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Gruesome Accident Tales Part IV: "Why don't you use those big muscles to..."

This happened when I was 18, right around the time they first started making Zima clearmalt beverage (the party line :: the real story). I went over to a friends house to hang out with a few friends and B.S.. I walked in the house and was led to a freezer full of Zimas. Evidently they thought more people were going to show up...it was me, Brian, and the two girls (who were drinking wine).

I quite honestly don't remember how many Zimas I drank, but it was a lot for me. I am a cheap bar date. We were drinking and clowning and trying to play poker I think. At some point MACHISMO entered stage right, and Brian and I suddenly had our biceps out and were flexing madly. (I'm always eager to show that I'm little sturdier than I look from my scrawny frame...must be that robust Russian heritage.) They were duly impressed of course, they were only pretending to give me a hard time.

Well, everytime Brian went to the freezer to get a Zima...he got me a Zima too. After a while I started to slow down...and after number eight I think, I still had a full bottle in front of me when he got up to go to the freezer.

"Oh Bri," I slurred, "Dude I think I'm done."

He stopped halfway to the freezer and gave me a long look, "Why don't you use those big muscles to..." and pantomimed lifting a bottle to his lips. I think I got part of the way through #9...#9...#9...#9.

I went home and passed out in bed, woke up later having to pee something wicked. Got up....misjudged the location of the door. Tripped over the big TV on the floor. Fell all over it. Ripped my forearm open on the sharp plastic back corner of the TV. Ouch. I went upstairs to pee. When I saw what I had done I almost fainted. (You know, when there's a little bit of stuff gooshing out?)

I knocked on my mom's door. "WHOO!" She said "...you smell like a liquor cabinet." She looked me up and down, "My advice is, slap some gauze on it, go to sleep on the couch, and make a doctor's appointment in the morning...they wouldn't even give you any anaesthetic if you went into the ER like that."

"Okay," I said, puked, and passed out on the couch. The next day, not only did I get stitches, but the doctor had to cauterize the wound. He told me to look away. I told him I wanted to see, and told me no way. He thought I would throw up or something if I saw my own flesh being burned. He was wrong I think...I still wish I would have insisted.

Ok, tomorrow I'll tell the Grand Finale!