A night through the shroud of five chemicals

Greetings fellow proletariat partiers! This is the Party Trotsky here with a recap of this weekend’s debauchery and general funness, and yes, funness is now a word. Blow me spell check.

The weekend was begun Friday night with the Party members gathering and participating in a little pregaming at the party Castro’s humble abode. Beers were shared, liquor was imbibed, and fun was certainly had, but there was a certain something missing, that little thing that puts a twinkle in your eye and a stumble in your step. And as a fellow revolutionary was leaving to make a beer run, that little thing suddenly made itself quite obvious to me: we needed some alcohol infused energy drinks, specifically the brand known as four Loko. I immediately made this revelation known to the rest of the party, and Party Castro and I happily gave up our hard earned capitalist pig reserve notes in the hopes of obtaining some. Sadly, it seems that our date with three or four Fours was not meant to be, but instead our friend came back with something almost as good, and that my friends is a four pack of Sparks, another alcohol infused energy drink which I like to refer to as cocaine in a can. With our thirst for drank quenched, the majority of our party ventured forth and made the walk to the next party, which promised to be slightly larger than your average get together.

A note about this party: having been in the planning process for several weeks, along with the fact that there were more than a few registered kegs, we assumed that this party would be busted sooner rather than later, and several Party members chose not to indulge their habits beforehand, myself included, just in case Carrboro’s finest were also planning on attending.

But as we arrived to the party, it appeared that our worst fears were incorrect, and the one hundred plus people in attendance were in no danger of being scooped up in an ALE raid. So we entered, positioned ourselves comfortably in the courtyard, slightly adjacent to the maelstrom of limbs and sweat that was the dance floor, and proceeded to drink free beer and observe what can only be described as at least 60% of the hipster population of Carrboro. A good example of the nonsense that was going on is an occurrence that happened to me, when a trio of clearly fucked up people approached and offered me some illicit substances. I’ll go into this in greater detail shortly, but let’s just say the exchange was a success. After I returned, some of our group decided that it would be in our favor if we returned to Castro’s home and pounded some Sparks, AKA cocaine in a can baby! So we once again made the trip back, slammed down the aforementioned Sparks, became not a little tipsy, and made our way back to the party without any negative instances. The rest of the night was went as most parties go, we hung out and attempted to look cool/hip, then decided to make our way back to the original casa in order to get more drunk. I left the larger Party group and retired to a new location in order to smoke some of that devil’s weed that the capitalists use to placate the masses. Always a good end to the night. Anyhoo, commence Saturday.

As I mentioned above, I was offered some illegal and exotic substances by a sketchy individual, and I took him up on his offer, as it has been a coon’s age since I partook in the substance, which suffice to say was a popular psychedelic in the 60’s. Waking up the next afternoon, I readied myself for the experience, stuck it in my mouth, and walked purposefully into the woods. Note: while this sub story may not fit into the Bolshevikian events of the night per se, it will come into play in a few sentences, so quit yo bitching. After taking said substance, I felt pretty fucking good, and trip back to my childhood ensued as I discovered a babbling brook with all manner of critters with which to mess with. Snakes, salamanders, and fish are much more exciting when your brain is feeling a little loosey goosey.

After wandering in the woods for several amazing hours and slowly beginning the long trip down, I prepared myself for the next major event of the day, the very same Middle School themed party that the last post mentioned so eloquently. After putting on my heavily edited 2002 Jump Rope World Championship shirt and cargo shorts, and dousing myself with a stolen spray of my roommate’s cologne, I was middle schooled out. I met up with several Party members, and as the middle school antics would not start for several hours, we involved ourselves with the actions and events that the prior post dealt with, which included, naturally, a splendidly spontaneous dance party. I myself was feeling extraordinarily good, as my brain was filled to the brim with various different chemicals. I had the entirety of the sixties hippie experience still coursing through my veins, and I believe this allowed me to become extremely fucked up in a short period of time, while mostly keeping my composure. Along with the psychedelic, I had quite a bit of the reefer, several different types of alcohol, one of which was of course, a Sparks, a cigarette, which is rough on my old bones (don’t laugh), and then of course the various energy giving chemicals within the Sparks. Let’s just say I was feeling alright.

After quickly becoming inebriated on these chemicals, we decided to make the trek all the way across the apartment complex to the middle school party, which in my state was quite awesome. Several members of the Party and I immediately began helping out our buzz with a bit of the free PJ that was situated in a large tub on the counter. One of the hostesses of the party was also kind enough to give me a piece of banana bread that had some extra ingredients in it, most notably weed. It was at this point that I began to have serious problems seeing, and therefore decided to perch myself in the kitchen. It was also at this point that my group, unbeknownst to me, had collectively decided to leave this party and move to the next one. I was in no state of mind to argue or ask what the fuck was going on, so I went along for the ride. After walking for a bit, we came upon the second party, which was going quite nicely. Dancing, plenty of people, all the usual things were taking place. The group I was with took up positions on the backside of the house, and started to mingle like nothing else.

We had been at this party for maybe forty-five minutes, when I saw a mass of people begin to flood from the back room, and then heard the cries of people yelling “COPS!” I turned and was suddenly face to face with a nice lady who held out her hand and asked for ID. I declined, and turned and followed the rest of the party, jumping the back fence and running up the street, escaping to sweet freedom. As me and my remaining Party member, Castro, regrouped and prepared to make the move to safer ground, a friend requested that we walk back with her and obtain her purse, which she had so thoughtlessly left behind in the mad dash. We obliged, and in doing so ended up getting stuck back at the same party that we had just escaped from. As it turns out, this would be beneficial for Castro, for quickly after we returned he, in the sequence of about 30 seconds, met and began making out earnestly with a girl we’ll refer to as slightly-above average Sally. Sally and Castro continued their blossoming relationship, and I began looking for a way out of the party. A friend was heading to his place to have a smoking session, and I decided that this was my ticket out. I told Castro of the plan, and he decided to feel the girl out and give her one last chance to come with. Unfortunately, it was not in the cards for Castro, and his lady gave him the cold shoulder. Tragic shit, truly. We pressed on and made our way to the living room, where Castro stopped to conversate and dance with the hostess of the party. As I despaired of ever leaving this party, the door happened to open and who did I see waiting outside? 3 unhappy members of the policia. I grabbed Castro and bolted for the back door, bypassing most of the party, who had still not realized what was happening, even though this was the second time it had happened in two hours... We made our way out, conveniently through the same route which we had used about an hour and a half ago for the same purpose. Now, in the process of all this, I became understandably quite excited and not a little upset, mentally and stomachly (it’s a word, look it up), and I paused, projectile vomited most spectacularly, and continued running, only to be stopped twenty feet away in order to projectile hurl once again. My apologies to Castro for the slight mess on his shoes. In my defense, you try taking in 5 different substances in an 8 hour period, throw in two escapes from the cops, and we shall see how well you do.

So, in summary, this was an eventful weekend, what with massive outdoor hipster parties that don’t get busted, smallish house parties that get busted multiple times, and of course my massive intake of chemicals into my bloodstream cast it all in a nice, fuzzy shade. All in all it was quite a fucking weekend for the Party Bolsheviks, with many more to come. Stay strong, and keep fighting the good fight.

-Party Trotsky