Who says you have to remember Memorial Day?

By   |  June 17, 2008

Memorial Day is a U.S federal holiday observed on the last Monday of May to commemorate the men and women who perished while in service to our great country. The young citizens of Newport Beach, California not only commemorate this holy day, but they celebrate it in their own particular brand of crazy. The average citizen who visits the Peninsula on this day, must not only fight for parking like America fights the drug war, but must also prepare oneself to enter a new world.

Board shorts must be worn. Beer must be served in barrels. Dead animal flesh must be present in copious amounts. Most importantly, your lexicon must adapt to the environment. If you are not familiar with proper usage of “Bro”, “Pong”, “Douchebag”, and “Faggot”, you will be ostracized and publicly beaten.

As my friends and I do reside in this unique environ, we decided to partake in the festivities. We knew the rules of the game: If there isn’t enough dead meat on your premises to feed Somalia, then you hate America. If you don’t have barrels of drivel swill beer, you don’t support the troops. If anything but board shorts are worn, you will be made to feel like a sissy man.

America has roughly 1/15 the population of the rest of the world, while we consume 1/3 of the meat; this is one of those days the really puts us on the map. Let’s just say my breakfast consisted of a bowl of sausage bits in barbeque sauce… I tried to parallel the milk and cereal approach to starting the morning right.

So it began… alcohol was flowing like the glacial ice caps, various parts of dead animals were sizzling, female morals were dropping as fast as male standards, and ping pong balls were soaring through the sky like a fireworks salute. We were truly “bro-ing” out…

This, my friends, is where my personal adventure begins. Our premises are packed with individuals celebrating AMERICA amidst the male and female social interactions. The women are waiting to make a decision that they will claim to regret, while the men are trying to get lucky enough to have something to brag about.

I, your humble narrator, set to work… all the elements were in place and I was feeling rather alpha male with my new board shorts. Like all dominant males, I demonstrated my value by drinking a lot of beer in a short amount of time. There is a direct correlation of “awesomness” with how much and how fast you can imbibe cheap beer. I came out victorious and surveyed for female suitors. The search is simple… I am looking for a nice girl with questionable morals at best and wretched at worst. With the type of crowds I attract, this shouldn’t be too difficult.

I set my eye on one little tasty morsel… her eyes scream that she has daddy issues and probably has a chemical addiction of some sort… perfect. I grunt and utter, “I want to use your cleavage as a cup holder”. Per usual, I am surprised by what it takes these days…

“I’m Taryn. It’s your house right? Oh my god… you have to play a round of pong with me!”

“You know, there is a table in my room that you can practice playing with my balls on.”

At times, basic physiological needs trump the sexual desires. In this case, the 2 gallons of beer I imbibed earlier was processed, filtered, and ready to be excreted.

I step outside into what can only be described as Spartan chants for glory.

“Pub Crawl! We are going on a Pub Crawl.”

Definition: The act of people drinking in multiple bars in a single evening, normally walking to each one between drinking.

See Also: Liver’s worst nightmare. Gaps in memory. Lost articles of clothing. Foreign bruises. Questionable decisions.

At this stage of my drinking career I knew what was in store. Rudy’s, Malarky’s, Cassidy’s… Vodka, Tequilla, and Whiskey, respectively. Approximately 30 minutes later, I come to and realize I am shoving my face with pizza. Someone must have mislead me to believe that my jaw de-hinges to fit this much food… melted cheese burns my nose as scorching sauce burns my face. I realize that getting food into my digestive tract is more crucial than dignity at this moment.

Flash to stumbling down Newport Blvd…. Flash to throwing sandals on roofs… Flash to attempted pick-up lines: “I want to schmear peanut butter between your butt cheeks!”

See Also: Newport Beach Municipal Code 10.58.030… Threat to public peace, health, safety, or general welfare.

“Officer, can I offer you a hot dog? We don’t have buns, but we have great wieners.”

My last clear memory.

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2 Comments on “Who says you have to remember Memorial Day?”  (RSS)

  1. i think you fantasized this all up cause you ain’t got no skills in college parties and your lame ass fantasy parties suck. as for this line _____> I want to schmear peanut butter between your butt cheeks!”
    did all your college cronies engage in sexual acts upon your butt cheeks you flaming Romo/ homo sa pian i think after all is said and done your a flaming homo with board shorts who likes to have his butt cheeks glazed with peanut butter and jism juice………..now explain that to your Mommy & Daddy and lil sissy too.
    they will be proud of there peNut butter boy and his swollen azz cheeeks :)

  2. this is terrible writing and useless information, kindly take the time to find another hobby of interest cause this one isn’t working for you.

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