Wednesday
The ring of the telephone was shocking enough to shake off even the deepest of hangovers. He rolled his head off of the empty cardboard box that had apparently doubled for a pillow, and realized he still smelled of sausage and mushroom pizza. He brushed his hand through the side of his hair, and as a piece of crust fell to the floor, he realized why. As he got to his feet, Evan attempted to recall the events of the previous night. Needless to say, it had been fun, and alarmingly normal for the week. It wasn't often that they could all get together anymore, but when they did, the fun was as good as they had always remembered.
Where the fuck am I, he thought, and where the fuck is that ringing coming from? While he scanned the unfamiliar room for the source of the ringing, he spotted them. All of them. They had managed to all survive the night and were strewn about the room in a random fashion. It was as if a bomb had exploded in the middle of the night, and this morning's chaos was all that remained of the crime scene. Evan chuckled at the site of the room. Screw it ran through his head, as he gave up on looking for the phone.
Carl had gotten married first, the wedding had been expected for about 12 years, since they were seniors in high school. Vicky was his high school sweet heart. If she'd stuck with him through his crush on Brian's sister, Brianne, and his partying lifestyle in college, not to mention the first of four D.U.I.'s in his life, there was no reason to think she'd leave him... EVER. She was as patient as he was immature. So Vicky probably wouldn't be too mad at him for passing out face down on a coffee table with his legs resting on an adjacent ottoman, causing his torso to form a human bridge spanning the gap between the two pieces of furniture.
Brian, meanwhile, had found a nice little niche between the television stand and the wall. His feet were tangled in cables, and he took on the look of an overgrown ultra-sound because of the fetal position he had slept in. Brian had gotten married in September. Evan and Carl hadn't really told him the way they felt about Patricia, or Fatty Patty as they had not-so-lovingly dubbed her. While Brian was always a fun and outlandishly exciting guy around them, he'd always been a pushover for her. She dressed him, checked his email constantly, and even got to the point where she went through his credit card bill. And this was before they were married. Now that they were, the fellas hardly got to see him.
Finally, as his eyes shifted from the television, to Brian, then to the wall, Evan caught a glimpse of someone's torso in the gap between the couch and the Lay-Z-Boy. Shawn was the only one of them who had stayed remotely sober. Well, least drunk was probably a better way to put it. He had started to stir a little and let out an awkward "Heh... Heh heh," as he scratched his balls and farted.
It was amazing to Evan that Shawn was still as disgusting as ever. While he was the only one who hadn't been married, he was by far the richest. On his twenty-first birthday his high school buddies had taken him to Las Vegas. It was there, under the shiny pyramid of the Luxor Hotel that he had gotten completely wasted on free shots of Jagermeister chased with Jack and Cokes at a ten dollar minimum black-jack table. Despite his inability to walk straight, or keep the spittle in his mouth while he squeezed slurred words through his paling lips, he somehow had made his way to a progressive slots machine. He plainly missed on his first three attempts to put the crisp twenty into the machine before he finally got it in. As Evan, Carl and Brian laughed at him, he pushed the max bet button.
BAR-BAR-CHERRY
After a few dings the machine went quiet. Evan was almost in tears as he watched his inebriated friend fumble the buttons of the slot machine like a teenager trying to undo his first bra. Shawn pushed Max Bet again.
CATTLE-BAR-DOUBLE BAR
It was only then that Carl had realized the machine was a Western Ranch-themed one, that would pay out the jackpot only when the reel read "3X CATTLE" all the way across. After a few attempts at trying to explain what symbols he needed to hit the biggest payout, Carl gave up with a grunt. He had spent five minutes talking to a wall. Hearing was apparently the first sense to go when Shawn was hammered. They stuck around to watch a couple more spins before they started to turn their attention to a roaring craps table.
Shawn, meanwhile, kept all the focus he could muster on the machine in front of him. He kept max-betting and won and lost for the better part of an hour before it happened.
The lights flashing and alarm going off weren't enough to outweigh the alcohol keeping Shawn glued to his seat. But when the machine started mooing like an angry bull, he knew something had happened. Before he knew it his three friends ran at him, grabbed him, and jumped up and down with him on their shoulders like a team that had just won the super bowl. They bounced up and down as the casino security informed him that he had just won over fifteen million dollars.
The panic and jumping had Shawn's face turning an interesting shade of purple, then green, as the gaming manager shook his hand. The amazement and wonder were hidden behind the drunken glaze of his eyes, and even his friends couldn't believe what had happened. The three of them just stared with eyes open and mouths agape as Shawn posed for pictures on a high platform with his ridiculously over-sized check.
The only one of them who could think enough to talk had been Brian, who shouted, "Holy SHIT!"
It was the last thing any of them had heard before Shawn puked on every last inch of all three of their faces, including into their gaping-wide mouths.
to be continued...
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