It all starts with a bet.

I never thought the silly bastard would do it. Not in a million years. The idea was simply insane. Thrown to the wind in jest. One of those tongue-in-cheek wagers that Sauce and I toss around from time to time, yet rarely pursue.

Of course, this time, he had to go and take me up on my offer. The bastard.

Now the soju has a strangle hold on us and the night threatens to spiral out of control. I smell an ominous clusterfuck coming on.

Six bottles of soju in 60 minutes. The first one to puke, piss their pants, or pass out pays the other 250,000 won.

This is the bet.

This is my bright idea. My brain-child. Another case of my bullshit bravado taking over. Another feeble attempt to show Sauce I'm crazier than he is.

This is the silly fucking game we play.

This is a big mistake.

When I mention it Sauce's eyes light up and I regret ever opening my mouth. Kinda like the time I took a cue from Cool Hand Luke and bet Sauce I could eat more hard-boiled eggs in 30 minutes than he could.

On a scale of one-to-ten, that egg fiasco rated about a 6.5 on the stupid scale. I'd say this soju shenanigan warrants a solid 11.

This is the way horror stories begin.

________________

'KAMBAE!'� shrieks Sauce and sloshes back what's left of the 5th bottle of Jinro.

Forty-three minutes down; seventeen to go.

Sauce rips his shirt off and starts slapping his chest like a goddamn gorilla.

'I AM A SOJU GOD!'� he yelps.

'You're an idiot,'� I assure him.

He takes this as a compliment and opens the last bottle.

Snap. Crackle. Pop. Here goes nothing.

Sauce slams open my window, hawks a loogey, then chucks my only two shot glasses into the street below.

'SALUD!'� he yawps and takes a hit from the bottle.

He passes it to me and I do the same. The bottle goes back and forth until the damn thing is empty.

We polish it off with 4 minutes to spare.

'FUCKIN' A DOGGIE'�.LET'S GO TEAR THIS TOWN A NEW ARSEHOLE!'�

That hellfire loon blasts the stereo and starts dancing a jig to an old Bob Dylan tune.

You ask me why I'm drunk all the time
It levels my head and eases my mind

I bet ol' Bobby boy never got wasted on soju.

My head feels like it's been bouncing around a paint mixer for the past hour, and my mind is a raging inferno of contradictions.

I don't know whether I'm coming or going. So Sauce makes my mind up for me.

'COME ON DOUCHE BAG, WE'RE GOING TO GANGNAM.'�

Fair enough. It's either that or pass out cold ' right here, right now ' and lose the bet.

At the Woodstock we molest a pile of paper, grab some pens, and jot down our song requests. I go for some good old drinking music. Margaritaville. Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound. The Old Black Rum. That kind of stuff.

Sauce opts for some lets-get-buck-wild-and-burn-the-fucker-down tunes. Everything from War Pigs to Run for the Hills.

This is when things start to snowball.

'HEY QUEERBAIT'�.YOU WANNA DRINK?'�

I close one eye to make things clearer and tell him, 'drive 'er like ya stole 'er.'

Whatever that means.

He comes back to the table with a pitcher of Cass and two shots of my old nemesis, Jose Ceurvo.

After that, the night unfolds in a series of random snapshots interrupted by prolonged black outs.

Flash to Sauce lying on the ground with a light fixture in his hand and an empty pitcher upside down on his wet crotch.

Fade to black.

Next I'm a bathroom wretching into a shit-stained toilet while Sauce pisses all over the wall behind me.

Fade to black.

Sauce is on the ground again. This time at the bottom of some stairs, wallowing around in his own puke and blood.

Fade to the deepest black you can imagine.

_______________

I wake up on a cold porcelain floor. My cell phone, wallet, and a pocket full of loose change are strewn - yard-sale style - all around me. I haul my carcass into a sitting position and look up.

My keys hang in my unlocked door.

Fuck. I almost made it.

Inside, I land on my bed like Little Boy on Hiroshima. My head catches up to my body a second later. My mouth is sandpaper.

I guzzle a liter of warm water and pass out. Again.

6pm my phone wakes me. It's Sauce.

'What the fuck happened to us?'� he asks. His voice sounds as bad as I feel.

'Damned if I know.'�

'I woke up in an alley with a gash on my forehead and puke all over me.'�

'Serves you right.'�

'Fuck you. I feel like death warmed up.'�

I tell him I know the feeling.

We spend the next 10 minutes trying to reconstruct the events of last night. It's useless. I tell him to get fucked. I'm going back to sleep.

'Ok then, queerbait,'� he says. 'But remember, you owe me 250 large'�..LOSER.'�

I'm too damned sick to argue. And besides, he's probably right.

I hang up without saying goodbye, and turn my phone off. Another 15 solid hours of sleep and maybe ' just maybe ' I'll feel human tomorrow.

But I wouldn't bet on it.

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