|
I know,
I know, with the title of this page, you're dying to get right to the
part about the midget (and friend, who can blame you?), but before we
get to the midget, there's a little side story that must be told.
..
So we're leaving the first bar we stopped at (before going to the
bar where the midget was) and we see this new BMW parked next to us...the
sunroof was still open from when the kids driving it pulled into the
parking lot moments earlier blasting gangsta rap so that everyone would
know that even though they might look like spoiled, white, suburban,
bitches...they were really hard-ass, dangerous, playas, yo. Scott (my
best friend from high school) wanted to teach them a lesson about leaving
your sunroof open and proceeded to void his bladder all over their car.
I almost wet my own pants watching him pinching his dick to build up
pressure and then releasing it to send a towering arc of golden piss
high enough to actually get into the car through the sunroof. BWA-HA-HA!
No more pee. Thumbs up! (I'm surprised this picture isn't blurry
considering how violently I was laughing when I took it.)
After fleeing the scene of the place where the car-peeing took place,
we headed up to a bar on lake Hopactcong called the Tidal Wave. We show
up to the place and right when we walk in we see this group of girl
dancing in a circle around a guy who appears to be really far away.
Upon closer examination, we realized that he wasn't far away, he was
a MIDGET!
After dancing with the midget, Scott and I started asking people that
we knew who he was. Turns out, some friends of ours from high school
saw him singing kareoke at a bar 20 minutes cross town and they were
so thoroughly entertained by him that they just grabbed him and brought
him along. When we asked them how he was getting home they told us,
"Hey, if you want to give him a ride home, you can have him for
the night." That's right. They gave us a midget. They gave
us their midget.
Now Scott and I had spent many an hour compiling lists of things
we would do if, per chance, we were ever given our very own midget.
So we didn't waste any time and got right down to the activity at the
top of our list: finding out just how much alcohol a midget can actually
consume.
We told him flat out: "We'll buy you drinks, but you've gotta drink
them on the dance floor." We started him out nice and easy with
a screwdriver (keep in mind, when he was handed over to us, he was already
totally shitfaced. He was from Japan and couldn't even say his name.
We told him we didn't need to know his name...and that if we needed
him we'd just say "Hey! Midget!" And he nodded vigorously
as he pretended to understand us).
Two screwdrivers later, the midget was still ambulatory (and dancing
up a storm) So we decided it was time to step things up a notch...and
started buying him shots. Of Tequilla. Cheap Tequilla.
Cheap Bar Tequilla...which he drank with no further prompting
from us, on the dancefloor. (Note girl in white shirt in the background
laughing and pointing.) Tequilla makes all kinds of people do crazy
stuff. We couldn't wait to see what it would make the midget do...
...turns out, tequilla makes midgets break dance. I shit you not, the
minute he finished his first shot, this midget, this fifty-something-year-old
barely-speaks-any-English, drunk, midget, starts God-honest breakdancing.
Er, sort of....but he got an "A+" for effort in my book. (You
should've seen his little midget legs pumping to the beat as he attempted
"the scramble." Priceless.
Word.
|