I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell (16 page)

After a round or two, they agree to come with us to get some food at Kerbey Lane, a late night diner. As we walk to the car, we see about a dozen cops, some of them on horseback, chasing after some random drunk guy, beating him senseless with batons and what not. I laugh at this scene. The girls gasp in horror. Sling Blade offers to help the police beat him. What does PWJ do? He runs after the cops yelling-and I am quoting him VERBATIM: "I'M A LAWYER, AND I SWEAR TO GOD THAT I WILL FILE A SECTION 1983 SUIT VINDICATING THE 4TH AMENDMENT RIGHTS OF THAT MAN!!!"

Yeah, my friend is a closet dork. Except without the closet. It ended up working out well, because I convinced the girls that PWJ was a big time criminal defense lawyer, and we had gone to law school with him. I save my friends more than Goose Gossage. Anyway, we get into the car, and on the way to Kerbey Lane I look in the rear view mirror and see PWJ doing his best to eat the face of the fat girl. Then I make the unfortunate mistake of looking down, and I see his hand in her crotch. When I say "in her crotch" I mean it. I couldn't see anything below the elbow. It was almost enough to make me lose

my appetite
.

In spite of that scene, I am still starving when we get to the restaurant
.
I know the hot one is going to fuck me, so I want to hurry up and eat s
o
I can get this pony in his stable. I take the hot girl by the hand an
d
kinda pull her towards the entrance as I power walk there. She has he
r
head turned and is yelling something back to one of her friends behin
d
us as I walk by a light post, hear a dull thud, then a scream, "OW! M
Y
FACE!
"

I turn to see the hot girl crumpled in a ball on the ground, holding he
r
face and moaning in agony. I accidentally walked her face-first righ
t
into a light pole. As her friends ran up to see if she was OK, I just stoo
d
there, watching my best shot of the night evaporate, said, "Well,
I
guess I'm not getting laid," and walked into the restaurant
.
I hope my daughters date guys like me
.

After this, of course I'm the bad guy. All the girls at the table are scowlin
g
at me. SlingBlade is not happy either; apparently the girl he wa
s
assigned has had sex with another guy at some point in her life, so h
e
thinks she is a shameless prostitute. He has issues with women. PW
J
is drunker than all of us and happier than a pig in shit. I glance a
t
Sling Blade. He and I have been picking up women together so lon
g
that we don't even have to speak-he has found these girls to b
e
wholly worthless and wants to leave now without even acknowledgin
g
them. I do too, but I have to make sure my other friend is taken care of
,
Tucker "PWJ, I'm going to piss, you want to come with me?
"
PWJ "No dude, I'm fine.
"
I kick him several times very hard and in rapid succession until he get
s
the picture. Once in the bathroom, I lay it out for him
,
Tucker "Dude, SlingBlade and I are leaving. You want to come with u
s
or you want to fuck the girl you're with?
"
PWJ "I don't know man; she's kinda fat. What do you think I should do?
"
PWJ is so drunk his eyes are crossed and he is swaying in his place
.
Whatever I tell him to do, he'll do ... so of course I throw him unde
r
the bus. Literally
:

Tucker "Dude-You should TOTALLY go home with her. She's not tha
t
fat. She has huge tits. Shit-I'd fuck her.
"
PWJ "Yeah, she does have big tits, doesn't she? I love big tits. OK
,
OK, I'm going with her. Thanks man ... you're a good friend.
"
We go back out to the table, I sit down for about 30 seconds, catc
h
Sling Blade's eye, and we both simultaneously rise and head for th
e

door. The hot girl says, "Where are you two going." I call back to her, "The bathroom," to which she yells out, as we leave the restaurant, "The bathroom is the opposite direction!" I hadn't realized how supremely shit-housed I was until we stumbled into our room at the Embassy Suites. You ever been so drunk you forgot that you have to shit until the last minute? Well I was at that stage. I nearly had my pants completely off when Sling Blade snaked past me and got into the toilet first. Fine, I go get out of my bar clothes and change into a t-shirt and pink Gap boxers to sleep in. I wait patiently for about three minutes, then I start pounding on the door, screaming at him that I am going to shit on his bed if he doesn't get out of there.

A short time later he opens the door laughing his ass off, and says, "That was perhaps the most prodigious shit ever. I just put that toilet into therapy."

I take a gander into the bathroom. It looks like Revelations. The toilet is overflowing, brown shit water is spilling out all over the bathroom floor, and the tank is making demonic gurgling noises. THE MOTHERFUCKER CLOGGED UP A HOTEL TOILET! Hotel toilets are industrial size; they are designed to be able to accommodate repeated elephant-sized dumps, and their ram-jet engine flushes generate enough force to suck down a human infant, yet skinny-ass, 165-pound Sling Blade completely killed ours. I nearly panic. I let loose a flurry of unintelligible curse words at SlingBlade, punctuated by a "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!," and knock over the lamp in my dash out of the room. The turtle is sticking his head out, and he is coming whether I am on a toilet or not. I figure that there must be a bathroom somewhere in the lobby, so I shoot down the hall and hop in the elevator. Once in the lobby I can't seem to spot a bathroom anywhere. So, I head around the corner to the front desk, which doesn't face the lobby. It's about 4am, and no one is at the desk. I furiously hit the bell for at least a minute-CLANG CLANG - CLANG -CLANG - CLANG - CLANG - CLANG until some poor lady comes out with sleep lines all over her face and tells me that the bathroom is in the corner of the lobby. It is hard to describe, so let me give you an aerial picture of what the lobby looks like:

I turn the corner from the front desk into the lobby and realize I don'
t
know which side of the triangular lobby she is talking about. I don'
t
have time to go back and ask her, and I see a white door at the end o
f
the left-hand side, so I quickly waddle towards it. Why am I waddling
?
Because I have to physically hold my butt cheeks together to preven
t
myself from crapping all over my pink Gap boxers. I am literally pressin
g
my ass cheeks together with my hands. One of the prouder moment
s
of my life
.

I nearly bust the door off its hinges as I plow through it. I hear a loud
,
"AYYYY!!," that almost literally scares the shit out of me. I jump back t
o
see that this is a janitor's closet, complete with a small Mexican lad
y
janitor. I momentarily contemplate taking a dump in the janitor'
s
bucket, but decide against that, mainly because of the presence o
f
said female janitor
.

I try to be as diplomatic as possible, considering that I am about t
o
crap my pants
:
Tucker "WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?
"
Janitor "No, no hablo Ingles.
"
Tucker "WHAT?!? Huh, uh ... DONDE ESTA FUCKING BANO?
"
Janitor "AYA, AYA!
"

She points across the lobby. About 60 yards from where I am standing
,
at the complete other end of the lobby, there is a set of doors that hav
e
a large "Restroom" sign over them. Right where the front desk lad
y
said it would be, except on the opposite side of the lobby
.

I have about half a second to make a crucial decision: I can eithe
r
sprint and hope I make it there before I shit in my boxers, or I can stic
k
my thumb up into my ass and shuffle the 60 yards to lavatory freedom
.
The decision is simple: I break into a full-on sprint
.

I played football, baseball and basketball in high school, and I stay i
n
good shape. I have run from cops before, I have run from guard dogs
,
from a legitimate drive-by shooting once while in Kentucky, but I don'
t
think I have ever run that fast in my life. Nothing motivates like th
e
prospect of being covered in human excrement
.
Unfortunately, I was not fast enough. It went something like this
:

• 20 yards into the run I feel my boxers start to sag.
  
• 30 yards into the run, about halfway, I feel my ass crack and legs get noticeably wet.
  
• 40 yards into the run, my boxers have slid down to mid thigh. I am struggling to keep it together.
  
• 50 yards into the run, I can feel wetness all over me and little specs of something hitting the back of my head and ears. By the time I get to the bathroom door, the end of the 60 yards, I have completely lost it. I am shitting myself. Full on crapping in my pink Gap boxers.
  

I crash through the door as I step out of my boxers, shit already puddled in the seat. I blindly hurl them away from me, and nearly break the door to the first stall. I plop down on the seat and immediately slip off, because my ass is covered in slimy, runny feces. All the while, my butt hole is spouting forth waste. I finally get situated on the toilet and lose perhaps 20 pounds in the next 2 minutes.

During a short respite in my nearly superhuman flow of crap, I notice that the toilet is almost completely full of shit, so I flush. Predictably, the toilet overflows. Great. I move to the next stall, and continue my little adventure, except this time I courtesy flush every few seconds. By the time I finish, I am physically exhausted, completely dehydrated, and my eyes are tearing up from shitting so hard. I laugh at the inadequacy of toilet paper to clean my body. I take my shirt off and see that the back of it is completely covered in little specks of shit that my heels kicked up from the diarrhea that ran down my legs as I ran. I throw the shirt in the trash, and then see the mirror. A thick black streak leads from the top of the mirror down to my pink Gap boxers, which are crumpled in a ball on the sink countertop. This is their final resting place. Completely naked and covered in my own poop, I chuckle. At this

point if I don't laugh I have to cry. As I open the bathroom door to th
e
lobby, I think to myself, "Who else on earth could be having a wors
e
night than me?
"

My question is immediately answered
.
I see a trail of shit, starting very wide at my feet, getting progressivel
y
smaller until it apexes at the chunky white shoes of none other tha
n
the small Mexican lady janitor. Her eyes met mine. We may have bee
n
separated by numerous religious, linguistic, cultural and socioeconomi
c
barriers, but the expression on her face crosses all boundaries
.

Now really-picture this scene: I am butt-ass naked, crap plastered al
l
over my ass, legs, back and head, standing about 20 yards away fro
m
a Mexican maid, with a trail of black liquid shit leading from her directl
y
to me. What would you do? I don't think there is any established etiquett
e
for this situation
.