"Two-Thousand-Eleven"

Authors: Brock Miller and Nate Bell

Everyone has New Year’s resolutions. Some people want to lose weight, get laid for a first time, not date such assholes or sluts who fuck you over, make more money, party less, drink more but I had a New Year’s resolution for 2010 different than those: End 2010 harder than I ended in 2009. Completed: 12/31/10.

I said my New Year’s resolution for 2011: Would not be losing weight, I like to think of myself as not that big. I get laid, so that’s out. Everyone gets fucked over, fuck life fucks you over. I could always use more money. I could never party less, I could always drink more. But I thought mine for 2011 would be something worth writing about, something I haven’t done yet, probably one no one cares about, but fuck you all, right? So here are some of my friends New Year’s Resolution and mine:

Brock NYR-2011: Win the 3rd annual 50-Hour Challenge; No sleep, All drinking.

Nate NYR-2011: Out-do the 2010 ghost of Nate Bell in EVERY way possible. You know…beer, bitches, etc.

Kent NYR- 2011: Never lose in a Shot-Gun Race… Even though I still never lost.

Seth NYR- 2011: More fat chicks; Get alcohol poisoning again.

Deven NYR- 2011: Survive all the alcohol I will consume this year. That an easy one, right?

Jared NYR- 2011: Quit havin naps; Cuttin in my drinkin time.

If you know me, which most of you don’t because you cannot handle someone one like me or let alone handle all of us in your life, or if you know anyone around the town I live in, or hung out with any of us at one point in your life. Then you know us, you know us well, and we are all about one thing… getting white boy wasted. So we pre-game. No one wants to show up to a party sober. Well me and my friend, Nate, we couldn’t go to the New Year’s party without some good stories to show up with and prepare our liver ready for a Mike Tyson knock out, I mean it’s the biggest party of the year, besides my birthday. So we did our Pre-gaming non-stop for 5 days up to the eve of what will be the greatest New Year’s in my eighteen years of precious life on the 3rd rock from the sun, earth. So I asked Nate to type some of the tells of our adventures before the New Year:

The HELL of Ten High

As you probably know already Brock and I spent our Christmas break drinking beer, getting shitty, and causing trouble. Night after night, making story after story, but one night stands out from the bunch. You know it’s kind of like that one fat chick at the party that sticks out the most and everyone tries to avoid her until there body has had enough alcohol, you know guys?

The night began as it always does with a trip to town, having no plans whatsoever, and a few bucks to get me by.  I meet up with Brock at Village Green and we try to decide on what to do. We had a pretty good idea of what might happen but no official plans until Brock said:

“I’m in the mood to get FUUUUUUUUUUCKED UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!”

Obviously I wasn’t going to sober chauffer his ass around the gravel roads so my plan was to get just as drunk or even more than he planned to.  We can get pretty drunk off beer (IF you give us enough of it) but there was only one way we could get “fucked up.”  We both knew what had to be done, just then we turn to each other and both blurt out:

“TEN HIGH! … FUCK!”

(You would understand why we both said “FUCK” if you knew our first encounter with this devil-of-a-whiskey. I’m not sure how Ten High got the name, if I was founder it’d be called, Ten Under, because by the end of this night I felt ten feet under. FUCK!)

We placed an order with our buyer (a Mexican with pink shoes) who returned within seriously three minutes with a half-gallon of Ten High whiskey and a Busch Light tall boy for each of us. We also had a flask of Evan Williams as back-up in case all the other alcohol didn’t do the trick. All we needed next was some Coke to mix it with.  We both polish off our tall boys first and I was the first to crack into the whiskey. Just the smell of this cheap shit brought back horrible memories; the taste of it was worse, like bad decisions, fuck it! Time

to hit some g-roads!

After about an hour of gravel I had finished my first Rt. 44 of Coke and Ten High while Brock was still sucking on the straw like it was a nipple or some shit. Finally I said:

“I knew you were a pussy but I swear I heard you said you wanted to get FUUUCKED UPPP…so get that sand out of your vagina and DRINK UP!”

I know Coke and whiskey isn’t ever meant to be chugged but we started the 5 seconded chugs: 5-4-3-2-2-2-2-2-1-DONE. Miles down the road we are feeling pretty buzzed but not even close to “fucked up.”  We had a long night ahead of us; that is until it came to a halt when Brock’s Mazda couldn’t make it up this mountain that was covered in a thin layer of snow and ice. If you saw this hill, you wouldn’t think twice if you were in Himalayas staring directly at Mount Everest. If you have ever been gravel roading with us before you know that one of our rules is “No reverse; never turn around.”  We had two options: Make it up this hill and continue on our way OR call it quits like a couple of pussies and break our own rule. But we are conquers, So…

"Go Hard or Go Home"

Author: BROCK MILLER

For everyone that did not attend Saturday and wants to hear how “HARD” of weekend it was for my “Crew" and the events that took place, read this, otherwise go lay out in the middle of a highway…
Urban Dictionary definition of 'Go Hard':

GO HARD- To just drink all night and day until you can’t drink anymore... just get so drunk you can't remember nothing.

I’m not the one to write a story about every weekend of my life, unless I think it needs to be shared and something besides the usual drunkenness or vomiting of his or her insides out along with one mean-ass-hangover. But this weekend (12/10 - 12/12) was a lot more interesting. . .

Friday Night:

First off and foremost, I had every intention of gaining the title of the drunkest one out of EVERYONE, both Friday and Saturday.

It was a first… it wasn't Brock Miller. Fuck.

Skylar is supposed to take us to a double kegger at the cottages in CoMo (Columbia for all you slow and older people). We pass time waiting for him to get off work, by playing 'Landmines'. No 'Landmines' isn't a group of fat ugly grenades. Its death/drinking game that never fails of making me:

1. Blacking out.
2. Vomit uncontrollably.
3. Breaking things.
4. Claim to be an renowned expert on things I could not begin to explain when sober.
5. Become very angry with inanimate objects, and loudly curse them.
6. Have long and involved conversations over important topics that I have no recollection of the next day.
7. Wake up somewhere that I have never seen before, and do not recognize.

It is the ultimate death sentence if you are playing with 3 people or less, this happened a lot of the times I lived in Moberly over the month of September with Jared Westfall and Josh Helming. But according to Webster’s Urban Dictionary:

Landmines- A drinking game invented by some college students. This game involves plastic cups, a quarter, and lots and lots of canned beer. First you need to gather as many people as you want to play. Usually a good number is 4. The more people there are, the harder the game gets. Everyone sits around a large table or flat surface. Each player gets a plastic cup and a can of beer. They pour as much beer as they want into the cup, and then the first person spins the quarter on the table. Once the quarter is spinning, the player picks up their cup with one hand, chugs the beer in the cup, puts the cup down, and picks up the quarter with the same hand they chugged the beer with. If the quarter falls off the table, the player must drink what is in their cup, refill it, and spin/drink again. If the quarter hits another cup on the table, the player must drink what's in that cup as well as what is in their cup, refill their cup, and spin/drink again. When someone finishes a beer, they may place it on top of the quarter while it is spinning during any give turn. The player who was in the process of drinking when the can was placed must spin/drink again, and the can stays there for the rest of the game. If at any time the quarter hits the can, the player must spin/drink again. The game goes until you run out of beer or everyone passes out.

The aftermath after an hour and a half between 3 people, a 12 pack of Busch, and 2 Sparks was a very good buzz and Skylar finally coming back to the apartment at 11:00pm.

At 11:10pm we are in Jamies’ brand new mustang, with (sober) Skylar driving us over to the cottages for the kegger. We arrive… the smell... was the first thing that hits you, a mixture of the most ridiculous body odor, stanky twats, and spilled beer. That's why god made old spice guys, come on.

A mental picture of this place, of what I remember- It was a PJ themed party, when I walked in the front door into the living room, there was a hardwood floor, laser and backlights everywhere, a 8ft beer pong table to the far right, stair case to the left (What was up there, not a clue… Sex?), and another room with two of the best looking kegs I’ve seen, just past the living room.

Two hours pass... girls are grinding to the the music, some so fucked up they looked like a downy trying to fit into the groove, then some guys trying there A-game on the girls, 80% getting rejected, 10% wishing they didn't come with their girl friends, 5% scoring, and the other 5% ultimately passed out.

-Drunk Scale-
Brock- Inebriated
Deven- Drunk
Skylar- Possibly Sober
Jamie- Shit-housed

The party was shut down when the cops were coming to kill the party. Every PJ dressed douche bag and whore scrammed, it was like I was in a horror movie running away from a killer dressed as Jason or Freddy. One guy wearing a full body PJ suit walks calmly to the gates, we follow to disappear. On the way back to the car I stole some type of a flower, not 100% sure what color it was even, it was in a nice newly bought flower pot though. I wanted to take it back with us to the apartment; it’s tradition to come back with something from the cottages, how you think we got our beer pong table… dumb drunks. This reminds me of the weekend before when I ended up with a house hold vacuum cleaner in my trunk.

"I remember my first CamelBak..."

Author: BROCK MILLER

A lot of people say, "I remember my first beer."
Well for everyone that wasn't here and gives two fucks about this epic story,
"I remember my first CamelBak."

"It tastes like bad decisions. Perfect!"

A side note to what happened the night before-
A trip to como to go to a 21st birthday party, with Brad Murphy (my cousin), Kyle Punet, and 2 friends, I think their names were Tweeter and Scooter. We pre-gamed by G-Roading (for everyone that's not from California, Missouri.. Urban Dictionary defines gravel roading..)

Gravel Roading- The act of driving around on gravel roads with friends while getting drunk / The act of getting buzzed on the drive to the party so you do not have to endure being the soberest person at the party.
Road Trippin', Gravel Travel, G-Roadin', and DWIn'... all forms of Gravel Roading.

..We pop Power Hour CD in and head for the good time. We arrive, play pong, make great toasts to random people and a guy that looked like Seth Green, ultimately end up going the undefeated 9-0 and leave after a douche got into a fight with the host. We walk down the street to another party. They kick us out. We steal there vacuum cleaner. I’m not talking a little handy vacuum cleaner, not a broom or swiffer sweeper, a full household vacuum cleaner with all the small accessories and everything. At this point we try walking down the street with a vacuum cleaner with Brad and Kyle back to the car, stopping and being loud and obnoxious at girls and sluts outside asking them, "Will you suck me off?" And right when I got the stare that says back to you, Fuck you, I’m not a slut, Leave me alone you perve, You’re a jerk, My boyfriend will kick your ass.. I held up the vacuum cleaner in the air, as if I was sacrificing it to God. And the outcome I get a chuckle out of them. Mission Complete, A stolen vacuum cleaner will in fact get a girls attention, on the first trial this was good. Ms. Clean was no longer funny and we do what every gentleman does put her in the back... the trunk and let your friends ride shotgun. Head west and find our way to our soft beds and a trashcan. The next morning we decided to go harder than last night and this is when the CamelBak came in play and where the story was made.

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  Next Morning

(The CamelBak Story)

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Deven sends me a text at 11:39am, I’m bored, lets drink.
Brock- 11:43 I’m asleep, lets get shit-housed,shit-hammerd, shit-faced today.
Deven- 11:43 Wake up sunshine and get your lazy ass over here.

I’m hungry for some hangover food, Mc Donald’s it is and order a McChurger (McDouble with a McChicken placed in-between the patties), and 2 McDoubles with extra pickles (for Deven, cause he likes pickles and dicks). Skipping ahead past the nitro circus on TV and reading Asshole's Finish First. I sat the book down and tell Pacecar (Deven Pace) about last night’s epic adventure and he tells me about a lesbo party he went to last night and came back home to masturbate.

It's decided.. We are going to get go past the point of being our regular monday through sunday drunkenness tonight and get Tucker Max Drunk. So I drive me and Deven to Jefferson City to make a trip to Wal-Mart to buy me a $26.54 CamelBak and get beer and the mixes.

From here on out I updated my Facebook status every chance I got, to remember the occurrences of tonight... This is the documentary I came up with and some of my friends decided to join in on the fun...