The Party...
Alcohol, one of the greatest, yet worse, inventions in human history; having the ability to allow for the excuse of undesired effects or emotions to submerge in an uncontrollable rate; consequently also having the power to make one’s greatest dreams and desires come true. This is the reality of all who attend and all who wish they could attend “the party.”
“What’s going on tonight?” One of the most common phrases blurred over a cell phone. College students, high school students, and even just dropouts and graduates, all just are trying to find where they can panhandle some alcohol. Stooping as low as to go to a high school party when you’re in college, or to drive around a neighborhood and find a house with many cars parked in front, just for that ever lasting sinful desire to be restrained, the desire to drink. Ironically enough this isn’t an ordinary lust, it is an over infatuating beast that must be tamed. The lengths that have been preformed to accomplish this goal would seem radical to an observer, but in reality it is nothing out of the ordinary for the average drinker.
It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and someone is having a “get together”, which in reality means a party. Living in Connecticut the drinkers are faced with a dilemma, the ban of alcohol sales on Sunday. This causes to be a problem so what is suggested by the average drinker? “Let’s go to Massachusetts, they sell beer on Sundays.” So off the drinkers commence a road trip with their fake ID’s and cash in hand to make it to the border, just to buy beer because they can’t wait till tomorrow. The reason for buying liquor on a Sunday is none other than the party that was planned for that night. As they whistle through the roads that took years to be created in a matter of minutes they arrive at a package store. Armed with there most serious expression and fake ID they take on the task of choosing the most amount of alcohol possible for the cheapest amount of money and making it past the scrutiny of the cashier.
Once this is accomplished they have no other choice than to look at the time, realize they have to get back to prepare for the long night that awaits them. Although time is relevant, to them it seems like an eternity as they retrace their steps back through the highways at blazing speeds. Fearing nothing, obeying no laws, and not realizing that they at any moment could be in a trouble so great it would blow their minds. But this has no effect; it’s as if their minds are so feeble they don’t comprehend the reality of the risks they take, for luck is on their side today. They figure they made it up to Massachusetts in record time, their weapon of choice worked in the package store, and they are invincible, so there is no reason why they shouldn’t make it back quickly and untainted by the law.
Their theory proves to be true, no encounters with the law and arrived back at their beginning destination with time to spare. Now their minds are put to work, using the little nourishment they acquired throughout the day they strain their brains to conjure up the way to make their “get together” the best possible. They come up with ideas ranging from ones that would classify them as clinically insane, to ones that are so fool proof they could be geniuses. But being the average drinker they mix and match, and come up with the plan that is simple, easy, and very fragile. To invite only friends, and to have the friends invite the “hot” girls.
As the afternoon fades into the horizon the evening begins to make its self present. The drinkers scramble to lock down anything valuable in the house, clean out the basement, and set up the beer pong tables. And then it happens, the phones start to ring, and the famous phrase if echoed through ears of the hosts, “what’s going on tonight?” As they are finishing up there final touches on the house, they let the callers know that they are having a “get together” and that they are welcome to come as long as they bring “hot” girls.
The house is complete; the hour of initiation begins, the cheap beer is chilled and stocked well in the fridge. The few drinkers who have gone to extents unimaginable have a couple words before the night begins. Wishing each other good luck; joking around how this night will be memorable, not because of what is done, but who they will hopefully “hook up” with. They take the picture, everyone makes a crazy face, and the night is officially started.
Friends and foes show up, some buzzed already, others completely sober, all with one thing on there mind, free beer. The cell phones are heard at the beginning of the night franticly wanting to be heard. Ringing them selves to death, mix of sounds, some have music, others have weird beets, but they all have one thing in common, the common phrase will be blurted all through the night through them, “what’s going on tonight?” Some will lie to the caller, others will be honest, but in the end they all find out sooner or later, and more and more people continue to show up. It like everyone is a blood thirsty zombie, and the party is the only place in town that has banks of blood available. People hoping and praying that their obsessions will show up and others also hoping and praying that their nightmares will stay home. As the early part of the night begins to fade the cell phones begin to calm, the drinkers begin to get rowdy, and the most dreaded moment makes its self present, the supply of alcohol is diminishing.
This proves to be to large of a problem for some as they dissipate into the eerie abyss known as the road. The others stay fending off for them selves, trying to hide the scarce amount of alcohol left. Like squirrels preparing for winter by burying their acorns, the drinkers cover up the beer in the fridge hoping it will be there when they depleted their current can. The hosts now in drunken stupors attempt to make coherent conversations with one another by weird gestures and slurred words. Thanks to them having experience in this field they all manage to communicate. They come to an agreement that once the last can is drunk they will ban everyone from the house. But as the last can is devoured by a alcohol crazed drinker there is no one sober enough to enforce the agreement.
The night is crashing to an end, it appeared to be a success, although few had desires filled, many had confessions accepted. The drinkers all enjoyed the night; the craze to have their fix soothed was accomplished. Those who vanished from the premises left some clues behind. Others who stayed may not remember the night all to well. But one thing is undoubtedly undeniable; all that came made it apparent, the drinker’s goal is not to satisfy his craving. Or even to have a dream or desire filled, but in reality the drinker’s goal is to live for the nights he won’t remember, with the people he’ll never forget.
“What’s going on tonight?” One of the most common phrases blurred over a cell phone. College students, high school students, and even just dropouts and graduates, all just are trying to find where they can panhandle some alcohol. Stooping as low as to go to a high school party when you’re in college, or to drive around a neighborhood and find a house with many cars parked in front, just for that ever lasting sinful desire to be restrained, the desire to drink. Ironically enough this isn’t an ordinary lust, it is an over infatuating beast that must be tamed. The lengths that have been preformed to accomplish this goal would seem radical to an observer, but in reality it is nothing out of the ordinary for the average drinker.
It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and someone is having a “get together”, which in reality means a party. Living in Connecticut the drinkers are faced with a dilemma, the ban of alcohol sales on Sunday. This causes to be a problem so what is suggested by the average drinker? “Let’s go to Massachusetts, they sell beer on Sundays.” So off the drinkers commence a road trip with their fake ID’s and cash in hand to make it to the border, just to buy beer because they can’t wait till tomorrow. The reason for buying liquor on a Sunday is none other than the party that was planned for that night. As they whistle through the roads that took years to be created in a matter of minutes they arrive at a package store. Armed with there most serious expression and fake ID they take on the task of choosing the most amount of alcohol possible for the cheapest amount of money and making it past the scrutiny of the cashier.
Once this is accomplished they have no other choice than to look at the time, realize they have to get back to prepare for the long night that awaits them. Although time is relevant, to them it seems like an eternity as they retrace their steps back through the highways at blazing speeds. Fearing nothing, obeying no laws, and not realizing that they at any moment could be in a trouble so great it would blow their minds. But this has no effect; it’s as if their minds are so feeble they don’t comprehend the reality of the risks they take, for luck is on their side today. They figure they made it up to Massachusetts in record time, their weapon of choice worked in the package store, and they are invincible, so there is no reason why they shouldn’t make it back quickly and untainted by the law.
Their theory proves to be true, no encounters with the law and arrived back at their beginning destination with time to spare. Now their minds are put to work, using the little nourishment they acquired throughout the day they strain their brains to conjure up the way to make their “get together” the best possible. They come up with ideas ranging from ones that would classify them as clinically insane, to ones that are so fool proof they could be geniuses. But being the average drinker they mix and match, and come up with the plan that is simple, easy, and very fragile. To invite only friends, and to have the friends invite the “hot” girls.
As the afternoon fades into the horizon the evening begins to make its self present. The drinkers scramble to lock down anything valuable in the house, clean out the basement, and set up the beer pong tables. And then it happens, the phones start to ring, and the famous phrase if echoed through ears of the hosts, “what’s going on tonight?” As they are finishing up there final touches on the house, they let the callers know that they are having a “get together” and that they are welcome to come as long as they bring “hot” girls.
The house is complete; the hour of initiation begins, the cheap beer is chilled and stocked well in the fridge. The few drinkers who have gone to extents unimaginable have a couple words before the night begins. Wishing each other good luck; joking around how this night will be memorable, not because of what is done, but who they will hopefully “hook up” with. They take the picture, everyone makes a crazy face, and the night is officially started.
Friends and foes show up, some buzzed already, others completely sober, all with one thing on there mind, free beer. The cell phones are heard at the beginning of the night franticly wanting to be heard. Ringing them selves to death, mix of sounds, some have music, others have weird beets, but they all have one thing in common, the common phrase will be blurted all through the night through them, “what’s going on tonight?” Some will lie to the caller, others will be honest, but in the end they all find out sooner or later, and more and more people continue to show up. It like everyone is a blood thirsty zombie, and the party is the only place in town that has banks of blood available. People hoping and praying that their obsessions will show up and others also hoping and praying that their nightmares will stay home. As the early part of the night begins to fade the cell phones begin to calm, the drinkers begin to get rowdy, and the most dreaded moment makes its self present, the supply of alcohol is diminishing.
This proves to be to large of a problem for some as they dissipate into the eerie abyss known as the road. The others stay fending off for them selves, trying to hide the scarce amount of alcohol left. Like squirrels preparing for winter by burying their acorns, the drinkers cover up the beer in the fridge hoping it will be there when they depleted their current can. The hosts now in drunken stupors attempt to make coherent conversations with one another by weird gestures and slurred words. Thanks to them having experience in this field they all manage to communicate. They come to an agreement that once the last can is drunk they will ban everyone from the house. But as the last can is devoured by a alcohol crazed drinker there is no one sober enough to enforce the agreement.
The night is crashing to an end, it appeared to be a success, although few had desires filled, many had confessions accepted. The drinkers all enjoyed the night; the craze to have their fix soothed was accomplished. Those who vanished from the premises left some clues behind. Others who stayed may not remember the night all to well. But one thing is undoubtedly undeniable; all that came made it apparent, the drinker’s goal is not to satisfy his craving. Or even to have a dream or desire filled, but in reality the drinker’s goal is to live for the nights he won’t remember, with the people he’ll never forget.