Name: Doug

Age: 23

Not everybody knows, but back in the day when Professional Wrestling was in its heyday Portland Oregon was a hot spot for young wrestlers to get experience before moving on to the big time WWF.
Mostly this was because we had a local sponsor (Tom Peterson) who made sure the matches were on local television.

Anyway, back around 1987 me and one of my cronies were going in to the National Guard Armory in Portland about once a month to watch the fights.   It was always good for picking up on teenyboppers and rooting for the bad guys.  It was good clean fun because I didn’t drink, so my buddy could get just as plowed as he wanted to and still have a safe ride home.

John (Yes, his real name) liked to go buy the 32oz Coors in a cup and a bag of peanuts from the concession stand.  As if the Coors wasn’t bad enough,  he would eat the peanuts whole;  shell and all.  Worse, just about any food gives him gas.   I was not looking forward to the ride home.

On this particular night, John had made the round trip to the concessions stand three times in less than two hours.  For you math wizards, that’s 3 X 32 = 96oz of Coors.  Not bad for a lightweight.

So the fights get over, and Billy Jack Haynes gave a fine show as usual.  We decide “Hey, it’s early,  time enough to head over to the Acropolis for a steak.   (a strip club with pretty good food, for those who don’t know.)

When we get there John is feeling little or no pain, and I’m driving his truck.  (I’m no fool.)  We go in only to find that a crew of five of our buddies are there, having been subsidizing the strippers for a couple of hours.  They’re sitting at the rack surrounded by empty glasses and two pitchers of Bud are left about 3/4 full.

Yeah, you know what’s coming.  John grabs the first pitcher and swills it down.  Then he looks sideways at the second trying to get a brain cell to fire, then decides to fuck it.  Down goes the second pitcher.

All our buddies are leaving, so we decide to follow them and get a taco, instead of eating at the strip club.  So we leave.

As we’re driving down the road, John seems to go to sleep, or catatonia.  Whichever.  Then his head comes up off the window:  “Pull over.”

I know what that means, and it’s why we’re driving his truck.   We’re barely stopped when his head is out the door (still belted in) and I hear the following sounds.

“Hurrraaaccck!   Hurrraaaccck!   Hurraccck-snorkkklle!

“Snorkklle?”  I thought.  Barfing out the door of a truck shouldn’t make a sound like “Snorkklle.”

“John,” I said.  “Are  you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, panting heavily.  “I just blew peanut shells out my nose!”

I will never forget that sound.  “Hurraccck-snorkklle!”

Dear Doug, A lot of worry warts and people who don’t know how to have fun, would have probably stopped John after he guzzled an entire pitcher of beer.  You on the other hand let him do it twice.  In return, you got to witness semi chewed peanuts being projectile vomited from your friends nose.  +10 cool points for you.