We got some absinthe shipped to us from Europe. I should have known something was up because it came in a two-liter bottle of Fanta, which isn’t how it was portrayed on eBay. The six (I think it was six, it might have been 12, or maybe it just looked that way in the rear-view mirror) of us got in a car and drove to see a cockfight in West Virginia, all of us thinking that cockfighting was legal in there. It wasn’t, so we went to a bar, drank our absinthe, and bitched about our predicament to some locals. They sympathized with us, and one managed to steal two chickens and tie bowie knives to their feet. The chickens couldn’t really move, so David went in there and threw the chickens at one another.

I should have mentioned this before, but David had been strung out on meth and Special K for four straight days, and had also smoked about an ounce of hash on the ride over. Anyways, David managed to stab himself. At this point, I’m told I proclaimed my dominance as the alpha male. I mistook Paul for a pile of firewood and proceeded to light him on fire. Apparently, he was quite flammable, having just chosen to bathe himself in rum. Derek had already died at this point, having consumed a fifth of Tanqueray by himself.

It turns out that my absinthe fueled initial estimates were way off, and there had only ever been four of us, and three were now dead. By then I was too busy having sex with the hot stripper to care. Or at least I thought she was a hot stripper, until I woke up and found out that it was actually my mother. She had followed us down, hoping to prevent us from driving home drunk, but then proceeded to get trashed herself. In a fit of Oedipal passion, I jumped out of the back seat and stabbed myself with one of the chickens, infecting myself with an as yet unknown strain of avian flu.

The next day, I had to pack my bags and head back to Wesleyan for this semester. When I got to my new room, I realized I had forgotten my favorite generic brand of toothpaste, which you can only buy in the South. Now I have to brush my teeth with crappy Tom’s of Maine until Thanksgiving. Forgetting that toothpaste was the biggest mistake of my life.