Liquid Marijuana:

2 shots Captain Morgan's spiced rum

1 shot Malibu Rum

1 shot Midori melon liqueur

1 shot Blue curacao

 Fill glass with pineapple juice and sour mix....whats left of the glass anyways.

(side note: there is very little room for mixer....skip the ice)

            Luisa and I had been dating for about 2 months before things started to get serious…ly stupid. She was sort of a rebound from G-money (the girl I was engaged to, and ended the relationship by pissing on her multiple times while she was sleeping and blamed the dog) I use the term rebound loosely, because I didn’t really consider my encounter with G-money to be a relationship even though we were engaged. Luisa was different…I actually liked her, and wanted to be around her. I was her boss at a bar/ restaurant in Ellensburg, Wa for a short while, so we had to keep things professional during the early part of our relationship, which basically just means that we did it everywhere in the building that didn’t have surveillance cameras . We ended up quitting that place and picked up and moved to Sequim, Washington following an episode where a guy named Billy Lorig (yes, that is his real name and I fucking dare him to confront me about exploiting him) had taken over the ownership of our bar/ restaurant. He hired me as the bar manager and forced me to hire an unusually stupid amount of hot college girls to turn this "ma and pa steakhouse" into a booze driven parade of underdressed skanks....much like Hooters, but bikinis rather than shorty shorts and hoola hoops. I became friends with the girls even though I was their superior and didn't think of them as skanks, but Billy wanted to maintain a slutty representation. We had reconsructed the pool room into an indoor skank oasis, and scheduled a photo shoot for the Ellensburg newspaper that was eventually denied by the local press due its insinuating advertisement as a brothel. When we finally revamped the place and all 14 girls were ready for opening day, we packed that joint soo tight that people were willing to have their dinner standing up. Billy was nowhere to be found and after the hell wekend was over, we all went to cash our paychecks and every last one of us was issued a check that bounced. Not only had Billy issued 25+ bad checks to the staff that he forced me to hire, but Billy had also cleverly re-routed the credit card machine to be routed directly into his personal bank account just before he skipped town and moved to Arizona. After this unfortunate series of events took place, we had all taken a pact, that we would keep; in the case that Billy Lorig should actually be burried when he dies. Myself, along with all 14 girls that Billy gawked over as he drank every last drop of the booze that was left behind in the restaurant when he bought it...are going to leave 15 piles of steaming shit on his grave. I hope you read this Billy...you are actually the worst human being I have ever known. I have never wished death on anybody, so i will just say that I hope you come down with a life threatening case of hemmerhoids.

I had been offered a full time job at the casino in Sequim, and got suckered into inviting Luisa to come with me…by her vagina. We rented a place together (against my better judgment) as we both bar tended in rival bars.

            I bar tended at the casino in Sequim, Wa. And Luisa was bar tending at R-Bar in Port Angeles, which was about 30 miles away. Both bars had live music, a decent dance floor and among other things: a weekly beer pong tournament.

            Although both bars had a different way of going about business, we both worked at the best “bang for your buck” bars in the area.  The casino is cheap because it already has a main source of income: “gamblers”. R-Bar, has a reputation for over pouring drinks, so even though their drinks were relatively pricey, they sort of defied Washington state liquor control board protocol and they proceeded to make drinks that were damn near flammable in pint glasses. Either bar you went to, you were getting your money's worth.

            I had been working at the casino for about 5-6 months and I was convinced that I would never see the day that I would get a Saturday night off without:  A: Obstructing the ebb and flow of the weekly schedule with the other bartenders or B: Giving one of my bosses a proper reach around with a happy ending. 

            Well, much to my dismay, that day came in November of 2011. I was so flabbergasted that I had gotten a Saturday night off that I didn't even bother to make plans to go out and celebrate a real weekend.

            Luisa asked if I wanted to go to her work with her and just hang out there for 4 hours while she tended bar. Naturally the last thing that I wanted to do with my Saturday night was be “the drunken bar fly at the end of the bar that happened to be dating the hot flirty bar tender”, so I plotted my night around that unfortunate title as smoothly as I could to avoid any shit talking from her co-workers and regulars.

            One of Luisa and my on-going inside jokes revolved around some truth. For some reason or another, I was/ am magnetically pulled towards lesbians. To be more specific: “Bull-dykes”. Call me crazy, call me weird, but for whatever reason I just always hit it off with Butchy manly lesbians. I assume that the deep psychological reasoning behind this has to do with the fact that we know right off the bat, that A)There is absolutely no sexual chemistry, and B) We know that we have entirely different taste in girls...so, we can't actually “cockblock”  or "Twat Block" one another.

            They are safe female company, we will never fight over girls like guys do and Luisa wouldn’t castrate me in my sleep for running around town with a bull dyke. She knows that there is no sexual chemistry going on.

            I jokingly vowed to grab the first bulldyke that I could find and have her be my date for the night.

            Well, as it turns out, it was a slow start to the evening for business at R-bar and the only other person in the bar besides Luisa happened to be a thick, heavily tattoo'd, bonified bulldyke. Her name was “Vanna”. It also just so happened to be....that she preferred to hang out with straight guys...we both win!!!!!

            Vanna claimed that she worked for some sort of peace core....or some such shit. I didn't really care. I just assumed it was a place for lesbians to unite, dyke out, and get paid for it.

            Vanna and I were high-fiving within the first minute of meeting and it felt like a match made in heaven. We had been going back and forth deciding on what to drink.

D:what do you like to drink? Apparently we can rule out the taste of dick...”we may need to go to another bar”

V: haha!

D: Seriously, though...lets create something mind blowing.

V: Deal

D: what are your favorite boozes?

V: I like tropical stuff like Malibu and midori with pineapple juice

D: wow, youre a whimp.

V: What do you drink? Mr. badass?

D:  CAPTAIN MORGAN~

V: I kind of  like the Captain too.....

H: Well, why don’t we just mix them all together and see what we get?

Then it happened...

We brought our amazing booze concoction to life with Luisa; who added a little bit of sour mix to cut the burn from the rum, she added a little bit of Blue Curacao on top for color, and then my friend......The  “Liquid marijuana” was born. I was a little reluctant to try it at first, because I thought that Midori melon liquor tasted like Sasquatch shart, but I was pleasantly surprised.

            Vanna and I cheered in celebration to our new addition to the world of Mixology. Even Luisa was thrilled.

            Vanna and I got loopy off of the very first one as we played a quick game of beer pong. Luisa's bar was dead and we wanted some action. We dropped the game and quickly decided to explore the splendors of the Port Angeles nightlife together.

            We went to 3 other bars and ordered our new Mixology masterpiece at each one. After we had described our drink to every worthy bar tender on the Peninsula, as well as described its distinct alcoholic capabilities, we had actually managed to raise a brow or two. We were on to something magically delicious and potent. Vanna and I had been high five-ing, and hugging the whole time. We were arm in arm, cheering at everything that was even remotely positive. We weren't even wasted but we had created a party aura between the two of us with this new drink that somehow made us the alcoholic Pied Pipers of Port Angeles, Washington for the night.

            We had no intention of bringing the party with us where we went. However, just as soon as we had the whole front row of seated shameless alcoholics hooked on this drink, it was over for them and just the beginning for Vanna and I. The mixed company that we had unintentionally baited to come with us, was grateful to be a part of the origin. They wanted to make a great story about the night they experimented with “Liquid Marijuana” just as bad as I wanted to make great story about the night we created it. Well, as the a cavalcade of “Liquid Marijuana” users followed us to the parking lot, I realized how fucking boring this town really is. Even on weekends. (These poor bastards are following some douche and a bull dyke to a random bar just because they are a random douche and a bull dyke that came up with some drink that makes you feel like you were sitting on the beach in Tahiti while simultaneously licking the sweat off of a Las Vegas stripper's ass crack, Without having to shell out a gazillion dollars for airfare, or having to remove the unsightly “stripper dust” that the stripper will inevitably leave all over your clothes and face.

Stripper Dust: aka “Raver Scabies”, or “Glitter”

            We couldn't fight the drunkards off with a stick if we wanted to. I was beginning to feel like the alcoholic equivalent of Braveheart as we proceeded onward with our posse of alcohol enthusiasts to the CooCoo's nest. They were ecstatic about this new drink and felt that they had just as much bragging rights as we did for being part of the birth of a monster. I certainly wasn't going to correct the followers as to the actual origin of this incredible concoction because I wanted everyone who was partying with us that night to feel involved...so I just said that we all came up with it together. “This is our Baby” I said with a smile as we raised our glasses for the 6^th or 7^th time in celebration of “Liquid Marijuana” that night.

            Vanna was a self-proclaimed master of those bar top video puzzle games that reward your puzzle solving abilities with girls that remove a piece of clothing every time you solve a puzzle. I was intrigued, not just because there was a girl playing the game, but Vanna was indeed quite exceptional at the game. Not only was she playing the “stripper game” and kicking it's ass, but she was on the hardest skill level that you could set on it. It was amazing to watch, but it was also a game that could involve two players....and guess who else likes to see Tittays??!?!?!

            Ya, we had the high score on that game within a half hour.  (not to brag or anything, double teaming a video game for drunk people and winning isn’t really something to call home about. I just wanted to see some more Tittays!)

            After we beat the machine, we looked at the clock and realized that we had to haul ass to R-Bar where Luisa was bar tending to get a drink for last call. It was 1:58 as we Barged through the bar door. I threw Luisa's car keys on the counter and shouted “We Lived, We lived to fight another day!”. We quickly ordered two Liquid Marijuana’s from Luisa. She was quick on the pour, but she asked if we wanted doubles. I was sort of shy about ordering doubles; not only because their drinks were expensive  but also, I was about 9 drinks deep and the last two that I had guzzled (10 minutes prior to this interaction) were basically 6 shots of booze with a little bit of Pineapple juice on top. “How can you even turn that into a double”? I asked.

            Luisa gave me that look....it was a look that I had started to become familiar with; It was a 50/50 mixed look, consisting of half: “You're a little bitch” and half “you're a gigantic, embarrassing vagina”.  I was comfortably retarded from the last 6 or 7 drinks, but she had a point (without actually having to say anything). Her right Eyebrow was raised as she looked at me and proceeded to dump a considerable amount of Captain Morgan's rum into the pint glass. She then took small splashes of the last few ingredients and dumped them over the top of the drink. The drink at it's birth was bright green and this drink was fairly brown....and transparent. For those of you who don't know about mixology: that means that there s a lot of booze in this drink....like.... A....LOT!!!

            If this drink were actually legal, it would probably cost somewhere around $20-30 due to the amount of hard liquor involved in making it. I jingled the change in my jacket pocket as I started to reflect on the damage this night had done to my wallet. I was just about to offer the drinks to the couple to my right since they didn't quite make it to last call on time, but Luisa emitted the words that once again created the line between “blissfully tipsy” and “Fucking retarded”…..Luisa, looked me right in my bloodshot drunken eyes and said: “On, me”.

            There was no turning this around now. I was once again dooped by free booze, and was inevitably going to be in for a long night of bad decisions. I picked up the drinks and turned around to give one to Vanna but, Vanna was gone. In her place was “Ricky” the bouncer. (The 6'9” 350lb bouncer). He was looking straight down at me because I had taken a step towards him without looking. I was about eye level with his nipples.

            I slowly looked up to his face as he muttered the words: “You have 30 seconds to drink those, or I am going to have to dump them” I made a quick 360 degree turn around the whole bar, in hopes that I would catch Vanna before I was forced to nail my alcoholic coffin shut. The clock was ticking, Vanna was MIA and Ricky was breathing over my head like a charging bull cornering an amateur bullfighter.

            I had no choice…I was wasted. I took both of the straws out of the drinks and slammed both of the drinks in the 20 second grace period that Ricky had allowed me. I got down to the last slurp of the second drink when I noticed the other 2 security gaurds pushing everyone in the bar to the front door.

            “The Bar is Closed, Everyone out!!!!”

            I had to force myself to keep the last two drinks down as the Port Angeles version of the running of the bulls was headed right at me. I handed the two pint glasses which now just held a few ice cubes in them to Ricky and tried to make eye contact with Luisa as I was being pushed out the door. Luisa had the car keys, and I knew she had a grand list of duties to get done before she would make it out to the car. “Well, that was fucking stupid” I said out loud as Vanna magically appeared to my left. “What”? Vanna asked.

H: I just gave Luisa her keys back and she won't be off for another half hour at least. Did you bring a car?

V: No, I took a taxi. No one at my work has a car.

H: Balls. Hiccup*

V: But I will keep you company if you guys can give me a ride back when she is off.

H: ok, that shouldn't be a prob...lum.

            I had failed to recall that it was colder than my ex-fiancee outside and I was not dressed for this weather. The wind chill factor was the part that really got to me. Not only was it cold but it was windy too. My face was starting to go numb, both from the wind chills and the fact that I had just made a valiant attempt at drinking my own weight in hard alcohol in the course of 3-4 hours. It hadn't even dawned on me as to how much liquid I had consumed until it all hit me at the same time. Each drink is served in a pint glass, and I had somewhere between 7 and 10 of them which accounts for approximately 5-9 pounds of liquid surging through my guts (depending on how much ice was in the drink). This was going to be a monumental pissing.

            The police were lined up along the street in front of us with the lights on. It was 2 cars with a couple of the native gangsters that had gotten in a fight earlier in the back of each of them. My knees were buckling from the enormous pressure that was building up in my bladder. It was a god aweful combo platter of fullness and stinging pain from my groin all the way to my kidneys. I couldn't believe how quickly it escalated.

            It was so cold outside that I couldn't tell the difference from the smokers and the non-smokers exhaling outside. Another cop car pulled into the one vacant spot across the street. I figured at this point that every cop in Port Angeles was right in front of me, so it would be safe to sneak around the back and take a piss in the alley to avoid a nasty “urinating in public” or “indecent exposure” ticket. I limped up to the sidewalk, leaving Vanna behind. I didn't say a word...i just started to run.

            I was almost to the alley....my salvation was in sight when I started to feel uncontrollable bursts of urine sneak out in between strides. I was using every ion of energy in my body to try and keep from unleashing countless pounders of booze from entering my trousers. My jaw was clenched, my jog had turned into a power walk. I was now walking quickly with my knees together and my inner thighs hugging my junk to avoid another uncontrollable burst of pee. My strength would soon give out and I would be doomed if I didnt start unzipping on my way down the dark alley. I was wearing a brand new pair of boxer briefs and I couldnt find the front exit hole. I panicked and unlatched my belt, my whole body was shaking now, both from the cold and the force of might that I was putting into keeping myself clenched. Kidneys burning, bladder on fire....it was going to let loose whether I wanted to let it or not. I had my belt unlatched and my pants were starting to slide over my new boxer briefs and down to my knees. I found a small clearing right next to a dumpster and immediately pulled my boxer briefs down and took aim.

            I looked down at my unsuspecting target. A Wal-Mart shopping bag. The first burst had the power of a NYC fire truck hose. The crystal clear liquid had created a shower of pee particles all over the ground surrounding area of the Wal-mart bag. It was then that I noticed the blue and red lights getting brighter and brighter in my pee puddles on the wal-mart bag.  THE MUTHER FUCKIN COPS?!? I pouted as I cut off the worlds most monumental pee stream. I have had a kidney stone before, and it hurt.....but clenching a pissing session of this magnitude made passing a kidney stone feel like shooting a snot rocket.

            I instinctively pulled my boxer briefs back up when I saw the lights, but my pants were still around my knees. The biting pain was getting more and more intense. I wanted to cry, I was in such intense pain. The police cruiser was directly behind me, and I knew they were looking right at me...standing there with my pants at my knees and my fresh yet lightly soiled underwear, my pasty white legs sticking out in to the dark cold alley like a glow in the dark sticker. The police cruiser flipped on its siren for one quick burst right at ear level, 10 feet behind me., and that quick burst opened the floodgates of my urethera.

Bwoooooooooooooop!!!!!

            Within seconds I had completely soiled my new shorts, soaked my pants...and frankly I was so drunk and so relieved that I didn't even care. The warmth of my urine against my cold legs was actually quite pleasant in the 20 degree weather. I was on the other hand; pretty belligerent and blamed the cops for opening up the floodgates in my pants. I turned around and exposed the front side of my freshly soiled clothing. I smiled at the driver madly, baring my teeth in a half smile/ half war invitation. I then stuck my middle fingers up and winked towards the blinding lights of the police cruiser as I finished the last few seconds of the world’s most epic pants pissing extravaganza. Guess what? I didn't get arrested.

            The ironic thing was that they had only put the siren on to get me to move so they could go past me. I was slightly blocking the entrance to the alley way. They were on a mission to fight real crime, not arrest the drunken dumbshit for pissing on a dumpster behind a bar. I could feel piss seeping into my socks as they drove past me. They weren’t even looking in my direction as I stood there with soaked pants hanging on my kneecaps, and boxer briefs that now felt as though they were starting to freeze to my legs.

            I quickly waddled backwards as they passed, and I tripped over my own pant leg. I fell butt first onto (you guessed it) the freshly soiled Wal-mart target bag and the mote of piss that surrounded it, ensuring that every drop of the nights bender made it somewhere onto my clothing I sat in my own filth for a couple of seconds, I chuckled madly at the situation as I came to terms with the fact that there was no way to cover this up No stores were open for several hours. At least none that I could get a change of clothes at.

            The comfort of the warm urine on my legs was now taking a 180 turn and was becoming a frozen piss nightmare. I waddled back to the front of the bar after I had pulled my trousers up. I was unconsciously walking stiff legged to avoid the wetness and the cold of my pant legs, even though it was impossible to avoid.  I was shivering madly as I made my way to the front door of Luisa’s establishment.

“What happened to your pants?” Vanna asked.

H: Oh this? I pissed myself.

V: Very funny, what really happened?

H: I repeated very calmly, and straight faced: “I pissed myself”

V: Seriously? Why didn’t you just go to the port-o-potty right there?

            Vanna pointed to the end of the block, not even 50 feet from where we were standing. There was in fact a port-o-potty directly in front of a construction site right next to the building we were standing in front of. I held my head down in shame, and just giggled. I was starting to get the spins, and had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before the long night’s bender would try to start escaping from the other end.

            Luisa finally got off of work, and didn’t even notice the piss stains on my jeans, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to bring attention to it. Her car was always a mess so I just picked up a small pile of dirty laundry from the back and sat on it after I offered Vanna the shotgun seat.

            After we dropped Vanna off at some weird dark cabin in the woods, I pretended to be asleep in the back to avoid any interrogation about the evening. When we got to the house I told Luisa that  wanted to take a hot shower before bed so I could thaw out. On my way there, I disposed of the evidence into the washing machine and made it safely to bed, after I chuked up dull green mass of liquid marijuana that had been stewing in my guts since last call.

            I never told Luisa about what happened that night. It just so happened that Luisa had adopted a wayward kitty a few days prior, so when the soiled laundry in her car started to smell like ammonia and piss, I blamed the cat.

            Granted, it was the first and only time Luisa did her laundry in the year and a half that we dated…but that was pretty extreme measures to go through in order to get a girl to do her gad-damned laundry.

-D’Archangel