The Rory Story (Part 1) - by R. Thomas Overholt

THE RORY STORY - PART ONE

    So about 5 years ago, I threw this party at my parents' house. They weren't going to be around for a week, so I bought a couple of kegs and invited everyone over. All of my regular bros and sistas showed up, and everyone was hardcore into partying so I knew it would be a good time.

    This one guy named Rory showed up, too. This, in and of itself, was no big thing at all, but Rory was kind of a dorky guy and we always poked some innocent fun at him. Anyway, the party was jamming and everyone was having fun. Rory wandered into the kitchen where some of us were playing cards.

    Rory found this big bottle of Bacardi 151, and asked who it belonged to. I told him that it was fair game, and that he should help himself. He then proceeded to pour about 1/2 of a shot into a tall cocktail glass and was getting ready to add some Coke to it as a mixer. My friend Mark saw what he was doing, though, and told me right away so that we could start picking on him and goading him into drinking a more ridiculous amount of alcohol.

    We started in on him right away, calling him a "punk lightweight pussyboy" and other things, and it took only a few seconds before he said, "OK, fine! How's this, then?" He then took the bottle and poured the glass full, all the way up to the top-it must have been like 14 or 15 shots worth of booze. I started to ask him what he thought he was going to do with all of that booze, when all of a sudden he winked at Mark and I and then completely drained the contents of the glass right down his throat.

    It was incredible! It was like it happened in slow motion. I started to say "NOOOO!!!" and went to stop him, but it was too late-Rory chugged the whole glass of 151 and was standing there, grimacing and wiping his mouth. And by some miracle he managed to keep the whole glass of rum down. We were all amazed, of course, and were slapping him on the back and giving him high-five's, because it was pretty remarkable. But we all knew that it was only a matter of time before we saw that stomachful of rum again.

    About 10 minutes went by, and Rory seemed to be acting fine, if a little unsteady, due to him terrifying overindulgence of the 151. Then, all of a sudden, it was as though someone had flicked a switch in his brain somewhere. He went from totally sober to completely obliterated drunk almost instantaneously. He stumbled into the kitchen, where about 6 of us were still playing cards. He then mumbled something unintelligibly, and then, after a large, horribly wet belch, he puked.

    All over.

    All over himself, the kitchen floor, the kitchen sink, the countertop near the sink, the side of the refrigerator, a load of freshly washed, drying dishes, and (worst of all) into an open kitchen drawer and everything in it (like a wisk, measuring cups, corkscrews, and anything else that you might find in a normal, civilized kitchen drawer). He finally got done chucking, and he couldn't believe what he had done-like he was so embarrassed that he wanted to die. It was absolutely incredible. My friends and I were trying to get him out of the kitchen so that we could try to clean up the vomit and continue playing cards, but Rory insisted that he be the one to try and clean up the mess. I sighed, and got him a mop so he could wipe up the chuck.

    Well, things went from BAD to WORSE in a hurry. He had puked all over the dishes so he tried to put some of them in the sink to wash them. The first glass he touched, WHAM! Dropped right on the floor and shattered all over. He started to turn around to see what he had done, but instead slipped and fell right into the pukey, broken-glassy mess on the kitchen floor, and proceeded to cut the living shit out of his hands trying to stop himself when he fell. All right, I thought. We need to get this guy out of the kitchen for a little bit so we can restore order. So I brought him outside and sat him down on the floor of the back deck (God knows we couldn't have him sit anywhere inside...he was a puke-encrusted, bloody mess at this point).

    By this time, also, he was so embarrassed and discombobulated from being so drunk that he was hysterically crying and trying to talk at the same time. I couldn't tell what he was saying because he was so hysterical, but let's just say that his nose started to run all over his face and he was just a complete mess. It was just incredible what a train wreck the dude had turned into in just 10 or 15 short minutes. So I came back inside.

    There were a couple of my good friends in the kitchen cleaning up. I started to say, "Wow, can you freaking believe what a mess he turned into?", but no sooner had I started to speak that I looked out the back window and saw him stumbling down the big, gradual hill that comprises my parents' backyard. Oh shit, I think.

    So I ran out the back door and went after him. He had run all the way down the hill and was lying in the compost heap on the flat spot at the bottom of the hill, and he was covered in dry leaves, grass clippings, and dried out weeds. I tried to stand him up, but he just fell again like a rag doll. I wasn't gonna get covered in puke, blood, snot and compost to fireman's carry him back to the house or anything, so I had to kind of stand him up and then try to shove him along to get him back to the house (or at least to the deck. I wasn't gonna let him go anywhere NEAR the inside of the house until someone had taken a fire hose to him or something).

    I managed to get him back to the deck, where I immediately assigned a couple of fellas to kind of hang out on the deck and keep an eye on him. My bro Scott started talking to him. I went back inside, and by this time most of the cleanup was underway in earnest. The puke, blood and glass was mopped up, and the dishes were in the sink.

    THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO HELPED CLEAN THE MESS UP.

    Next thing I know, an hour had gone by, and Scott and Rory were still out on the deck talking (and I think I saw Rory even smoking cigarettes with Scott, which was hilarious...try to imagine a "white Urkel" smoking-ha!). Then, Scott brought Rory back inside. Then (again, this was too funny) they started to play chess for money, I think to the tune of $10.00 a game. Well, Scott and Rory played 4 games, and Scott emerged $40.00 richer.

    It was wonderful. I wasn't thrilled that some dorky guy had chucked all over my parents' house, but what a great spectacle to have at a house party.

RTO 3/24/2000

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