Marty

“Oh my god; I’m so fucking high right now.”

When’s the last time you said that shit?  High school?  Middle school?  The other day?  Yeah, I fall into that category.

Let’s set the scene: it’s 4 AM in the world’s second largest desert city.  That’s Lima, Peru, for all of you geo-tards.  We are at our multi-million dollar house (rented, obviously), two blocks removed from the Pacific Ocean.  Me and my girlfriend (henceforth referred to as “The Queen”) are sitting on the white Italian couches in the living room.  It had been a wild night, and for all intents and purposes, it was over.  Suddenly the front door opens.

It’s Alexa, my Peruvian roommate.  She’s with a guy.  I’m thinking, “Oh, who’s the flavor of the week?”  …or the flavor of the night, in her case.  The two of them saunter over to the couch opposite us and plop down.  I start questioning the guy.  In Spanish.  He has a slightly unusual accent, and even looks kinda white, but I had seen a few upper-class Peruvians that look like that.  Ten full minutes pass before i realize that this dude is from Germany.  Wait–why the fuck am I speaking to this dude in Spanish? 

His name is Martin, but we can call him Marty.  Marty sees a book on the mantle, covered with a small mound of powder.  Presumably cocaine left over from the pre-party that took place sixteen hours ago.  Marty eyes the book and goes, “Oh you like coke?” and then he throws his own, giant bag of cocaine on top of the book.

“Rum?” I offer.

He accepts, and I go to the kitchen and fix him a drink.  When i get back, he is offering everyone pot.  “Who would like to smoke a joint?”  Wow.  This dude came to party.

With the sun now rising, the four of us sit there exposed to the cool morning breeze, sharing some drinks, some laughs and some other stuff.  And just when I thought I had seen all of his tricks, Marty pops this question:  “Hey guys, have you ever tried liquid extacies [sic]?”

(In unison) “No”

“Would you like to?”  he says, drawing a small medical bottle out of his jacket.

 

 

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY??

Marty starts adding droplets of this stuff into a shot of beer, and then passes one to each person.  THUG LIFE

I tilt my head back and fire it down.  Who knows what the fuck I just put into my bloodstream.  At least I’ll have a few minutes to plan accordingly before that shit hits.

Nope!  That shit hit INSTANTLY

The next thing I know, I’m in the backyard doing my best impression of a dreidel, spinning a thousand circles a minute and violently bouncing off walls, and the queen is in the garden vomiting all over flowers.  One single thought fills my head:

“I am higher than I have ever been in my entire life.”

And I was.  At no point of my life, over the course of more than a dozen years of bad decisions, reckless actions, and drug experimentation, had I ever felt the way I had right now.  I was so high that the only thing I could say, ad-infinitum, was the quote up above.  I think the queen would’ve told me to shut the fuck up, if she wasn’t watering the plants… with her vomit.

But wait; weren’t there four of us?  Where were the other two?  We were desperately in need of someone to COME AND SAVE OUR FUCKING LIVES.  As if on command, we are graced by the reappearance of Alexa and Marty, who, judging from their crooked walking pattern, had quite obviously been off making fuck somewhere.  Which is laudable, because if it were me, I don’t think I’d even be able to fit my dick into Baby Beluga’s bubbly blue butthole.  Not in my current state of mind.

Everybody agrees that it’s time to venture outside of the house.  And so we find ourselves mindlessly wandering around the streets.  With the day beginning for, well, people who aren’t crackhead tweakers, and dogs and joggers running all over the damn place, we realize the streets might not be the best habitat for us to play in.

And so we go to the beach.

I’m not sure how we got there.  It’s like a 25-minute walk down a cliff and I remember none of it.  I gaze around at the dizzying environment trying to take in all of the stimuli happening around me.  The waves, the stones beneath my feet, Marty filling an empty bottle with more droplets of liquid ecstacies, the girls holding hands, skipping on their way to the toilet.  Oh shit.  I had to piss too.  But I wasn’t going anywhere without a chaperone.  I turn to Marty for guidance, but before I could speak he goes,

“I am so fucking high right now.”

The only response I could yield, was,

“NO.  I am so fucking high right now.”

And so the entire conversation became a competition to see who could outdo the other in terms of proving himself to be the highest motherfucker there.   That’s when marty attempted to fingerbang his own belly button…

Game, set, and match.

Darby:  high as shit

Marty:

I inquired to Marty how the girls could have made it to the bathroom with relative ease, whereas i couldn’t even formulate a sentence.

“Oh, i gave the girls less of the stuff.”

LESS OF THE STUFF?!

Marty rectified the situation when the girls came back and made them–as well as ourselves–drink another shot of liquid ecstacies, right there on the beach.

Before it could hit me again, I grabbed alexa and had her escort me to the port-a-potty.  The piss lasted six minutes.  Well, six minutes and thirteen seconds, according to the judges.

Meanwhile, Marty and The Queen sat there on a little frame of wood that looked that like the ruins of a shipwreck.    His english ability had dissipated.  Instead, he spent the whole time I was in the bathroom making blooping noises like an magical octopus.

I get back to the boat ruins and have a giant cuddle sesh with the others.  Well, it was a cuddle sesh for two of us.  For Marty and Alexa, it was an opportunity to fuck.  Right there on the beach.  They would’ve gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for the surf instructor coming over and pleading, “There are children here!”  I looked around, and holy shit!  There were children there.  And adults.  A shit ton of people, all eyes on us.  The sun was directly above me, signifying that it had to have been around noon.  Goddamn.  Maybe it’s time to end this unsightly shitshow and head home?  Everyone was in agreement.

We trudge back up the precipitous cliffs and in the direction of our house.  The walk up took much longer than the walk down.  Scratch that.  I still have no idea how we got to the beach.  I wouldn’t be surprised if we had all ridden pink unicorns there.

The walk was excruciating, but I took solace in the fact that, in just 20 minutes, I would be home in my soft, cozy bed.  Marty, however, would not be sleeping over.  No, he had to work today.  I asked him about his job.  “Oh, i work with underprivileged children.  You know.  Children in orphanages.”  Oh my god, they let him near children??

Once we got home, that was the end.  Me and The Queen passed out, and once we woke up, Marty was gone.  Forever.

I’d like to think that, right now, marty is out there at an orphanage in some war-torn third-world country, putting drops of liquid ecstacies into a little needy orphan kid’s chocolate milk, and then floating out of the windows with a flying umbrella like Mary Poppins.  Bringing happiness to the less fortunate.  Changing lives.  Like he did mine.