How I was the victim of a hate crime

Today at 4:40pm, I woke up thinking I had a hangover. Additionally, it was one of those wakings-up where you think, oh nuts, I don't remember how I got home last night. It would have made sense that my head hurt I guess - I drank a lot of sugary liquor (krupnikas, for those of you who know what it is). But that's not why. After stumbling into the bathroom, I immediately noticed two large strips of white medical tape on my forehead. Well that's odd, I thought to myself. People should know better than to fuck with me when I am drunk. Idiots. As I grasped the edge of the tape, I had no idea what kind of fun-fun surprise would be revealed...

TA-DA!


A stylish head wound!

The following is composed of other people's accounts of what happened. I remember very little after spiking my phone into the couch because of how angry I was at The Rook.

I was upset because The Rook had stolen Moomi. Moomi was probably as cockeyed as I was, listing against the outside wall of the place and yapping about a sweatshirt he left inside. I told him, do not go anywhere, I will find your sweatshirt and then I will walk your tipsy ass home. He said ok, as drunkies usually do. I pushed my way through the throng of partygoers and finally found the sweatshirt. I fullbacked my way back out, and where's Mooms? Moom mo more. Gone, and by witness accounts, lead home by The Rook.

Called The Rook, and The Rook kept repeating everything was fine, fine, but would not tell me where they were so I could meet up with them. Fucking Rook. I was pissed enough to spike my phone into the couch, but not pissed enough to jog home trying to beat the Rook's Metro back to campus and throttle his Rookishness upon his exit from the station. Seeing no alternative, I decided to go from nicely fuzzy drunk to raging hobo drunk. Allegedly, Bert obliged my numerous but ill-conceived requests for more alcohol. Side note, this is not the first time that has happened. This is where the light switch in my brain gets switched from beer goggles to blindfold.

Once proper fucked, I left the party declaring that I would walk home (I believe I was invoking "penance" as my reason for embarking on this misadventure, if that makes any sense...), rather than take a cab or Metro (which I think had closed at this point anyways). This would have been a good idea had I been at a Boris Yeltsin level of drunkitude, but was in fact a very bad decision because I was drunk as a peasant. The rest of the story is narrated second-hand based on what Premie said about the walk home.

Somewhere in the vicinity of 9th and U (keep in mind, I live at 25th and K), we encountered a group of black people hanging around outside some club. Since Premie was essentially carrying me at this point, they were poking fun at us and whatnot. The biggest of them, who was 6' 5" and like 300 pounds (again all of this is according to Premie), tried to dissuade the rest of the group from fucking with us. But this was to no avail, as a smaller subgroup confronted us farther along down the street.

At this point, the guys in the group decide that since it's playoff season, and they've just seen a good game, they would practice tackling. You read that correctly. I was tackled in the street by some guys. My head ended up getting a nice exfoliation from a nearby brick wall and then landed on Premie's knee, who was also tackled. After lifting my head, Premie noticed his pants were covered with blood. Thus, my badass forehead cut. Apparently, after the big guy caught up to the rest of the group, and since I was bleeding profusely, he went and got us some napkins and even gave us a small container of hand sanitizer to clean the wound. He also apologized profusely, but two girls with the group declared that we were just "some stupid white boys," and then moved on. No robbery or other malfeasance was committed. Just tackling.

So, that's how I was the victim of a hate crime. And now I'll have a totally kickass scar.