Philly''s P-Hine{t} /> Hardcore Phant-[o]m$ Part One Chapter III

III

August 31^st, 2014

4:37 p.m.

Herb had arrived at House’s house only a few minutes after Randall did and he was somewhat reluctant to go over. He only went because House insisted it was to be a-night-to-remember and because Herb always had a difficult time telling people ‘no’, especially when it was just to chill out and have a good time and especially when it involved only a short 2-3 minute drive. Herb had forgotten that Randall had agreed to get Branded™ the night before. Wouldn’t have made much of a difference in his decision anyway.

When Herb got down the stairs leading to the back (and, therefore, the under-deck-hangout area) House was busy controlling the TV with the remote control from the marble-topped bar adjacent to the fire-pit/hang-out-area just in front of that. The fire pit was really awesome: propane fueled and there was some really cool design on the table attached to and surrounding the part where the fire came seemingly out of a pile of marbles. Bunch of nice chairs and couches surrounding it /> House’s house was a very nice house (well, as much as you can consider it his house, as his parents were the ones who actually owned the thing, but whatever ($)).

“Yo, what up dude?” House asked Herb optimistically as Herb walked up.

“Not much man.”

>Fist-Bump<

“Yea, you sound a little hungover ahaha.”

“Meh,” Herb let out with an awkward chuckle. “A little bit.” Herb was kind of an awkward guy if it had to be said (which it didn’t :o).

“Just a little bit?” Hershel asked from the couch while pouring a shot of ‘Wild Blue Vodka®’ for Randall. Wild Blue Vodka® was cheap (and it sucked :/) “That’s not what I heard while you were in the bathroom last night-“

“A-hahaha…”

Hershel poured Randall another shot. Within five minutes of Herb being there, Hershel poured, and Randall drank, maybe six shots, but it wasn’t that big a deal. Randall went to Bloomsburg /> Bloomsburg was a party school >=D. Hershel had the Brand™ spelled ‘R-Man’® resting peacefully in the fire attached to the rubber handle at the end, which he would pick up when he had to adjust it, if it needed adjusting, for safety reasons.

Randall continued with a laugh, “dude, you’re really pouring those drinks up. Are you trying to get me drunk? Haha-”

“Nah just having a good time, dude.”

“I’m an easy lay, you don’t have to worry-“

“After all this, you kinda have to get Branded™ now,” House said from the bar, still entranced with the turning of the channels.

“I agreed last night man, I’m not gonna puss out now-“

“He’s right dude,” Hershel interrupted. “I’ve been making this Brand™ since 11 this morning. You definitely have to now.”

“That’s eight hours,” Herb mumbled accidentally, out loud, a little dumbfounded and momentarily forgetting how hung-over he was.

“Yea dude.” -Hershel, moving the Brand™ more into the fire. “Gotta make it perfect-”

“This stuff tastes like s**t,” said Randall after downing another shot.

“Well, that’s what you get for not buying the s**t yourself.” -Hershel.

“You’re not drinking anything-“

“I got this beer dude-“

“Well, why don’t you give me some of that?-“

“Dude, getting Branded™ is no spicy Mexican matter,” Hershel re-interrupted. “Trust me, you’re gonna want that stronger s**t.“

“F**k you, that was racist!”

“And untrue.” -Herb. “Aren’t Mexicans stereotyped as being good drinkers? />”

“Beer is 12 %,” House whispered to Herb as he pulled out his phone from his pocket. “Don’t tell Randall- Very good s**t, this Spicy Mexican. Great bang for your buck regardless of the smell, not enough people realize it yet, but they will. They will. You sure you don’t want any?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.”

Aside from being ‘just-a-little’ hung-over, Herb had just gotten a text from Al:

Dude Candice is being a total gangsta-wannabe b***h right now are u really gonna screw me over like this??? House owes me beer

Candace was a crazy (so-not-normal/normal-awesome-#InTheNormalWay), beautiful-and-knew-it-but-wasn’t-a-jerk-about-it kinda chick, and apparently occasionally total-gangsta-wannabe b***h /> pretty and smart, whom one would guess was only dating Al for his money in Slayer merch ($). Al was good at bitching at people until they gave him what he wanted, f****n’ a*****e. Herb really didn’t want to have to go and pick him up even though Al lived at his mom’s house only a short >4 minute drive away.

I live a short >6 minute drive away dude and that’s with traffic

“-Yo, Al’s being a little b***h-f**k, I think Im’a go pick him up.”

“Alright, well don’t take too long, this Branding™ is happening sooooon maaanngg.” -Hershel.

“Alright, I’ll be back in ten minutes-”

“Ten minutes?” House inquired. “It’s no more than seven to get over there and back-”

“Alright, whatever. We’ll see-”

“Dude, it’s like two turns and through an intersection cutting halfway through your trip in like, a minute-“

“Whatever, man! F**k you-“

Hershel was pouring Randall’s twelfth shot in less than ten minutes.

“I really don’t feel that drunk yet,” Randall said. “I’ve had like, ten shots- What ABV. is this anyway-”

“ABV.? You can say percentage, you know? It’s easier-”

“Well, I didn’t feel like it, I mean why does it matter anyway? We’re not on TV or in a halfway decently written book or anything…”