Teretz Syndrome

Thursday, February 17, 2005. 1:10AM

(Drinking) Game of Death

Just a few weeks ago, Zeedar Teretz lost a close friend. Normally, this is not the sort of personal detail I'd share with you good folks, but this is special, because you see, he died in the service of ZeedarTeretz.com. I've sat on this log for a while because it just didn't see right to exploit his death for you people's entertainment. After much soul searching, I've decided that he would have wanted it this way. I just want Danger's family to know that what follows was written in several installments, both before and after his death, which is why my tone might not be as somber sometimes as it is others.

Danger, this one's for you.

* * *

A few days ago, I'm having a bit of a chat with my man, Lance Hardcore.

you should totally stalk these ugly halfies:


what's "Jack in the Crack"?

sound like coming on a chicks arse

Yeah, or you know how people take alcohol anally sometimes, because it is absorbed straight up without the stomach filtering it? Maybe it's doing that with Jack Daniels.

wow! I havent heard of that before! is it true?

You haven't?
I dunno, I guess it is, but I aint tried it or nothing.

i'd give it a go if it was more logistically possible, as in, last thing i need is vodka dribbling down my nuts

I guess you kind of put your ass in the air and use a funnel thing

ha ha or get your mother to help pour it in or something

Yeah, I picture kind of like beer bong in the arse.

this is so funny
i'm chatting to another dude....
and the windows are right next to each other
we were talking about wisdom teeth....
and then i saw that i'd written THIS, and read it at the end of what we were talking about:

"yeah, my mother said she had hers done and there was heaps of problems with there being no blood, and the hole drying up real bad"

I wouldn't have thought your mother was that cold crazy.

This gave me a bit of an idea. I gave it a Google, just to make sure there wasn't a whole community of anal absorbers out there. There wasn't, so I did some research. The way it works is this. When you eat or drink something, it goes into the stomach, which has acids and whatnot, and is basically for grinding down everything into a form that's more easily absorbable. It then goes down through the various organs and is stripped of it's nutrients progressively as it goes along. Right at the end though, is the bowel. Now, the bowel is like an absorption machine (the bladder counts as the bowel also for this highly scientific explanation). It can take nothing and keep breaking it down, packing it in, getting more and more out of it. This is why suppositories work so well, because they're going straight into this absorption machine, that isn't really expecting to get stuff in unbroken down form. It wants it as mush, so when it gets it straight up, it goes nuts. Everything goes straight into the bloodstream, so what you're getting is a whole lot better absorbed than anything else. It's like when you take bi-carb soda before dropping E because that makes your stomach pH level closer to neutral and absorbs it better... actually, it's not at all like that. I was right with my first example. It's just like a suppository.

Scientifically proven or not, however, there was no way in hell I was putting a hose up my rear and squeezing real hard. What I needed was a patsy. I needed Danger Boulevard. Danger is an all right guy - hell, the dude is my tight brother, but he's hardly the sharpest needle in the haystack. He's particularly not good with alcohol. Sure, when he puts his mind to it he can keep down a cold Asahi or two, but he won't touch spirits. This means he's much more a cold beer in the afternoon man than a let's get trashed and naked and try and convince the chicks to let us do shots off them (alas, the kind of chicks I know never let this happen... oh to know some sluts). He'd dearly like to join in the fun and the throwing up, I think, but he just can't get there. Hence, it followed that I had found the ideal solution.

* * *

About a week later, we were assembled and ready. We were over at Lance's pad. Danger was apprehensive. I had brought along a camera, but when I pulled it out, Danger said that no way was he having his naked arse with a funnel running into it photographed, and insisted that I lock the camera in a cupboard to which he would hold the only key before we even started anything. We decided to relax for a little while buy sitting around and having a few beers. The fourth party (who has asked that he remain unnamed) had brought a few bottles of his home-brew, so we sat back, just chilling, enjoying the dulcet tones from Lance's expensive full surround sound stereo (Lance likes to think that he can get girls, and his house is all set up like a complete bachelor pad). I knew that what we had planned was verging a bit on the homosexual side of honest male friendship, so just to straighten everything out a bit, I insisted that he fill the stacker with nothing other than the complete works of Johnny Cash. All about killing dudes, stealing cars and being angry at the man for sending you to jail.

The apparatus in question was an old friend we acquired back in our high school days. She hadn't seen so much action lately. Frankly, just seeing her again made me feel sick. We used to call her Margaret, I think possibly because someone once suggested we do margaritas in her, or maybe because the first time we used her Margaritaville by Jimmy Buffet was playing. I forget. Something about Margaritas, anyway.

Because of the lack of photos, I've drawn you a little diagram of how it played out.

I told danger to relax as much as he could. Just try and open up, be cool. As soon as he put his can in the air, he let off some hell gas, which drew a bit of a nervous laugh from all concerned. Margaret was too wide for any penetration, so the Forth Party just held it there, trying to get a seal. Lance poured a triple slug of Smirnoff Vodka into the pipe. "Are you ready, Danger?" I asked. He said he was. I told him that we were going to release the valve, and he was going to receive about 90mls of vodka in the anus. I figured that after that he should probably relax for a sec, then maybe flex the muscles in their a bit. If he could squeeze out a little fart or something, get the tubes open way on in, that might be a good idea. He said "Alright."

We release the valve.

In it went. Straight disappeared. He did his little fart, which came out as kind of a glug noise. I told him to tense up, hold it in as much as he could, then try and stand up. He did it. Pulled his pants back up. Not even any leakage. We stood around talking for about ten minutes, when suddenly it occurred to me that Danger didn't look his usual self. "How you feeling, Dange?" I asked. He thought about it for a moment before declaring "I can't feel my teeth." A cheer went up. "Danger!" I said "That means you're starting to get drunk. On your knees, we're going again." Danger seemed pretty enthusiastic this time. We gave him a quadruple slug from the same bottle. He was really starting to dig it, and kept asking for more. Over the next four hours, we gave him two more quad Vodka shots, a two five shots of cheap Scotch, and a triple of some Absinthe that was left in the bottom of a bottle from a while ago. The Absinthe was my idea - I wanted to see if it had the same burning sensation going up as it does going down, and more importantly, I was a bit curious about where exactly all this booze was going. He said he felt it spread up a little and then down into his groin and legs. At this point someone did a bit of a calculation, and figured that over four hours he had had thirty two standard drinks, which is a lot, even for booze going through the regular digestive system. We decided then that he'd had enough. He was pretty wasted too, stumbling around and slurring and all. When we refused to give him any more, he tried to self administer a slug, but in his condition, he couldn't keep the pressure on the hose. It wasn't too long before he was passed out on the lounge room floor. We all sat around him on couches, talking, just kind of keeping an eye on him. At a couple of points he started looking like he was dry retching in his sleep, but he didn't throw up anything, so we let him be. He woke up fine in the morning with what looked like a killer hangover. Lance made him down a few glasses of water and eat a couple of pieces of toast. The Forth Party drove him home.

Based on what I can piece together from what his mother told me, we was still feeling like hell and turning yellow twelve hours later. She took him to the emergency room. They said he was experiencing an advanced state of liver failure, and started to pump his blood. He died later than night. The autopsy confirmed this, and apparently there was something else odd - a lot of alcohol had escaped between his organs or something. We all went to the funeral.

And on that somber note; Alyson Hannigan.

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