HOW WONDERFUL IT WAS!

!

Today I was tidying up my desk and accidentally found an old album from my student days. I was thrilled because I thought it had gotten lost somewhere, and it would be a shame to lose such a souvenir. So I cracked open a beer and, with a glass of the golden beverage in hand, started looking through the photos. It was a good thing I often had my camera with me, capturing the most interesting moments. The magic of memories came flooding back, and I forgot about the world around me.

In the first photo, taken in our dorm room, I was standing by the window with my roommates. Of course, each with a glass in hand, because how could it be otherwise? There were three of us, each with a different bloodline, but we had one goal: to have fun, drink as much as we could, and have hundreds of girls—as we often sang.

Ptasiek was the shortest, slimmest, and most handsome of us. His real name was Darek, but few people knew that. A total freak, but he always landed the best girls. His nickname came from the fact that while he was reading Wharton's "Birdie," he'd constantly tell us what the main character was up to, and he clearly identified with him, because he often pretended to be a bird, and he was very good at it.

Alex stood out for his height and was known for his strong head, but sometimes we drank so much that even he collapsed. His name was Adam, but he always introduced himself to the girls as Alexander, or Alex for short. Sometimes—when he was relatively sober—he acted so refined that some of the girls thought they were dealing with an aristocrat. You have to have imagination, right?

And there I was, average height, well-built, a real sex machine, the terror of the entire dorm. And not only that, but I was called the "Pucky Guy" because I had the biggest… er, because I had the biggest balls in my class.

None of our super trio was a big drinker, and we were proud of that. We used to say that you wouldn't find four like the three of us, even two.

At our first dorm party, we rocked it out. We threw a team-building event and drank a lot. Someone found two pairs of old skis in the storage room, so we immediately decided to try them out. We were sliding down the fourth floor on them, while two other guys, rock climbing enthusiasts, were rappelling from the dorm roof. The poor porter, who arrived alerted by the noise, was obviously powerless to interrupt our fun. So she called the police, who, hearing that people were skiing down the stairs in the dorm and rappelling from the roof of a six-story building, arrived very quickly. But we were even faster, and by then we were already sitting quietly in our room partying. The police, upset by the false alarm, called the ambulance to come get the porter and perform a psychiatric evaluation. Then she quit, for some unknown reason.

The second photo. A photo of a drunk cyclist in the back of an old Volkswagen Transporter. This is from our trip to the mountains, a week after the academic year began. We were tired of lectures, and since it was still warm, the whole gang headed to Zakopane. On the way, everyone except the driver was drunk. As usual, Ptasiek was the drunkest. As we drove through Krakow, he stuck his head out the window and shouted to all the pretty girls who caught his eye,

"Honey, can I eat your pussy?"

A little outside Krakow, we saw someone lying on the road with a bicycle next to him. Miraculously, we avoided him at the last minute, almost ending up in a ditch. We stopped, got out, and it turned out it wasn't an accident, but a drunk cyclist. We put him in the back and dumped him dozens of kilometers away, past Nowy Targ. I wonder how he explained it to himself when he finally sobered up?

In Zakopane, we slept in tents in some shepherd's yard. It was always cheaper, and with the money we saved, we could buy even more alcohol. We didn't go to the mountains at all, because why would we? You could see them from below, too. By the second day, I got so drunk that I mixed up tents and ended up in the second tent belonging to Ptaśek, who arrived with a newly picked-up girl. I was fast asleep when he arrived with her, singing and full of energy. He woke me up because he felt like having sex with the girl, and I desperately tried to convince my friend that I wouldn't watch, so they shouldn't bother each other. However, my reasonable arguments didn't convince Ptaśek, and with a little help from the girl, he kicked me out of the tent. Sometimes I enjoy hiking, so instead of sleeping in my tent, I wandered around Zakopane, walking the classic snake route. In the middle of the night, I met a cheerful highlander woman, about my age, on the street, returning from a party and not particularly sober either. I asked if I could go for a walk with her. She agreed, so we continued walking together, sipping vodka from the half-finished quart she had with her. She admired the stars, and I admired her breasts. Because of her background, she was drawn to the peaks, so we climbed some lousy hill, because apparently she hadn't made love on a mountaintop yet. This surprised me, because what kind of highlander was she? They should have taken away her moccasins for that and banished her to Pomerania. Unfortunately, the exhaustion of the hike and a slight overdose of alcohol took their toll. I tripped and, as I fell, grabbed a tree. Afterward, I only remember her two enormous breasts swinging above me, so I honestly don't know if I was any good as a lover. Probably not.

And it's a good thing I didn't have an adventure like Ptaśka once had, when he was attacked by a nymphomaniac friend at a party. She dragged him to her bed and practiced her riding skills, and when, after one of these occasions, poor Birdie fell asleep under her, she was offended and woke him up by hitting him hard in the face.

The next day, Alex also pulled a real stunt. While we were drunk, returning from the city to our tents, he got lost somewhere. It later turned out he'd mistaken the property and, instead of entering our host's yard, had wandered into a completely different house. No one was inside, so he seized the opportunity and devoured half a pot of bigos (sauerkraut) that was simmering in the stove. Then he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep. He was only woken by the host's daughter, who appeared out of nowhere. The police report from that incident read: "He broke into a house on private property, frightened the host's daughter, but didn't molest her."

The next photo always made me laugh out loud. It shows a guy I didn't know, already quite drunk, who invited himself to our party, in a very uncomfortable situation. We weren't rude, so we poured him some drinks, and he slept through most of the party. We also got pretty drunk, but not so much that we didn't want to make a good joke. One of the girls that this sleeping guy had once dumped had an idea for revenge. We eagerly put her witty idea into action. The guy got a thorough shave with an electric razor—we spared no part of his body that had hair or stubble, and that jilted friend of ours excelled at shaving. Then we squeezed toothpaste and shaving cream into his underwear and poured an entire ashtray of booze into it. We put his pants back on and glued all the shaved hair to his face with office glue. Then we sewed the front of his shirt to the knees of his pants and stuffed a few apple cores into his back pocket. When he woke up, he ripped his shirt, didn't know where he was, and started screaming, so we grabbed him by the rags and threw him out of the party. From then on, whenever he saw us, he'd say he knew us from somewhere, but he didn't know where.

The photo from another party, this time at a friend's house from last year while his parents were away, is also pretty good. In it, we were throwing everything we could at a target drawn in lipstick on the white wall of his parents' bedroom. First, someone threw a pancake, then a sausage, and then everything else on the table. The landlord tried to spoil our good time by suddenly waking up from a drunken sleep and starting a row—who knows what? He was screaming that his mother would kill him and other such nonsense. So what? You only live once! There was no other way to deal with him—we had to lock the stiff in the hallway closet. If he can't have fun, let him stay there. The party was a bit noisy, so a "friendly" neighbor called the police. When the men in blue uniforms arrived and asked for the apartment's owner, we politely opened the door and told them to write up the loser. I thought the cops were going to piss themselves laughing.

From another great drinking session – this time at a friend's – I unfortunately don't have a single souvenir. I drank about 0.7 liters and felt I'd had enough, so I got up, politely said goodbye to everyone, because I'm usually very polite, and wanted to go back to my dorm. Unfortunately, I mistook the exit door for a closet – it can happen to anyone – I fell over going in and fell asleep. In the early morning, everyone went home, the landlady cleaned up a bit, but, in a daze from the alcohol, forgot about me. The next day, at about eleven o'clock, I was woken by my friend's completely naked mom, who had opened the closet in her bedroom, looking for underwear. I'm a cultured beast, so I said hello, exited the closet, and went to my trash. Incidentally, my mom had quite a nice body – I especially liked her breasts.

I never would have thought that a picture of a car parked in the garage could trigger such a fit of laughter. But it did. My friend and I had the brilliant idea to drink Brainfucker wine in the park. We got drunk like wild pigs. The next day, the guy came over early in the morning, still heavily intoxicated from the previous day. Strangely pale in the face, despite my protests, the vulgar words directed at him, and the punches to my stomach, he dragged me out of bed and forced me to go over to his place to see something. When we reached his property, he opened the garage gate and said,

"Where the fuck did that come from?"

I looked inside. There was a police bitch standing there. After I took the picture and stopped laughing, I got into the police car because I was sober, and with my heart in my mouth, I drove it two blocks away, leaving it on the sidewalk and running as fast as I could. To this day, I still laugh at the sight of a police car.

And here's an erotic photo – a second-year friend named Bonzo takes a girl from my group, named Ewelina, from behind. This photo is a true gem in my collection. Bonzo had been married for a few months by then, so he came to a housewarming party at a friend's house with his wife, who had announced in advance that she was drinking and Bonzo wasn't, as she would be driving on the way home. Then, somehow, they both drank. It turned out Bonzo's wife had a bad headache and quickly lost it, so she went to sleep in another room. After a few drinks, Bonzo went to her, supposedly to comfort his wife. He didn't come back for a long time, so we went to see what had happened. We found him, but in another room. He was banging Ewelina, his friend's half-conscious girlfriend, saying,

"Madzia, I love you so much, I'll never cheat on you... You're my first and only girlfriend. I won't even look at anyone else..."

The best part was that his wife was asleep in the next room. In the morning, neither Bonzo nor Ewelina remembered a thing, and of course, no one told Madzia what her wedding groom had done. It's a good thing I took a picture, because Ewelina's boyfriend, who had fallen off even faster and was sleeping on the balcony, wouldn't take our word for it. When I developed the photo, he did. I still regretted not having my camera with me.

I once made a similar fatal mistake, and also at a party. I was at a party with my girlfriend. Her name was Dorota or Daria, unless it was Dagmara. Something like that, I don't remember correctly, at least it started with a "D." It doesn't matter. Anyway, I got drunk as a busload and dragged a certain cheerful Anka into a dark room because I wanted to talk to her in private. I swear – I thought she was my sweetheart! It turned out that instead of Polish, we were speaking French, and when my girlfriend, with a mysterious name starting with the letter "D," entered the room, I had my head between the legs of the playful Anulka, giving her cunnilingus. I got a good scolding then, and my girlfriend wanted to break up with me, as if something big had happened. Later, she changed her mind after I spent so much time talking to her in the language of frog and snail lovers. The next day, I lied that I didn't know how it happened and that I didn't remember anything. Resolute Andzia also accepted the amnesia story, but shortly after, during another drinking session, she said in my ear while dancing,

"You know, I remember everything from that party at Siwy's. It was amazing! You're great at building blocks!

A woman like that can really boost a guy's self-esteem!"

Those three hot chicks with three handsome guys were, of course, our super trio in Pardubice with the Czech women we picked up. We went to Pepiczki for three days because the alcohol was much cheaper there and the girls were supposedly pretty and eager, which was one of the things we liked most about girls. We drank from the early morning, then sobered up a bit and headed out into the city to pick up girls. Pretty soon, we stumbled upon some nice Czech girls, so we invited them for a beer. We drank some hop soup together, and then one of them asked me a strange question:

"Will you go looking for me?"

"What are you doing? Are you feeling sick?" I replied, nervously. "I came here to drink vodka, not play hide-and-seek!"

Alex and Ptaśko laughed like crazy, and the girls got confused and ran off. Later, when my friends told me what "looking for" meant in Czech, I ran after them, but I couldn't find them anymore. I will only say that in Polish this word begins with the letter "r" and denotes a certain very pleasant activity, usually performed by a woman and a man in bed.

Out of regret for the foolishly wasted opportunity, I was completely numb with alcohol. I blacked out, but what do you have friends for? Later, Alex told me that I approached some girls in the park and made an interesting proposition in my excellent English:

"Ten fucking dollars?"

"Fuck you!" they replied without hesitation.

It turned out they also knew the beautiful language of Shakespeare, strangely outraged. It proved once again that a common language brings people closer together.

The next day, drunk of course, we stumbled into a club where a dance for about twenty couples was taking place. We started having fun with the Czechs, and while dancing, one of my hands accidentally slid down my partner's buttocks and the other down her breasts. I got punched in the face, and a few Pepiczeks threw me out of the club. We couldn't let such an insult go unpunished! In retaliation, we beat up all the men in the club. We took them out by trickery, leading them outside in groups of two, three. Later, in conversation with a Czech, we wondered how it was possible that the three of us could have beaten twenty Czechs. Surely, if they'd banded together, they could have easily beaten us, given their numerical superiority. Our interlocutor replied,

"Don't you know how we speak? One drunk Pole is like ten of our commandos!"

The drunken loser with his hair flying, a knife in his hand, and murder in his eyes was, of course, Ptasiek. He stormed out of the party with a kitchen knife, shouting,

"I have to deal with that fucking Konieczny, because he's letting himself get away with it, little prick!"

The aforementioned amiable Mr. Konieczny was our lecturer, who failed Ptasiek in his exam, and then in his retake, so Ptasiek had to take a test. No wonder he was so hard on our friend." At the colloquium—held on Monday morning, a very inconvenient time, as few people were completely sober after Sunday's party—when Dr. Konieczny said we were finishing up and everyone had to return their grade cards, Ptasiek politely and brilliantly said,

"You must be crazy!"

When he escaped from our dorm, he was walking through town brandishing that knife and shouting that Konieczny was a stupid son of a bitch and that—and I quote—"fuck him like a sobaku." He was able to surprise us like few others. No one would have guessed Ptasiek knew Russian so perfectly. It's a wonder the cops didn't bust him. We caught him just as he was climbing over the fence into the doctor's garden. We pulled him back at the last minute. Konieczny should give us something for saving his miserable, skinny ass. If he had even a shred of honor, of course."

And who could be in that picture dressed as Adam, if not Alex, Birdie, me, and two other friends? While drinking in our room at 2 a.m., I came up with the brilliant idea of ​​having a men's jack-knife race around the dorm. The prize was to be professional fellatio by a girl chosen by the winner. The girls agreed to the proposed terms, so we stripped off all our clothes and ran. Unfortunately, I underestimated Alex and took a very respectable, but unawarded, second place. The proud champion chose the prettiest girl in the class, but she behaved very dishonorably – she ran to her room and locked herself in. Alex never forgave her for that.

The next photo looks like a scene from a horror movie, and it's from – of course – a dorm party. After a few shots of vodka, we felt like experimenting. A friend brought some powdered cheering agents, which—as it later turned out—induced rather nasty visions instead of joy. After a few compromising ideas like face painting with whatever we could find, nightmarish illuminations, and disgusting stories, we hit rock bottom. Alex had a macabre idea: he'd found some tomatoes somewhere, so he smashed them to a pulp and threw them in the sink. It looked like someone's brains had squirted out through their ear! Then we'd turn off the lights and bring the unsuspecting partygoer—obviously high on booze and drugs—into the bathroom. We'd lean him over the sink, full of splattering tomatoes, and tell him to open his eyes wide. Then the light would come on. Oh my god, what happened then! Screaming, screaming, convulsing! The girls almost beat us! It was a blast.

A few weeks later, it was New Year's Eve, and I proved once again that I don't have the honorable nickname "Jajcarz" for nothing. A few minutes after midnight, I had the brilliant idea to call the police station with best wishes. It was obviously the height of irony on my part, as I don't have much love for cops. Trying to sound pleasant, I said,

"All the best... for the New Year!"

"I don't want any calls like that. I work here!" the officer rudely replied, instead of thanking me for the wishes. What an uneducated boor! A real simpleton and a jerk!

My blood boiled at that moment, but I quickly regained control and replied very eloquently,

"Yeah? And we're having a fucking blast, you bastard!"

It's not hard to guess that the rude gentlemen visited us shortly after my call. We dismissed the intruders by claiming that the friend who'd called had already left, and anyway, no one knew him because he'd just wandered in uninvited and, to top it all off, he wasn't even half a beer! They took down all of us and left.

And in this photo, Alex is behind the wheel of Honeker's Zemsta (Revenge of Honeker), a true Space Eater, our blue, fancy Trabant. We bought it together for five liters of vodka so we could go on vacation. We drank it heavily so it would serve us well and not break down on the way to Masuria, and then Alex, as always the most sober and sensible, suggested we try it out.

"What are you doing, man?" I asked. "What if the cops catch us?

" "What cops, what are you talking about? It's four in the morning, all the cops are sleeping somewhere in police stations or in their cars, you lazy losers!"

So we headed into town. Alex was driving. Traffic was practically nonexistent. We reached Rondo Starołęka and decided to drive around it for a while. We did a dozen laps, and then Ptasiek suggested making the driving more interesting by zipping backwards. Alex never needed a good, cheerful idea repeated twice, so we were driving around a roundabout in reverse, which was a real treat! Everything would have been fine if it weren't for some idiot who, instead of sleeping with his wife, mistress, or whatever, drove onto the roundabout and crashed his Ford Escort into the back of our Sneaker. We suddenly realized we were drunk, so we locked ourselves in the car and waited to see what would happen next. The guy in the back got scared too, because it wasn't exactly normal for someone to reverse around a roundabout and have their car totaled. We sat there, us in his car, and he in his, and a moment later the police arrived. They always come when they're not needed, the damn bastards! The cop approached us and told us to get out of the car. We told him we weren't going out because we were scared. He didn't want to fight us, so he backed into the Escort and took a statement from the driver. Luckily, it turned out the guy had a blood alcohol content of two per mille. They arrested him for drunk driving, but let us go without even testing our sobriety. They must have been drunk themselves, since they couldn't smell any alcohol on us.

We bought Honeker's Revenge and, along with other friends, and especially our classmates, drove a few cars to Masuria to go camping. Our Space Eater was a dream! We stayed there until we ran out of money for alcohol and condoms—a whole two weeks. On the first day, I got so drunk that when I went out to relieve myself at night, I mixed up the tents and went into the next one. In the morning, it turned out I'd slept with two other girls from my program, but I'd only had sex with one of them, because the other one was literally bending over backwards to keep me from fucking her. She was mad at me afterward, but if she wasn't happy with my unusual company, why didn't she leave the tent? However, the other girl I had sex with said it was really nice. It was immediately obvious she had great taste.

A few days later, I returned to my tent in the early morning, exhausted after an all-night dance at the disco. I was already falling asleep when Ptasiek arrived and brought two hot girls. I'd never seen them before, but since they were pretty and scantily clad, I immediately perked up. Ptasiek, being Ptasiek, unabashedly laid down on the mattress with one of them and started making out with her. The other girl introduced herself and invited me to do the same, so I didn't let her ask, as it would be a sin not to, and I never say no to beautiful women. Politeness and education are a must. That's how my friend and I ended up blowing two nymphomaniac strangers on the same mattress. The next day, I learned that my friend had met them fifteen minutes earlier.

The guy in the photo, stretched waist-deep out of the tent and lying on the grass with his dick exposed, was a classmate from my year. He refused to add vodka, the damned miser, and drank himself to death. When he collapsed, drunk to the point of unconsciousness, we removed his trousers and underpants and dragged him out of the tent so that his upper body was inside and his lower body outside. There were dozens of tents around, and in the mornings, crowds of people would pass through, while he flashed his family jewels and slept soundly. He only woke up when it started to rain. Then he wanted to kill us. Not only was he a penny pincher, but he also had no sense of humor.

The next day, during the evening bonfire party, I suddenly and unexpectedly felt ill, so I headed into the forest for the noble purpose of throwing a fit. I was told the next day that as I walked, I fought against trees, tackling every single one of them, and there were plenty of them, as is typical in the forest. Apparently, I was walking "two steps forward, three steps back," cursing loudly and calling people names. I don't quite remember how I ended up on the jetty with the water equipment or why I got on the bike. I must have wanted to go for a swim. So I swam and swam, and finally found myself in the middle of the lake. I'd had a little too much vodka, which is probably why I was a bit worn out. I was desperate to sleep, but I knew I had to swim to shore at all costs, or I might drown. Unfortunately, I lost consciousness. In the morning, the blazing sun woke me up. I got up and, with a terrible headache, looked around. Where was I? And what did I see? I was a few meters from the shore, because the pedal boat was chained to the jetty.

During that same trip to Masuria, I met a very nice, outgoing brunette. Unfortunately, I don't have a picture with her, which I deeply regret. Everyone knows I'm a very eloquent guy, so I quickly hit it off. We'd been dating for a few days, so I invited her to a dance at a restaurant where there was a dance party. We had a table by the window overlooking a busy street. Of course, it was a holiday, an evening, so it was crowded. We were both having a great time dancing and drinking beers. We started cuddling, and everything was going well. Like a true gentleman, I suggested we move the meeting to my tent, where it was even nicer and more pleasant. Unfortunately, for some reason I don't know, she wasn't convinced, so without leaving the dance floor, I started checking if everything was in place. A meter behind us, people were strolling along the sidewalk, several couples were dancing nearby, and I was dancing with a girl with her hands down her shorts—one in front, the other behind. We were kissing like crazy, drunk as hell. No one interrupted us or asked us to leave, even though the place looked very decent. I suppose they must have enjoyed the show.

I do have a photo of Ptasiek, holding a bill for a staggering sum. It was our third year, and we were in the dormitory celebrating a friend's successful master's thesis defense. Ptasiek was late because he had a date in town. He didn't arrive until 11:00 PM, so he immediately got a few drinks in the biggest glass we had. Thirty minutes later, he was completely drunk. Alex and I were going out to see ballet at a disco, and we wanted to take him with us, but he said he was still half drunk and would come back as soon as he finished his bottle with the guy. So we went without him.

I only know the rest of the story from stories told by friends, the doorwoman, and the police report. The dramatic events began when Ptasiek, drunk as a shot, went out for a disco only after his drinking buddy fell asleep under the table. Our friend first fell down the stairs and cut his eyebrow. Then he tripped again and cut his other eyebrow. After leaving the dorm, he fell a few more times, and since he had nothing left to cut, he tore the skin on both sides of his face. He probably didn't care, because he kept walking. Suddenly, the police arrived. They saw a guy walking, covered in blood, so they decided to help him. There were Teresa's mothers. They stopped Ptasiek and tried to call an ambulance. Ptasiek apparently mistook them for some thugs trying to rob him—I wonder why?—so he started struggling and calling the police. He went into a frenzy, and the cops couldn't hold him, so they clubbed him several times. This silenced him, but only for a moment, because when the ambulance arrived and the nurses tried to put Ptaku in, he broke free again and tried to run. They chased him around the police car with the cops, and I heard from an eyewitness that Ptaku was sprinting like a sprinter. He was clubbed again to sedate him, but he refused to lie still on the stretcher, so the nurses, with the considerable help of the indomitable law enforcement officers, put him in a straitjacket. As they were transporting him in the ambulance, he thought he'd been abducted by aliens and were now being tested. I told him so many times to stop reading those stupid comics, because it was messing with his brain. The poor guy puked terribly from fear and nerves, and since he was on his back, the nurse had to lift him, so he puked on him too. At the emergency room, they gave him a sedative because he was still aggressive. It turned out he had a concussion and something else, and they even stuck a speculum up his penis, but I don't remember what they were doing or why. It was clearly necessary. They didn't release him until the following evening. His entire head was bandaged, and the skin that had been scraped off didn't grow back until several weeks later. The best part, however, was the aforementioned bill the ambulance service issued him, which revealed that when they brought him in, his blood alcohol content was 5.5 per mille. And the bill was a whopping nine thousand złoty. Fortunately, insurance covered it.

The happy little group in the photo is our super trio, Mundek and his father. We went to Wrocław for Mundek's birthday. On the way, we bought ten 0.7-liter bottles so we wouldn't have to run to the store all the time. We drank six, and then Mundek's father collapsed because he'd been drinking earlier, and we started peacocking over the balcony. A moment later, our downstairs neighbor flew in and started yelling at us for throwing up on her geraniums. Her story moved me almost to tears, so I decided to wash them. I poured two buckets of water over the flowers, making them run down with the dirt, and only then did the loudmouthed neighbor shut up. We got tired of drinking vodka, so we stole a thousand from our sleeping dad and booked hookers from a nearby brothel – I got a girl with a gold tooth, I'd never seen one like her before. After the fuck, I went to bed, and Mundek went out for a drive in his dad's jeep. He didn't do too well, totaling a car in the parking lot, so he came back and went to bed too. The next morning, the five of us got up and continued drinking so the vodka wouldn't go to waste. Suddenly, we heard someone lock the door. It turned out it was the owner of the rented apartment, who had his own keys. As he crossed the threshold, he fell flat on the floor because he slipped on some peppercorns we'd spilled the night before and had no one to clean them up. He took in our drunken faces, the empty vodka bottles, and the general mess in the house, and practically for no reason, he told Mundek to leave. It ended up that his old man was very upset with us for not waking him up when the hookers arrived, because he would have gladly been doing it himself, especially with his own money. We parted ways amicably, taking a souvenir photo.

The guy sitting astride the toilet, facing the flush, was obviously Birdie. It was a good party too. First, completely wasted, we rode the elevator back and forth from the ground floor to the sixth floor, lighting a small fire on the floor and singing "Carousel Every Sunday," and then, after that damned doorman had shooed us away and we'd returned to our floor, we heard a loud scream from the restroom:

"They've walled him in! They've walled him in!

" We rushed into the toilet, opened the cubicle door, and looked inside—and there was Birdie sitting on the toilet, screaming his head off. It turned out he'd straddled the toilet and, when he got up, hadn't realized he was sitting with his back to the door, so in his drunken stupor, he came to the logical conclusion that he'd walled him in.

And that naked couple making love on the floor was, of course, me and Marta, a girl I went out with in my sophomore year. We were at some party, and my girlfriend was getting really drunk on beers. And I always thought beer wasn't alcohol... Besides, she fit in with the rest of the party, because, as usual, everyone was drunk. Then she got the urge to make love to me, and besides, I'm always willing! We didn't really have anywhere to do that, so we went to the guest room. We had sex on the floor by the door, completely naked. Right behind that door, on the wall in the hallway, was a phone. Some friend called the host and asked how people were having a good time at the party, so the talkative guy opened the door to the room and started explaining in detail what we were doing. I didn't remember the incident, and if Alex hadn't taken a picture of us, I probably wouldn't have believed it. Apparently, we knew everyone was watching us and commenting on our every move, but somehow it didn't stop us from having fun.

And here we were, our whole gang at a party at our friends' place in the woods. Fresh air, the bolts were going down like cream. One guy had a particularly weak head, which we all knew. We didn't particularly like him, so we drank this funny guy into unconsciousness, wanting to pull some kind of trick on him. And since he was a Casanova—a storyteller—we started teasing him and teasing him. Near the house stood a young, short pine tree shaped like the letter Y. We convinced the sucker that she was a great girl and that he could fuck her because she was crazy about him. It went better than we expected. The guy walked up to the pine tree, pulled down his pants, and started pounding the letter Y. In the morning, we couldn't stop laughing, and he was crying because he'd rubbed his penis raw. My friend desperately wanted to see it, but he wouldn't show it to her. He was a bit embarrassing. We still reminisce about it at various gatherings.

I closed the album, went to the stereo, and put on my favorite cassette at the volume from my college days. I turned the volume up to full volume, then cracked open another beer and started singing loudly along with Kazik, trying to overspeak his singing coming from the speakers, waving my arms and nodding my head rhythmically.

"I was running through the snowy streets

I heard their screams behind me I

was running and didn't look back Oh ,

how wonderful it was Alcohol

flowed down the river My

friends had methods

And fish were swimming in the bathtubs Oh , how young I

was No, no ...

They won't happen again!"

Suddenly, my son, a twelve-year-old sorrel, burst into the room. He looked at me and shouted,

"Mom! Mom! Come quickly!" Dad's been hit again!

A few seconds later, my better half was in the room:

"What are you doing, you old fool! Turn it down, damn it! A bank manager, and he's acting like a brat! "

My adrenaline jumped, but I quickly retorted,

"Because a man is as old as he feels, and a woman is as old as she looks! That's why you're an old ass and I'm a young boy.

" "And don't call your mother, you little brat," I turned to my unruly son, "or I'll cut off your allowance. "

They were literally stunned and didn't respond.

"Now get out of here!" I shouted in a loud voice. "Come on, come on! Daddy needs a rest after his hard work!

THE END