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It was the final week of the fall semester and my chapter was looking to throw one last big party before winter break. Naturally, the theme was Ugly Christmas Sweater, because we weren’t big on the creative side and the exec board and I had already purchased some horrendous duds down at the thrift store. This place was known for servicing huge numbers of geriatrics that lived in a sprawling retirement home down the street, and I had somehow nailed a sweet onesie pajama set festooned with little cats riding on top of candy canes. The metaphor of little pussies riding a pointed, phallic object could not have been made clearer, particularly as tiny stars were shooting out of the cats’ eyes like some feline orgasm explosion. Needless to say, that onesie returned huge on the investment, especially at the bars later, but that’s another story for another time.
We wanted to make our final get-together of the semester an actual event, so we pulled out all the stops on alcohol, even making some room in the budget for a few decorations. But we really wanted something that would tie the whole party together, some object that would serve as a centerpiece for our depraved shenanigans. We realized that the thing we were searching for was a booze luge. An ice sculpture would fit nicely with the wintry theme we had already contacted, it would give an air of class to the whole event, and it even serves alcohol to the hordes of thirsty girls we were anticipating coming. Plus, there’s nothing more ‘gramable than a well-lit booze luge for the girls to gather around.
We went to our treasurer for an emergency request of more funds to get this booze luge made and delivered to the party later in the week. With an exasperated sigh, he informed us that we had in fact already blown through whatever funds we had left for the alcohol, and literally had nothing remaining in the bank. Not even our slush fund was operable, and he felt disinclined to open up any reserves. Dejected, we decided that some of us could just pool our cash and hope (in a laughably futile way) that the chapter could pay us back next semester when we collected dues again. So we called the only catering service around town and asked for an order. This turned out to be a sad waste of time because there was apparently no way it could be delivered by the deadline.
Getting drunk back at the house in a sad respite from our failed efforts. We had to accept that this party was going to go sans ice-sculpture, without any delicious grain alcohol being poured down a carefully crafted track to land squarely in the mouth of a waiting girl, anticipating the stream of chilled liquor while waiting on her knees in eager expectation. The more we drank, however, the more reasonable it seemed that we could just make our own. After all, it’s just ice. We had a big freezer, and we were sure we could scare up some drinkable water from somewhere in the house. None of us had any sculpting experience, but that didn’t matter when you could just watch some tutorial videos on the internet. So we got the biggest single container we could find, jammed a corner under the sink, and let the water run.
Wedging it in the freezer, we balanced one end under some steaks to make an angle and let it freeze. Pulling it out, we immediately knew that already an error had been committed. Though we had achieved our desired slope down the hill, so to speak, one of the steaks had shifted and the top of luge had a slope as well. One corner was now significantly higher than the other, which we assumed might just make for some increased fluid dynamics. Going with it, we began to hack into the ice block with hammers and screwdrivers, trying to crack out two nice tracks for a little dueling aspect. Chipping into the ice, our workmanship was pretty hit-or-miss. Sometimes, only little flakes would pop off. Other times, huge sections of the ice would explode out, creating huge holes and plunges along the track.
After some deliberation, we decided to smooth things out and continue with hot water. This took forever, pouring cup after cup of boiling water down these two tracks like a river slowly eroding into a hard rock face. The resulting booze luge was horrendous. Our “tracks” were just squiggles shooting down the ice block, with crazily differential flows due to the imbalanced slopes. The hot water treatment made the tracks end in a wide delta on the ice edge, with the effect that the liquid didn’t shoot off into the air so much as spread out and drip down. In order to take a shot, you had to open your mouth and suck on the edge like you were trying to give your middle school date a hickey. This was made especially awkward because we placed the ends of the tracks much too near each other, making two faces way too close for comfort when you’re trying to suck a shot of whiskey off a huge block of ice. For all intents and purposes, we had failed miserably.
Regardless, we put it up at the party since we had stupidly told people that there would be one, despite the fact that we hadn’t actually acquired it yet. We ordered a pledge to control the flow and dispense the shots, a task that they took up with surprising glee. At first, nobody touched it. Shockingly, though, as the girls got drunker and the night proceeded to wear on, there started to actually be small stream of people lining up for a race on the booze luge. I can confidently say that no male used it, given the facial proximity, but some girls were down to get on their knees and take a pull or three. We actually felt a little proud of ourselves. We had made something, crafted a thing with our bare hands, and it was getting girls drunk. We all gave ourselves a small pat on the back, and went back to party. Success achieved.
That is, until a few days had passed. We started to receive a rash of texts from girls we had invited to the party all complaining of some sickness. It became pretty clear, pretty fast that the booze luge was to blame. Given the slurping required to suck up a shot, using our homemade luge was the equivalent of making out with every single girl there at once. Inevitably, some chick had come with mouth herpes, used the booze luge, and gave her disease to every other girl there. It was then we vowed to never again try any sort of arts and crafts project. It only ended in misery, the product of the worst booze luge ever made..