Andy P and the 21st Birthday Party

This story isn’t actually mine. My very good friend Pipes told it to me, and it details the closing hours of his brother Andy’s 21st Birthday. Here is pretty much how he told it, although the details have grown fuzzy with the passing of time:

“Ok, so I managed to get home to Minnesota for Andy’s 21st. He was never really much of a drinker, so we figured we’d just head out with some of his high school buddies and catch a few brew doggies. I had the Durango with me, so I was the driver. We all piled in, and hit a few bars.

Really nothing happened out at the bars, other than Andy was making drinks disappear. As fast as we lined ‘em up, he knocked ‘em down. And it was a wicked mix – Leinenkugel’s, PBR, Three Wise Men, Three Hicks and a Spic, Guinness I think. Bad news, especially ‘cause I don’t think Andy weighed one-fifty then. Anyway, I didn't drink, but Andy is pretty wrecked by the time we leave around midnight, and so were his buddies.



I get them all back to the car, and I get on the highway. Andy was in the front seat, and he’s just leaning back with his eyes closed. He kept shaking his head and moaning, “It’s hot, why is it so hot,” so I crack the window to give him a little air.

That doesn’t work at all, because as soon as the air hits him, he looks at me, doubles over, and goes “Stop, stop, I gotta puke, I gotta puke.”But I’m doing 70 in the fast lane, I can’t stop. I just roll down the window and try to push Andy’s face out of the car so he’ll at least puke outside.

That doesn’t work either, because Andy doesn’t really get his head out of the car. Instead, he just pukes this vile, black mess straight out the window. Dude, I’ve never seen anything like this – his puke stopped in mid-air, did this Matrix back-flip, and flew right back into Andy’s face.

By now, his buddies in the back are awake, and they both just go “Ohh, dude, that is fucking nasty.” Andy is plastered in this goop – it’s in his hair, all over his face, and down his shirt. Plus, Andy barely notices – he’s just sitting there trying to keep down the next batch. And it absolutely reeks.

I don’t have paper towels or anything, plus I’m still driving, so Andy just has to sit there until I pull over. I finally stop, and me and his friend get Andy out of the car. We get his shirt off, use it to mop him up, and then I just throw the shirt on the side of the road. The car still reeks, so I just get back on the road, get the two other guys back, and bring Andy home.

My mom was still up when we got back. I helped Andy out of the car, and no sooner get him in the front door than he spews again, right in front of my Mom. She screams, looks at me and says, “What did you do to him?” I’m like, “Me? Nothing, I’m stone sober.” She grabs Andy and points him up the stairs. “I’m getting your father,” she said. I’m like, Whatever, I’m 23, Dad can’t do much to me, and I grab some paper towels and cleanser to wash out my car.

It takes me forever to scrape all the goop out of my front seat, so by the time I come back in, my dad is up and waiting for me in the kitchen. His arms are crossed, he’s wearing a blue button-down oxford, and tighty whities, and he’s really mad. But I can’t not laugh at him.

“It’s not funny,” he said. “Andy might have alcohol poisoning. Why didn’t you take care of him?”

I can barely talk, but I’m like, “Dad, he puked everything up. He doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.”
“Well, he’s upstairs, and you’re waiting up with him to make sure he doesn’t die. Go upstairs and sit with your mother.” I have a 7 am flight, but I’m like, “Fine,” and head upstairs.

I get to Andy’s room, and he’s lying on his stomach, head hanging over a trashcan, and my mom is sitting in a chair next to him. As I go to sit, Andy heaves again, right into the trashcan. So, I guess he wasn’t quite empty yet. My Mom points at me and says, “This is your fault.” I was like, “My fault? He drank, not me.” Meanwhile, Andy is almost comatose, but he rolls onto his back and just kind of makes these big heavy sighs.

Then he starts to convulse again, and it looks like he’s about to upchuck right there on the bed. My mom says, “No, Andy, in the trashcan.” So he reaches over, grabs the trashcan, and holds it up over his head – and all the puke comes right down on his face.

At that point, even my mom couldn’t keep from laughing, and just said, “Oh, Andy.””

And that his how Andy puked on his own head twice in the same night. The end.