You'll shoot your eye out Kid

The anti-drug campaign has always been strong in this country, starting with the “War on Drugs” in the late ‘70s, and currently, there are several nonprofits who have put together ad campaigns to discourage smoking marijuana. This is the current one running from Live Above the Influence, and my favorite thus far.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmjzaObJ79w

As a more than casual consumer of cannabis, I was taken aback the first time I saw the ad, because I assumed it was anti-drinking and was surprised when it poses the question, “What has weed done for you?” at its close. Leaving an absurd number of messages is commonly referred to as “drunk dialing” and falling into such a comatose sleep as to allow drawing to be completed on your skin is a reaction to alcohol overloading your brain, not from smoking too much weed. And to prove my point, I shall detail to you the absurdity that ensues when you begin your Saturday at 3 p.m. with a Natty Light and don’t stop until you end up in the hospital dipping with nurses.

This weekend, State College Town played host to some esteemed past members of the Fraternity, and as such, a great celebration of day drinking broke out on Saturday. BSB, my big brother, is in town for two weeks for a series of interviews in the hope he might end the unemployment that has been his companion since he graduated last May. Squantanamo Bay, named for his destructive, terrorist-esque behavior when intoxicated, came into town to visit BSB, who is from Wisconsin and doesn’t often get to see our coast. After BSB finished his interview Saturday morning, he headed out to a friend’s house to get the afternoon started.

Some harmless drinking ensued, but soon, an air rifle was produced, and those in attendance took it outside to shoot beebees at trees, lamp posts, signs, etc. When this got dull, the owners of the house let it be known that they are the proud owners of handguns and two sets of televisions they had been meaning to throw out for some time. Naturally, it was decided they should take the televisions into the back yard and riddle them with .45 caliber bullets. They did. To this point, no one was hurt.

I arrived some four hours later to see my former roommate, BC, with the aforementioned air rifle shooting out street lights.

“BC, what the hell are you doing,” I screamed from a distance, hoping not to lose an eye as lines from A Christmas Story run through my head.

“[Carter], I’m gonna shoot out all these lights,” he slurs, as the 25th beer he had makes its presence known. “Go inside, we used real guns earlier.”

“What?!” I exclaim, now fearing what I might find on the inside of the domicile.

“We blew up Charlie’s TV with his .45, it’s all on video,” he explained.

I head into the house with Audrey, and we settle in with a beer as the day’s events are rehashed around us. Twenty minutes later, BC comes back into the house with the air rifle and heads into the other room to play beer pong. Only he doesn’t play beer pong. Instead, he gets into a dick measuring contest with the other owner of the house, Daryl, and they decide they are going to shoot each other with the air rifle in the ass.

Daryl goes first, clothed, and BC pumps the rifle once and fires. Daryl winces in pain, but the peanut gallery insists he takes one bare ass, to which he agrees. BC lines up again, pumps once, and fires straight into Daryl’s left ass cheek. This time, a noticeable welt appears, but the beebee bounces away across the linoleum floor harmlessly.

Seeking revenge, Daryl seizes the air rifle, and Brian reticently lowers his jeans, exposing his hind quarters.

“Don’t be a pussy BC, take two pumps like a man,” is shouted from the other room by an undetermined source as Daryl takes aim.

“Fuck you,” is his predictable, drunken response. “Make it two Daryl.”

Daryl pumps again, aims and fires. The beebee sped toward BC’s ass, landed, but did not return. Instead, it was lodged in his cheek, and all that came out was a steady stream of crimson blood.

“HOLY SHITTTT!” BC screamed as he danced around in pain and blood began to stain his pants. I’m sure it was painful, but it was also damn funny, and after our laughter subsided, we realized he might actually need medical attention. But not until we took matters into our own hands first.

BC is then led into the bathroom, accompanied by Squantanamo Bay and his very concerned girlfriend. Squanton finds a pair of tweezers and a lighter, disinfects the tweezers in such a way that would make even a Civil War medic shutter, and attempts to dislodge the beebee from BC’s ass, all while he is berated by his very angry girlfriend who finds us all childish and stupid and clamors for a trip to the ER immediately. When it becomes apparent that Squanton’s accounting degree has left him miserably under-qualified for the task at hand, Daryl offers to take BC to the ER since he was the one who pulled the trigger.

They stayed there till 5:30 a.m., but not before entertaining the nurses on duty with the story and many more like it. So, I pose this question to you, Above the Influence: If all weed has ever done for me is make a dozen donuts seem like a reasonable bedtime snack, but booze has sent me and countless others to the emergency room, why do you berate us potheads and let the developing alcoholics off the hook?