West Virginia: Wild and Wonderful

April 20, 2011
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Friday, 9/22

There are no such things as happy endings. Sorry but there aren’t. Happy endings are about as real as those Disney princess movies that feature them. Before you try and tell me that they actually exist let me ask you something. Have you ever had an awesome day and you wanted it to never end? Of course you have. Because once the good times are done you aren’t happy are you? But there is that saying “all good things must come to an end.” So in essence there can be no happy endings because no matter how happy you are beforehand, once it ends you aren’t happy anymore. Sorry Disney. Go screw yourself.

Continuing on the subject of good things and good times, you know that saying that says “too much of a good thing.” Well I am sure that there are some things where that applies but there is one good thing that you can never get too much of. Alcohol. I know what you’re thinking, what about the hangover you get the next morning or all the stupid things you do and can’t remember the next day? Well, I am not talking about drinking alcohol. Now this is specifically targeted towards you guys out there. Next time you go to a bar, don’t buy yourself drinks, although that is a good thing. Do the best thing, be a gentleman. Buy the ladies drinks. And keep buying them. Because you can never buy a girl too many drinks. And once you buy her enough drinks all sorts of possibilities open up for even more good things and you know what I mean.

Now guys, remember before you try to be a chivalrous gentleman, make sure you make a gentleman’s paycheck or at least have a gracious gentleman for a daddy to loan you money for your good deeds, otherwise you will be stuck being chivalrous to smelly ladies in line in front of you at the nearest soup kitchen.
That’s all for today. And remember, remain happy, remain healthy, and most of all, remain partying as hard and long as possible.

This is Party Man Max signing off.

As a side note: West Virginia is about as wild as it gets but not so wonderful. I am posting this from a holding cell in some hick town outside of Morgantown. These stupid West Virginia cops didn’t even take my phone off me before they put me in here. Comments?

I sighed as I set my iPhone down beside me. I wish I could’ve written down about my latest experiences and exploits at last night’s party but unfortunately here I was. In a holding cell at the local police station. I started as the grubby-handed guard reached through the bars for my phone on the bench beside me.

“Ya finished there, hotsheeeot?” the guard, who I think was named Carl or something, drawled at me.

“Actually I had to do one more thing for my…”

I started to stammer but was cut off Carl slamming my phone in its own cell, the drawer of his desk that was so old I wouldn’t be surprised if his “PawPaw” was born on it. This was West Virginia after all.

I was thoroughly enjoying my weekend in Morgantown. West Virginia University was great. The girls were pretty, the parties were excellent, and the beer was plentiful. I had only been partying for about an hour and I had already drunk more than I could handle, and I can handle a lot. The next thing I know I find myself on a couch with three gorgeous young women. Oh yeah, now it’s a party! The girls got closer when somebody starts yelling and screaming (I guess down here they call it “hootin and hollerin”) and the girls just scattered. I started looking around to see where they went but couldn’t see them anywhere. Next thing I knew, the couch was on fire.

After that everything pretty much went nuts. I must’ve jumped five feet off the couch and bolted out of the room. Unfortunately, I lost my precious in the process. Now this might sound a bit creepy but I get Gollum-like when it comes to my iPhone. That thing is like my baby, my soulmate of all soulmates. I’d probably die without it. So I began to run all over the room looking for my phone. Then some idiot kicked it down the stairs and it got lost in the crowd of drinking maniacs, some slouched on couches, passed out and drooling. Others were waiting in line to puke in the bathroom but you could tell they really weren’t waiting due to the mess on the floor. One genius thought it was a great idea to puke in the 40-gallon fish tank randomly sitting in the middle of the room (I think when I came in earlier it was against the wall and actually had water and fish in it).

As I finally picked up my phone, suddenly sirens blared. The neighbors must’ve called the cops. The house became surrounded by West Virginia’s Finest (the State Police). The once chaotic house was now extremely chaotic. People were jumping out windows, dashing into the basement, or just running around in circles tripping over other people already sprawled out on the floor. I bolted for the door and burst through it and then the burning couch fell from the sky! Burning fabric, stuffing, couch pieces and whatever else is in a couch smashed all over the lawn and the grass began to blacken everywhere as the flames spread. I dashed to my left and snowplowed over an officer. Great, now I’ve done it. After that everything was a blur of blue and red lights, endless questions and then blackness cause I passed out somewhere along the way and woke up in this cold cell, with bars on the door and in between my cell and the cell next to mine, where there’s a big pile of dirty laundry that smells like…well let’s just say it’s bad. And the place is just cramped and moldy and there’s a radio playing hick music in the corner. Not exactly Funville, USA.

I glared at Carl for a long time after that and I must’ve dozed off when HOLY …..!!!!! A greasy hand grabbed my shoulder and I caught a much better whiff of the odor from the next cell. It smelled like stale beer, rotting garbage and fermenting body odor. Apparently that pile of clothes in the next cell was not just a pile of clothes.

“Hey buddy…..,” the creep wheezed,

I jumped off the cot I was sitting on and whirled around to face him. His eyes looked like a Christmas decoration with bright green irises surrounded by a mess of red blood vessels. His hair was black and short and seemed to be arguing with itself about which way to stand on his head. You could sand a table with his stubble and his clothes and hands had enough soil for a gardening show.

“Now look, Walter,” Carl said, “Ya scared tha kid.”

But I don’t think Walter heard him cause right about then he passed out, falling over like Rocky Balboa had just clocked him one.

“Don’t mind Walter, he checks himself in here every time he gets too drunk.”

Just when things couldn’t get any worse, they did anyway, just to spite me. A deputy named John-Boy (yes that was his real name) walked in leading a scrawny girl, stringy blonde hair flying everywhere, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt that was about three sizes too big (although she was so skinny I don’t know if they make clothes small enough to fit her, especially not in this state).

“Got this one for heroin, Carl,” said John-Boy, pushing her forward.

“Eh, stick er in with tha kid, I don’t need her botherin Walter no how.”

Seeing the look of horror on my face, Carl added with a smile, “Don’t worry now son, she won’t bite.”

She looked at me and gave me a toothy grin, at least it would have been toothy if she had any teeth. I guess she really couldn’t bite me, even if she wanted to. They locked her in the cell and I grimaced as she turned towards me.

“Hi, my name’s Perdita, but most boys call me Perdy,” she said winking, “Get it, ‘purty?’”

Then she almost died laughing and I kinda wished she had. As she cackled my head sank into my hands. Suddenly she stopped and stared intently at my shirt. When I looked up she was right in my face.

“That color looks really good on you.”

I was about to look up to the heavens and scream “Why me?!” when the door opened and in walked my lawyer brother-in-law Craig, who’s a lawyer in Pittsburgh. I was saved! For once in my life I was glad to be related to a lawyer. Craig just looked at me and shook his head.

“You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you?”

“It isn’t my…” I started to stammer but his hand silenced me.
“Let me handle this.”

I watched him take Carl aside and discuss my release. I cringed against the rough, cold, stone wall as my cell mate inched closer to me. Craig and Carl finally walked over and Craig sighed and grabbed my shoulder as I was released. He took me aside.

“Peggy’s back in the hospital. We saw your blog and I made a bunch of calls to find out where you were. Next time you could call us when you need help.”

I looked up at him. He was a big, intimidating man and I was glad he was at least sorta on my side in this, at least for now. Carl walked up and I stuck out my hand for my phone.

“Now wait just a minute sonny. Siddown!” he barked.

I sat in the rickety old chair and he sat down on the baby-birthing desk in front of me.

“Now I don’t know what you’ve been writin in that there blog of yers but I’m gonna tell ya this. These are good people around here and that there school up in the Morgantown is the finest there is.”

“Marshall’s better,” interrupted John-Boy, leaning on the wall.

“Now John-Boy don’t get me started on you and yer Blunderin Herd!” Carl shouted. “Now where was I? Oh yeah the people. Great people. Now I don’t know ‘em but yer sister and her husband there seem to be mighty fine people too. Now if she’s sickly and yer causin’ her grief boy, well then you better straighten up or may the good Lord have mercy on yer soul.”

I looked up at his rough, worn out face and I saw not anger but pity.

“Now you give people a chance and giver yerself a chance and maybe one day you’ll turn out alright.”

I nodded and he handed me my phone. As Craig and I walked out Carl called out, “Remember what I sed now, ya hear!?” and then proceeded to berate John-Boy, something about “keeping his school opinions to hisself.” As the cool night air hit my face I thought of my sister and wondered if she was ok or not.

I have a lot of fond memories growing up with my sister in New York City. Our dad is a big corporate executive there, and his life revolves around money. Money was his standard for success and he held me to it a lot more than my sister, since I was his “heir” as he liked to call me. However, since I had not met graduated from an Ivy League school (I got kicked out of Yale for partying too hard) and I didn’t have an internship at a Fortune 500 company, my dad considered me a failure and hardly talked to me anymore.

Besides my sister, the closest person to me was my mom. She was always there for me when I needed help and was having a hard time at school and she always told me how proud she was of me, something I have yet to hear my dad say. But when I was eight years old, mom got sick with some type of cancer. Every day after school I would visit her and over the course of the next year I watched gradually deteriorate until she died on my ninth birthday.

After that, my sister became like a mom to me and that is why we are so close. She practically raised me from that point on and kept encouraging me to do my best be successful at what I wanted to do. By the time my high school graduation came around I still had not found out what that was yet, but as I looked at my sister’s encouraging smile in the crowd I felt assurance that I could figure it out. I looked to m dad sitting next to her but he wasn’t there. I found out later that “business came up” and that he was “really sorry.”

When my sister got sick I realized that I was losing the only close family member I had left, and if she died I would be alone to face my dad and the failure he saw me to be. I just couldn’t take it. I guess I began to party harder and more, began traveling around the country writing this blog about the best party schools in the country, because I am afraid. I am afraid of losing my sister, I am afraid of my dad, and I am afraid of failing. So the parties became my escape. It was the only way I had found to continue “Winning!” in the words of Charlie Sheen. My dad always had the idea that money bought happiness. Well it doesn’t. And it didn’t save my mom and it isn’t saving my sister either. All of the money that my dad poured into their treatments just went to a doctor’s paycheck and ended up buying a Mercedes.

I told my dad that once. “Money doesn’t buy you happiness, it can only buy me more beer.”

“Is beer what makes you happy, son?” he asked.

“No but it’s the closest I’ll ever get.”

Suddenly my phone had a seizure. I looked down and saw my alarm. I was late for my appointment in Athens, Ohio, the site of my next “business trip.” I turned to Craig.

“Dude thanks a lot but I am late for an appointment so I got to go bye.”

Before he could respond I ran off into the night. I felt guilty but I knew Craig would have only insisted that I see my sister, and I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t even recognize her anymore. She was no longer my gorgeous sister with long brown hair but a bald skeleton straight out of the Holocaust. I couldn’t see her like that and besides, my parents were probably there and I definitely did not want to see them. I looked down at my phone and reread my blog. Then I commented:

Correction: There can be such thing as a happy ending when life sucks and everything is going bad but then the bad times end and THEN you are happy. But that doesn’t look like it is gonna happen anytime soon.

I slipped my precious back into my pocket. Now if I could just find my van…

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