Most Epic Drinking Story. Ever.

[Dear Booze]

So I've got this idea... how about we get a story started where each of us drunkards contribute? Each will take a turn guiding the plot and characters. As soon as one author has completed a portion, he/she tags the next contributor to step in for the next portion.

[oettinger]

So I've got this idea... how about we get a story started where each of us drunkards contribute? Each will take a turn guiding the plot and characters. As soon as one author has completed a portion, he/she tags the next contributor to step in for the next portion.

Start it!

[Dear Booze]

So I've got this idea... how about we get a story started where each of us drunkards contribute? Each will take a turn guiding the plot and characters. As soon as one author has completed a portion, he/she tags the next contributor to step in for the next portion.

Start it!

Okay Oett, I'll set the table...

Our hero is Marcus. He works as a car salesman at an upscale dealership. It's early afternoon and he's working with a customer, David, who's interested in a 2017 BMW 430i. The dealership just got two of these cars in on a transit truck in the late morning. It's going to be another hour before these vehicles are finished being inspected and cleaned up and ready for the sales floor. Marcus doesn't want to tell David to come back later, so he takes him to lunch at a bar & grill...

Okay Oett, tag, you're it.

[oettinger]

Before I could say anything "Tico`s" David said.
"Tico`s?" You think to yourself. Does he know more about last night than me? "Tico`s, Tico`s?", oh shit yes. I remember that place. Me and and Boozecrawl Roberts planned to snack there after some bottles of Black Rum and Vodka shots. The last thing that comes to mind is a broken beer bottle in my hand and a pile of blood. Also and importantly it seems, we used this very BMW as an escape car before it arrived this morning...

tag everyone

[Donald J. Drunk]

"Marcus?", David asks... "You look spaced out, is everything fine?" "Oh, yeah sure.. sure..", Marcus mumbles, the hookers screams echoing faintly in his mind.

"I just remembered that I used to come here with my .. Ex .. Things got ugly. Maybe we´ll go somewhere else. There is this new hot japanese joint that sells live lobster sashimi."

[Badfellow]

"Hey, Marcus! Good to see you! Who's the fresh meat?"

Yoshi Wolnacheski was the only 60 year old Polish/Japanese sushi chef in town, but that didn't stop him from making a mean live lobster roll or serving liquor without a license. He waved his santoku in the air, part greeting, part threat. The bar was already hopping with the fugu lunch crowd of drunks from the industrial slums down the street.

"Say hello to David. He's picking up his Beamer today. We're just having a little liquid lunch while the techs top off the turn signal fluid."

"Stupid," said Yoshi. "So what are you having?"

"Let's do a liter of Lao Lao and a couple of Sapporos."

"Ummmmm, do you really think that's a good-"

"Pipe down, Davey boy," interrupted Marcus. "The number one BMW salesman in the valley is picking up the check today. Got any coke? Nevermind. The fugu here is great."

[oettinger]

While I was enjoying hot Fufu and some beers, Dave got a little sick and asked to be taken back.

We headed to the car when Yoshi screamed: " KANT TAKE KAR"

Wait what again?

"YOU LEFT HEAD IN THERE LAST NIGHT!"

I lit a cigarette and let stupid Dave throw up in the alley. "I left a head?"

"CHOPPED UP, MAFIA CALLED"

Called for what?

"DUNNO, DUNNO, YOU GO NOW!"

Yoshi only behaves like this when I really fucked shit up...

[mistah willies]

I had to think quickly. I usually drove the dealership's loaner beemer, cuz that was the only perk for being the top dog in sales.

Mafia would be looking for me. I had an idea. I ran back inside.

"Yoshi! Let me borrow your car! Cmon, just for an hour. I really got to make this sale."

"HUH. DUDE. YOU OK JOE, NUMBAH ONE TYPE MURRICANSKI. NO HEADS IN TRUNK PLEASE."

He wrapped his car key in a big ball of wasabi and chucked it over the sushi bar.

I grabbed the collar of Dave's magenta Louis Vuitton dragon print hoodie that comes in only five colors and is very expensive but not that rare, and I pulled him up from his knees. He held onto the dumpster to steady himself with one hand and wiped his face with an old banana peel.

"Wazzup Marco Polio?" he asked me. That was his nickname for me every six months when he came in to trade his lease for a different new beemer.

"Let's go get your new car, dude."

The guys in the shop doubtless had found the whore head by now, but they usually just put it in a trash bag and stuffed those in my locker.

I swaggered over to Yoshi's ride. It was a classic flat black Deus Ex Machina. It would save our day.

[Dear Booze]

“Shit,” Marcus thought out loud, “I’ve got to get to the trunk in the new 430i before Albert does.”

Albert is Premier Motors’ lot boy. Sure, his real title is Automobile Detail Technician or something like that. But everyone knows that there’s no candy-coating what he does. He takes cleans and details every single vehicle on the entire lot. When cars come in from the manufacturer, he cleans and details them; when leased cars are returned, he cleans and details them; when cars are brought in as trade-ins, he cleans and details them. In addition, he power washes and dries every single car on the lot every single morning. Hence the name Lot Boy.

Albert is a 45-year-old African American man who looks exactly like Fidel Castro – if Castro was black, had no beard, and was five feet, four inches tall. His only job that he’s ever had is this one. In the thirty years since he started, he’s received consistent pay raises to the point where he’s now making $12.50 an hour. But he manages to take home somewhere around $150,000 a year. Of course, that “extra” money can’t be found on any tax record. It all comes from the very healthy tips he receives from Marcus and the other 15 sales people who work at the dealership. It’s how he has managed to raise nine children and put them all thorough college.

Upon meeting him, most people immediately recognize that Albert is a little “slow” with a Forrest Gump kind of I.Q. The salesmen feel a little sorry for him, yet recognize his power to make or break a sale. For example, if a sales person needs a car detailed and cleaned for an immediate sale, they go to Albert and ask him to get it done. Albert’s reply is always “Gee, I dunno Boss. I sho am backed up wit dees udder caws right hea’. It may be a while befoe I can git to dat.” But as soon as the salesperson hands Albert $50 or $100, Albert changes his tune. “Yes sir, Boss, I git right on dat foe you.”

Marcus pulls into the lot through the back gate and drives right up to the detail shack. Great, the cars haven’t been cleaned yet, he thought to himself. Then he took a deep breath to compose himself.
“Hey there Alley Oop,” he called out to Albert. “What’s the good word?”

“Nuttin new Markie Mark. Whachoo up to?”

“Well,” Marcus explained, “I need these two 430’s brought up to the front lot right away.”

“But, day ain’t ready yet, Boss.”

“It’s okay,” Marcus said calmly as he peeled off five $20 bills and handed them to Albert. “Just bring them up there.”

“Which one you want first? The red one or the black one?”

“All cars matter, Albert,” Marcus replied as he turned to walk back to the car where David sat, still a little green from his earlier puke session.

“Mistah Mawcus…” Marcus heard Albert calling after him. “I gots one quick question for you…”

“What is it Al?” Marcus replied as he walked back towards Albert. “I’m in a hurry.”

Albert leaned very close to Marcus and said in a clean, precise voice that sounded… sounded almost British. “I believe, Sir, that the clean-up and disposal of a certain item in the trunk of one of the two new vehicles will take a considerable amount of time and effort which far exceeds my regular duties.”

[Badfellow]

"Ahhhh," said Marcus with a twirl of the finger, "I believe your usual pittance will suffice just fine. There's a little bonus for you wrapped up next to Davey Boy's decapitated mess. Something from the Triads that starts with China and end with white. You know, I'm the number one BMW salesman in the valley, right?"

[mistah willies]

It had always been this way with Fat Albert. Just don't get him near any Pudding Pops. He might make them rufie pops.

Davey "Locker" Jones knew his way around a brick or two. But a human head? The only sort of head he enjoyed was fully intact to the rest of a professional.

I staggered back to the Yoshi car.

Davey said, "Hey there Mario, brother! Where's my new beemer? I got shit to do and places to---"

Then he vomited. Inside Yoshi's ride.

Great.

Now I would have to ask Albert for another favor.

Never piss off the sushi dude.

He could give you worms.


Fuck.

[oettinger]

I parked a van in front of Alberts repiar shop, filled with fifteen beer cases. (where I got this from is another story)
I took one for myself, two for Yoshi and the rest was for Albert.

Ok Albert, here it is. Don`t ask where I got this from, but I got this middle-class-middle-aged idiot waiting for a car sale.
You fix this, I fix your`s.

"No No No No, not so quick pal!" Lets hava beer with us.

It was 11:39 pm by now, shit. That BMW will never get ready without some hurry.

I had to get these guys engaged into some quick drinking and fixing.

"While you`re at there, I get some smokes!"

I went out the repair shop mumbling to myself, "your head might be next, they might burn you alive before..."

Then the bright lights popped up like magic: Free cocktails for every paid TIT!
It Sounded better than your dick burned alive I thought. Let`s go in...