Aside from Monica’s curves, the second reason I got wrecked before class was to bring out my inner philosopher.

After puking on his trapper keeper, the kid sitting in the desk next to me recoils and says, “Heeeey…” I couldn’t care less about his whiney remark. Being drunk rocks – especially being drunk in class.

Thank god my stomach’s stopped quivering. Otherwise it might be hard to force down another swig of brown-bagged Smirnoff raspberry vodka.

“What smells like cherries?” asks Monica from the desk behind me and Puked-On-Trapper-Keeper-Weirdo. Oh Monica. I jerk my sweaty head around so I can keep Monica’s body in sight for a moment. After all, she’s the reason I got drunk before Spanish class. Anybody who’s anybody knows your charm is quadrupled when drunk. After momentarily mouth breathing, what I try to say to her is, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken my dear. That pleasant aroma is raspberries, not cherries.” However, the only words that escape me are, “Why are you so fucking wobbly?” When I see her collecting her things, I figure it’s so she can move closer to me. I’ve wooed her.

What’s this? My object of desire is moving four desks away. “Forgive me if my behavior has offended you,” I try to say. Instead, I hear my true words, “Slag off you… you hooker! It’s noon somewhere. And wipe that stupid face off. Everyone pukes!”

Some of my spittle must have splashed Puked-On-Trapper-Keeper-Weirdo. Another long pull from brown-bag Smirnoff’s. Puked-On-Trapper-Keeper-Weirdo raises his hand and says, “Teacher. Tyler just threw-up on my stuff.” Four desks back, Monica crosses her arms and yells, “Quit looking at my chest, pervert!”

I hear the click-clack of the professor’s heels as she approaches. “Call me professor or by first name, not teacher.” The professor scans my desk and sees my hand clutching the brown bag. “Wh-… what’s going on here?” she asks in an accusatory tone.

“Tyler vomited on my class supplies. My pencil box, my trapper keeper, all of it! It- It’s all ruined!” says Puked-On-Trapper-Keeper-Weirdo.

“Take it easy Melvin,” replies the professor, “Tyler are you feeling alrig-…”The professor stops and sniffs the air around me. Quickly putting a hand over her mouth, the professor says, “My god. Would you like to explain yourself?”

Aside from Monica’s curves, the second reason I got wrecked before class was to bring out my inner philosopher. This is my chance to prove to the class that my inebriated state puts me a minimum 15 IQ points ahead of them. Sober drones. My moment of brilliance begins to shine, “Class!” I proclaim with a hiccup and finger pointing in the air, “If you were up to a wall with a handle… uh… There’s no way around. Getting all this? No way around,” an airy burp passes, “the finer delictitudes that expunge a flattener.”

Four seats back, my unattainable beauty, Monica, goes Benedict Arnold on me. “Professor! Tyler’s drunk and he’s making me feel uncomfortable.” Before I can throw my quarter-full plastic bottle at the wench’s face, the professor snatches it out of my hand and inspects it. She shakes her head and leans in close to me and whispers, “Tyler, feel lucky that I don’t suggest you be removed from this university. Leave my class and think about the decision you made today. Do you want college to be one long pathetic bender, or a learning experience?”

A minimum15 IQ points. Lighten up minx. Alcohol improves my judgment. Like that night my girlfriend tried to dump me and I screamed at her until she was scared to leave me. Brilliant.

Obviously, the only reason my wet-whistled class excursion came undone is because I’m not drunk enough. I’ll show them. I explode out my desk, lunging for my brown-bag of Smirnoff’s and scream, “GIMMETHEBOTTLE!”

The professor casually sidesteps my attack causing me to crash into Puked-On-Trapper-Keeper-Weirdo’s desk. Now I lay in my puddle of half-digested Spaghetti O's. I get up, slipping a little, and waddle out the classroom like a wet noodle. Halfway down the hallway I scream at the open door of the class that exiled me, “You’re not drunk enough!”

> Comments