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How Being An Asshole Got Me Arrested

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Getting Arrested

It was the academic end of my sophomore year, so, naturally, I was a pitcher or so deep in white Russians as the CCR set the mood for what would turn out to be an unforgettable night. Just not in the way I expected. I had a girl at a rival school — not too far away — and convinced a Bible bangin’ sober driver to make the trek with me to the foreign campus. Matt, my driver, was the sort of religious kid that hated his own religion, pushing the lines of Church defined decency. The kid was a supposed “virgin” but had been in mouths and rectums of more women than any local dentist or proctology. He exploited every loophole imaginable — even claiming some obscure Old Testament passage alludes to the Godly use of marijuana. In other words, he was a good guy to bring along.

We showed up about 10:30 at night to what turned out to be a raging block party centered around the house of my slam. Unfortunately, the ride was a little longer than expected, and my untreated alcoholism had morphed the leisurely booze cruise into an inebriated drain off all liquids in the vehicle above zero proof. I was fucked up, far too much for this early in the night, leaving me with two options:

1. Emergency sobering tactics. We could go to the local McDonalds, slam some greasy food, bread, and chug water like a newly delivered carbon filter in Angola. In an hour or so, I should be back to relatively competency.

2. Keep rolling and see where the blackout train takes me.

Obviously, the Dude abided leaving the fate of my night and well-being to teenage hormonal urges and the alcohol aided destruction of brain cells. This, of course, was tradition. But as is the definition of insanity, again my similar decisions produced similar results. More on that shortly.

I found my philandering fuck buddy talking to some DIAA lax bro and, though i had no real feelings for her and had denied any suggestion of exclusivity as if it carried AIDs since meeting her, I, of course, was enraged. I caused a scene, asking where the school he played for was, though I was currently visiting it, and generally making an ass out of myself doing my best Kanye West 2009 VMAs impersonation. As women tend to do, for whatever reason she did not find my unfounded arrogance and jealousy attractive, instead opting for Steven fucking Glansberg and leaving me alone and angry.

Matt was off cornholing some freshman, that’s a hypothesis, not fact, so I’m alone slamming shots of some woman’s flavored Smirnoff when I see the flashing lights outside. The cops had showed up, a reasonable conclusion to what had spilled over into an outdoor bash in a residential neighborhood, but as a pre-law student, I took it upon myself to deal with it. Yes, I’m that sort of pre-law twat, especially drunk.

I wander outside as everyone scatters like ants beneath a red and blue magnifying glass, and approach the officers. I’m stammering, literally holding a white Russian like the real Jeff Bridges just hoping everyone will chill the fuck out, man.

“Sir, please go back inside the house, we’ve gotten several noise complaints and just want you guys to tone it down. We’re not here to cite or arrest anyone, don’t make us.”

A perfectly reasonable request from the campus pd in hindsight, but to my whiskey drowned ears, a threat. Here is where me being a pre-law student, and going to a school we students think is much better than it actually is, really fucked me. Why would I take responsibility for my actions?

“You guys know the law, I know the law let’s get serious here.”

I’m unloading a line of Law & Order impersonated bullshit as they repeatedly ask me to go back inside. I’m behaving like an inebriated Charlie from Always Sunny, spewing legal jargon as grounded in “Bird Law” as the campus guidelines of this particular school. Thankfully, Matt appears to save me.

“Dude, come on. Let’s fucking go.”

He talks me down and ends up dragging me back to the porch. I’m drooling on myself and contemplating a nice purging of my intestinal tract, so Matt goes inside for water and bread. Like I said, a great guy to have around. The cops are still in the road waiting to make sure things disperse, when I’m overcome with another round of irrational rage. I stand and approach the railing, oh fuck, it’s the perfect height.

“Hey Paul Blart”

I pull my cock out, unleashing a firehouse stream of asparagus ridden piss, Matt re-emerges.

“Dude what the fuck!”

The campus cops, far smarter than I gave them credit for, simply waited patiently for the end of my enormous stream. Calmly, they walked up the stairs and zip locked my wrists as my shit eating grin morphed to tears. Matt stood in the corner with his head in his hands.

“Dude don’t worry, I’ll call your dad.”

“Matt, pray for me.”

Even in my darkest moments, pussy-less and tear ridden on my way to the drunk tank, I’m an insufferable twat.

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