clothing of character

its 76 degress outside. why its hot, in november, i have no clue. however, i am not complainging. nonetheless, i wore shorts this afternoon. i went to put on a pair of my khaki shorts, which the last time were worn was at the last little rock game. now, this past summer, i've had some shorts issues. the holes in my favorite pair won, and i opted to throw them out, as opposed to walk around showing half of my ass to anyone who may be behind me. not that i mind so much, because i have a hard, according to tommy, but the other people might mind, and while i normally wouldnt give a fuck, i was feeling somewhat considerate. now, my 2nd favorite pair, also have an issue. they seem to allow my balls to breathe much better than any normal pair of shorts. this is due to a hole that needs to be fixed. on that note, i miss my friend leah, and its not because she always sewed up all my shit for me.

anyway, back to my shorts that i wore at the last little rock game. it all started friday afternoon. brandon called and said, hey, you want to come down to hot springs and get fucked up tonight? sure i do. i had not seen in him a while, and he really is my partner in crime most of the time, so off i go to hot springs friday night. we have some scotch, and kick it till the wee hours of the morning. saturday comes, and we have breakfast and mimosas. 11am, time to make a rum drink. its game day baby, why not? we decide that as opposed to drive 2 vehicles to little rock, i'll just stay saturday night in hot springs after the game. so, we head to little rock, mimosa made, rum ready, and stocked up on ice and beer. i didnt bring a hog shirt with me to hot springs, so i wear one of brandons. we meet brandon's parents for lunch on the golf course, and then stumble around talking to people. i get a student ticket from a fraternity brother, and we head into the game, nice and hammered, right before kickoff. we are playing some bullshit team, so i could care less about getting a good seat. my actually memory of the game itself is vague, but i do remember some guy telling us to sit down and us telling him where to go and what to do when he gets there. seth eventually meets us, and at some point it gets dark, and we go outside to the lca tailgate. my little bro gives us a bunch of beer, and we drink it and hang out until late. somehow, we convince seth to come back to hot springs, and we stop by wendy's. we go to the med school to try to get will from studying to come to hot springs, but the doors are locked, so seth is unable to drunkenly stumble through med school to find will. so, that said, we grub on a shitload of wendy's and head down i35 toward spa city.

half way there, i realize, i am going to puke. "I'm going to throw up," i announce to the car, and i take the wendy's sack and pretend im in an airplane. now, all would have been fine and dandy, except wendy's sacks are weak. i mean really weak. as im about to throw the sack of yack out the window, i feel warmth on my lap, and look down to notice the bottom of the sack has blow out, and im covered in my own vomit. dammit, i think to myself. so im scooping puke off me and throwing it out the window. i tell brandon to stop. and i get out on the side of the interstate, strip down to my boxers, and we continue on. i have some more beer, because i have a hideous taste in my mouth. seth and b laugh the entire way, wishing they had brought a camera. at some point, i remember telling b we are going really fast, and he guns it and announces to the car how he just hit the governor on his 4runner for the 1st time. 107mph. i shouldnt be alive. anyway, i throw my vomit covered clothing in the washer and wash them, then we get in the pool and continue boozing until the sun damn near came up. the next morning, mrs crawford cooked breakfast, thankfully. i dry my clothes, we watch most of the nascar race, and seth and i head back to little rock. now, i have since washed these shorts twice, and they still are full of character. by character, i mean a big puke stain. i am going to attempt to bleach them at some point, but that may fuck them up even more. brandon's truck was covered in what looked like concrete, but was actually puke, on the passenger side. we all got a good laugh out of that. i got some solace for my drunken state when brandon sent me a txt on his way back to fay saying he had to pull over and throw up. will there be a repeat of this chain of events this coming saturday? i hope not, but if so, maybe it will be warm enough to warn my shorts of character, so just in case, i wont fuck up anymore clothes.