If We Fightin', We Fightin'
"Bosssss-tuuuuun!" we screamed countless times on the way to Boston last January to visit our old roommate, T-Unit. Mr. Mountain Dew and I had been meaning to pay him a visit for over a year. Vodka/Benadryl tagged along because, honestly, who wouldn't want to hang out with T-Unit?
T-Unit's two-year-old son was excited to see us, and showed off by running around the house until snot poured from his nose and he could barely breathe. Unfortunately, he had a cold. Lil’ T-Unit wanted to touch me and I looked at him like he was nuts. "Don't you know that sharing your microorganisms will spread your respiratory viral infection?" I asked him. He understood. Lil’ T-Unit is so smart.
My other friend, Zeke, still kept in touch with a girl we met at spring break in Mexico almost a year before named Kandy. She lived in Boston, so I asked Zeke for her number. I called Kandy the second night we were there. "Hey, it's Ben Rubenstein."
"…Who?"
"From spring break last year."
"…Who?"
"Remember, we went on the zip line where the movie Predator was filmed."
"…Who?"
"…I'm friends with Zeke."
"Oh yeah! Hey Ben!"
The three of us met Kandy at a bar near her school, Boston University. Mr. Mountain Dew took no time before hitting on her. But the quantity of alcohol he had already consumed made him very touchy-feely. Kandy avoided his creepy ass as much as possible.
T-Unit, Vodka/Benadryl and I let Mr. Mountain Dew do his own thing, and he quickly found his way into a friendly group of four guys. Every once in a while he would look over at the three of us with a smirk. We would've gone over to hang out with him, but Kandy came back to talk and we didn't want him to scare her away, again.
We finally made our way over to Mr. Mountain Dew to see why his new friends were so much cooler than us. It turns out they weren't friends at all; the four guys wanted to fight Mr. Mountain Dew. For over an hour he took their verbal abuse because he didn’t give a shit. Also, the Boston guys were chumps: Mr. Mountain Dew was calm as can be, not even finding the need to call us over.
I tried to decipher why they disliked Mr. Mountain Dew. After careful observations and short talks with my incoherent friend, I gathered that Mr. Mountain Dew became touchy-feely with a second girl, the sister of one of the four guys and girlfriend to another. They told Mr. Mountain Dew to leave, but out of principle he wouldn’t back down. They continued berating him until the rest of us showed up.
Vodka/Benadryl wanted to fight, but he didn’t want to drag T-Unit into it. Vodka/Benadryl asked T-Unit how he felt about fighting. T-Unit, always thinking thoroughly before speaking, said, “I'm married, I have a little boy at home and I'm 29. I would rather not fight tonight…but if we fightin', we fightin'."
The Boston guys wanted nothing to do with us. It was probably my huge Abe Lincoln beard that scared them off and not the killer look in the eye of Queens’ own, T-Unit.
Everything was cool until a new girl came by screaming at Mr. Mountain Dew. I think she was friends with the other girl he made uncomfortable.
I had enough. When she told Mr. Mountain Dew "Fuck you," I yelled it back at her. She didn't see that the words came from me and assumed Mr. Mountain Dew said them. So, she yelled it even louder right in Mr. Mountain Dew's ear. "No, FUCK YOU!" I screamed a second time.
The bouncer heard us. He, too, thought Mr. Mountain Dew said it, when really he was just having a very bad night. I'm pleased to say that thanks to me we all got kicked out because I said "fuck you" to a pretty college girl I had never met before. Twice.
Maybe I could’ve won her heart if I let her spend time with Lil’ T-Unit. Chicks dig virus-ridden toddlers with green, gooey snot covering their faces.
T-Unit's two-year-old son was excited to see us, and showed off by running around the house until snot poured from his nose and he could barely breathe. Unfortunately, he had a cold. Lil’ T-Unit wanted to touch me and I looked at him like he was nuts. "Don't you know that sharing your microorganisms will spread your respiratory viral infection?" I asked him. He understood. Lil’ T-Unit is so smart.
My other friend, Zeke, still kept in touch with a girl we met at spring break in Mexico almost a year before named Kandy. She lived in Boston, so I asked Zeke for her number. I called Kandy the second night we were there. "Hey, it's Ben Rubenstein."
"…Who?"
"From spring break last year."
"…Who?"
"Remember, we went on the zip line where the movie Predator was filmed."
"…Who?"
"…I'm friends with Zeke."
"Oh yeah! Hey Ben!"
The three of us met Kandy at a bar near her school, Boston University. Mr. Mountain Dew took no time before hitting on her. But the quantity of alcohol he had already consumed made him very touchy-feely. Kandy avoided his creepy ass as much as possible.
T-Unit, Vodka/Benadryl and I let Mr. Mountain Dew do his own thing, and he quickly found his way into a friendly group of four guys. Every once in a while he would look over at the three of us with a smirk. We would've gone over to hang out with him, but Kandy came back to talk and we didn't want him to scare her away, again.
We finally made our way over to Mr. Mountain Dew to see why his new friends were so much cooler than us. It turns out they weren't friends at all; the four guys wanted to fight Mr. Mountain Dew. For over an hour he took their verbal abuse because he didn’t give a shit. Also, the Boston guys were chumps: Mr. Mountain Dew was calm as can be, not even finding the need to call us over.
I tried to decipher why they disliked Mr. Mountain Dew. After careful observations and short talks with my incoherent friend, I gathered that Mr. Mountain Dew became touchy-feely with a second girl, the sister of one of the four guys and girlfriend to another. They told Mr. Mountain Dew to leave, but out of principle he wouldn’t back down. They continued berating him until the rest of us showed up.
Vodka/Benadryl wanted to fight, but he didn’t want to drag T-Unit into it. Vodka/Benadryl asked T-Unit how he felt about fighting. T-Unit, always thinking thoroughly before speaking, said, “I'm married, I have a little boy at home and I'm 29. I would rather not fight tonight…but if we fightin', we fightin'."
The Boston guys wanted nothing to do with us. It was probably my huge Abe Lincoln beard that scared them off and not the killer look in the eye of Queens’ own, T-Unit.
My best impression of an intoxicated Lincoln.
Everything was cool until a new girl came by screaming at Mr. Mountain Dew. I think she was friends with the other girl he made uncomfortable.
I had enough. When she told Mr. Mountain Dew "Fuck you," I yelled it back at her. She didn't see that the words came from me and assumed Mr. Mountain Dew said them. So, she yelled it even louder right in Mr. Mountain Dew's ear. "No, FUCK YOU!" I screamed a second time.
The bouncer heard us. He, too, thought Mr. Mountain Dew said it, when really he was just having a very bad night. I'm pleased to say that thanks to me we all got kicked out because I said "fuck you" to a pretty college girl I had never met before. Twice.
Maybe I could’ve won her heart if I let her spend time with Lil’ T-Unit. Chicks dig virus-ridden toddlers with green, gooey snot covering their faces.