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Drunken friends and emergency rooms.



Tonight is quite possibly the most [developmentally delayed]ed night I've had in a few years. My best friend, Robbie, had just dropped his date off, so he picked me up and we went to our friend Josh's house to hang out with him and Keir. We got there and discovered that Keir was very drunk. He's manic depressive, bipolar, and well on his way to being an alcoholic. He's only twenty.


So we're all discussing Robbie's date and Josh's recent hookup when Keir says that he's going to go to the bathroom. We continue to talk for about fifteen minutes when we realize that Keir is taking an abnormally long time. Josh tells Robbie to check on him, then Robbie tells me to do it, then Josh agrees and tells me to do it, too. I, being lazy, decide not to do it. Remember this.


A few minutes later we hear this giant thud. A second later we hear an even bigger thud -- I'm talking house shaking crash, and we hear Keir say "oh [cabbage]." So we get up, knock on the door, and open it to see that the ground is covered in blood and Keir has a small gash on his forehead. We sit him down, toilet paper to the gash, tell him to apply pressure, and we angrily interrogate him. He says that he was doing "elevators," which I guess is some stupid thing that makes you pass out. He apparently passed out and hit his head on something (we still don't know what), and now he looks like Harry Potter (literally; he has the thick, black rimmed glasses and everything).


Keir isn't even phased. He's not crying, complaining . . . nothing. He's drunk, yeah, but he's not that drunk, so this struck me as pretty amazing. He's rambling on about something when he removes the toilet paper from his head. All three of us kind of jumped a little. His gash is more like a gaping wound, and I'm pretty sure that we could've seen his skull if we got close enough. Robbie just says "hospital," and we start gathering Keir's stuff and preparing to leave. Keir is complaining about his dad finding out, getting stitches, etc, etc, so Robbie tells him to shut up and stop whining. Josh asks his younger sister to clean up the mess while we're gone.


We get to the hospital, check him in, and wait for twenty minutes before they call him back. This kind of pissed me off, 'cause we've got this guy who's covered in blood and has a gaping wound in his head sitting here bleeding all over himself. He finally goes back, so we wait . . . for three hours. Mind you, this whole thing started at about 2AM. It's now about 6AM, and I just got dropped off about thirty minutes ago. Keir got stitches, a CT scan, and a sheet of paper titled "medical advice" that said in HUGE font: "STOP DRINKING ALCOHOL." We all laughed at this.


Moral of the story? Keir is a [bleep]ing idiot. He's going to have a gnarly scar for the rest of his life.


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Hahaha, fantastic. I've had and seen some pretty horrific drinking injuries in my time (some of which are unidentified) but this appears to top the list :D

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