1960 Ford Falcon ^^ (a silly tale of near 1/2 century ago)

^^ (awhile before the coining of the term 'designated driver')
 
 
 
1970/'71 ---
(technically)  Mom's car,         but
                                                    she
                                                    was
most generous in allowing me to
                                                     use  it.
 
 
My fat junkie pal, Billy, calls me, sayin'
                                                     he needs
                                              me to give him
                                                a ride
                                                     to an ER.....he's got a nice multi-color
                                                abcess where
                                   he blew a shot recently.
 
So I drop him off & go to wait in the furthest recesses of the  
          parking lot.
 
An hour later, he comes out, virtually floating.
 
"What'd they give you?. You look like yr loaded."
 
"i dunno. Some fckn antibiotic or something."
 
"You got loaded on antibiotic?"
 
"Well, y'see. While I was waitin, I went into the crapper & fixed me a little something I was savin' for emergency, & I was in an Emergency room, so made sense".
 
"Christ'aw'mighty, whatta schmuck you are".
 
"Hey, man, let's go over to Joanie D's house (parents house), you can leave me there"
 
"i'd like to leave you right here, you skaggin'asshole"
 
"Aw,cmon, Danny, don't be that way".              "Yeah, right, Bill".
 
So Joanie is home with several mutual friends.    
 
Billy: "hey, Joanie, is there any of dad's Irish Whiskey 'round? He won't mind if I have a shot."
 
Me: "Billy, no"......Billy: "Just a shot, man. Be cool."
 
She brings the bottle with a rather large water glass, which he fills & proceeds to chug.
 
Me: "o'fuck"..............then he fills again, (well, 'only' about 2/3), then chugs again.
 
Well, us kids proceed to talkin, &  in about 5 minutes, We hear an ominous  thud on the table.  
                                     Mr.B has passed out.
 
Joan: "Danny, you gotta get him outta here. The old man'll be home in half hour. Please, get him out"
 
So, Jackie G.  & I drag him out to the Falcon.  He pukes in the driveway.  
 
Joan: "Shit, get him outta here!" as she lunges for the garden hose.
 
We get him in the passenger side, & before I get behind the wheel, he projectile vomits on the window and dashboard.  I'm gagging on the smell, hangin me head out the window.  
 
I pull up in front of his folks house. "Danny, don't leave me here" he pleads.
 
"What the fuck you want me to do? Take you to my folks place? Fuck that. Here you are, & here you'll be left."
 
I have to go open the passenger door, & pull this guy's arm to get him dumped on his daddy's lawn.
 
I'm not goin to go into the ordeal of cleaning & "deodorizing" the little gray Falcon.
 
~~~~~~ like, so, Why am I telling you this?.....You decide.
 
 
 
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