I swear, every time I drink rum bad things happen. It's like there's a curse, a pirate's curse no doubt, that guarantees I get violently ill and black out long before sunrise. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the stuff. But, just like every relationship I've ever had, the end result is always someone getting murdered or raped. I'm just kidding, those things almost never happen.
Case in point, one of the only two legitimate fights I've been in took place after a night of drinking copious amounts of rum. Coincidence? Perhaps, but I point the finger of blame away from myself and squarely at the booze in question. It'll angry up the blood, erase the mind, and empty out what's left of the Taco Bell in your stomach. Yeah, I had a little captain in me, but not anymore.
Usually when I throw up, I can feel it coming from a mile away. Some guys, they're sitting there talking and mid-sentence the contents of their stomach just explodes everywhere, out of fucking nowhere. It's a real treat to watch. If you're standing across the room, that is. Anyway, I don't really do that. I know when what I put down is coming up, and I usually sneak off without anyone even knowing. Usually, that is.
One of the only times I've come extremely close to throwing up right in someone's face was, I believe, directly the result of consuming too much rum. It was at a massive house party. The kind of party where there is barely standing room, and the house is overflowing with people that spill out into the backyard. It was a loud party, with Tapout shirts and the bitches that covet them as far as the eye could see. You know the cops are on their way, it's just a matter of time.
Anyway, at some point I met a guy who was carrying around a bottle of Parrot Bay. I was able to get the bottle from him and then walk away when he wasn't paying attention. It wasn't his to begin with, so I felt that justified me essentially stealing it from him. If you're already hammered, it's a good idea to abstain from carrying a bottle of hard alcohol around. You'll drink more of it than you should, people will try to bogart what little you have left, and you'll end up carrying an empty bottle around before you know it. I drank more of it than I should have.
The night became a complete blur from that point on, and almost all I remember prior to throwing up and subsequently blacking out is meeting an Asian engineering student who could play the violin. I don't remember his name, but he was kickass.
I ended up standing in a circle on the edge of the back patio with Sarah, some other girl I think I'd met before, and a bunch of guys I didn't know. I'm standing there listening to them talk about Jersey Shore and as if on cue, I realize I'm about to throw up. I twisted sideways and pushed away from the group as vomit erupted from my mouth. It splattered on the edge of the cement I think, but most of it made it into the yard. I specifically remember that almost no one around even noticed, other than the people I was standing with. Still, I felt pretty stupid.
Sarah stood with me while I was doubled over in the yard moments later. After that I could distinctly see a couple chunks of vomit on her shirt. She hadn't seen them, and I was damn sure not going to point them out. She probably never noticed them, actually. Probably ended up going home with a friend, crashed on that friend's couch in her clothes, and now part of my dinner from that evening is rubbed into the fabric on some random sofa somewhere. People are probably sitting on some form of my stomach Jack in the Box right now, as I write this. But, I digress.
So, was rum directly responsible for me puking in front of people that evening, and then getting that said puke on Sarah? Shit yes. Well ok, maybe some other factors also came into play. But still, I'm telling you, rum is bad news. And Jesus Christ, if one more person tells me to get my Island on, I'm going to stab myself in the face.