Gin

I’m pretty sure gin is Satan’s spit. Every time I’ve drunk it I’ve always ended up in some sort of trouble making me superstitious of that brand of booze. I’m certain when some demon comes to collect my soul, I’ll be sipping a gin and tonic.

On this particular night, I was having peppermint gin. I had just transferred to my university and didn’t know anyone, so I was imbibing the social lubricant hand over fist. Lord only knows what I threw down; I drank like an Irish coal miner.

Through various drinking games (Kings, beer pong, flip cup, asshole), shit talking, and doing backflips on a trampoline, I made friends with some Brosephs. Shots were had, pledges of undying fealty were uttered, and I was part of the club.

Not ten minutes after I had said I’d have these assholes’ backs, there was a small scuffle. It wasn’t too bad. Someone shoved, another threw a punch, we all got riled up and started beating each other, some pretty boy got his nose smashed…and then he called the cops. I hardly think a broken nose is reason to call the popo; you can fix that shit in a BarcaLounger with some whiskey (optional). No professional medical attention required. BFD.

As Freddie Mercury said, “The show must go on,” and it did, in a bad way. One minute I’m perusing a Playboy comparing shaving styles, the next I see the Boys in Blue lining everyone up.There wasn’t even a knock on the door… or I was too drunk to notice anything beyond the titties in the nudie mag. I thought the pigs were just going to ask people for ID’s to make sure everyone was of age (there were some youngin’s in the house) so I lined up, reaching for my wallet.

And then I saw Busted Face Baby start pointing out my brosephs. Oh fuck me sideways and call me Pamela.

He picked all of us out of the line up and got his side bitches to corroborate his story. I bet they could all ruin a wet dream. Fuck them sideways too!

I wound up in the back of a police cruiser with another of my new friends. “I guess this is some legit sibling bonding, huh, broooooo?” (I was still very drunk.)

“Jessica?!”

“Oh lawd have mercy.” That voice made me sober instantly. Through the wire mesh, I saw a pair of pissed off baby blues glaring at me through the rearview mirror. I know why the seats in a police cruiser are made of plastic. It’s just in case you piss your pants because your hard ass uncle has you in his paddy wagon.

“Don’t say another word, young lady. Your ass is grass.” I wanted to cry. He started the car, still mean mugging me.

We were halfway to the police station he worked at when Uncle Matt began to talk again. “Son, are you a dumb fuck or were you just at the wrong place at the wrong time?” My buddy lifted his chin off his chest and mumbled out, “I just made a dumb choice today.”

“So I suspect if an officer of the law told you to keep your mouth shut, you’d do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah, me too!”

“Nobody wants to hear anything outta you, Jess! I already know you’re an idiot and nuttier than squirrel shit!” That silenced me. And then my uncle pulled the car over and got out.

“Oh my god, Jessica! What’s he doing?!”

“HE’S GONNA PISTOL WHIP US, MAN!”

My uncle opened the back door. “Get out. Campus is about three miles over yonder. Your aunt would make me sleep on the sofa for weeks if I booked you, and this fucker looks like a squealer. Both of you get out of here and keep quiet.”

I slid out of the car behind my comrade. “Jess. Don’t think you got away clean. You and I are gonna have a talk the next time you come over.” Fuck.

Broseph and I walked back to campus, sweaty and covered with bugs. A small price to pay, in my opinion.

As for my uncle, I still haven’t been to his house yet, and it’s been about two years since that incident.

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