By popular request

The night began with a bit of zombie porn (Well, it was Saturday, so of course it didn't begin that way.) The movie turned out to be rather disapointing. The original "money shot" of a zombie woman biting off her partners cock and than covering herself with blood was nice, and the death metal soundtrack couldn't help but be amusing. Other than that though, it was just a normal, cheap, degrading porno. It featured mostly anal, anal to oral, more anal to oral, and some more anal. There is nothing in the zombie canon that says they are more inclined toward buttsex than the general population. Pornography is supposed to make me feel smarter and more ironic than other people. Why should zombie porn make everyone feel like a bunch of sick losers?

Her name was???... Mary Drunkenhonky Mc'Jew. Even if I could remember her actual name, I wouldn't actually know who she was. She could have been a figmant of everyone's imagination. I think I may have saw her at tag, or not. It doesn't matter. I don't think I'll see her again.

i didn't drink that much myself, four beers over four hours, just enough to be in the flow of the party. Somebody treated me to a bit of nutmeg however, so the combination left me quite faded by the end of the night. Besides Allan "Zombie Porn"s' girlfriend, she was the only female who stayed all night and was, of course, the center of everyone's attention.

She was a red-headed Jewish girl from Gulfport Mississippi, why not? She came to Nebraska as a Katrina refugee, or so she claimed, why not? She seemed cool enough, friendly, flirtatious, witty. I don't know what she was drinking besides a lot; likely random free shots of this and that. She seemed a bit too clean to be homeless or to come from a drug addled home. On second thought, no, not in the least.

The vomiting began at two o'clock and lasted for an hour. Our host went to bed. Just turned 21 recently, and was the first asleep, weird motherfucker. The girl was immensely fortunate that she found herself in our company. If this was a few years back she could have ended up at Richie Incognito's house and gotten fucking killed. But none of us would do such a thing. What? and face the subtle, condesending disapproval of Jeff Hall? We of the tag, like our Samarian forefathers, hold the protection of guests to be sacred. Our only instinct was to help the girl.

I was the oldest one, and I had a car. Furthermore, my need to take a piss had interuppted what'shername's bable therapy on the bathroom floor. Any permanent solution would have to involve me, but I was faded. I had planned on walking home through tweakerville and coming back for my car in the morning. But Mary had to get back to wherever she was going. Enter Dillion, another tagger. He had always struck me as a goofy lad, but he earned my respect that night. He was sober, you see. Why he had chosen to hang out with a room full of mentally disturbed wannabe artists without drinking with them, never mind. He offered to drive my car to the dorms to drop off the Katrina baby and someone else. The drive had it's ups and downs. The girl didn't puke on the floor. (Which, let's be honest, wouldn't have made much of a difference) But unfortunatly, Dillion didn't seem to know a thing about the university parking system. I had to explain the meaning of red lots and parking meters to him as we wondered through downtown like a bunch of (think of analogy) drunk drivers. We eventually found a spot near Abel, and after opening the door like a gentleman, I allowed Dillion and JJ? to lead the girl past "security" to her temperery sleeping quarters.
I walked directly in front of a campus cop as I cut through a red lot, spare beer in my pocket. He said nothing and made no gestures. If they put parking services in charge of general law enforcement on weekend nights the county jail would be filled. I couldn't help but think that I'm to old for this shit.