Drinking With Santa Claus

Words fail to illustrate how intense fasting can be when you've lived an all too American lifestyle. Eating at least three times a day with interludes of cheeses, breads, and alcohol make it hard on the body to deal with the stress involved in little or no caloric intake.
This story begins after a week long fast, medically induced, with only half of a Taco Bell seven layer burrito to protect me from the ravishes of alcohol.
I had only been at work for four hours when my pals decided that it was time to punch the clock right at the absolute minimum of a work day and head to the bowling alley for some beer and rollin'. I was down for a game and with the recent influx of nutrients was feeling almost myself again. On the way to the bowling alley I made a pit stop at the gas station and bought a six pack of Sam Adams and cracked one in the bowling alley parking lot while waiting for everyone to arrive. I poured it right down my throat and opened the 2nd when the first car pulled in.
I have to note here that I wasn't drinking so soon because I was in the constant thrall of booze but was being my usual cheap self by drinking before we got inside so I didn't have to pay the crazy mark up of the bar. I still drink beforehand to this day in order to avoid huge bills in restaurants, parties, bars, and other events that require concession stands.
Back to the second beer.
I was halfway done with it but my shrunken stomach wouldn't allow that much volume and my coworker was fast approaching my car and I didn't want to appear like a drunken driver so I stashed it in the space between my console and the seat and exited.
We went inside and got our shoes and balls while everyone else slowly poured in. When all the boys were present and accounted for we started to roll and drink our first round of brews. Somewhere in the lapse of time it took us to bowl one round with six guys on two lanes that beer and a half hit me like a shot of heroin. I started to get loud and obnoxious with my friends. Pushing everyone as they were trying to bowl. I even threw my ball down (overhand) the lane making a terrible noise when it slammed in to the polished wood like a shot from a small cannon.
I drank a beer from the round someone bought while we were bowling and that is the last thing I remember.

Everything I am about to share with you comes from the witnesses and victims of that night. I don't have any personal memories.

The guys were fed up with my antics and assumed I had been drinking quite a bit before they arrived and wanted to be rid of me so they ended the second game after just a few frames. They wouldn't believe it had they known that I only had two and a half beers in my system. This extreme effect was only because my system had nothing else to process or digest but half a burrito and alcohol for calories so it was feasting on everything I gave it like a starving roach.
Everyone began putting on their street shoes and replacing the lane balls in those silly racks while my two best buds started walking to the counter to turn in their bowling shoes. I got up and closed in behind them having decided to tackle and hold them to the ground with some fantastic wrestling moves that I had just invented. They were able to overpower me in short order and stood me back up with exasperated complaints about my douche-ness.
Another digression in order to provide relevant back story: at the time of this event I was working with explosives in a career field that necessitated that everyone employed in the same line of work to yell/call themselves AMMO (as in ammunition).
The whole time I was attempting to physically restrain my buddies to the dirty carpet of the bowling alley I was yelling "AMMO" at the top of my lungs. When the three of us were finally standing up and preparing to return our shoes to the counter an elderly gentleman walked up to the whole group and said "I couldn't help but hear you all call out AMMO. Are you all AMMO troops?"
In short discourse we revealed that we were indeed AMMO troops and that this elderly chap was our newly arrived commanding chief fresh from another assignment. He had landed at the airport unannounced and without fanfare and went to the only safe haven that served booze early in the day without suspicion...the bowling alley. He proceeded to introduce himself to my five other buddies while one on each side of me were dutifully holding me back from spilling back on to the ground. Everyone did their handshake and greeting leaving me in the center of the circle without introduction. After a second or two he hesitantly asked who I was as he reached his hand out to complete his first welcome and introduction to the team when instead of shaking his hand I did the ol' slap the balls. You know, like best buds do when they want to catch a bro unawares. An old fashion nut slap.
He looked at everyone else and said "You need to get this guy out of here."
They did. To my car.

Only to decide that everyone should go to the club together and bring me along.

Now, this wasn't just any club. This was a super club. Inside its gilded halls (seriously) was a country bar, a sports bar, a banquet hall, a dance club, and a rock-n-roll bar. All separate from each other but accessible via long and elegant halls with couches interspersed for the walk weary.

Once we arrived, in some carriage that has never been explained to me, everyone headed straight for the sports bar. I walked in behind the whole group, who may or may not have grown in number, as they headed for the bartender to start a new round. Everyone was already gathering around a corner of the bar and talking to two guys who were taller than the rest. I pushed my way past the guys in front and stood toe to toe with a 6'8" man with a shock of white hair and mustache. My instincts told me this was Santa Claus and so I yelled out "Santa!" and tried to throw my arms around the towering figure before me. You can imagine my surprise when he pushed me down to the floor and said "Someone get this motherfucker off a me!". You see, this wasn't Santa at all, in fact this was our chief. The most important dude to anyone in AMMO is the AMMO chief and here he was being accosted by a drunken underlying. Someone must have pulled me out of the bar and away from the scene only to deposit my carcass on a couch in the long hallway just outside the sports bar. They abandoned me there to my own devices.
Sleep came over me. Deep and dark was my slumber.
Whatever length of time had elapsed from the moment I met Santa until I came back to consciousnesses is still unknown to me. I do know I was sitting next to my buddy Smiley. He too was inebriated and coming back out of a short alcoholic coma. In each hand was a drink to which he offered me one while he drank the other. Darkness swept back over me after drinking the somewhat warm beverage.
When I came to for the final time I found myself sitting slumped over on a toilet seat in the male bathroom of the same club. My pants were down around my ankles and many forms of human waste encircled me. I blinked away the daze and looked back down at my pants piled on top my shoes when I noticed something that did not make sense. Another pair of shoes and pants in my stall. The door to my stall was shut, yet there were two pair of legs with pants and shoes intact sticking out underneath the stall I was in. Blinking and staring at the scene allowed me to finally surmise that someone was passed out in the stall next to me and had fallen which left them half in their stall and half in mine. Relief passed over me as I realized there hadn't been any hanky panky going on. Still, the alarming sight prompted me to make a quick change to my surroundings and so I began to stand up while pulling up my pants. The vertigo that ensued as I bent over caused me to vomit into my own pant legs. I became distraught over the idea of puke filled pants and decided to reach over and grab several handfuls of toilet paper to clean them out. As I bent back over to wipe away the vomit I started to retch again. I bent over further to avoid my pants and puked upon the legs of the stranger in my toilet stall. The reality of my situation hit me full force; here I was in some bathroom covered in puke, puking on someone I didn't know. A fight could occur at any moment if this guy wakes up and I was a sitting duck, literally.
I stuffed the toilet paper in to my pant legs to help with the soaking process and hiked up my pants to make double time out of the locale. Once out in the hallway I felt a lot better what with groups of intensely drunk people all around and no one yelling "Stop him!". I shuffled out of the main entrance and in to the parking lot only to realize that my car was not there. The odor of my own vomit was beginning to make me nauseous and further destabilizing my already precarious state so I took off across the street, through some trees, in to a dorm, up some stairs, and down a hall. If you can picture all of this happening with the fuzziest of visions while grasping at everything from cars to trashcans for stability, that's how I made my way.
On the third floor I stumbled down to each of my friend's doors and knocked. No one answered and all were locked save one. When I turned the knob to her door it opened easily and I practically fell in. There in front of me were my two buds (one male and one female) in coitus. She was riding her partner with the table lamp illuminating the whole scene behind them, almost beautifully. It took one second for her to dismount and wrap up under the covers screaming "What the hell are you doing?" to which I slurred "Where the fuck are my keys?" (referring to my car keys). She replied that they didn't know what I was talking about or where these keys I was referring to were. So I walked out, cursing their names and continued on my way to the bowling alley from whence this adventure started. I walked in the dark, using the word "walk" loosely, about two miles to get from superbar to bowling alley and never once crossing paths with a police officer.
When I finally crossed the distance from the club where I was abandon to the bowling alley parking lot my pants were completely wet and disgusting with vomit and my shirt was no better for wear. I stood in front of my car and stripped naked in hopes of freeing myself of the Earthly bonds that held me. When I fell in to my car seat I discovered that my keys were in the ignition. In a moment of ignorance and willful adventure I decided to drive home. The drive was not without incident as I went downtown, naked, and demanded to know where the party was only to be dismissed. Once I arrived home my roommate came downstairs and caught me trying to act nonchalant sitting at the computer like I was surfing....naked and covered in vomit.

In a few hours after the sun had risen my phone rang and the chief demanded my immediate presence at the munitions area. I arrived showered, shaven, and in bad shape to explain my unusual predicament of the fast and several beers. Understanding was had by all, I was not put in jail, but penance was required so mowing the lawn all weekend alone listening to the sounds from the band moe. tempered my sadness...and hangover.