“Where’s the party at?” asks an older, well to-do gentleman buying a $25 bottle of wine at MGA liquor.

“Care to help us out?” I probably look pretty annoyed right about then. Kegs are heavy buddy, lend a hand.

He politely declines. You see, he was wearing a new shirt. Ass.

I don’t really know Lulu too well. At all, actually. But when I see her, I think Jessika. Does that ever happen to you? You meet someone and you automatically think of someone else. I suppose that’s how Lulu knew me. Word around town is that she isn’t very well versed in the language of the party, so when she would finally throw one, it had to be right. That involved a keg. The one in the back of Paul’s car, en route to her house. Two hours too late.

The party itself would be more accurately described as a get-together, a kickback, a meeting of unlike minded people. One where my cousin and I were the oldest attendees, which is a testiment to the ages of those surrounding us. These kids didn’t understand the concept of beerpong, let alone the complexities of a jello shot. The morning after could have been taken directly out of some highschool movie.

Girl throws party. Girls father comes home early next morning. We must sneak out by hopping backyard fence. We then sneak in to reclaim keg. All without laying eyes on father, and vice versa.

After napping, my cousin and I realize we still have half a keg to consume. But after five straight days of alcohol consumption [spring break], the idea of more was nauseating. We had quite a dilemma on our hands. Drink the rest of the keg, which would involve enlisting the help of numerous others. Or return it, half-full - and be stricken with shame for the rest of our lives, then be punished in hell. And so the calls began.

Soon enough, a stark realization set in. We were actively trying to get rid of a keg. That in and of itself did not sit well. But after our extensive alcoholathon, we were desperate. In my own deleriousness, I named our keg - Bender. He seemed to sit there, mocking us for our inability to party. At one point I heard “Kiss my shiny metal ass!” That was it, we needed drinkers, and fast.

After an hour of texting and making calls, we napped. The bait had been set, and we waited. Sure enough, Anthony & Co. were glad to help, they just needed to time to assemble the troops. I awoke to dinner and the invitation to help conquer Bender. But I couldn’t, and went home in shame. Even after a day of rest, there was no way my liver could withstand more. So I stayed home, on a friday night, during Spring Break. Bender haunts my dreams to this day, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. With that, I leave you with one question.

Who the fuck buys wine at a liquor store?