Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time (3 page)

Chapter 5

Rock
the Mic

The limo reeked of stale whiskey farts and fried food as it
headed for the next stop. But the driver was forced to slam the brakes when a
large number of bike riders streamed out from a side street. The biking group
known as the “Happy Saturday Brigade” often snarled traffic and pissed off
motorists.

Blake rolled down his window. “Out of the way, losers!”

A few riders casually flipped him off but most simply told
him to have a happy Saturday.

“Society’s tampons,”
Cliff said while staring at the motley crowd. It was an odd group, highlighted
by buzz-cut lesbians in fishnets and a leather-clad gimp cruising by on
custom-built Big Wheels, sparklers blazing. Even stranger, Santa Claus passed
by on a monstrous ten-foot tall bike.

“That’s not something you see every day,” Jim said as a few
more freaks pedaled past.

“Never been to Gay Mike’s neighborhood?” Left-Nut said and
Mike answered with a healthy punch to the arm.

Blake opened an imported beer and walked towards the front
of the limo. “Jugdish, step on it.”

“What do you want me to do?” the driver said with an accent
even thicker than Vidu’s.

“Inch forward. They’ll move.”

The driver relented and slowly took his foot off the brakes.
He got a third of the way through the mess before an onslaught of angry
cyclists made him stop.

Smokey started up a chant and everyone joined in. “Go! Go!
Go!”

The limo surged forward and narrowly avoided several riders,
but the back end had almost cleared the crosswalk and soon enough they’d be on
to the next bar.

That’s when an ice-cold Big Gulp soared through an open
window and blasted Vidu square in the face, drenching him completely. He did
not take it well.

“I kill you, motherfucker! I kill you!” Vidu clawed at the
child-locked door. “How I open this fucking shit?” Outsmarted by the door, the
Sri Lankan tried to dive out the window in order to throttle the anonymous
drink launcher. Luckily, the driver saw an opening, slammed on the gas, and
saved Vidu from his second beat down of the evening.

After ridiculing their hapless friend for a bit, the party
moved on to guessing their next destination. Wild rumors began to circulate.
Cliff hoped for “General Zhou’s tug-jobs” at an Asian massage parlor while
Smokey believed they were en-route to a secretive, non-licensed bar that moved
locations every month to avoid paying taxes.

The speculation ended abruptly when the limo stopped in
front of The Study, an ordinary college bar frequented by DePaul co-eds.
Left-Nut was underwhelmed. “Oh come on, we’re gonna be ten years older than
everyone here.” His white hair didn’t help with the college girls, and his lack
of common decency was an even bigger turnoff.

“Tough shit,” Blake said. “We leave in two hours for the
last stop so get after it.”

The Study resembled a library, complete with book-lined
shelves, card catalogues and naughty librarians serving drinks and spankings.
It was jam packed with hipsters but Cliff had already arranged for tables in
the VIP section.

Charlie glanced at the books by their table and noticed
everything from
War and Peace
to
You Might be a Redneck
. However,
it was a pink hardback titled
The Fine Art of Giving Blowjobs
that stood
out from the rest. He flipped it open to the front. “What do you know? Gay Mike
checked this out twice.”

“You guys really need to stop busting my balls,” Mike said
defensively.

“See, he can’t stop talking about male genitalia,” Jim said.
“It’s like he’s cock-crazy.”

A large-busted server in a sexy faux-geek outfit approached and
momentarily put an end to the bash-fest. “I’m Lola and I’ll be your librarian
tonight. For specials we have eight dollar pitchers of Pale Horse, twelve
dollar fishbowl kamikazes and half off wings.” She adjusted her glasses and
tapped a notebook with impeccably manicured nails. “You boys look like you’re
gonna be fun tonight,” she added while batting long lashes.

Charlie looked away and scanned the bar. He was buzzing hard
and wanted to talk to real women for once, women that didn’t make their living
by fleecing gullible morons.

“Oh I’m fun. You’ll see when you get off work,” the gullible
moron named Vidu said with an off-putting stare.

“You’re bad. I might have
to discipline you,” Lola said while twirling a ruler and wondering why Vidu was
soaking wet and had a large handprint on his face.

Of course, Vidu would later claim she wanted to, “Tie him up
and fuck his balls out,” whatever that meant.

Oblivious to the girl’s charms and massive rack, Big Rob
focused on other priorities. “Cheap wings sound good,” he said and licked his
chops.

Jim looked at his bulky friend with annoyance. “Why do you
care if they’re half off? Your broke-ass ran out of money an hour ago.” Rob
flashed the same jovial smile he always did and Jim caved as he always did. “I
guess I’ll take twenty—” Big Rob cleared his throat loudly in protest, and Jim
sighed. “Make that fifty mild wings and a pitcher of Pale Horse.” Rob nodded
his approval.

Smokey’s phone boomed the theme song to the show
Cops.
“I bet Trent’s calling about the hookers, I mean strippers, for tonight.”

“You guys really are bad,” the waitress said and laughed
nervously. Smokey rose from his seat with a flushed face and took the call
outside while everyone finished ordering.

Charlie noticed plenty of women nearby but it didn’t matter
much. He had gone from being a young stud to a middle-aged loser quite some
time ago, and his confidence was beyond shot.

A lanky, red-haired friend of Blake’s named Bruce slammed a
stack of
National Geographic
s down on the table. “Next game is called
Jungle Titties. Last person to find a pair buys a round of shots.”

Charlie spotted a cover featuring Masai lion hunters and
knew it was money in the bank. “I’m in,” he said and tossed his useless credit
card into the hat. Sure enough, he found some nude villagers in under a minute.

Cliff had less luck. “This game’s fucking dumb,” he said
after losing handily.

“Pony up, and make it whiskey,” Blake said.

Cliff soon returned with a clinking tray of shots. However,
some of the group balked at downing the harsh stuff and Big Rob graciously
volunteered to put them away. He was hitting full throttle four shots later.

Someone began singing badly, and it became clear why Blake
insisted on this bar. Charlie sighed. “You couldn’t find something better to do
than karaoke?”

“The blowjob factory was
booked,” Blake said with a chuckle. The truth was he worked for a South Korean
firm and spent countless hours sucking up to his boss in karaoke joints. It
didn’t translate to being good at it, though.

Annoyed, Charlie went back to searching the bar and spotted
a cute woman a few tables over. He made eye contact and surprisingly, she
smiled back. So Charlie steeled his nerves and rose to make a move. This was a
big step for him.

“Oh shit, I forgot to tell you something,” Jim said and
dragged Charlie back into his seat. “You’re gonna want to hear this.”

“What?” Charlie was clearly annoyed.

“My parents called and said Craig Baxter got busted for
trying to suck off an undercover cop for some crack.”

“Serves him right, that guy was the biggest asshole in high
school,” Charlie said as two guys with popped collars and heavily-gelled hair
approached the comely woman.

“Yeah, he was a tool. Guy had everything handed to him and
look where he is now. Karma’s a bitch.”

“Total silver spoon.” Charlie said, barely listening as he
spied on the situation a few tables over. Sure enough, the pretty-boys flagged
a librarian down for shots. Game over.

“It’s even worse than when he was bench pressing at soccer
practice and shit his pants. Remember that?”

Charlie turned back to his friend, resigned at blowing
another chance. “No, that was Left-Nut. I was the one spotting him.”

At that point an emcee spoke into his microphone. “Set down
those books and put your hands together for our next singer, Blake! He’s hung
like Bigfoot and celebrating his bachelor party tonight, so single ladies take
note. This is your last chance to sample this prime beefcake.”

“You paid that guy twenty bucks, didn’t you?” Charlie asked
and chuckled.

“Sure as hell did,” Blake
said with a wink as he stood up and raised his fists in glory. “Watch the
panties fly,” he added while sauntering towards the stage like an 80’s rock
star.

The pompous investor grabbed the mic as the music kicked in.
Da da da, da da da da, da da da, da da da da
.
Blake nodded to the beat for a moment and then jumped into the
song full tilt, giving one of the worst renditions of “Ice Ice Baby” ever known
to man. His improvised dance moves were even worse.

“He looks like Frankenstein with cerebral palsy and a broom
up his ass,” Smokey said, stoned out of his mind. Even Blake’s brown-nosing
work friends couldn’t take it, and several catcalls came in from the audience.

Blake finished the song a few painful minutes later and came
back with his head held high and a huge smile plastered on his face. “Nailed
it.”

“Actually, that was shit,” Left-Nut said. “And for the
record, no panties reached the stage.”

“Oh, come on. I saw a lot of people cheering out there.”

“Those were boos.”

Blake ignored reality and ordered his lackey Cliff to buy
yet another round of shots. Big Rob took charge of the surplus once again.

Meanwhile, Charlie was
broke and hadn’t even talked to a female yet. Guessing the last stop would be a
strip club, the night appeared to be a failure. “I might as well go on
auto-pilot and see what happens,” he said and snagged the last shot before Rob
could pour it down his cavern of a mouth.

Left-Nut raised his beer in a toast. “That’s the spirit. You
can go pig-fishing with me.”

Charlie wasn’t about to
start looking for fat chicks, so he settled back in with Jim and started
mooching beer. As though he were experiencing drunken time travel, the night
seemed to speed up and soon it was time for the next bar.

When Charlie stood, someone began to sing an Elvis song in a
way that he could only describe as perfect. The voice that rang out over the
speakers was as thick and velvety as the King of Rock himself. Charlie turned
to see who was putting on such a solid performance.

The homeless-looking man swaying with the melody was dressed
in tattered jean shorts and sported a long, brown beard. It was Big Rob.

“What the shit?” Vidu said.

The three-hundred pound fighter finished the song to raucous
cheers. Then he bowed low for a standing ovation and promptly fell face first
off the stage onto a table, smashing it in half and sending drinks flying. It
was time to leave
.

Chapter
6

The Sugar Shack

“Brains… brains!”

Big Rob opened his eyes to see a scrotum dangling
dangerously close to his forehead. He was conscious just long enough to shove
Blake halfway across the limo. This set up a chain reaction where Blake fell
into Smokey’s lit cigarette while crashing to the floor, tipping over two full
beer cans on the way.

The driver pounded on the steering wheel. “You’re going to
clean that up.”

Not one of the drunks paid any attention, and Blake rubbed
the burn on his arm while pulling his pants up. “How many shots did Rob have
anyways?”

“I lost track after ten,”
Jim said. “And that’s on top of the two pitchers that I bought, and the beer he
was stealing when people weren’t paying attention.”

“I thought my beer was going down smooth,” Charlie said. Big
Rob had learned to fish for drinks on a trip to Panama City years ago and
apparently still had the skill.

“He’s too drunk to go in,” Bruce said while eying the
sleeping giant.

“Are you gonna stop him?” Charlie replied. Rob was
shit-faced, but after seeing him flick Blake across the limo like a stale
booger, it was clear he was still dangerous.

Left-Nut grew impatient. “All I know is I need to see some
tits and I need to see ‘em now.”

“I swear you’re just a dick with legs,” Mike said.

Jim smiled. “Sounds like Gay Mike’s talking about dicks once
again.”

They finally arrived at their last destination, a seedy
strip club called The Sugar Shack. The driver had reached the end of his
patience. “Get the hell out!”

They had no choice but to bring Rob in, so they woke him up
and left the trashed vehicle amidst the sound of half-empty beer bottles
clanking onto the pavement. The driver flipped them off and peeled away into
the night. Now they’d have to cab it home later, but their thoughts were
elsewhere as they lurched towards the sleaziest spot in Chi-town.

Charlie helped his
unsteady friend across the parking lot. “When we get in, sit down, drink some
water and shut up.”

The club itself featured a cheesy laser show, black lights
and a sleazy deejay screaming while stark-naked women sold lap dances. It was a
place where you could get anything for the right price, which, according to
Left-Nut, was around fifty dollars. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” he
said while finally entering his element.

Cliff and Bruce started flashing money around by ordering
thirty-dollar shots of tequila and a bottle of Dom for the bachelor. Cash was
king, and within minutes, they were swarmed by a handful of teenage strippers.

With a skinny eighteen year old on his lap, Cliff decided it
was time to put the peasants in their place. He looked at Vidu with a sneer.
“So, Osama, how’s the jihad going?”

Vidu’s eyes glazed over. “Fuck your mother, you little son
of a…”

Charlie put himself between them. “Why are you being such a
dickhole? We’re just trying to have fun.” Vidu was a turd, but he was their
turd.

Cliff scoffed. “I don’t need a lecture from a substitute
teacher. I make more money by March than you make all year. You’re as pathetic
as these other losers.”

“Guys, not now,” Blake said.

But Charlie had already lost it. “Okay fatty, how about I
take you outside and stomp a mud hole in your ass?” It took a lot to push his
buttons, but he could throw down if he had to.

“I’ve got better things to do,” Cliff retorted and smacked
the stripper’s bottom. “You up for a dance, little girl?” The high school
dropout was, and she led the jerk away to skillfully dry-hump hundreds of
dollars out of him in record time.

“Don’t sweat it, he made some bad trades and lost a ton of
money this week,” Blake said.

“No. He’s an ass, but he’s got a point.” Charlie sighed.
“What the hell happened to me?”

“You’ve had some bad luck,” Jim said. “I bet a change of
scenery would help.”

“I haven’t been on a date in three years and I’m stuck in a
job a moron could do. Plus, I’m not getting any younger.”

Mike grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “You’re only in your
thirties bro.”

“Yeah, and I’ve already
got the bald horseshoe thing going on.”

Blake had heard enough. “Fuck this pity party. You need to
get your confidence back. Stop sitting around waiting for good things to happen
to you and stop being such a pussy.” He cracked his knuckles. “Luckily, I’m
just the guy to help. I’ll be right back.”

Blake returned with company. “Svetlana, this is my friend,
Professor Campbell. He teaches English at DePaul University.” Truth was always
the first casualty when it came to getting laid.

“Umm, hello.” Charlie stared at his feet.

“
Milo mi
(nice to meet you),” the gorgeous brunette
waitress answered back in Polish while Blake stood behind her, making a gesture
in sign language for large breasts. “I’m wanting to be writer. This man said
you could teach?” She batted her eyes and looked vulnerable and endearing at
the same time. Charlie almost felt guilty.

“Ahh, yeah. Sure I’d be willing to um, to see what kind of
writing style you have and give you some pointers.” Charlie did his best
impression of a haughty professor.

“
Dobry
(good). I get off in hour. I will join you?”

“That’d be great, Svetlana. I’ll be right here.”

She walked away while the gang got an eyeful. “Her English
is worse than Vidu’s,” Jim said. “But her ass is a lot nicer.”

“You can thank me after I get a lap dance and possibly more
if I’m lucky.” Blake froze in place as he got up from the table. “Shitballs.”

“If it isn’t my sister’s punk-ass kid. Didn’t think I’d miss
my nephew’s bachelor party, did ya?” A scraggly, mullet-haired man with a potbelly
and a roguish grin approached the table.

It was Blake’s uncle, Russ. The man was one part Al Bundy,
one part Archie Bunker and three parts douchebag. Forty-five years old, Russ’s
binge drinking, three divorces and two bricks on his paycheck left him looking
much older. “Who’s catering this party, anyways?” He sat down uninvited,
reeking of Old Spice and chewing tobacco.

“Margaritas are on special,” Blake said flatly.

“That kind of drink will put some hair on your pussy. No,
I’ll take a Jack and Coke, and keep ‘em coming.”

Blake knew his uncle would be a tick on his ass for the rest
of the night. What’s worse, lending the parasite money was the only sure way to
get rid of him.

Interrupting the family reunion, a middle-aged stripper with
a long c-section scar approached the group. “Need company?” Her sunken lips
betrayed the toothless smile of a meth-head.

“I could go for a gummy.” Left-Nut pointed downwards.

“Come on, I need to make money. I lost my job last week and
this is my first day here.” This was obvious bullshit as the lady had the
downtrodden look of a club veteran.

“Were you a dentist?”

She glared at Left-Nut. “Seriously, I have three kids to
feed. Get a lap dance or at least buy me a drink.”

Russ waved her away. “Bitch, I came here to forget my own
problems, not learn about yours.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, cheap-ass.”

Trent finally showed up as the stripper stormed off. The
overweight cop waved his badge to avoid paying the cover charge and walked
over. “You guys look fucked up.” He surveyed their pitiful state and nodded at
Russ. “Who invited Billy Ray Cyrus?”

“It’s my Uncle Russ,” Blake said sheepishly. “He’s gonna be
partying with us. I guess.”

“That jagoff’s your uncle?” Trent said then shrugged.
“Anyways, who wants to buy some blow?”

Smokey, Blake and a few others followed Trent into the
bathroom to kick things up a notch. While they blasted off, Charlie bounced
some lies off Mike and settled on being a bestselling author who coached rugby
on the side. Pretty standard bullshit.

Twenty minutes of booze and boobs later, a trampy woman in
NASCAR gear approached the table. “This might sound weird, but my cousin wants
to hook up tonight. It’s her twenty-first, and she hasn’t ever been with a
man.”

Left-Nut leaned forward, arching an eyebrow. “Now you’re
talkin’ my language. Where is she?”

“That’s her right there.” The girl was rocking a Disney tank
top, she had the faint hint of a mustache, a full uni-brow and a very lazy eye.

“Shit, that girl’s face could make a train take a dirt
road,” Uncle Russ said, clearly no diplomat.

Left-Nut was unfazed. “I’m intrigued. Sell me on it.”

“What if I throw in ten bucks?” the woman said through
rotten teeth.

“Done. Gentlemen, I bid you adieu.” Left-Nut took off with
the poor girl, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“He’s gotta be breaking some laws,” Mike said.

Smokey nodded. “True, but the only cop in the building’s
selling coke in the bathroom.”

“Not even the crack of dawn’s safe around that boy,” Russ
said, clearly impressed.

Charlie ignored his idiot friend and focused on his own
scandalous plans. He had to hand it to Blake: the guy was arrogant, but he sure
made things happen.

“Are you going to bang this chick or what?” Smokey asked and
Charlie shrugged.

“That girl screws random guys,” Russ said and paused to
light a generic cigarette. “I can tell.”

Charlie hesitated to take
Russ’s advice since the man’s reputation definitely preceded him. “How would
you know?”

Russ leaned back as if lecturing schoolchildren. “You think
you’re first class pussy-hounds, but you guys don’t know shit. She’s burning a
cigarette right now. She knows it’ll kill her someday, but she does it anyways.
Just like she knows fucking random dudes is bad for her. It’s simple. If she
smokes, she pokes.” Impressed with himself, Russ ordered his nephew to buy him
a shot of tequila.

“I hope for my sake you’re right.” Charlie said as he
prepared for the encounter, but he’d temporarily forgotten about the presence
of Trent – an infamous cock-blocker.

Of course, Trent had returned from the bathroom and was now
making a move of his own on Svetlana. “Hey, sweetheart, what do you think about
coming over for a little fun tonight? We’re gonna have like a foot of snow.”
She looked confused, so Trent elaborated. “Coke, I mean a
lot
of coke.”
He always tried the direct approach.

Charlie’s hackles rose as he realized Trent was trying to
snake him, but Svetlana simply ignored the cop’s advances. “Sorry, the
professor and I are having nice conversation at my place.” She took Charlie by
the arm. “Ready?”

On their way out, Charlie gave Trent a wink and a knowing
smile. He didn’t get too many victories over his roommate and this one looked
to be sweet indeed.

“Why the fuck did she call him the professor anyways?” Trent
asked.

“It’s his back story. But don’t worry, that girl’s out of
your price range anyways,” Blake said.

“No way, you mean she’s a professional?”

Blake nodded. “I wanted to help Charlie out of his rut. He’s
been a real sad-sack lately.”

“Does he know she’s a hooker?”

“Not a clue.”

“That’s hilarious.” Trent looked at his watch. “Speaking of
skanks, we need to head home for the private show.”

The remaining group assembled outside and began to catch
various cabs while Russ stared at Mike for a few awkward seconds. “Hold on, I
think I recognize you. Ain’t you the one they call Faggot Bill or something?”

“It’s Gay Mike, actually, but you can call me Mike.”

“Okay, Gay Mike, let’s share a ride. I’d like to get in on
that private show the pig was talking about.” Russ smiled and put his arm
around Mike as if they were old friends. “You’re gonna have to spot me though,
I’m all outta cash.”