The Dookie Massacre

It was summer, 2005ish. Everything was set. We had the keg, the beer bong clean and ready. Cigarettes were bought, and the liquor was on its way, mostly gin, because that’s what college kids drink: gin. This was going to be the best random summer college house party of all time. And, also, the random summer college house party that was going to see me become a full, entire, man. I was freshly 21 years old and still a virgin. I was fine with it really. It was not the biggest deal to me. I hooked up with plenty of girls, just never went all the way. I was more curious than frustrated. It was like my roommates and all my friends were eating this really delicious pie, but I was not eating the pie. It was right in front of all of us, everybody eating the pie, and I’m just sitting there, not eating the pie. I like pie. There was no reason for me not to eat the pie, so I said to myself, “Well, I think I’m going to have some pie now.”

So I set it up. I had been working an angle with my roommate’s co-worker at the pizza joint they worked at for the past few weeks. We flirted, lots of smiling going on; there was real chemistry between us. She would give me free beer. I would hangout by the register, and we would talk about easily agreeable subjects. It was preposterous. But it was totally on.

I texted her to make sure she was still coming. She said, “Most definitely,” followed by “I’m bringing a handle of vodka.” Awesome. All I had to do was show up, act semi cool, and not black out. This was it; I was going to get laid. Now, can I bare my soul to you all for a second? I feel like I need to explain that I was not really that attracted to this girl. I just noticed she was into me, and I felt like I had a pretty decent shot at finally loosing my virginity, so I took it. Man alive! That sounds awful saying in writing, but it is absolutely true. That is exactly what I was thinking. That’s just the way things are, I’m sorry. Sorry, not sorry. I’m not sorry.

Mid-party. Things are going swimmingly. I have a good buzz going. She is very talkative. I was totally killing it. I’m smoking cigarettes, telling jokes. We bond over how much we both love Outkast and how nobody really raps quite like the Andre, because, you know, we totally knew who could and couldn’t rap. We just knew. Then something very important happened. I said something witty and charming and she laughed, and mid laugh, she reached out and touched my arm. Ding. For those of you who don’t quite understand what I am inferring, this means she had decided that she was going to sleep with me, no doubt.

We get deeper into the night, and I am very relaxed knowing that I’m going to hit an exciting milestone in my life in a matter of hours. What I did not notice was my special lady friend continually making her way to the kitchen to take vodka and lemon lime lacquer shots, by her self. There is no telling how many she took, 8, 9. That’s just a guess. She took a lot. Then she started taking beer bongs. I know for a fact she took it least two. She was a beast, and that’s when things starting turning for this young lady.

It’s like 2:30am in the morning now, and most everybody had gone home. Those left were standing around the kitchen, winding down, getting ready to call it a night, everyone but her, that is. She slams another shot and can barely stand up now, and my heart begins to sink a little, as I realize she has gotten too drunk. But before I can really even begin to feel bad for my situation, she begins to speak. She professes her undying love for MY ROOMATE, her co-worker! She looks at me and says, “I’m sorry.” There was a stunned silence for about five seconds, and then we all busted out laughing. She was mortified, obviously, and ran to the bathroom and locked the door.

Now, at this point, I’m already over it, honestly. My roommate was and is a dreamboat, and an overall awesome dude, so I could not be mad at him about it, and I really wasn’t into the chick anyways. So we crack another beer and laugh about what just happened a little more, kind of feeling bad for the girl, but not really. We say bye to the rest of our friends, and then my roommates and I go check on this poor girl who has been locked in our bathroom for a good thirty minutes now. We knock on the door, ask if she needs water, and don’t hear a response. Great, she has passed out in our bathroom with the door locked. And then she erupts. We hear her begin to vomit, pretty violently, which goes on for about five minutes, which then turns into moaning and self-loathing.

Ten or so minutes later, she still will not answer our offers of assistance, and then we hear her begin to say some very unsettling words. “Oh my God,”, “that’s so disgusting,”, “it’s everywhere!”, and “how did this happen?” And then we smelled it, and it was bad. Her moaning and drunk slurring turned into panic and disorientation. It sounded like a war zone, the toilet lid being slammed, water running, toiletries being knocked off shelves, and it was at this time that we all got a little scared. She will not talk to us. We don’t know if she was hurt or just really sick, but it was pretty apparent that it was not good, and more than likely, poop was involved in some form or fashion.

The door handle finally begins to move, and she starts to open the door. The three of us don’t know what to do, so we hide behind the couch. Now, what I am about to tell you is shocking, and pretty disgusting, just so you know. Home girl waddles out of the bathroom with a bath mat wrapped around her waist and bee-lines it for my bedroom. She stumbles around for a minute than comes roaring down the hallway like a drunken monster wearing my GOOD pair of basketball shorts, and she runs out the door to her car and drives off. We come out of hiding and slowly creep over to what was our bathroom, and what we saw was like nothing you could possibly image.  

It was literally everywhere, and when I say it, I mean poop. She pooped her pants. Right in front of the toilet was a massive pile of shit on the ground, and her poopie-panties and skirt lying next to the dinosaur portion of poop. It gets worse. She took all of our WHITE towels out of the closet and tried to wipe up the poop, but because she was so sloppy drunk, she just ended up smearing it all over the place. It was on the walls. Poop handprints on the shower curtain, poop in the sink, all over the counter; it was even on my roommate’s girlfriend’s curling iron. How do you get poop on a curling iron? It was a dookie massacre. I think it’s safe to say the moral of this story is…pooping all over someone’s bathroom is not cool, and really gross. And maybe there is a tinge of I-totally-had-this-coming-due-to-my-objectification-of-this-young-woman-to-satisfy-my-bodily-wants-and-desires. I don’t know.