And with our arrival we began to forcibly apply alcohol into our bloodstreams. Our stock of liquor was plentiful, supplied by existing supplies and the arrival of friends numbers three through five. There was a simple test to see if anyone should stop drinking: if someone could walk fifteen feet to the kitchen, pour, and return, then nobody stopped drinking. I had a high mobility rate and was responsible for the majority of drinks fetched. This being my duty, I was also able to clearly recall the exact quantity of intoxicants consumed by all party members until my departure from consciousness. Our supplies consisted of one fifth of: Rumpleminz, Stoli Vodka, Captain Morgans Rum, Beefeater Gin, 3/8th of a gallon of Gordons Vodka, a lonely case of beer, and some wine that wandered in on it's own. All of it was gone come the morning, and I can personally account for 3/4th of the rumplemintz and half of the Vodka.

As the evening followed its downward course, my sense of reality became distorted and blurred. I began to see things as though real-life were filled with terminator 2 "MORPHING" effects. By the time the home's owner had escaped the minor emergency at work, I was happily watching the coffee table. This was only interrupted trips to gain more drink, trips to gain bladder relief, trips outdoors to gain stomach content relief, or just to tell someone how fucked up I was. I had lengthy theological conversations about the underlying meaning of the movie " I spit on your grave". And apparently got the live-in girl friend worked into a sexual frenzy. It was fun, but I was tired and went to sleep sitting on the couch as the thought passed through my mind.