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Seventh Grade, a friend and I went to a convenient store. Paid a homeless person a couple of bucks to get us a case of Milwaukee’s Best. We went back to his place. He lived in the basement of the house. Oh I failed to mention he was the son of a preacher. We thought we were big men and chugged the beers. It was so nasty tasting, but both of us said that it tasted great. I think we drank four of them in less than an hour. I was feeling great. I didn’t want the feeling to go away so we started drinking more. I think I got halfway through my sixth one, when it hit me. The room spinning, sick stomach, the whole shebang. We both went into his bathroom and he went straight for the sink and let it all fly out. I stood by the toilet, and had a case of what I call the spits. Just kept spitting and spitting trying to keep it in, my effort was no match for “The Beast”. It all came out a few minutes later.
We gave the rest of beer away to some friends, and I don’t think I touched anymore alcohol for a few months after that.
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