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"Remember that night we died?" {aka} "Why we hate franks and beer."

Once upon a time {or at somepoint in the last five years}, in a far away land {or Boston}…

Two young ladies, one with hair of fire, the other dark as mud, decided to go to a baseball game. These fine young women had no commitments. No children biting at their ankles, no mates to keep them in check…their only obligation was to the Big Green Monster.

The thick, warm, summer air sparked a thirst in both their mouths.  As luck would have it, the baseball park was full of libations of which to quench this thirst.  Neither were strangers to fine barley and hops. Cold, watery, Bud Light…well now, that my friends is where the story begins…

One beer turned to five, five turned to ten, and before the two young fillies could say “frank-footer” they were shoveling long phallic beef into their mouths…one after another after another.

The game was charged with excitement {as most Boston sports events are}.  Records may have even been set…but neither young women could tell you what happened… after the third inning.

Later that night…

After the last base was stolen, the last pitch was thrown, the two drunken, full bellied, ladies made their way to the streets {Commonwealth Avenue}.  These two ladies were in luck! For that evening, a young, naive, friend had lent them her car…and her apartment.

The street was long, their bladders were full.  The brown haired one turned to see, the drunken red head crouched on a stoop, a trail of yellow liquid streaming below her.  “You can’t go there!” she said. But it was too late…the deed was done.

The walk to the car, seemed to span the length of time these two super fans spent waiting for their beloved baseball team to reverse “The Curse”. Eventually they made it.

Neither thinking twice about each others ability to drive, the red head took the wheel, sliding the car out of it’s spot, but not before hitting it ever so slightly into a wall.

After a good laugh, they made their way to the apartment.  More beers were had, possibly some more food, until finally they both fell into a slumber.

Even later that night…

This peace lasted not long.

In any way a body can dispose of waste, these bodies did.

{Lesson learned:  cheap beer, franks, and sausage from a cart will never stay down too long.}

As the ladies pulled their heads and asses out of the toilet,  they realized they would be apologizing not only for a damaged car, but badly damaged toilet.

Years later…

Like most nights you barely remember, this one is looked back upon fondly.

From time to time, when they need a laugh, one girl turns to the other to say: “Hey, remember that time we died? That was AWESOME.”

15 responses to “"Remember that night we died?" {aka} "Why we hate franks and beer."”

  1. Kail Kail says:

    Awesome piece! As a former student in Boston, I admit to more than one drunken trek across the city after a night at Fenway…good times!

  2. Avatar emmy em says:

    "Like most nights you barely remember, this one is looked back upon fondly."
    Oh so true.

    • Avatar Rosie says:

      Luckily my memory was selective that evening…enabling me to eventually resume beer drinking…hotdogs? well I am still remembering them in ways that are quite painful…

  3. Avatar dimpind says:

    Many a night I have urinated upon a stoop on Comm ave… Kudos!
    Makes me want to get out there and get ridiculous!
    Awesome piece.

  4. papi papi says:

    was that the rangers game when big papi hit a walk off home run?the one i should have been at.

  5. Jason Jason says:

    I am thorougly enjoying all the hidden phrases that appear when one hovers over a hyperlink. A story within the story: quite nice.

  6. papi papi says:

    man i miss fenway

  7. Avatar Rosie says:

    Fenway {and others} miss you Papi…

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