. They wanted to leave before 12:00 as they still wanted to make it to the other event so they called another cab around 11:20. They ditched around 11:50, leaving me alone on a rainy night on December 31st in the Green Apple and Pizza Vomit scented farmhouse. At around 12:05 my ride arrived and I had a last quick sweep only to notice Ban's unopened and untouched chocolate birthday cake.
Happy Fucking New Years.
Epilogue:
Samson aged 40 years that night and complained forever more about irresponsible teenagers.
Frenchy got yelled at by her father for no obvious reason.
Ban got grounded.
The Vulture has been excommunicated
Celien embraced the Dark Side and significantly helped me illustrate this post
The Child puked in his parents' car (poetic justice) but otherwise got off the hook.
