It just occurred to me that I've never properly told the story about my car accident, so I figured now was as good a time as any.

It all started at a party in Martinez, California. Now, let me preface this by saying that my acquaintances in Martinez don't have the most glowing opinion of me and my crew, since we've been known to cause some trouble when we're around them. First there was the time Big Tone choked out J.P. McCreadie in front of them, and then there was the time I dry humped an 18-year-old chick in one of their parents' bedrooms. Needless to say, they don't think very highly of us, but for some reason, they keep inviting us to parties.

Anyway, let's rewind to this particular party, which was in late 2000. The party was going well and the booze was flowing, a fact that wasn't lost on me as I downed shot after shot of Jack Daniels. As the evening wore on, I took notice of a particularly attractive blonde sitting on the couch in the corner. Picture a younger, slightly more emaciated Jaime Presley - that's how she looked. Anyway, I decided to work a little of the ol' charm (or lack of class, depending on how you look at it), so I sauntered up to the chick and sat next to her on the couch. The thing about conversations with drunk people is that they're rarely actually listening to what you say. If there's a physical attraction and you're both drunk, you could basically say anything ("I'm a hermaphrodite!") and still get some action.

As I was trying to talk my way into her pants, a friend of mine came up and asked if he could use her cell phone. Remember Bad Influence, who used to appear on the show? It was him. She handed the Motorola to him, asking that he make sure to return it quickly since it was her dad's. He left the room and I continued with my pseudo-charm. About 15 minutes later, though, Bad was right back at the couch, but instead of simply returning the phone, he asked her if she wanted a shot of tequila. To my dismay, she did. It wasn't that I cared if she got drunk, since that's always a plus, but I realized Bad was trying to fuck her too - and I hate competition when I've been drinking. He leads her over to the bar area in the kitchen. Paranoid, I followed them. After the two had poured themselves two rather large shots of tequila, I grabbed the nearest empty (although it clearly had been used by someone else earlier) shot glass and poured myself an equally-big shot of whiskey. The problem with whiskey is that, more than any other kind of hard liquor, it makes a man mean. More on that later. Anyway, we all downed our shots at the same time, although I grimaced more than usual at the taste of mine, since they were now out of Jack Daniels and left only with some generic whiskey (the kind that has three X's on the bottle).

BAD INFLUENCE

As I was putting my empty shot glass back on the counter, I was shocked by what I saw when I turned back around. Bad Influence and the broad were already making out! I couldn't believe my intoxicated eyes. Not sure what to do, I did the first thing that popped into my mind - I pulled her away from him and started to make out with her myself. It was a wet, sloppy kiss, the kind that only happens when two people are both shitfaced and horny, but that didn't stop me from groping her ass. The next thing I knew, however, Bad Influence had pulled her away from me and started making out with her again! The nerve! I let them go at it for about 15 seconds before I decided that it was my turn again. I pulled her back into my arms and planted another fat one on her kisser, but this time, after pulling my tongue back out of mouth, I realized that a ball of chewing gum had been transferred from her mouth to mine. The sweet taste of Juicy Fruit had filled my mouth.

"Oh, it looks like I stole your gum," I said with a cocky smile.

The next statement almost made me lose my lunch. "Actually, that's mine," Bad Influence corrected me.

To say that I was disgusted would be a vast understatement. I wanted to fucking puke. I spit the gum into the sink (an act which the owner of the house surely didn't appreciate) and started wiping my lips with my forearm, desperately trying to get the taste of Bad's gum out of my mouth. He must have realized how gross the situation was, because Bad walked away from the girl and I and promptly started hitting on somebody else. I continued to makeout with the girl for a little bit, but the thought of Bad Influence's tongue in her mouth kept grossing me out. Unfortunately, that didn't stop me from cramming mine right back into hers.

After about 15 minutes, I was tired of the kissing and ready for more. My hands got curious, so I slipped my palm onto her ass again and started doing a little creative petting. She was into it, too... until she realized that Bad Influence still had her cell phone. And he was gone. Suddenly, in the middle of our marathon makeout session, the little tart starts to freak out.

"Oh my God, he's still got my dad's fucking phone!", she shouted into my ear. "I've got to go to his house and get it back or my dad'll kill me!"

Naturally, I didn't give a shit about her cell phone, but I realized that this was a good opportunity to get in her car... and we all know what can happen when drunk couples get into cars with backseats. Unfortunately, I didn't stop to think of the danger that I was putting myself in by letting her drive. We hopped into her brand new 2000 Mustang, and as I buckled my seat belt (thank God), I noticed just how drunk she was. It took her about 20 seconds to figure out how to lock her seatbelt, and when she turned the ignition and started the car, the engine made a screaming sound... because she forgot to stop turning the key after the engine was started. I was too drunk to panic. She put the car into drive and we started down the suburban street, but apparently she didn't notice the "25 MPH" sign that we sped past. She got the 'Stang speeding about 45 miles an hour, and I glanced out the passenger side window at all the picket fences of suburbia racing past. Suddenly, as I turned back to face forward, I saw that we were headed straight for a light pole. The pole was on a concrete island in the middle of the street and we were headed right for it.

The reason drunks don't usually die in car accidents is because, unlike sober people, they don't tense their muscles waiting for the inevitable crash - they're too stupid to realize it's coming. The next few moments were a blur for me, as I wasn't completely aware that we were flying through the air upside down. My life didn't flash before my eyes, I didn't scream, nothing. When I next became aware of my surroundings, I realized the car was upside down and I was hanging from my seatbelt. I also had an airbag slowly deflating away from my face. The girl was screaming bloody murder as if she was missing a limb, but when I looked at her, I didn't see any blood. I leaned over and squeezed her foot.

"Can you feel that," I asked.

"Yeah," she sobbed.

"THEN SHUT UP!", I yelled in my usual sensitive manner. I wasn't trying to be mean, I just couldn't take any more of that god-awful howling.

The next thing I knew, there was a crowd of people around the upside down car, telling us not to move. Big Tone and my friend Ringo were on their knees at my window, asking if I was still alive. I assured them I was fine, and then the ambulances and police arrived to get us out. One of the paramedics shattered the passenger-side window for me and I crawled out, happy to be back outside of the death trap. I stood back and watched as they pulled the chick out, still screaming her skinny ass off, and they asked both of us if we needed an ambulance. I was almost completely scratch free, except for a little bruise under my chin where the seatbelt had clipped me, so I told them no. She was in complete hysterics by this point and demanded that they take her to the ER, so they loaded her on a stretcher and drove off. The police questioned me for a bit, but being a gentleman, I never admitted to them that she had been drinking - but c'mon, it was fucking obvious. They told me that she would probably get a DUI after she was released from the hospital, since she definitely wouldn't be able to pass a breathalyzer test. With that, the cops got back into their cars and drove off. I looked around for Ringo or Tone, since I was now stranded in the middle of Martinez, but they had left! The bastards just left me there! Luckily for me, some guy who had witnessed the accident offered to give me a ride wherever I needed to go.

"Take me to the ER," I said after thanking him.

The thing was, I'm not sure why I wanted to go to the hospital. I'm guessing that there was a degree of false chivalry involved, with me thinking that it was my duty to visit her in the hospital since we had been kissing moments before, but as you're about to find out, I was anything but a gentleman when I arrived at the hospital.

The guy dropped me off at the front of the emergency room, and I walked into the lobby, looking repulsive and reeking of alcohol. I stormed up to the front desk and asked what room the girl was in (I'm purposely not saying her name), but the nurse told me that she hadn't been placed in one yet and that it was way too early for visitors.

"I don't give a fuck if it's too early," I shot back. "Tell me where she is now or I'm gonna raise hell."

She demanded that I stop yelling, which prompted an Arab-looking doctor to take notice. He walked up and asked what the problem was.

"This bitch won't let me see my fucking girl," I yelled, pointing at the nurse. "Now you're going to tell me where to go, right now, or I'm going to tear this motherfucking place apart!"

"Sir, your girlfriend is still being treated by doctors and tested by the police. There's no way you can see her until tomorrow," he explained. "Please calm down."

In my drunken rage, I yelled a few racial epithets at him and stomped away from the desk. I took a seat in the waiting area, but I then realized everybody was staring at me. I knew I had better get the hell out of Dodge before the nurse called the cops. I got back up and pretended to leave the lobby, but when no one was looking, I made a left through a side door and started walking down an empty hospital hallway.

"Time for some anarchy," I thought.

I slipped into one of the unlit rooms and started to punch or kick anything I could get near. The room was pitch black, so I had no idea what I was destroying, but I knew it felt like great fun. I grabbed what felt like a book off a table and tossed it against the wall, I threw a table over, and I smashed what felt like a panel of glass. I then stumbled back towards the door and reached around for a light switch, curious about what I had just done. When the light came on, I was shocked.

The book I had thrown? It was a Bible. The table? It was a little altar. And the panel of glass? Yup, you guessed it - that panel of glass was a decorative piece of stained glass to make the room look more like a church. The room was a nondenominational chapel meant for grieving families. Did I feel guilty? Hell no! I felt drunk, stupid!

I stormed out of the room and looked for something else to break. That's when it caught my eye - the fire extinguisher. Up until this point in my life, I had never actually used one. I've never been around any big fires, so why would I? Well, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to figure out how to use one. I pulled the big red thing off the wall and I ripped the safety pin out of it. And then, aiming it at nothing in particular, with a huge burst of white stuff that would have made Ron Jeremy proud, I shot that son-of-a-bitch all over the hallway. It looked like a bomb had gone off. I decided to march up and down the hallway, shooting inside every unoccupied room, until I turned around to see...

Security guards.

Two of 'em. These were the kind of security guards that diminutive white vandals like me fear the most - big, black and mean looking. Seriously, they looked like they could have been Tiny Lister's overweight cousins. I swallowed hard and opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could I possibly explain myself? The bigger of the two, however, had no problem finding the appropriate words:

"You in a lot of fucking trouble, dawg."

That was all I needed to hear. I threw the fire extinguisher as had as I could in their directions, attempting to distract them for a moment, and I hauled ass out the emergency exit.

I ran and ran for what seemed like miles. I headed for a public park that seemed to be empty, and I picked up the first pay phone I could fine. The first people that I thought to call were Ringo and Big Tone, but both of them had wisely turned their cell phones off to avoid me. I tried calling my brother Danny, but he didn't answer either. As a last resort, I called the one person that I knew would answer - everybody's favorite insomniac, Sean Moses. Just as I had suspected, Sean was still awake. He told me that he'd come down to pick me up as soon as he was done masturbating. Seriously, that was what delayed him.

I paced nervously through the park as I waited for him, hoping that the security guards had given up their chase. Suddenly, though, I saw movement in the shadows. What could it be? Could those two rotund rent-a-cops really have run all this way just to catch a petty vandal like me? Or was it a cop? Or a bird? Or a plane? No, ladies and gentlemen, it was something much scarier than any of those things...

It was a dirty, rotten, stinkin' homeless bum!

Being drunk, however, I wasn't scared of him in the least, despite the fact he was covered in track marks and talking to himself. Hey, that's like 99% of the people I party with! He had a big cardboard house set up out of what looked like a refrigerator box, and being the friendly guy that I am, I asked if I could chill out inside of it while I waited for my friend. He said he didn't mind, so I crawled inside of the little house and checked out his awesome decorations - a ripped sock, some rocks, a couple fruits, and a tiny patch of vomit in the corner. That's pure class, baby! He was a gracious host and asked me if I wanted some fruit. I hesitated for a moment, not sure if that was a homosexual proposition or not, but then I realized he meant an actual apple. I was hungry from all the booze coursing through my veins, so I actually accepted it. He handed me the apple with his dirt-and-vomit-covered hands. Believe it or not, that was the best fucking apple I'd ever had.

Sean arrived shortly after that and was dismayed to see me eating fruit with a homeless guy in a cardboard box, but I assured him it all made sense. I thanked the bum for his hospitality and left with Sean. Upon being dropped off at my house, I noticed something sitting on the doormat in front of my door. It was a cell phone. Not just any cell phone, but the chick's dad's cell phone. There was also a note:

"Bob, I forgot to give this back to that girl. Give it to her the next time you see her."

That was three years ago, folks. I only saw the girl once again after that (for a quick romp in the bathroom at her dad's house), but I forgot to mention the cell phone to her. I still have it, in fact, sitting in the desk that I'm using as I type this. The last time I heard from her was when she called me from a rehab clinic in Oregon, but I still have that phone to remind me of the glorious time we spent together.

Awwwww... memories.