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21st Birthday Story: There once was a man from Greenwich
By Anonymous | August 6, 2007
I had a roommate (call him Ekim) who liked to get drunk about six nights a week, common for a college student, but the volume which he drank and his subsequent behavior (and also the fact that he’s from Germany) earned him the title Blitzkrieg. He would pregame with ten shots of vodka and a splash of orange juice in a Nalgene bottle, close down a bar or two, then spend the night drinking and verbally abusing anyone dumb enough to acknowledge his presence.
His 21st birthday was not different, but rather, it was approximately twice as bad in every respect. He had a 10-page paper due the following day, so he came back from class at noon and started writing. His deadline did not stop me from making him periodically chug vodka, because he knew I would kick him out of the house if he did not make 21 shots on his birthday. Six hours, ten pages of high quality political analysis, and 13 shots later, the paper was done and an inaugural Legal Beer Run was at hand. We packed some beverages for the road and went to the liquor store.
At the liquor store, we met a middle-aged man who claimed to be a card-carrying Jack Daniel’s Squire. Ekim believed him and bought what the man recommended: a $45 bottle of Jack Single Barrel. Ekim proceeded to drink all 17 shots of it over the next three hours. This put him in full Blitzkrieg mode by the time his party started. At this point, he was well past his goal of 21 and publicly announcing his new goal of going for 42: “If any of you m’fuckers try to stop me, I am ripping off your fucking pubes!” He then showed us he meant business by standing on the couch, showing his own pubes to the party, and screaming Cowboy-style. “Get the fuck down before you kill yourself!” I screamed above the blaring Van Halen song in the background. “Fuck you dude! I will kill you with my dick! You wanna do a dick wrestling championship right now?” I let him go, because a dick wrestling championship was the last thing I felt like doing.
Later that night, with the drink count nearing 40 and all but ten people gone from the party, Ekim’s girlfriend tried to make him stop drinking, to which he replied, “If I want your opinion, I’ll scrape it off the bottom of my nutsack!” She promptly left the party, which made Ekim/Blitzkrieg angry. Ekim took two more shots, bringing his total to 40. He took our dining room chairs and smashed them to pieces on the sidewalk in front of our apartment, and then passed out.
Since the apartment came furnished and the chairs were property of the university, they could basically charge whatever they wanted for new ones, and they did: $520 for four shitty wooden chairs, a costly birthday indeed.
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