The Stumbler: Part II
Read this first:
The Stumbler
Two days after graduating from high school in 2002, my friends and I went to Beach Week at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The Stumbler came, got drunk, and had stories to tell afterward…if only he could remember them. That’s where I come in.
Our friend Mr. Mountain Dew stayed in the house directly across the street from us, so the two of us often hung-out there. Those were some crazy fucks. They actually drove all the way from Manassas, Virginia with a U-Haul trailer full of alcohol (mostly just Milwaukee’s Best.) It’s safe to say that some of them may also have trouble remembering.
One of them brought two pairs of boxing gloves, so there were always people fighting. Of course, The Stumbler wanted in on this action at the peak of his intoxication. In a normal scenario we would all be straight-headed enough to know that he shouldn’t box in that state of mind. But, our logical reasoning was shot to hell. We really wanted to see a boxing match for the ages.
The two fighters entered the sandy ring and stared the other down. The Stumbler wobbled from side to side, struggling not to tip over. Mr. Mountain Dew knew his far superior boxing skills, combined with The Stumbler’s enormous BAC, would lead him to victory. Mr. Mountain Dew at least has the courtesy to ask The Stumbler, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Mmm-hmm,” The Stumbler replied.
The bell rang and the two fighters squared-off, Mr. Mountain Dew in a black t-shirt and The Stumbler in a white one.
Everybody watching already knew the outcome before it started. Everyone except for The Stumbler, that is. I saw the look in his eye – that night he wanted to KILL Mr. Mountain Dew. He wanted to make him SUFFER.
And so they began. At first Mr. Mountain Dew got a few jabs in while The Stumbler wobbled. Each time he got hit he’d giggle for a second, and then his face would turn to rage. When the time was right The Stumbler went for the knockout…and missed.
Mr. Mountain Dew clobbered him and he went down hard, his nose bleeding all over his white t-shirt. Everyone cheered and expected The Stumbler to stay down, but he got up. To be honest I was worried something bad would happen, but this was just too entertaining to breakup. Mr. Mountain Dew continued the onslaught, knocking The Stumbler down a few more times. And The Stumbler kept getting up, madder each subsequent time. He continued to send huge right hooks at Mr. Mountain Dew but never connected. Finally, The Stumbler took a hard shot to the left cheek, fell back and down a few stairs. TKO.
Don’t worry Stumbles, it happens to the best of us.
Keep reading:
The Stumbler: Part III
The Stumbler
Two days after graduating from high school in 2002, my friends and I went to Beach Week at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The Stumbler came, got drunk, and had stories to tell afterward…if only he could remember them. That’s where I come in.
Our friend Mr. Mountain Dew stayed in the house directly across the street from us, so the two of us often hung-out there. Those were some crazy fucks. They actually drove all the way from Manassas, Virginia with a U-Haul trailer full of alcohol (mostly just Milwaukee’s Best.) It’s safe to say that some of them may also have trouble remembering.
One of them brought two pairs of boxing gloves, so there were always people fighting. Of course, The Stumbler wanted in on this action at the peak of his intoxication. In a normal scenario we would all be straight-headed enough to know that he shouldn’t box in that state of mind. But, our logical reasoning was shot to hell. We really wanted to see a boxing match for the ages.
The two fighters entered the sandy ring and stared the other down. The Stumbler wobbled from side to side, struggling not to tip over. Mr. Mountain Dew knew his far superior boxing skills, combined with The Stumbler’s enormous BAC, would lead him to victory. Mr. Mountain Dew at least has the courtesy to ask The Stumbler, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Mmm-hmm,” The Stumbler replied.
The bell rang and the two fighters squared-off, Mr. Mountain Dew in a black t-shirt and The Stumbler in a white one.
Everybody watching already knew the outcome before it started. Everyone except for The Stumbler, that is. I saw the look in his eye – that night he wanted to KILL Mr. Mountain Dew. He wanted to make him SUFFER.
And so they began. At first Mr. Mountain Dew got a few jabs in while The Stumbler wobbled. Each time he got hit he’d giggle for a second, and then his face would turn to rage. When the time was right The Stumbler went for the knockout…and missed.
Mr. Mountain Dew clobbered him and he went down hard, his nose bleeding all over his white t-shirt. Everyone cheered and expected The Stumbler to stay down, but he got up. To be honest I was worried something bad would happen, but this was just too entertaining to breakup. Mr. Mountain Dew continued the onslaught, knocking The Stumbler down a few more times. And The Stumbler kept getting up, madder each subsequent time. He continued to send huge right hooks at Mr. Mountain Dew but never connected. Finally, The Stumbler took a hard shot to the left cheek, fell back and down a few stairs. TKO.
Don’t worry Stumbles, it happens to the best of us.
Keep reading:
The Stumbler: Part III