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Man’s Weekend, The Finale

By Wyatt Earp | October 28, 2006

Sunday is (obviously) the final day of Man’s Weekend. It’s the day when we pick up the trash, vacuum the floors, and scrub out the vomit. Since my Saturday night consisted of Alabama Slammers and random shots, I didn’t wake up until 11am – after most of the participants had gone home. Vinnie was the only one left: since he was my ride home, and finally had enough. “Come on, fatass!,” was the call from my good friend. I rolled out of bed, took a bathroom break, and we were off.

Vinnie stopped at WaWa for provisions – the ride home takes about 90 minutes – so I got something solid to eat and a few bottles of Gatorade. I paid, walked to the car, took a sip of Gatorade . . . and felt it.

Did you ever feel the vomit coming up and realize that you couldn’t do anything to stop it? It’s not a good feeling. It’s like scrolling down on one of Ssssteve’s posts and seeing a picture of Helen Thomas (speaking of vomit). I ran out of Vinnie’s brand new car and looked for a secluded place. I found one right behind the dumpster and . . . (insert sound of retching here). In between heaves you could hear the sounds of “Oh my God!” After a few minutes, I composed myself and meekly walked back to the car.

Suffice to say, the ride home was quiet.

I could see Vinnie occasionally glancing in my direction with the look of “don’t you dare puke in my new car!” We were about five minutes away from my house when I yelled, “Vinnie, pull over!” He did, and I jumped out of the car for round two. This round was much worse. After a while, I slinked back into the car and finished the journey home, swearing – as all men do - to never drink again.

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