In November 2019, my friend concocted a schedule for a weekend of indecency that would take us from Winstar Casino in southern Oklahoma all the way up to Norman to watch the TCU versus OU football game. With forty- seven dollars to my name, I was on the fence, but upon the knowledge that there was a truck already full of booze and a few bags that were significant of private venmo transactions, I was swayed to partake in the journey.
After a quick road trip that consisted of Chief Keef and many tall boys of twisted tea, we dragged all the paraphernalia we had into our third floor room, being incredibly careful that the front desk wouldn’t figure out we had five people staying in a two person reservation. And then amongst showers(together of course) we started actually drinking. For about an hour as we tried to get as fucked up as possible to save money on buying drinks, and our room was reminiscent of something you would see in Behind The Music: Mötley Cruë. Just as we were getting ready to get on the hotel shuttle, I felt a sharp pain stabbing me in the side. I knew instantly that I either had appendicitis or that this was going to be some vigorous adderall induced diarrhea. I told the guys I’d meet them there in a half an hour, and unfortunately, it was not appendicitis.
After taking enough tums that I knew I wouldn’t shit maybe ever again, I got inside the mind of a Greg Jennings and hopped on that shuttle after getting my asshole destroyed worse than Riley Reid with mascara down her face. I met my friends on the roulette table, and I’ve never been a gambler, so I got a Jack and Coke and sat there with my hands in my pants. It’s not that I’m morally opposed to gambling, I’m just poor, so I struck up a conversation with the guy next to me to make the time pass by. Lucky enough, he had to take care of his too-drunk-girlfriend and left me with his last $10 chip. I threw it on twenty-black much to the dismay of my friends, and it fucking hit. My first time ever placing an actual bet and I got paid out $260 of $10 that wasn’t even fucking mine. I cashed out almost all of my money, bought two packs of cigarettes, and we hit a restaurant.
The restaurant was owned by Toby Keith, and the food was actually pretty good. The guy sitting at the table next to us, probably in his later fifties, was surrounded by what had to be four prostitutes. He linked eyes with my friend Thomas and came over to our table, gifted us two shots of tequila each and told us we reminded him of his younger years. This guy had to be fucking loaded, as he told us that he would be flying a private plane that night at around 2 am. I called cap immediately, no fucking way your good to fly a plane right now dude, I shit you not he hit me back with, been flying planes for over twenty years son, aint no such thing as a sky DUI. The conversations continued to roll, and the shots kept comin. He found out a little bit about all of us and upon seeing a picture of my friends girlfriend at the time pronounced to the whole table, yeah she’s a good one, I’d fuck her. I’d definately fuck her.
As the night rolled on, a cigarette never left my lips. I was smoking like an ex-heroin addict from Florida, and I loved every second of it. I couldn’t tell you why, but for whatever reason I was with two of my friends in the food court an hour and a half later, and some other guy comes over to us asking if we were looking for internships or drugs. That was the first time anyone had ever heard those two words in the same sentence, so we told him he had some explaining to do. I’m pretty hazy from all the drinking, but he kept rambling and at one point mentioned that he had just gotten out of a seven year stint in jail. This caught my curiosity and I asked him what I feel like any normal person would’ve asked, oh shit, what for? His face turned incredibly serious, the fuck you just ask me? I didn’t take the hint, you know…like what for? Like seven years is a long time an…he cut me off, don’t you ever fucking ask that, if you ask someone that where I just was you get fucking shanked. Understand, SHANKED. My friends, being the cunts that they are, filled the silence with, I mean I just don’t know why you would ask that. It’s common knowledge that that’s an inappropriate question to ask. It was clear that the discourse between our two parties was coming to an end, but we got his card and a $2 Xanax pill, not because any of us were gonna take it, but for the morbid curiosity of seeing something that was so hilariously laced with fentanyl.
If anyone in the Dallas area is looking for an internship during these difficult times, I know a standup guy who’ll take care of you.
You know the gut feeling when it’s time to get the fuck out of somewhere, yeah, safe to say I knew it was time to leave the casino. When we got back to the hotel, we totally forgot that we’d have to fit five guys in two twin beds, and that just wasn’t gonna fucking happen. I called the front desk, making up an intricate lie that one of my friends sister just had a miscarriage and we desperately needed to give him his own space. Oh okay, well that’s fine it’s like 1 AM and nobody sleeps on the smoking floor much anyway, I’ll give you guys another one of the same rooms for $11. The night ended with my friend Joe and I splitting a spliff on our hotel beds reflecting on the absurdity of the aforementioned interactions. And with $200 in my pocket and nine cigarettes left, we went to bed optimistic for the next day in Norman.
Day 2:There is absolutely nothing better than waking up in what I like to call, “bonus land.” Bonus Land is the period of time you wake up from a night of drinking and you would still blow a .06, but your a functioning adult. I wish I could live my life in bonus land because the reason it’s such a beautiful concept is that if you’re on a bender you have about an hour and a half to decide whether or not you’re going to keep drinking or eat a brutal hangover. Many call it “hair of the dog” which I guess is cool, but I like to think it’s waking up with the gift of being where you were after four beers the afternoon before. Nevertheless, I crushed some shower beers, shaved, and we hit the road.
We stopped in the middle of buttfuck Oklahoma to eat some burritos and drink some margaritas and it was soooo fucking gas. There’s something so special about being inappropriately drunk in a sober world at noon, and while we were fully confident that the other guests in this family owned establishment loved us, they most definitely did not. We got into Norman at around one thirty with no fucking plan of anything other than our friend Ryan was staying with his boys from high school and had gotten there days ago. I would be remiss if I didn’t show some love to OU Kappa Sig because those motherfuckers let us into their house(which is so nice I still have wet dreams about it), gave us a bunch of free booze and food, and completely supported our antics. You could tell this was the clean cut fraternity on campus. The place where all the pretty girls were taking pictures with the fratpup and old alums went to shake hands with future interns. And while that’s all gravy, we were clearly pretty out of place.
We wanted to stop by the Sigma Chi house just to see what it was like there, and it was clearly more our scene. Kids were just ripping dabs in broad daylight and pledges were nearing the end of setting up for their tailgate. Whereas when I told a kid from Kappa Sig I missed the toilet seat on purpose just like TCU was gonna piss on their college playoff chances and he laughed, these kids were…well…normal. Eventually after getting to know them they were okay with us staying for their tailgate, and I got a taste of how inbred Oklahoma really was. I was talking with this girl who introduced me to her mom after maybe three minutes, the Mom proceeded to tell me that her husband was in Sigma Chi in their college days and that she hadn’t missed a tailgate in THIRTY FUCKING YEARS. Then beside her was the girl’s brother, I daped him up and jokingly said to the Mom that maybe I’d sneak her twelve year old son a beer, you know, typical cheesy white people humor shit. The mom said, “oh don’t worry he’s already had three” and then proceeded to give the kid another one. What theeeee fuck bro.
At kickoff we Ubered to their bar strip, where we saw a pledge from our chapter and waited in line for a fucking hour to get into their “best bar.” I swear to god, this kid (sup Weston you pussy bitch😩❤️) chickened out when we were finally at the front of the line and ran faster than Devin Hester returning a punt return in his prime. He wasn’t wrong though, we all got rejected because Norman bars fucking suck and in Fort Worth all you need is a piece of paper machete that says “21.”
The game was getting really close, and we went back to the Kappa Sig house where I was hit with the pain I knew too well. Fucking A diarrhea. I sprinted to the bathroom and as soon as my ass starting spraying down like a white kid with mental health issues, three girls also entered the bathroom. “Oh my god it smells so bad here”. FUUUUUUCK MEEEEE. As agile as I could I put a cap on my asshole and lifted my legs so they didn’t think anyone was in there. And for fifteen minutes while they peed and talked about how good Justin looked that day, I waited while my insides were screaming for help.
After that experience, it was time to return to Sigma Chi where we watched TCU lose yet another close game. They started doing fight night, and about a hundred guys and girls gathered around a circle and watched drunk people beat the piss out of each other. Eventually one of the guys pulled us aside and said, “yo you guys are planning on sleeping here right?” “Well yeah, we only got one car and the driver is passed out after getting way too high.” They then told us that in order to sleep there one of us had to fight for the final, prime-time fight. TCU vs OU. I immediately looked at the most athletic kid we had and he said he’d do it.
When the time came to fight, he pussied out. Pressure was mounting and they made the announcement that the fight was starting. I came to the realization that I couldn’t possibly after treated my body any worse this weekend…so why the fuck not. The fight went seven rounds, he had a clear height advantage but my trainer(Tommy off a bean) started giving me all kinds of different strategies. We went seven rounds, I landed more punches, he landed harder ones. And just when I was going to forfeit at the end of round seven, I saw a look in his eyes that told me he didn’t wanna fucking do this anymore either and it was getting weird. We tapped the gloves and called it a tie, then had a beer or three before going to bed.
