Cow-Tipping
CornStalk raced around a rusty tractor, slipped in the mud and slammed into the ground. The bales of hay ahead grew brighter as the farmer’s truck’s headlights grew closer. He stumbled to his feet, drunk and sopping wet. The engine’s roar grew louder behind him. Not enough traction to run, no place to hide, and no sign of his partners in crime.
The horn started honking.
He could hear the farmer shouting…
Its funny how, when watching movies, people always yell at the hero to “move his fucking ass!” when caught in a rough situation. They think that when the pressure is on, your brain will notice and react faster – like you’ll adapt when the moment presents itself. See new routes of escape. Figure out a plan. Save yourself.
But you don’t. You see in tracer vision as if the sensory chip in your brain is stoned and having a hard time processing new information. Having more than one choice is too much to ponder. The consequences of your previously harmless actions materialize. And every now and then, if you’re lucky, a guy in a wheelchair thinks for you.
Everybody claims they’ve gone cow-tipping. The problem with lying about this is that people who have actually gone cow-tipping know how fucking heavy cows are. You and your drunken roommate cannot tip a cow. You and two drunken roommates cannot tip a cow. When you first hit a cow at full speed it not only hurts but it’s demoralizing. Here’s this big, dumb, methane-emitting tub of dung just sitting there casually as you force all your human might upon it.
You can have a solid plan of attack to ambush it, and even think of the title you’re going to give the video on youtube, but trust me – that cow is not going down easily.
“One, two, three!”
CornStalk, Blackanese, FireFly, and HorseCock pushed with all their combined strength against the side of a massive bovine. They were in a field about twenty miles outside of town. Finally, after unsuccessfully tackling four recently-awakened cows, the fifth one toppled.
Emitting the most entertaining “Moo” CornStalk ever heard, it landed on its side, flailed around its legs for a bit, and then scrambled into a crouched position. This was hilarious to them, not to its owner.
“Get off my land!”
BAM!
Not an actual gun, but a pellet gun. CornStalk heard it thip! into a nearby bundle of hay.
Everyone scattered.
The problem was that they had a friend with them in a wheelchair named CornDog. CornDog had recently broken his leg while testing out his famous “it’s only snow, how much damage could it do?” theory. CornStalk and HorseCock grabbed his chair and pushed off into the night, rocking wildly along the uneven terrain.
Their accomplices ducked left and right, disappearing into corn fields or taking off down unlit pathways between apple trees and scattered sheds. CornStalk ditched the three Budweisers he had in his pocket to run faster.
“You go left!” HorseCock shouted. “I’ll take CornDog to the main road!”
CornStalk turned as hard a left as the muddy terrain would allow him, his drunkenness not making staying on two feet any easier. When he had gone about a quarter mile he stopped and listened.
Nothing.
Then, from no more than thirty feet away, tires screeched. Out of the blackness emerged two headlights and an obnoxiously loud engine. CornStalk dove sideways behind a small bush. A truck went flying by into the night.
CornStalk jumped to his feet and headed towards where he thought the getaway car was parked, but he hadn’t gone more than fifty feet when the lights appeared again, this time behind him. He raced around a rusty tractor, slipped in the mud and slammed into the ground. The bales of hay ahead grew brighter as the farmer’s truck’s taillights grew closer. He stumbled to his feet, drunk and sopping wet. The engine’s roar grew louder behind him. Not enough traction to run, no place to hide, and no sign of his partners in crime.
The horn started honking.
He could hear the farmer shouting…
His mind froze. CornStalk stood there motionless, his eyes sluggishly searching for deliverance. In this moment of desperation when every synapse should have been synapsing, his brain shut down. The engine’s roar was hypnotizing. The farmer’s shouts spellbinding. His body numb, his mind paralyzed. There was no escape.
Then, it hit him.
Literally.
CornDog’s wheelchair knocked him in the back of the knees and onto CornDog’s lap. Pushed by HorseCock, they sped off into the dark.
“Figured your drunken ass could use a little help,” CornDog said.
They tore around corners, shot between two sheds and came to the top of a steep hill. At the bottom CornStalk could see their getaway car.
“See you down there!” CornDog yelled, diving out of the wheelchair and rolling down the hill. CornStalk slid down on his ass followed by HorseCock holding the wheelchair above his head.
Hooray for cripples.
Moral of Story: Christopher Reeves may not have been able to beat you in a sprint, but unless someone’s shooting kryptonite pellets at him he could have snatched your ass away from an angry farmer in a heartbeat.
Go to Alex's Official Site, www.AlexBash.com
Buy The ImBible: Drinking Games for Times You'll Never Remember with Friends You'll Never Forget
alexbash1@gmail.com
Sometimes The Imbible and I watch the sunrise.
Alex Bash is author of The Imbible: Drinking Games for Times You’ll Never Remember with Friends You’ll Never Forget, currently available for pre-order on amazon.com. It hits shelves August 5th, and is not responsible for your lowered GPA and standards.
In contrast to his general belligerence, Alex works at a hospital where he saves lives, which he likes to remind people is no big deal. He can say otolaryngology in three languages and knows more about the Orbitofrontal Cortex than is necessary for someone who is not, technically, a doctor. He enjoys bubblegum toothpaste, strawberry Pop Tarts, and bench press.
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Pretty Much Daily Quote
"A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts...except slurred, deragatory, and covered in Mexican food."
~ Alex Bash, 2008
Blog
Letting Yourself be Overwhelmed
(7/16/08) Sometimes life can be overwhelming, and even all the beer in the world can't help. It's at time like these you need to let yourself be overwhelmed, even if only for a moment, and then fight back against the forces that be.
Also, you should switch to hard liquor, because it gets you drunk faster.
Growing Up
(7/9/08)Sometimes when I look back at my life and the things I’ve done and been in to over the years, I get sad because I know I’ll never possess that level of ignorance. I’ll never be able to be the young and blissful without knowing that at least part of it is an act. The silliness will never be as silly, the goofiness never as goofy, and Saturday morning cartoons will become infinitely less entertaining without the addition of either nudity or cursing.
Then again, I can now legally drink myself into oblivion by my own free will, get a blowjob in the bar’s bathroom stall, and watch the sun rise from the top of a water tower I’m finally strong enough to climb.
Maybe growing up isn’t so bad.
Drinking with my best friends: Imbible, Imbible, Imbible, and Steve.
I really wish I could remember where this was taken.
People have told me this picture encapsulates who I am. Not sure what to think of that.
My editor sent me an extra large digital copy of The Imbible. I brought it to Canada with me...eh.
When in Rome, do as a frat boy does when he has ten minutes to get drunk for a date function.
Undefeated, naturally.
Synopsis
What do you do when you wake up in an unfamiliar neighborhood hand-cuffed to a fire hydrant, clothed in nothing but socks and pink nail polish, your hand clutching a stained legal document…written in French? Celebrate! You just had a great night! And to think—it all started with The ImBible.
Praise for The Imbible
"The Imbible introduces Bash as a major new talent in the genre of 'books most likely to make you run through campus naked…'" – Officer Hernandez
"A stunning debut by that guy who kept us up 'til 4am with drunken choruses of Wonder Wall..." - The Sorority Next Door
"A moving story about a college freshman eventually finding his pants from last night." - Overpaid Lobbyist
"No, but really, the book is hilarious. He's a seriously funny author." – Guy who is taking this way too seriously
"I have not woken up before noon since Alex wrote this book. I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing." – Alex's roommate
Sample Games
Why You Should Buy The Imbible
If you feel bad buying a book about drinking, just cover up the first 5 letters.
The U.S. Marines’ first recruiting station was in a bar. The Marines kill bad people. Are you pro bad people?
Because if you don’t remember how you got the scar, you can make up as manly as story as you like.
18 games of beer pong is a scapegoat for anything.
THE IMBIBLE is guaranteed to lower your standards in 5 chapters or less!
Random Quotes from The Imbible
Emotions can definitely run high, so it's in your best interest to drink yourself numb.
Can you get a DUI riding a bike around the playground? I think not!
It’s only a matter of time before we’re boning fat chicks and singing-along to American Pie.
Note: Gold Medals do not prevent whiskey dick.
Whether you wear pants or not when you do this is on you.
I hope God doesn't count this night against me.
Pre-gaming a career fair.
Sometimes The Imbible and I do the Can-Can at 4am and then wake up in the front lawn clutching three empty bottles of champagne.