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Friday was the big surprise party for one of the gals in my office who turned 40. Although I'm 17 years her junior, she's a sweet gal that I help out alot. So it's me, my two bosses (husband & wife) and a bunch of people I didn't know riding the train to downtown San Diego to get shitfaced and spend the night.
Check in with a good buzz from drinking on the way down (the cops helped us load the coolers filled with booze onto the train -- San Diego rules!), stack a couple bongloads before I jump in the shower and change. Quick word to the wise -- remember to get Clear Eyes before getting high & hanging out with your boss. Luckily, they just thought I had an extra few at the hotel bar.
Anyway, it's a kick ass shin dig -- we have this entire bar area for ourselves with a couple of pool tables. Cleaned up on a couple poor slobs...
Fast forward to 12:45. I have been power drinking for about seven hours, only pissing a couple of times (to my later amazement). I guess I was too drunk to even realize I needed to take a leak -- I did give 5 bucks to the bathroom attendant to watch out for me and my bad aim).
I stumble out into downtown San Diego much worse for the wear, and not a fucking clue where I am. I attempt to retrace my footsteps to the hotel, but end up inside a pizza place with a slice and a Coke. Now I'm totally fucking lost, no sense of direction and no real hope for getting back to the hotel and the Coke I just drank was on the express lane to my bladder.
Now it's not often that I'm glad to see a piece of shit Iranian camel jockey, but I was almost happy to see that horrible toothy grin and the words "Do you need a ride? You look lost."
Seems nice, eh? Yeah right!
As soon as I get in this cab, this guy starts fucking with me. Yeah I'm drunk, but my drunken autopilot is about as good as it gets -- I've always made it home if its within walking distance.
Little does this this smelly Arab know that I've got the Hoover Dam in my pants about to give way. Anyway, I can only remember vaguely what this guy was saying -- first trying to tell me I didn't know where I was, then I bust him trying to drive me around the block. I say something like, "Listen you fuck, I know we're going in circles--the longer it takes, the less your tip is."
Through the fog, he spouts some anti-American response. Through this drunken exchange, the pressure in my bladder has reached critical mass. He starts saying something about how I'm as wasted as the pilot of our spy plane in China, and I realized I wasn't going to listen to this fuck anymore... at least not without a good dose of ol' U.S.ofA. payback.
So the decision was made, party out of necessity and partly out of pride. As we pull up to the front of the hotel, it's now or never. I thought I might have some difficulty, but it proved much easier than I expected.
As I fished for my wallet, I cut loose. Yes folks, I took one for the team -- manuvered my dick around for maximum exposure and damage and pissed my pants in this asshole's cab. And mind you, this was no normal urinary event -- I'd been drinking heavily and haven't pissed for hours. As I fumbled with my wallet trying not to crack up, I drained my bladder for a good 15 seconds all over this camel humping shithead's backseat.
As I handed him his five bucks (we were only two blocks away from my hotel it turned out), I made sure to do a bit of damage assessment before I stumbled into the lobby. Upon a quick inspection with my hand while I pretended to look for change I lost, I found the damage was complete and total -- almost 75% coverage. I wished I could see the face on the next passenger as he or she plops down in that backseat to the sound of "squiiiiish" and that oh-too-familiar ammonia smell.
As I stripped off my soaked pair of slacks and boxers and started loading my bong for that final swan song, I don't think there was a happier American on this planet: drunk, stoned, naked, and I had just pissed all over some foreigner's backseat.
God Bless America!