Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time (2 page)

BOOK: Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time
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Chapter 3

A
Pale Horse

 

The noise and blood-alcohol levels in the apartment steadily
rose as the afternoon wore on. Porn played on the big screen while music
blared, and the drinking games got out of hand. Conversations focused on sports
and loose women while the lies about salaries and sex floated around as thick
as the pot smoke filling the room.

Meanwhile, Charlie was
striking out in a card game called “asshole” and had started to get suspicious.
“All right, which one of you shit-heels is cheating?” he said while dealing the
cards. Left-Nut, Jim and Big Rob stayed cool, so Charlie focused on his friend
named Vidu. “You look guilty and your last hand was too good. Take five
drinks.”

The “asshole” assigned drinks only while dealing, but anyone
else could return the favor afterwards, and this often led to swift payback.

Vidu, a short and wiry Sri Lankan native, chugged his beer.
“What can I say? I’m lucky with cards and women. It’s a gift from the gods.”

He’d been in the States for ten years but still had a thick
accent and a horrible grasp of American culture. Why the gang put up with him
was anyone’s guess.

“Luck better find you a wife soon or you’ll be back to
humping monkeys in the jungle,” Charlie said with a wink.

“Don’t worry, ladies love the Vidu.” This was an
overstatement, and with a two-month deadline to get a green card, things looked
bleak indeed.

Blake knocked the cards out of Charlie’s hands. “Our limo is
gonna be here in twenty minutes so start getting ready.” He leaned in with an
arched eyebrow. “By the way, Vidu’s been cheating the whole time.”

Everyone threw their cards down and Charlie wiped his brow
in relief. His buzz was growing, and it was way too early for that. He looked
to Vidu. “Luck, huh? You just earned yourself a prairie fire shot at the bar.”

“You make your own luck,” Vidu replied.

Blake called everyone in for the game plan. “Gentlemen, the
first stop’s a little Irish pub by the name of Drunken McPunchee’s.” The cheers
he expected never materialized.

Smokey in particular wasn’t having it. “That place is all
Lincoln Park trust-fund babies. We should go across the street to Ned and
Eileen’s. They’ve got cheap drinks, no lines and no one-percenters.”

Blake stifled the dissent quickly. “First off, smelly hippy,
someone has to pay taxes so you druggies can get free needles and hepatitis
medicine. More importantly, Ned and Eileen’s is a fucking dive, and the only
bush we’ll see there is the old hag that owns the place. McPunchee’s has dance
music and co-eds, and tonight’s Mailbox Night. Single, drunk chicks. There’s a
slim chance that even Vidu could get laid.”

“Who’s getting married again?” Mike asked.

“I’m not married yet, gay-wad,” Blake shot back. “Look, if
you want to see a drag-queen show, meet up with the bachelorette party. If
you’re coming with us, grow a pair.”

“Real funny,” Mike said. “Maybe I will go see your fiancée
tonight.”

Moments later they assembled outside. The sun had set but it
was still brutally hot, and the Midwest humidity clung to them like a needy
ex-girlfriend. It had been a long summer for everyone.

“Where’s the damn limo?” Left-Nut said and raised an
ice-cold bottle to his forehead.

Smokey had a smug look on his face. “Global warming’s a
bitch, isn’t it?”

Charlie had heard this
spiel for the last time. “Oh please. You put up some solar panels and suddenly
you’re greener than Al Gore’s cock? Spare me. Nobody is buying it dude.”

“There’s nothing wrong with going granola,” Smokey replied.
“Have to balance out the republi-nazis, and you know the crunchy chicks love
it.”

“Ooh, look at me, I’m Captain Planet because I wipe my ass
with newspapers and take hobo baths,” Charlie said.

“Laugh it up, fuckers. But hasn’t it been super hot lately
around here?”

“It is summer,” one of Blake’s nameless co-workers said and
loosened his tie.

Smokey was unbothered by his total lack of support. “When we
dry up like China did and shit hits the fan, you’ll come knocking. This place
is totally off the grid, baby. I’ve got solar power, charcoal water filters,
the whole nine yards. I’ve been getting pointers from that
Doomsday Preppers
show.”

“Screw China. After invading Taiwan they can all starve to
death as far as I’m concerned,” Jim said. “Plus, the savages eat dogs.”

Blake threw his hands up. “Come on, no politics at my
bachelor party. Talk about socket wrenches or pussy or something. Hell, talk
about socket wrenches
and
pussy.”

Big Rob pointed skyward. “That sure looks like something to
talk about.”

“Holy shit,” Left-Nut said as the bottle slipped from his
hand and shattered on the road.

Beyond belief, clearly appearing on the rising full moon was
the image of a horse, outlined in green and standing on its hind legs. A pale
horse.

“It looks like the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse,” Jim
stated breathlessly. No one challenged the ex-altar boy, and the drunken group
stood in stunned silence for a few long seconds.

Finally, Charlie spoke up. “Do any of you morons watch the
news?” Blank stares. “Seriously, nobody even heard about this the past month?”

Left-Nut shook his head. “Spit it out already.”

“You can stop clutching your pearls because that’s an
advertisement for Pale Horse Beer.”

There were some sighs of relief and a few lies about knowing
the whole time, but Big Rob still stared up in confusion. “Do you mean
astronauts are up on the moon right now?”

Charlie bit his tongue. Rob had never been all that bright,
and after countless blows to the head was even less so. “Nobody’s up there. The
company’s using some high powered lasers beamed up from northern Canada.”

“Oh, cool,” Rob said.

“They had to keep airplanes out of the sky for miles around
so they wouldn’t get burned up on accident.”

“Sounds expensive,” Gay Mike said.

“Like a million dollars a minute,” Charlie said. “Still, a ton
of people are gonna see it. But you’d have to be a complete moron to fall for
marketing like that.” The eerie design blinked a few times and then
disappeared. “Looks like the show’s over.”

The limo finally pulled
up, and everyone piled into the pimped-out ride and went right back to
drinking. ESPN played on flat screens while rap music and a disco ball set the
tone as the hectic pace of the party picked up once more.

Blake set down two paper sacks. “Okay, we’re gonna do boat
races so none of you dildos sober up.” Inside were two lukewarm bottles of
strawberry Mad Dog 20-20, breakfast of winos all over the world. “It’s my
college friends versus my work friends. You guys always talk smack so now we’ll
see who can back it up.”

After some mild grumbling, the two teams squared off. The
game was a simple one. A player would chug and then pass the bottle down the
line, and the anchor had to finish it off. The first team to finish would earn
coveted shit-talking rights for the rest of the night.

The race began, and even with Vidu’s lackluster

performance, the college friends dominated. Of course,
having Big Rob made the difference. After all, the man was legendary in the
sporting world for guzzling a bottle of whiskey on the way into the ring before
demolishing an opponent.

Left-Nut was quick to
stir the pot. “I haven’t seen anyone lose that bad since the Jamaican bobsled
team. You boys ever drank before?”

Blake’s overdressed
friend named Cliff fought back. “First off, you guys had Andre the Giant over
there. The guy’s head is like a watermelon,” he said and gestured to Rob who
was tucking into a cheeseburger pulled from one of his pockets. “Second off,
who gives a shit? You can drink a lot, big deal. Put it on a resume and see if
it gets you a job.”

It was too early for the griping to start, so the bachelor
stepped in to moderate. “Listen up, ladies. We’re gonna be at McPunchee’s in a
minute. The limo’s coming back at ten for the next stop, so if you wander off,
tough shit.”

Charlie raised his hand. “Where are we going at ten?”

“Patience, young Padawan,” Blake said with an impish grin,
enjoying his control over the itinerary. “It’s another of my favorite stomping
grounds. I promise it’ll be fun.”

Upon arriving, the gang clambered back into the sweltering
heat and humidity that was thick enough to suck the breath right out of a
person’s lungs. Luckily, the line was short.

McPunchee’s was a dive that specialized in watered down
drinks and cheesy gimmicks. Mailbox Night was one such gimmick where drinkers
had the chance to meet complete strangers by wearing address labels. If a
person wanted to flirt, they simply dropped a note in the corresponding
mailbox. It was dumb, but the place was packed.

They grabbed their tags and spread out to eye the talent
while Charlie went to buy a round of beer. A perky brunette sporting a
ridiculously short skirt came over as a Guns-n-Roses song came on the jukebox.
She had a skanky emo look going and he definitely approved.

“I need to open a tab.”

She leaned forward, flashing the balding man a fake smile
and scrunching her cleavage together while grabbing Charlie’s almost maxed out
credit card. “Sure thing. What can I get you?”

He smiled back. “Fifteen Pale Horses.”

Chapter 4

Love
Letters

 

Charlie chatted with his closest pals while the others shot
pool or hit on women. The crew saw each other less often now, so it was good to
hear old stories of bar fights, hazing pledges, cheating on tests and catching
each other masturbating in the quad.

But reality had proven to be quite different from their time
at the dilapidated fraternity house. Where school had been one big party, adult
life was one giant hangover. Crappy jobs, failed relationships, crushed dreams
or the drudgery of suburban life had taken a toll on all of them.

The trip down memory lane conjured up better times, but also
reminded them of all that had changed. Panama City spring breaks became
antiquing in Door County. Late nights partying turned into late nights meeting
deadlines. A whirlwind of morally challenged women morphed into a nagging wife,
or even worse, the dim glow of internet porn in a lonely bedroom. In a
nutshell, adulthood sucked.

Jim cleared his throat. “I wanted to let you guys know that
Cindy’s pregnant. Obviously, this is a big deal for us.”

Charlie slapped him on the back and leaned in. “Who’s the
dad?” Everyone busted up. “No, but that’s awesome news. Congrats.”

“She’s due around Thanksgiving, and we’re gonna wait to find
out the sex.”

“I’m sure you don’t have enough testosterone to pump out
anything with a dick, so I’m guessing it’s a girl,” Left-Nut said dryly and
wandered to the dance floor to harass several women minding their own business.

Jim flashed the white-haired jerk a dirty look. “Says the
guy with one testicle.”

“Don’t mind the sour grapes,” Blake said loudly and then
summoned a round of Jager Bombs in celebration.

Charlie wondered what was wrong with the rest of them,
himself included. Vidu could barely speak English and was on the verge of
deportation. Big Rob had gained seventy pounds and hadn’t fought in two years.
Gay Mike was un-dateable, and Smokey was down to his last brain cells. Finally,
there was the walking hard-on known as Left-Nut. Charlie watched him get shot down
by four girls in thirty seconds and keep right on trucking. Getting laid was a
numbers game, he always said.

Vidu stumbled off to the bathroom and Charlie saw his chance
to get even. Having blown most of his money on the round of beers, he settled
on something more devious than buying a disgusting shot, and it wouldn’t cost a
dime.

He grabbed two blank letters from the mailbox station and
addressed the first to a stacked college girl that he’d noticed earlier sucking
down dry martinis like water. The schoolteacher marked it, “Urgent: Special
Delivery,” and the words flew feverishly from his pen.

 

I could not help but notice how gorgeous and sexually
active you are looking in the glow of the neon Budweiser sign. Would you like
some alcohol beverage? Maybe a fruited drink like on Sex and the City? I would
like very much to make love to your large American breasts. Are you wealthy?
Please write back to mailbox #102 or see me at the table next to the dartboard.
I am wearing an orange Ed Hardy shirt.

 

Dearly yours,

Vidu

 

P.S. Do you have any
diseases?

P.P.S. If you are a
lesbian or a bitch please give this letter to your short friend that is dressed
like a hooker.

 

Charlie addressed the second letter to Vidu.

 

Hi there, stranger.

I saw you the moment I walked in and just had to drop you
a few lines. You’re really cute. Make sure you come see me tonight! I’m kinda
shy but would love a big hug.

XOXO,

#70

 

Charlie dropped the letters into the numbered slots and
casually went back to his seat to find Left-Nut complaining about stuck-up
women while Big Rob wolfed down expired pickled eggs.

Remembering the gross bathroom incident from earlier,
Charlie pushed the jar away and took on the lecturing tone he often used when
speaking to his giant friend. “Stop eating all this junk if you’re staying at
my place. The pipes can’t handle it.”

“Fine, I promise I won’t use your toilet.”

“That’s not what I mean.
What I’m really getting at is, if you’re ever going to fight again you need to
lose weight. Honestly, you’re starting to look like a sumo wrestler.”

Now it was Rob’s turn to get annoyed. “You want to act like
my trainer again? You did such a great job the last time,” he said, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. It hadn’t worked out so hot, and he still blamed Charlie
for his stalled career.

“I just want you to take care of yourself. You keep living
like this and you won’t be around long.”

Rob looked down. “I guess I could stand to lose a couple of
pounds.” He always ended up agreeing with Charlie.

“You know I need to get in shape too. How about I start
running with you next week?”

Rob’s face brightened. “It could be like old times again,
except this time I won’t get—”

“Check out the buns on her,” Left-Nut said and pointed at an
attractive girl swaying on the dance floor to a crappy indie-rock song, the
same girl that Charlie had just written to. “She’s giving me a five-dollar
footlong.” Vidu agreed and the trap was set.

Twenty minutes later the girl went to the mailbox and
discovered the letter. A sour look crossed her face and she scanned the bar for
the creeper in the day-glow shirt.

In the meantime, Blake gathered the party together for yet
another drinking game. “Okay, guys, it’s time for credit card roulette. Put
your card into this lovely hat, and if I pull your card, you buy a round. The
only catch is the buyer picks the shot. We’ll pull two. Any questions?” There
weren’t. “Good. Pony up.” He handed a trucker hat sporting giant boobs to
Cliff.

Charlie tossed his card in, knowing it couldn’t cover one
shot much less a round. For him, it really was roulette. Cliff gathered the
other cards and then stared upwards at Rob. “I need one from the big guy.”

“Like anyone would give me credit. Dude, I’ve got like two
pairs of underwear to my name.”

Cliff looked at Rob with disgust. “Someone needs to cover
for cheap-ass here and add another card.” Jim stepped up since he’d been paying
for the loveable loser’s tab all night anyway.

Blake pulled out the first card. “Jim Evans.” He shuffled
the cards in the hat and then pulled out one more. “What are the odds? Jim
again, sucks to be you.”

“What the hell?”

“That’s the breaks,” Blake said. “Cindy is gonna flip out
when she checks your bank statement.”

“She probably will.” Now resigned to dropping a bunch of
cash, Jim wanted to have some fun with it. “Since it’s loser’s choice, you’re
gonna have a cement mixer and a dead Nazi. Suck on that.”

Mike groaned. “God, I hate these stupid games.”

“Rules are rules,” Cliff said. “I’m surprised Jim picked
those shots since he has to drink them too.”

Jim’s smile evaporated. “Scratch that order. Two rounds of
cherry pucker it is.”

Cliff smiled. “What was that about prom night earlier?”

“Whatever, asshole. Let’s do this.” Jim flagged a waitress
and they downed the fruity shots and went back to their conversations.

Charlie put his plan into action now that Vidu was looking
thoroughly sauced. “Let’s see if we have any mail.” They didn’t, and with
Left-Nut’s lines like, “You’re ugly, but you intrigue me,” it was no surprise.

But Vidu had apparently hit pay dirt, and his eyes lit up as
he read the note. “I need to find this number seventy. She needs a hot Vidu
injection, stat.”

They eagerly looked for Vidu’s pen pal and Blake spotted the
beauty first. “Bullshit. No way she wants his lame ass.”

Of course, Vidu took offense to Blake’s statement and
responded in kind. “Don’t be jealous. You’re engaged, why care if I can pull
more ass than you?” It was rare the awkward foreigner got a chance to lord over
his arrogant friend, but now he’d have to put up or shut up.

“Seal the deal, Casanova,” Blake said with a chuckle. He
knew this wouldn’t end well and had always enjoyed his friend’s legendary
meltdowns.

Normally Vidu would be petrified to approach any woman, much
less a knockout like this, but tonight he’d been guzzling liquid courage in a
can. He combed his greasy hair with his fingers and tucked in his shirt. “This
is how it’s done, boys.”

“Twenty bucks says he blows it,” Blake said and waved a
crisp bill. No takers.

“Hey, sexy mama,” Vidu said as he grabbed the alluring girl
from behind and gave her a bear hug.

The vixen turned around and recoiled in disgust when she saw
who held her ever so gently. “Get off me, you perverted fuckwad,” she said and
followed with an open palmed bitch-slap to the Sri Lankan’s shocked face. As if
that weren’t enough, Charlie’s phone was recording every glorious second,
ensuring this payback would last forever.

Vidu clutched his jaw and asked with a whimper, “What was
that for?”

The enraged girl ignored his question as she balled her
fists and prepared to press the attack. But right before she thrashed him
again, a tank-top-wearing bouncer stepped in and saved Vidu from further
humiliation.

“All right, jackass, time to go.” He put one meaty hand on
Vidu’s puny shoulder and pointed to the door.

Fearing deportation even more than another righteous ass
whipping, Vidu ran out like quicksilver. “The rest of you need to go, too. We
don’t cater to creeps here,” the meathead added, itching for an excuse to show
off for the pretty girl.

Everyone was too busy gasping for air to notice how much of
a prick the bouncer was, and they left without further incident. Charlie put
his phone away and climbed into the waiting limo, still smiling about his dirty
deed.

BOOK: Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time
12.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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