Another installation in my stupid stories collection.
Its 1977.
Me, My cousin, and the next door neighbor all decide that on this Friday night, We were gonna check out Missouri Valley. A small(er) town in Iowa about 25 miles north of Omaha. The reason we decided to leave the “big City” and travel the bleak 25 interstate miles on 4.88 gears was that Mo Valley had the dubious reputation of having some bad-assed cars and I was gonna take the mach 1 up there and give those small town boys a case of big city whoop ass.
We left the house around 8 PM that night and decided that before we’d head up north we’d cruise Broadway in Council Bluffs for an hour or so and see what was happenin’. We were sitting at a stop light and a bunch of long hairs in a beater 64 Nova wagon pull up, and the girl in the crowd hangs out and asks if we want some Ever clear.
Both the neighborhood kid ( we’ll nickname him just the NHK) and my horny little cousin eagerly accept the mason jar. The NHK is underage, his reasons for accepting is based on the CB Iowa standard that when underage, any booze is good booze. My cousin is just glad that someone from the opposite sex is talking to him.
The 10 second transaction at the red light saloon ends, the light changes and the long hairs take off, the woman still hanging out of the car looking back at us and screams “ALCOHOL!”
We were just given a mason jar full of clear liquid that smelled like farm implement fuel. We didn’t know the people we got this from, so we had no idea whether or not the stuff would kill us. Did that matter? Why hell no, we began to drink.
It took one sip for me, and I knew that there was no way in hell I’d take another. For the NHK and my cousin however, that was a different story. They drank it all.
My cousin was 5‘7” at about a buck forty, and the NHK was 6’2” and weighed 220. My cousin was a professional drinker, and the NHK,….well this was the first time he had anything harder than a sip of his daddy’s beer.
I don’t have to tell you that despite the physical differences and my cousin’s seasoned liver, they were both hammered in about 30 minutes. Since everybody seems in the proper mindset, we decide that it was time to head for MO Valley.
During the 40 minutes it takes me to drive 25 miles on the interstate, (remember 4.88 gears, it’s 1977, the damn speed limit is 55MPH, and at 55 mph, my engine thinks it‘s going 80) my cousin, relegated to the back seat because of his smaller stature passes out. Conversation with the NHK is little better, his speech has become so slurred, talking w/ him is equivalent to speaking to someone from a foreign country.
When we finally get to MO Valley, we head straight for the main drag advertising to the locals that there is a new sheriff in town.
To my amazement the place is deserted. The only cars on the main drag are stockers, and FAR from anything someone could label as bad-ass.
I make one pass down the “strip” and turn to make a return down the circuit when the NHK slurs out something that sounds like PULLOVERI’MGUNPUKE!
NO NO NO,NOT IN MY CAR! MY 69 mach 1 w/ the deluxe interior w/ the red floor mats sewn into the black carpet. I quickly get off the main drag, and find a side street. 100% sober thinking leads me to the decision that would be the best plan, so as not to advertise to the real sheriff that we’ve been drinking, one guy is passed out and the other is an underage drunk ass about to get sick.
I no sooner get pulled over and the passenger door whips open, the NHK leans out, and begins to vomit out his intestines. This noise rouses my cousin out of his coma, and thanks to the power of suggestion, he decides that he also is gonna get sick, (only he is in the back seat).
I yell at him to move his ass, throw open my door, jump out, and encourage him to do the same. He makes it as far as getting his head out of my door when his emergency reverse evacuation system engages, and he also begins to puke his guts out.
I’m standing out on the street, both doors of my car open w/ two guys hanging out puking. The car is parked on an incline. As I’m watching this scenario, I notice that the two streams of puke are actually racing each other downhill.
It figures.
I come to Missouri Valley looking to find a race, and the only race I witness is the Puke Nationals happening on both sides of my car.
The "race" lasts for about 15 minutes.
Did I mention that it’s mid January? Did I mention that it’s about 10 degrees outside? Did I mention that there is a typical cold assed Iowa wind blowing at about 15 MPH, dropping the ambient temp via windchill to about 0 freakin degrees? Did I mention I am not wearing a coat?
DID I MENTION I’M PISSED!
When The puke-a-thon ends, I tell the two drunk Fkers that the evening’s festivities are over and WE are going home. (surprisingly I got no objections) I make it to the end of the strip almost to the Interstate, when the NHK decides it’s time for PUKE FEST 2 the sequel (the dry heaves). I whip into the Phillips 66 truckstop, and get out, walk around to the passenger side and help the NHK out of the car. I figure his problem is lack of food so I offer to get him a coffee and donut. He sits, swaying back and forth and decides that that may be a good idea, only he wants to come in. Uhhhhhhh NO, Not a good Idea. let me walk you around and see if you’re gonna get sick , Maybe the cold (NO, f’n freezing ) air’ll do you good.
We make it 30’ to a grassy area where people can walk their dogs and that is where the NHK decides he needs to lay down. Now me being fully cognizant I figured that if the NHK knew that he was laying in frozen dog turds, he’d be better off walking, but that is where he wanted to lay.
So who was I to argue w/ 220 lbs of drunk dead weight?
It was at this time that I realized that I could use a cup of coffee and a donut myself. My cousin had returned to his coma, and the NHK was passed out in turd land, so I went into the truck stop and had a cup of Joe and a piece of cherry pie. mmm mm!
10 minutes later I return, determined to start the end to an already way past over evening. Using all I got to persuade and push, I get the the mountain of drunk assed NHK into my car, Now fogged up and frosted over so bad by the comatose cousins snoring, that it looks like there was some serious “Paradise by the Dashboard lights” action going on in there.
40 minutes later, I pull up to the NHK’s house. Point him in the right direction and give him a little push. I drag my cousin out of my car, tell him to go to bed and I do the same. It’s 11 PM on a Friday night in Council Bluffs Iowa.
Everclear………ALCOHOL!!!!!
Its 1977.
Me, My cousin, and the next door neighbor all decide that on this Friday night, We were gonna check out Missouri Valley. A small(er) town in Iowa about 25 miles north of Omaha. The reason we decided to leave the “big City” and travel the bleak 25 interstate miles on 4.88 gears was that Mo Valley had the dubious reputation of having some bad-assed cars and I was gonna take the mach 1 up there and give those small town boys a case of big city whoop ass.
We left the house around 8 PM that night and decided that before we’d head up north we’d cruise Broadway in Council Bluffs for an hour or so and see what was happenin’. We were sitting at a stop light and a bunch of long hairs in a beater 64 Nova wagon pull up, and the girl in the crowd hangs out and asks if we want some Ever clear.
Both the neighborhood kid ( we’ll nickname him just the NHK) and my horny little cousin eagerly accept the mason jar. The NHK is underage, his reasons for accepting is based on the CB Iowa standard that when underage, any booze is good booze. My cousin is just glad that someone from the opposite sex is talking to him.
The 10 second transaction at the red light saloon ends, the light changes and the long hairs take off, the woman still hanging out of the car looking back at us and screams “ALCOHOL!”
We were just given a mason jar full of clear liquid that smelled like farm implement fuel. We didn’t know the people we got this from, so we had no idea whether or not the stuff would kill us. Did that matter? Why hell no, we began to drink.
It took one sip for me, and I knew that there was no way in hell I’d take another. For the NHK and my cousin however, that was a different story. They drank it all.
My cousin was 5‘7” at about a buck forty, and the NHK was 6’2” and weighed 220. My cousin was a professional drinker, and the NHK,….well this was the first time he had anything harder than a sip of his daddy’s beer.
I don’t have to tell you that despite the physical differences and my cousin’s seasoned liver, they were both hammered in about 30 minutes. Since everybody seems in the proper mindset, we decide that it was time to head for MO Valley.
During the 40 minutes it takes me to drive 25 miles on the interstate, (remember 4.88 gears, it’s 1977, the damn speed limit is 55MPH, and at 55 mph, my engine thinks it‘s going 80) my cousin, relegated to the back seat because of his smaller stature passes out. Conversation with the NHK is little better, his speech has become so slurred, talking w/ him is equivalent to speaking to someone from a foreign country.
When we finally get to MO Valley, we head straight for the main drag advertising to the locals that there is a new sheriff in town.
To my amazement the place is deserted. The only cars on the main drag are stockers, and FAR from anything someone could label as bad-ass.
I make one pass down the “strip” and turn to make a return down the circuit when the NHK slurs out something that sounds like PULLOVERI’MGUNPUKE!
NO NO NO,NOT IN MY CAR! MY 69 mach 1 w/ the deluxe interior w/ the red floor mats sewn into the black carpet. I quickly get off the main drag, and find a side street. 100% sober thinking leads me to the decision that would be the best plan, so as not to advertise to the real sheriff that we’ve been drinking, one guy is passed out and the other is an underage drunk ass about to get sick.
I no sooner get pulled over and the passenger door whips open, the NHK leans out, and begins to vomit out his intestines. This noise rouses my cousin out of his coma, and thanks to the power of suggestion, he decides that he also is gonna get sick, (only he is in the back seat).
I yell at him to move his ass, throw open my door, jump out, and encourage him to do the same. He makes it as far as getting his head out of my door when his emergency reverse evacuation system engages, and he also begins to puke his guts out.
I’m standing out on the street, both doors of my car open w/ two guys hanging out puking. The car is parked on an incline. As I’m watching this scenario, I notice that the two streams of puke are actually racing each other downhill.
It figures.
I come to Missouri Valley looking to find a race, and the only race I witness is the Puke Nationals happening on both sides of my car.
The "race" lasts for about 15 minutes.
Did I mention that it’s mid January? Did I mention that it’s about 10 degrees outside? Did I mention that there is a typical cold assed Iowa wind blowing at about 15 MPH, dropping the ambient temp via windchill to about 0 freakin degrees? Did I mention I am not wearing a coat?
DID I MENTION I’M PISSED!
When The puke-a-thon ends, I tell the two drunk Fkers that the evening’s festivities are over and WE are going home. (surprisingly I got no objections) I make it to the end of the strip almost to the Interstate, when the NHK decides it’s time for PUKE FEST 2 the sequel (the dry heaves). I whip into the Phillips 66 truckstop, and get out, walk around to the passenger side and help the NHK out of the car. I figure his problem is lack of food so I offer to get him a coffee and donut. He sits, swaying back and forth and decides that that may be a good idea, only he wants to come in. Uhhhhhhh NO, Not a good Idea. let me walk you around and see if you’re gonna get sick , Maybe the cold (NO, f’n freezing ) air’ll do you good.
We make it 30’ to a grassy area where people can walk their dogs and that is where the NHK decides he needs to lay down. Now me being fully cognizant I figured that if the NHK knew that he was laying in frozen dog turds, he’d be better off walking, but that is where he wanted to lay.
So who was I to argue w/ 220 lbs of drunk dead weight?
It was at this time that I realized that I could use a cup of coffee and a donut myself. My cousin had returned to his coma, and the NHK was passed out in turd land, so I went into the truck stop and had a cup of Joe and a piece of cherry pie. mmm mm!
10 minutes later I return, determined to start the end to an already way past over evening. Using all I got to persuade and push, I get the the mountain of drunk assed NHK into my car, Now fogged up and frosted over so bad by the comatose cousins snoring, that it looks like there was some serious “Paradise by the Dashboard lights” action going on in there.
40 minutes later, I pull up to the NHK’s house. Point him in the right direction and give him a little push. I drag my cousin out of my car, tell him to go to bed and I do the same. It’s 11 PM on a Friday night in Council Bluffs Iowa.
Everclear………ALCOHOL!!!!!
It ain't easy being me, but somebody's gotta do it)). 
