Brent responds by hitting Dale with a haymaker right across the

Here is a story for the ages that I will never forget: I lived in a 4 bedroom suite with 7 friends my Sophomore year of college. After a long night of pong we finally ran out of beer. It was after 2:00 AM so beer sales had ended for the night at local grocers. Two of my friends, Dale and Brent, still wanted to play.

With no beer in the building they were forced into other means. Dale retreated to his room and brought a 32 oz. Gatorade bottle full of some ungodly concoction from the depths of his mini-fridge. He called it "Instant Death" and explained that it was made of gin, scotch, vodka, the ass end of about 4 different bottles of wine, and some Gatorade Ice for color. They set out the cups, filled them (about 2 oz. per cup), and began their game. Keep in mind that they were absolutely wrecked by this time, and each sunk ball made a player down the equivalent of more than 1 shot of liquor.

Well, about halfway through the game they start yelling at each other. Dale shoves Brent against the wall and rips his shirt. Brent responds by hitting Dale with a haymaker right across the nose. Dale peels back and is bleeding profusely. Realizing that he had it coming Dale retreats to the bathroom, shoves a wad of bathroom tissue up his nose, comes back into the common area, and embraces Brent in a make-up drunken hug.

Like the champs that they were they sucked it up and finished the game. The only deviation being that Dale constantly uttered the phrase, "Damn B you've got a nasty right cross".

Game ends and all parties proceed to their respective beds.

I wake up about 2 hours later and start to relieve myself of some of the evening's beer. While peeing into the toilet I notice that somebody is in the stall next to me and is sitting on the toilet. Just as I say "are you OK" he pukes all over himself and the floor while still sitting down. I jumped back to avoid the splatter and then waited by the sink for him to emerge.

I hear a toilet flush and Dale stumbles out. He's wearing no shirt and no pants. He has vomit on his chest and boxers, and his boxers are bunched up like a thong. He mumbles as he staggers past me. In a fit of drunken confusion he accidentally passes the entrance to his room and goes into mine instead. We both happened to have the top bunks so Dale begins to climb into my bed thinking it's his own.

I yell "Dale, what the fuck are you doing?!" very loudly.

My roommate Kyle is laughing his ass off in the bottom bunk. I'm not able to stop Dale until he is in my bed and under my covers. I finally dragged him out but the damage had already been done to my sheets: vomit and poorly wiped excrement abounded on my comforter and bed sheets.

I manage to guide Dale back to his room and then I look at my bed to assess the damage. My sheets were a total loss so I pulled them off the bed and slept on the bare mattress. The following afternoon I came out of my room and ran into Brent just outside the bathroom. He was complaining about his horrible hangover and how he had just cleaned up the vomit mess he left on the bathroom floor.

I then said, "You know that it was Dale that puked on the floor, not you..."

Brent's eyes get really big. He then says "Fuck! I saw the puke there this morning and just assumed that I got sick and blacked out. I can't believe I just did that!"

Dale, none the wiser, didn't come out of his room for 36 hours after the previously described events.

Dale also caught his face on fire when taking a flaming shot of Everclear, but that's a story for another book