I hope all of you donned your finest red garb and drank heavily on June 1 because that was St. Stalin's Day - the Russian version of St. Patrick's Day.
The plan for me and my group of friends was to meet at my house around 3 for some pre-gaming. We would then go to a bar called Chow for food and drinks at 6ish, then to another bar, Sweeney's, around 9, and then finally back to my house at midnight, or whenever Sweeney's started to bore us. We mostly followed through on those plans, which resulted me in getting completely bombed. Here's proof:
I was playing Kings on my basement floor at that point, but more on that later. What I need to address first is the genesis of St. Stalin's Day for those of you who have sand in your vag and are thinking, "OMG YOUR LIEK AN ASHOLL I CANT BEELEVE YOURE LIEK WARSHIPPING A GUY WHO LIEK KILLED LIKE SO MANY PPL!!!" First of all, chill, douche bags. Second, I have a couple of reasons why I'm drinking in Joseph Stalin's honor while giving him sainthood:
1. It all started on St. Patrick's Day in 2012. I tend to get philosophical when I drink. While downing my eighth-or-so alcoholic beverage that night, I wondered why people make a drinking holiday out of St. Patrick's Day. Do people even know who St. Patrick was? I had the following conversation with a friend (not sure who it was):
Me: Do you know who St. Patrick was?
Friend: No, why?
Me: No one knows who he is. Why do people drink in his honor if they don't know who he was or what he did in his life?
Friend: I dunno, because it's fun?
Me: But what if he was a mass murderer or a child molester, or even worse, a PETA protestor?
Friend: I don't think he did all of that.
Me: But do you know that for sure? Like, how do you know he wasn't bad?
Friend: Hmm... that's a good question.
No, anonymous friend. It's not a good question; it's a great question. If we can drink to one potential killer or animal-rights activist, why can't we drink to multiple killers?
2. From this revelation and the conversation with my friend, I theorized that people will drink to anything. If everyone will carouse about because of some enigmatic Irish saint, why wouldn't they do the same for a Russian dictator?
3. I don't think it's fair that Stalin is vilified so much. Doing so ignores all the good things he did in his life. For example, I'm sure he helped an old lady cross the street one time. See? He's not all bad. It's like calling Joe Paterno evil. Yes, JoePa made one mistake, but that doesn't mean he was terrible. It's the same with Stalin. Sure, he made a small error in judgment by killing so many people, but that shouldn't make him a completely bad guy.
4. If the Irish can have their own drinking day, why can't the Russians? Why can't every nationality? To all of my Italian readers, if you organize a St. Mussolini's Day, I will drink to that.
5. Promoting "St. Stalin" exposes stupidity. I tend to get three reactions about "St. Stalin." The first is people who get that it's a joke and laugh at it (or me for being stupidly silly). The second says, "Umm... I don't think Stalin was a saint." Umm... no s***. The third is complete ignorance. It's amazing how many individuals have never heard of Stalin. They look at my shirt and ask what it means. I explain it to them, but they just have blank, oblivious stares on their faces.
6. St. Stalin's Day is fun and provides me with good writing material. I chronicled last year's St. Stalin's Day, which was a great time. I have some amusing stories to tell about the 2013 version as well.
1. Jerks at Chow
There were 12 people pre-gaming at my house, so we took three separate cars to Chow, which is right around the corner from my house. Unfortunately, some construction a**holes closed the intersection on the way to Chow, so we had to go in a different direction.
My cousin Lev was driving me - I already had five drinks in the span of about three hours, so I was not getting behind the wheel and risking a DUI (running over someone is only a secondary issue) - and I was telling him where to go. When I agreed to get into the car with him, I did not know that he was the worst driver of all time. I told him to make a left at a busy intersection. A stream of cars was coming the other way, but that was eventually held up by the light behind us. A woman in a blue minivan motioned for Lev to turn because she wasn't going anywhere anyway, but he didn't budge. We discussed this later.
Me: She was telling you to turn, man.
Lev: No, I don't know if she was.
Me: She was motioning her arm!
Lev: I didn't know if she was saying hi to someone or not.
The woman eventually quit and moved into the intersection, blocking everyone. Lev eventually made his left, but the car behind us got stuck in the middle when the light turned red, creating a huge traffic jam. Everyone yelled at Lev afterward, but he thought he drove perfectly.
At any rate, we sat down and ordered. Man-Eaters, sitting to the right of me, ordered calamari. I told her about the one time Body Burner tricked me into thinking calamari was fried chicken. She looked at me like I was an idiot. I, however, had the last laugh because when I told the waitress that I wanted a bacon cheeseburger with fries, a bottle of Crispin (a hard cider that my friend the Reverend recommended) and a Seven and Seven, she nodded her head approvingly. Yes, I was getting a true man meal; not some horrible fried chicken facsimile.
As I was waiting for my food - which took forever, by the way - I flipped open my phone to text/annoy the beautiful Awesome Girl Who Loves Football about everything that had happened thus far. The girl Lev brought was astonished by my phone.
For those of you who do not know, I don't have a normal, fancy-shmancy smart phone. My phone is five years old. It's the Samsung Juke. I used to defend the phone, but now I just straight-up lie about it.
Girl with Lev: Whoa, what kind of a phone is that?
Me: It's a spy phone.
Girl with Lev: A spy phone?
Me: Yes, I'm a spy. I can't tell you what I do for the government, but they make me use this phone.
Girl with Lev: Really? What does this phone do?
Me: I can't really tell you everything. What I can say is that it has a self-destruct feature.
Girl with Lev: Wow!
Me: It's necessary in case I get captured.
Girl with Lev: So, this technology on this spy phone... is any of it available for purchase?
Me: No, you'd have to build a time machine and go into the future to the year 2017 to get it. They already have time machi... wait, I've said enough.
Girl with Lev was completely in awe. I hope Lev was able to put this to good use later by saying something like, "You know, I'm the one who actually trained my cousin to be a spy. That's top-secret government information. But trust me, you'll be safe from the terrorists with me." You're welcome, Lev.
Our food finally arrived when Man-Eaters alerted me about a bet that was going on. I have a friend I've dubbed Angry Asian Guy, who was sitting to the left of me. Angry Asian Guy is a 5-foot-1, chain-smoking Filipino who always wears fedora hats and has a quick temper. I most recently mentioned him when he stole my breakfast in the Jerks with Awesome Girl Who Loves Football entry - which was one of the best weekends of my life.
Anyway, Angry Asian Guy recently got engaged, so he spent the entire afternoon bragging about his fiancee. Man-Eaters bet Injured Reserve and the Reverend that Angry Asian Guy would say the word "fiancee" more than 6.5 times. Injured Reserve and the Reverend took the under, but I sided with Man-Eaters. Game on.
I'll admit that Man-Eaters and I had the advantage because I was sitting right next to him. Here was the seating arrangement:
Lev - Girl with Lev - Injured Reserve - Hot Brunette Girl - others
Angry Asian Guy - Me - Man-Eaters - The Reverend - others
Still though, Man-Eaters needs to be commended on a masterful job of egging on Angry Asian Guy. For example, she would say something like, "So, your girlfriend, when will we get to meet her?" and he would automatically correct her by responding, "My fiancee? Oh, she'll meet you soon."
As for me, I had two roles. First, I would feign that I wasn't paying attention to what Angry Asian Guy was saying, pretending to stare at the TV or angrily glaring at Hot Brunette Girl for not wearing red*, or something. When Angry Asian Guy would stop talking, I would then say, "Wait, who were you talking about again?" This brought us two mentions of "fiancee," which I'm very proud of.
*Side note - Keep in mind that the law states that hot chicks don't have to follow any sort of dress code.
My second role was blocking Injured Reserve, who would try to force himself into a conversation with Angry Asian Guy by saying stuff like, "So, Angry Asian Guy, you're from New York, right? Tell me about all of the boroughs in New York you've ever been to, and rate them from best to worst." This was a great tactic on Injured Reserve's part to cease all talk of the fiancee, but I easily thwarted his efforts by looking at Lev and shouting, "Hey, Lev, I think Injured Reserve wanted to say something to you!" or "What were you two saying to each other again?" Lev would then try to get Injured Reserve's attention, allowing Man-Eaters to swoop in and ask Angry Asian Guy about his fiancee again.
Injured Reserve tried to overcome my awesome blocking methods by telling Lev to ask Angry Asian Guy the most random questions ever, but by then, it was too late. The "fiancee" mentions piled up, and with each one, I could see the pain on Injured Reserve's face. The final count was nine fiancees. Oh, and the cheeseburger and drinks were awesome. It didn't make up for Angry Asian Guy stealing my breakfast that one time, but it was a damn good meal.
2. Jerks at Sweeney's
There was no way I was driving with Lev again. I piled into my friend Nora's car with Man-Eaters and someone else (sorry, fourth person, I was too drunk to remember). The plan was to drive to my house, and then we could walk to Sweeney's. I told Nora to make a left out of Chow, but Man-Eaters told her to go right for some reason. We had an epic argument about this.
Me: It's so much faster if you go left.
Man-Eaters: The intersection is closed, remember?
Me: No, trust me, there's a shortcut back to my house.
Man-Eaters: I don't know about any shortcut!
Me: But I live here! This is my neighborhood!
Man-Eaters: Nora, go right, Walt doesn't know what he's talking about.
Me: Nora, go left. Trust me. I can get us home in 90 seconds.
Man-Eaters: It definitely didn't take us 90 seconds to get here. More like five minutes.
Me: But that's because the intersection was closed. Trust me, I guarantee we'll be back at my house in 90 seconds.
Man-Eaters: Nora, he doesn't know anything, just go right.
Me: No, go left!
Nora went right. Five minutes later - not 90 seconds - we were back at my house. Everyone was already there, looking like they were waiting for us to arrive for quite a while.
I yelled for us to go to Sweeney's, but no one was budging. Cries of "let's stay here!" and "I don't want to pay for drinks!" and "Sweeney's sucks!" rang out. Even my cousin Polina guilted me into saying that she was going to go home if we went to Sweeney's.
Sweeney's sucks - it's a biker bar where most of the people are fat a**holes in their 30s and 40s - but I wanted to go somewhere within walking distance so that we could stay out to show off our awesome St. Stalin's Day shirts. However, a phone call from Body Burner, who told us that he'd be meeting us there, changed everything.
Body Burner: Where are you guys?
Me: We're standing in front of my house. Most people don't want to go to Sweeney's.
Body Burner: Thank God. They're charging a $5 cover to get in!
I was completely taken aback. Five bucks to get into a crappy biker bar? That sounds awesome. My only question was how were these scummy bikers were paying for the cover charge and the alcohol in one night. I can't imagine that being a weird, bearded biker is all that lucrative.
I told everyone that Sweeney's was charging $5 to get in, and there were more moans and groans. And thus, my dreams of confusing the Sweeney's bikers about who Joseph Stalin was came to a swift end.
3. Jerks at My House
We played several drinking games at my house. The first was some sort of dirty version of Apples to Apples that Nora brought over. The second was four-team beer pong. The third was Kings. I was pretty hammered by the time it was all over (recall the picture above). There's some stuff I don't recall from that night, but something I do remember is what Body Burner told me as beer pong was finishing up.
Body Burner: Can you believe that two of the girls are drinking milk?
Body Burner: They asked for rum, but you ran out, so they got milk out of the fridge instead.
Me: HOW COULD THEY BE DRINKING MY MILK OUT OF THE CARTON, WHAT THE F***!?!?!
Body Burner: Out of the carton? They're not...
Me: THIS IS BULLS*** NOW I'M GONNA HAVE TO GO TO BOTTOM DOLLAR IN THE MORNING TO GET MORE MILK SO I CAN EAT COCOA PUFFS, WHAT THE F***!!!
Body Burner: Calm down, they're not drinking out of the carton.
Me: Oh... OK.
Injured Reserve later told me that he had never seen me so mad. I'm usually super stoic, but the thought that people raided my fridge and commandeered my milk really pissed me off because I really wanted Cocoa Puffs the following morning. You can't imagine my relief when I realized that they were not chugging milk out of the carton.
After I calmed down, we played Kings, as mentioned earlier. Four things about Kings:
1. I spilled my drink four times on my carpet. I was a disaster. I'd like to thank Man-Eaters and Body Burner for repeatedly cleaning up for me.
2. Drawing a jack in Kings is "Never Have I Ever." As my friends know, nothing confuses me more than this game. I'm always unclear on when to put down my finger. The dialogue is always the same, without fail:
Random Girl: Never have I ever had a penis.
Me: So wait, I have had a penis, so what do I do?
Explainer: You have, so put a finger down.
Me: But the girl said "never," so wouldn't I put my finger down if I didn't have a penis?
Explainer: What? No? If you did it put your finger down.
Me: But she said it in past tense too, so I think she's implying that people who don't have a penis now but had one before should put their finger down.
Ugh. I'll never understand this game.
3. Drawing a queen is "questions." People often trip up on this, but I'm proud to say that I never have because no matter what someone says to me, I respond with the most irrelevant, nonsensical questions ever. Some examples:
What is the distance from Westeros to Essos?
Why is the sun green?
What were you doing on Friday, May 32?
Can you please name the eight oceans on this planet?
Why does the word "night" have the letter "G" in it?
Why are my ears bleeding right now?
4. Drawing a king allows you to make up a rule. I made the grave mistake of saying that we had to drink every time Angry Asian Guy cursed (he was playing some old Nintendo games on my Wii). Every time he died, which was often, he would shout, "F***ing piece of s*** a**hole, killing me like that, what the f*** is f***ing wrong with this f***Ing game!"
And now you can see why I was so drunk in the picture above. In hindsight, I should have said to drink at the mention of the word "fiancee." This happened twice more, including, "My fiancee doesn't want me to be super buff. I wish she wanted me to be as buff as an Olympic gymnast."
Oh, and to Angry Asian Guy, if you're reading this, that's why I asked you if you ever check out Jerks of the Week. You said "not for a while," so I assumed it'd be safe to write about you without you knowing. But if you do know, two things:
1. We still love you. We were just messing around at the restaurant for some drunken fun.
2. This was retribution for stealing my breakfast on Saturday, Oct. 13, 2012. Never steal my precious breakfast ever again.