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--Dan Schaefer's first night of drinking and the food he wished he hadn't ate:--So as I try to think of a good memoir to write about, the first thing that comes to my mind is most definately
mini hot dogs.
The night of the mini hot dogs began December 31st, my junior year of high school. I was excited, ignorant
inexperienced, and unprepared for what this New Year's celebration would entail. Dan, Mike, and I headed
down to Brooklyn Park to spend the night at his brothers, with plans to drink and party our eyes out. That is
of course exactly what we did. Shots were unheard and unseen before this night, as Dan and I pounded down double after double shot of
Rum, and if I remember correctly... we drank about 3/4's the bottle in less than two hours. Fully cocked
we attempted to play Halo and some other card games, kings corner, go fish, etc. There was also the pleasure of
Erich Schwartz at this get together and I very vividly remember him headbutting me like eight or nine times
throughout the nite. Each time he cocked his head back, and lunged at me, I would fall to the ground like a dead bird, and the concrete basement
was definately not forgiving.
As the night dwindled away, the new year came and passed pretty much without our knowledge, I remember some old
dude playing the piano on channel 11, and that the ball drop was no where to be found on TV come 12:00 CST. My eyes began to feel
heavy and I soon was lieing there on the couch like a sack of worthlessness. All the while I had ceased drinking,
mister schaefer had continued on with his alcoholic indulgence disregarding all future possibilities of feeling
not-so-hot. Bathroom breaks were taken by trotting shoeless through the snow, into the marsh
behind the house, and often unknowingly standing in my own urine. Tasty.
I woke up to the sound of yelling and disorder along with the heavenly sight of brown liquid coated whole and
half pieced mini hot dogs coming out of Dan's mouth. Hunched over and out of commission, Mike and Schwartz hustled Schaef's
puke stained shirt and pants off. In boxers, with harsh winter conditions, they tossed him outside onto the icy padio.
Still half cocked, I remember laughing at him sit in a pile of his own puke and for a second, I felt bad for the guy, right up
until the second the foul mini hot dog stench entered my nostrils. I remember looking at those whole and half hot dogs
thinking,"good god, this kid doesn't even chew his food". Anyway, the night continued on and schaef ended up sleeping in his
puke soaked blankets. The morning was harder than ever, trying to stomach some toast and eggs was
never more difficult.
The ride home was going alright for me and I was just trying to keep my stomach calm however, with Erich Schwartz behind the wheel
this can be a more difficult task than expected. As we pulled up to the cul-de-sac to drop off a friend, Erich felt compelled to floor the
GMC, and whip us around in shitty like fashion. After this, I franticaly asked him to stop the car immediately when actually, I should have said nothing and blown chunks in his car.
I shoulda said nothing and puked all over his dash and carpet. As quick as we could stop, I jumped out, threw myself at the nearest snowbank. Halfway through this
brutal/memorable experience I managed to glance up at the house in front of me. I saw a child starting out the bay window and he was glaring at me while
I yacked all over his front lawn. As soon as I saw the father approach the window, he closed the curtains and I smiled
. Moral of the story, avoid barbeque mini hot dogs, at all costs, or just chew your food.
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