Well, today you get to see a piece of me that not many people have ever seen.  Tonight, I have decided to go into detail about one of the most embarassing moments in my entire life.  I mean nothing I have ever gone through has been worse than this.  What you are about to witness is Hashim at quite possibly his lowest moment…

However, I must warn you in advance.  What you are about to read is graphic and possibly disgusting.  So, with that said, if you want to continue to hold a high opinion of me, don’t read this post.  If you are easily disgusted by the actions of drunks, don’t read this post.  If the discussion of bodily fluids, up to and including excrement of various types, offends you, don’t read this post…I warned ya…don’t say I didn’t…

On with the show…

Like I told my last wife, I said, “Honey, I never drive faster than I can see, and besides… it’s all in the reflexes.”

The night was January 16th, 1999.  Mike Tyson was fighting Francois Botha, and I attended a party to watch the fight.  

That evening started out pretty normal, if you consider getting wasted on a good amount of alcohol normal.  The party was here in Bloomington, at University Commons, basically an all student apartment complex, so you already know parties are the norm.

There I was, thinking that I was Captain Hot Shit, flirtin’ with chicks, and drinking from a bottle of Southern Comfort.  Two girls in particular caught my eye.  One of them was Cassandra, and let me tell you, this girl was insanely hot, I mean pecker sprung hot.  The type of girl that seems to have been born to be a model, la package totale, as they say in the streets…

The other girl was named Stephanie, and to put it bluntly, she had whore written all over her…not to defame the girl or anything, but trust me…I had her number.

So all night, here I am flirting hard with both girls, and progressively getting more and more plowed with each tumbler full of Southern Comfort straight.  By the time that Tyson knocked the shit out of Botha, I was done as a human being, at this point, I had become a literal penis, except drunk.  I was succeeding at making a complete fool of myself, and naturally beginning to alienate myself from the rest of the group, who as it seemed, were beginning to tire of my antics, but they were wasted as well, so it all sort of fit in neatly.

The upshot of this was that by this time, Cassandra was beginning to warm up to me, as I tend to be an affable drunk.  But had I been sober, I’m sure I would have gotten farther with her, plus the drunker I got, the more I wanted to settle for a whore over an angel…go figure, I was a pig.  However, my end was coming.

At some point, someone had the bright idea of feeding me shots of Hot Damn 100, which if you aren’t familiar, is a deceptively sweet cinnamon schnapps, that will to put it succinctly…fuck your life, because it’s so damn sweet, and tasty…

Well, I ended up being pretty well fed on booze, and after making even more of an ass of myself, I managed to black out, then pass out.  What happens next is the stuff of both ridicule and legend.

Apparently, it took two guys to situate my limp corpse on the couch.  During this time, I was used as a dartboard of some type, and god knows what else.  Since I, the drunken tool, was safely passed out, the party got back to being a bit better, or so I heard.  Cassandra, feeling sorry for me, sat next to me, making sure that I was ok.

Somehow, maybe after an hour, depending on who you ask, I briefly emerged from my liquor induced coma to look up at the people and proceeded to puke on myself, promptly passing out soonafter.  Needless to say, that killed the party quickly.  There was a big debate as to whether or not my body should be left outside, because the puke left a big mess all over, which was upsetting, and understandably so.  Being passed out again, I was oblivious to everything that certainly concerned me.

Apparently there weren’t enough votes to throw me outside, because the next morning, I woke up on the floor of the apartment, not knowing how it is that I got there.  I was really disoriented, and was actually kind of pissed to see the sun shine.  I couldn’t walk, so I began to crawl, going into my friend’s room, where he was in bed with Stephanie the whore.  He shot up and said, “What the hell is that smell…Hashim, what the fuck did you do, dude?  Get out!”

He pushed me out of his room, and I then crawled into the bathroom to figure out what was what, plus, I was feeling a bubblin’ in my stomach.  When I took my pants off, the worst was confirmed…

Somehow, during the night or early morning, I had both pissed and shat my pants…which means I probably briefly died from alcohol poisoning.  (in case you didn’t know, when you die, all of your bodily functions release.)

To make matters worse for me later, my ass must have brushed against the wall, because I apparently ended up leaving shit on the wall…Something I had to come back and clean up later.

Needless to say, once I was smuggled back to my apartment, I didn’t leave my room for a week due to the embarassment.  Tales of pissing and shitting myself spread like wildfire, and ridicule was pretty high.  Of course, none of the insanely attractive women at the party, including those who actually liked me, and could tolerate my self-destructive nature wanted anything to do with me.  I became a social leper.

There was much debate as to whether or not I had died and come back to life, but it was pretty much agreed by all that I probably should have stayed dead, that way I could be partially excused for my behavior.  Let me tell you, it took a long time for me to live that night down.

So what did I learn?  Well, I haven’t touched either Southern Comfort or Hot Damn 100 since then, that much is for sure.  So I have cleaned up at least some of my act…out of concern for my own well being, or is it the well being of others?

Well, there you have it.  I have probably shared more with you right here and now about one of the most personal moments in my life, practically exposing me as a douchebag of some sort.  Why did I do it?  Not because I think it makes me more attractive, obviously…I just felt like it, I mean why not?  If I can’t admit to my audience that I have pooped my pants, what can I admit?

Maybe next time I’ll tell you about the time I was puked on by a Sorority Girl during sex, or maybe about the time I drank an entire fifth (.750 ml) of Tequila, and then chased my roommates around with a butcher knife, making the girlfriend of one of my roommates go into shock and hyperventilate for a half hour, but I don’t know if you folks are ready for such self-depricating honesty.

I am a reformed, renewed, and repentant ex-bastard with a twisted and hurtful sense of humor…Now who wants dessert?

Oh, and I need you all to do something for me.  Go here and tell me what you think…but only if you promise not to hate me afterwards…

I’m thinking these are the posts people burn in hell for…let’s find out. Ciao.