The Manhole & The Vietnam Vet in the Club

I am like a fucking human smuggler when it comes to getting alcohol inside a concert. Seriously, it doesnt matter how big the bottle is, I can either fit it into my pants or shirt. A flask is the preferable size of course, because depending on how tight my jeans are, it usually fits right in front if you know what i'm sayin! However, I often resort to the flask taped to the leg measure, if the situation calls for it.

We all decided we didn't want to pay ridiculous amounts for drinks inside the Boil (or the Crawfish Boil, as we Birminghamians so lovingly refer to it), so we made a stop at the liqour store. I went in. I had been pregaming...pretty hard. My mission was to get a bottle of vodka. I got a bottle of .. clear stuff. I remember looking at it, and saying, Yep, this looks like vodka. Lets roll.

I get in the car. The plan was to take shots on the way there and pour the rest in a flask. I had gotten Gin on accident (hey.. both clear). This should have been an omen that everything was going to go wrong that night, but we manned up and consumed it anyway. It is FUCKING DISGUSTING to shoot gin. If you asked me to shoot a whole bottle in under ten minutes with three other people today, I would laugh in your face. But we did it. And we were HOUSED. For the reason, I can't tell you anything significant happened, because most of the time, we were propped up against each other drooling and yelling what sounded like Korean.

DF's military boyfriend was the worst of us all and we decided he had.to.go. We're walking along the streets of Birmingham to the car. I have a video camera. There is a guy walking in front of us, who, I thought, was worse off. Later, as in, seconds later, I would find out this was not the case. I am taping him, not watching my feet, because I am looking through the viewfinder.

Me: Look at that drunk bastard!

The camera pans to blackness. All you can hear, if you watch the tape today, are voices. Voices that sound a lot like voices laughing. Why? Because the camera has fallen into a manhole. So have I. I fell in tit-deep to this manhole (where was the fucking cover!) with one leg up, cheerleader style. I am not fucking limber. People are stopping. It takes 5 guys to hoist me from this manhole. Meanwhile, i'm losing blood at an alarming rate.

I'm yelling, "Moving along, people! Nothing to see here, you fucking fucks!"

Incredibly, we make it back to the car. I'm sure it was a sight to see. I'm hobbling along leaving a trail of blood like a fucking goonie from the Hills Have Eyes. It's awesome.

We get DFs BF back to the hotel. We wait until he is passed out to leave. For some reason, we thought a commando style crawl, on our elbows and knees, was the only way to escape the hotel room. Looking back, we could have just, i dont know, walked out... but, I digress.

So we're all three drunkenly crawling towards the door, once we reach the threshold, we actually roll out of it, Mission Impossible style. They have rolled into my blood. We are now all three bloody. It doesn't stop us.

(You didn't think we cut into our party time by showering, did you?)

An old couple is walking towards their room. The lady sees me and backs against her husband, mouth agape.
I do a loud screech and skip kind of thing in her direction. We continue walking. There is a good possibility that the lady shit in her linen pants.

We make it to Tiki Bobs. We went there so often, we knew the owner, never paid for a drink, and never waited in line. We pulled the car up to the curb and got out. The owner is standing outside surveying the crowd when he sees us.

Owner: OH MY SHIT! What happened to you girls?
me: We got mugged, man.

I had deduced that instead of owning up to being owned by a fucking manhole, I would go the "hero" route.
The owner stares in stunned silence.
me: Yeah, I dove on top of them when we got shot at, hence, the leg wound.

He doesnt suggest a hospital, which was probably a good idea. Instead, he says, "Come on in, I'll fix you right up." He hands me a plethera of pills and tapes my leg up. But not with first aid supplies, mind you. He makes some gauze out of some prison ply toilet paper and tapes it on with BLUE PAINTERS TAPE. The wound goes from my calf to the top of my leg. I am wearing a mini skirt. Dried blood is all over me, DF, and Firecrotch. I look down at my battle dressing. "Yes, this will do."

I walk out into the crowd. Here are a few things I heard.

"She got bit by a fucking lion or something!"
"I heard she saved her friends lives!"
"Did she get off the plane from Vietnam and come straight here, or what?"

None of this bothers me. I am a drunk, high, hot-mess and I want to get more of that, immediately. The pills he gave me are making me feel all warm and lovey. A guy starts dancing with me. He is oblivious to my wound, I came to find out, but I thought he was just being nice. He's cute. We decide to leave together.

Once we are back at his house, we are both passing out while making out. We decide to go to sleep. (by "decide" I mean, we both passed out simultaneously)

When I wake up in the morning, I feel a warm sensation on my leg. "Oh fuck," I think. "We have a cuddler." As i'm pondering how to get out of this situation without having to chew my arm off, I look down. It is not a cuddler. It's this guys huge bull mastiff dog. Licking my wound!

The toilet paper has disintegrated into these little blood balls, all over his nice, soft, white sheets. There is a ball of blue tape with dried blood on it. I try to manuever my stiff leg away from the dog. He growls and sinks his teeth in a little.

SHIT.
This dog is all about my wound. He is eating that shit out. Do I let the dog keep licking it? What if dude wakes up, and thinks I like it? I figure my only option is to wake him up.

me: Hey. Dude. Wake up. Your dog...

him: himmm (he starts poking me with the ever familar morning boner)

me: GET.YOUR.DOG.OFF.MY.LEG.

him: What's Lucky doing to your le-----

I watch his face register the carnage. The bloody toilet paper balls. The blue tape. The dog, straight up fellating my leg.

him: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED????? DID MY DOG DO THAT?

He looks terrified. I realize he probably didnt even notice my battle wound last night. I decide to fuck with him.

me: We got mugged.

him: Who?? WE DID?? As in you & me? WHEN?!?!?!

He is checking his wallet now. Pockets, etc.

me: Yep. I dove on top of you when they started shooting at us. That's why my leg is so fucked up.

Needless to say, we do not get it on. He takes me to my house. We sit in awkward silence for a minute.

Him: So, um. Thanks for saving my life.
Me: Anytime. Anytime, really.

I'm a hero.