There she was.

Even while I was completely drunk out of my mind, I could still see her standing in the middle of the backyard, her face illuminated by the tiki torches. My God, she was cute. That little vixen. I had to have her.

I stumbled down the stairs, suave as a special olympian, and slowly made my way up to her.

"Heyou." I slurred.

Her grin gave it away. She wanted me in the worst way.

"What?" She raised her arms. "You wanna go?"

I couldn't believe this was happening.

"I dunno. I don't think you can take me."

God this was cheesy.

"Let's go, bitch."

Not one to back down from a challenge, I set down my beer and began to play the biggest game of grabass ever: wrestling.

You see folks, wrestling with women is different than wrestling with men. You're supposed to go easy on a girl. Let her think she has you for a bit, then reverse it. Of course, I was too drunk to understand that. Instead, I went and tackled her.

"OWWWW!! What the hell is wrong with you!?" She cried.
"Oh shit. Are you ok?"
"I landed on my head, asshole!"
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!"

Yep. I'm not getting laid tonight. She scrambled up and walked away. Suddenly, a voice came from behind me.

"I wanna wrestle Matt!"

The most disturbing thing about this voice was that it was not female. It was Don.

And we wrestled. I fought valiently, but I'm pretty sure I lost. I was just saturated with beer. Once Don walked away, another came in. It was his brother Dave ready to kick my ass. Once again, I tapped out. Those crazy Jiujitsu kids. High school wrestling doesn't hold a candle to that art.

Or maybe I'm just a pussy. Shit, that would suck.

Suddenly, George came in. I had to redeem myself. I could see that the lumbering animal probably didn't even know where he was. Poor guy. Surely if you get an off-duty cop drunk enough, even a scrawny piece of shit like me could seem like a worthy adversary, right?

I ripped my shirt off, emptied my pockets, and removed my glasses. We circled each other like a couple of dogs. I immediately regretted my decision. This guy had a pretty good stance. I tried to put him in a front headlock. Not happening. I then went for the takedown. I soon found his arms wrapped around my throat. Tap.

Round 1: George

This was embarrasing. I needed a rematch. We stood up again. This time, I put up a better fight. I tackled and ended up on top. Shit, he was too big. He flipped me right the fuck over, and we rolled around for a bit. Tiki torches were dropping everywhere, threatening to light the grass on fire. Suddenly, arms were wrapped around my throat again, and I tapped.

Round 2: George

I was pissed. I had to win at least one.

"Ok, big guy. Last round." I threatened.

He was out of breath. That was a good sign for me. We circled each other. I went for the tackle, and his arms were squeezed around my waist. Shit. We rolled, flipped, and danced around struggling to get the submission hold. His arms were just locked around my waist. To my surprise, I felt my legs leave the ground, and my body was hoisted into the air.

Was my nose bleeding?

Oh shit, I hope he sets me down gently.

*THUD* All went dark.

Round 3: George


I woke up about ten seconds later with some very concerned partiers, and George standing over me slapping my face like a maniac.

"OHGODIMSOSORRY!! GETUPFORTHELOVEOFGODPLEASEMATT!!" He was hysterical.
"Don't worry guys, I'm ok." I stood up.

People were silent as I made my way into the house and into the bathroom.

"Matt, are you alright?" Somebody asked.
"Yea, I've been through worse. I just need to clean up the blood."

Hmmm. I chipped two of my teeth. That blows. The blood was slowing down anyways. That meant I could drink some more. George lumbered in with a jello shot. He was laughing.

"Dude, you fucked me up!" He said.

I stared at him blankly.

"You're kidding, right?"
"I can't breathe right now!"
"Uhm..... dude, you knocked me unconscious. You win."


And with that, I went off and drowned the pain in my neck away with beer and passed out.


Nothing says good partying like waking up in the morning with the unmistakable taste of dirt, blood, and vomit in your mouth. Morning breath like that peels the paint off walls.