Nickname Fart Fuck

It was the smell of shit that finally woke me up, coming in the form of a fart being blown directly into my face from a strange asshole that was two inches away from my nose. This was followed by the sound of three men laughing hysterically.

The events leading up to me being farted on my strangers slowly started coming back, populating my barely conscious mind. I had an awful hangover and for once in my life I actually enjoyed the mind numbing headache and nausea that was always there to greet me the morning after a night of heavy drinking, it kept my mind from processing the full load of humiliating events all at once. No, this night would have to be carefully reconstructed and then immediately stored in the “Things to Never Do Again” area of my brain.

I had just finished my set and was carrying my equipment to the van when P.J., the greasy bartender, approached and asked if I wanted to “party”. In the ten years that I’ve been traveling around the country I’ve been asked to “party” countless times. This term has a wide range of meanings and it’s always best to have it clarified before agreeing to any “party”. You don’t want to accidentally agree to be butt fucked when you thought you were agreeing to a bump of coke. So I asked P.J. what type of party and he assured me it was just a regular house party. There’d be a keg of beer, drugs, girls, and most importantly, he said I could crash on the couch when it was all over. I immediately agreed.

The party was in full swing by the time we arrived and P.J. had not been lying about what to expect. There looked to be about a hundred people, all transported from the bar, and everyone looked to be having a great time. I helped myself to a cup of beer and began scoping the crowd for a date. Before I finish that first beer someone screamed “Fucking Cuervo, man!” and started passing around an extra-large bottle of tequila. No salt and no lime for this crowd, it was simply take one down and pass it around. When the bottle came my way I tried handing if off without taking a drink (a lot of unclean looking people had already drank out of that bottle) which apparently is huge no-no amongst P.J. and his gang. The penalty for not drinking from the bottle was that I had to take two drinks. I realize that doesn’t make sense but you have to understand these “rules” were made up by drunk people. I once again attempted to get myself out of this game which was another penalizing offense and that meant, you guessed it, I now had to take three drinks. Not wanting to risk losing my spot on the couch, I finally gave in and took three long pulls out of the bottle. Goodnight brain, I thought to myself and proceeded to get wildly intoxicated.

The details of the night are a bit blurry but I distinctively remember agreeing to the nickname “Fart Fuck” after I told someone that liked the smell of my own farts.

I am now sitting in the E.R. waiting for someone to treat this nasty case of Conjunctivitis I received from being farted on so many times. I’m going to miss playing in several well paying rigs and I’ll be sleeping in my van the entire time. I think it might have been better if P.J. did simply want to butt fuck me. I still would have been able to play those shows at least.

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