The House Party of the Decade, Part One or A Near-Death Accident Won't Stop Teenage Morons from Drinking Themselves Blind.

EvilMister has many, many stories to tell. Some will fall into the general category of "Lemme Tell Ya About The Time ...." and some will get, depending on their length, their very own Category. The House Party is one of them, because it lasted for two goddamned weeks, and had as many mini-dramas as a very special episode of Teen Drunks.

The first installment is more of a prelude to the actual events, because it happened the very night before the party began, and is also a story of EvilMister Cheats Death (I have avoided death a number of times, in highly improbable manners. It'd take a Cray to figure out the odds on the actual factual.)

Back in the day, there were four of us. There was Spike, a dood so out of tune with the fashions that he had a spikey mullet and a leather fanny pack for the longest time. He was our driver, and also the source of our home for the party. There was Wog, and the only way to describe him is as a good natured hippy. He lived in the Coquitlam version of the Projects, and had a Mad Scientist for a brother. There was Supertall, who was also a hippy, but more of the speedmetal kind, and had a brother in the Army. I was calling myself Jester at the time on account of the fact that, when drunk or stoned, I was the funniest motherfucker you could ever hope to find; also, if you were stoned and I wasn't, I'd seriously fuck with your mind and you'd wind up the emergency ward for hysterics.

As I said, Spike was throwing the party 'cuz his parents were going to bugger off to California for two weeks, with the usual parental admonition to not throw a party. Shyeah, right. Dumbasses.

Spike's ride was some kind of hatchback dealie. All four of us were in the car, along with ReddyEddy, a hapless chub we let hang out with us because we were nice guys and always needed a laugh. Being teenagers and convinced of our relative immortality, and because the regular car seats were full, I was laying in the hatchback. It was not a big car, but I was a big kid. We were all pretty hammered, as expected, and listening really loudly to bad music.

Ironically, Bon Jovi's 'Livin' on a Prayer' was playing on the radio. I think it was z95 or some shit like that; we were waiting for the regular crap music to stop so they'd put on the DJ's with some mad house mixes, yo.

It was also raining. We were speeding. We took a corner funny. The corner we took led on to a bridge that crossed over top of a train track. In the middle of the bridge is a meridian, which we hit at sixty miles an hour. Spike is a good driver, even when drunk, and he kept the crapcar from bouncing over it and taking off into the night. Then he kept us from swerving right through the railing. Then we hit the meridian again, and this time, the car FLIPPED OVER.

Remember: I was in the hatchback of this motherfucking Tonka toy. And I tell you now, I swear on all that is important, the car rotated around me.

I know how it sounds. I know the physics of it. I was a big fat kid crammed into a little tight space listening to Bon Jovi rockit on the radio on my back, but when that fucking car flipped over, I was spatially in the same position: my back was now against the window of the hatchback. I was compltely and entirely unhurt in any way, shape, or form. This was my second clue that EvilMister cannot be killed.

We were all of us trapped on the middle of the bridge. Spike managed to get out all fine and dandy, Supertall felt the need to try and punch his way out the window and fractured a few fingers. Wog, being a nimble and flexible little hippy, managed to get out fine and dandy, with ReddyEddy hot on his heels, a la fat kid on a Smartie.

Shock being shock, it took me a good several seconds of yelling my ass off before anyone remembered that there was still a chub in the car, and goddamnit, was that a fucking train motoring down below us? We had avoided the kind of vehicular accident that should only happen in the Southern states by a few feet. Supertall remedied my incarceration by popping the control on the hatchback.

You know in the Flintstones when Fred goes rolling across the floor? It's not an episode specific thing 'cuz he does it so often, but you know what I mean, right? Assholes and elbows spinning through the air?

I did it for real. The moment the hatch popped, all my weight, gravity, and a thoroughly pissed off Avatar For The Proper Functioning Of The Universe had me skittering across the pavement like a Weeble Wobble. (Weebles Wobble but they don't fall down!)

The cops came, statements were made, parents were called, dire warnings and threats were issued. We made peace and said thanks to the Party Gods when Spike's parents, against all common sense and direct contravention of immediate evidence against our intelligence, announced that they were still going to California.

And for the next two weeks minus one day (I had, by that time, developed a low grade fever and had, I'm sure, a blood/alcohol level of near lethal proportions) I was drunk out of my skull.

Episode Two highlights will include but are not limited to:

1. Drinking does make ugly people pretty
2. A good reason not to wear a sheepskin rug
3. Harmless breaking and entering with intent to eat pepperoni

Oh, EvilMister, you're so silly, with your drinking and reckless foolishness!