Hey Boxhead, what happened to your face?

The following is another story about my college roommate of four and a half years, Boxhead. This episode takes place during a Thursday night of our Sophomore year. I should note that both of us are good-sized individuals. Boxhead was 6’1” and 210 pounds and I was 6’3” and 265 pounds. We both spent 2-3 hours per day lifting weights and were rather buff--if I do say so myself.

At the time, we had both just ended long-term relationships with our girlfriends whom we both found out were cheating on us. We decided that in order to forget that we had been screwed over; we would begin drinking copious amounts of alcohol and generally raising hell. We liked to go to a bar near campus called the Silver Bullet, a very popular hang-out at the time. During this time of our general anger at women, we would come up with somewhat elaborate plans to accomplish our goal of being assholes, especially to women.

On this evening, we were both wasted on whiskey and coke. We decided our contest for the evening was to see who could get slapped by a girl first. Although we succeeded in insulting a variety of women, Boxhead won that night because some girl he pissed off told her boyfriend. Her bf followed Boxhead into the bathroom to try to kick his ass. Boxhead left the guy stuffed in the trashcan. But, the boyfriend did get a slap in--what a girlie man!

We were pretty trashed at the time and decided it was time for the two-block stagger back to the apartment. We lived in on-campus apartments, so we didn’t have to worry about checking in or security. When we got to the parking lot of the bar, the guy’s friends tried to start something with Boxhead. There were several cop cars around and Boxhead can be a real dumbass when he’s drunk, so I just picked him up over my shoulder and started carrying him the two blocks back to the apartment.

One of the cop cars saw this and started following us. I kept on walking with him over my shoulder while he’s yelling. We get to the apartments, a second cop car had arrived and the cops want to haul him in for PI (Public Intoxication). Luckily, some of our friends were hanging out in front of their apartments and began to convince the cops not to take him. They argued that if I could get him in the apartment and keep him there, it would be OK. I carried him up the stairs to our apartment and threw him in his bed and left. He staggered back out and tried to leave the apartment. I stopped him and yelled at our friends to help me keep him inside.

One of them said he had some handcuffs and brought them up. I handcuffed Boxhead’s hands behind his back and dropped him back in bed.

I was chilling in the living room with another beer when the dumbass staggered out of the bedroom with his hands still handcuffed behind his back. He hit the edge of the carpet and fell face-first onto the floor. It kind of knocked him out. I picked him back up, drug him into his bed and handcuffed one of his hands to the bed-post. This time, he stayed put for the remainder of the night.

The next morning, he woke up with a hangover and a 3” bruise on his forehead. He had to drive home that day for a weekend family gathering and had a hard time explaining how he got that bruise.