From: Bill Evans <woevans@husc.harvard.edu>
Subject:  debriefing: the fortieth of july

gentlemen,

so here i am back in work, convalescing after a weekend of revelry and
great times.  as you *should* already know, this last weekend was the
fortieth of july, a great holiday for all patriotic americans and a few
canadians.  it is a time to remember our past,to forget the present, and
to spend a long, alcohol soaked day in the sun drinking america's drink:
the forty ounces of freedom.  

hagan and i set the whole thing up at his place.  i bought five cases of
forties, a thirty pack of bud, two bottles of vodka, and a huge jug of
wine.  basically, we had enough alcohol to get all of western europe drunk
enough to think they're straight.  lacking a refrigerator, i went down the
street and bought 90lbs (i'm not kidding) of ice, which we put in the
bathtub with all the alcohol.  i had my picture taken with it for
posterity and as threat to the fucking commies to never come knockin again
cause we've got the superior fucking firepower.  i think i bought some
soda for the fucking cops in case they fucking showed their cold sober pig
faces. then there was the food.  i bought about 70+ hamburgers and almost
as many hot dogs.  then we moved what sparse furniture rob had mistakenly
allowed to accumulate in his pad mostly into one room.  we also barricaded
the house against the fucking commies and their fucking missles, cause we
knew we had way too much beer to keep secret for long.  i bought some
tortilla chips for any illegal immigrants who showed up, so they'd feel at
home for a while before i deported them.

anyways, so we had this beer and all the preparations finished.  we even
took (uh, borrowed) someone else's propane grille for the afternoon.  at
4pm the patriotic hardcore began arriving and cracking open their colt45s
with some really bloody burgers (cooked by a true american, yours truly).
by 6pm i was into my second forty and sus, who had gotten there late was
finishing her first.  the place was starting to get crowded and the first
casualty of the day had already fallen prey to some depraved pinko plot (a
little booting never really hurt anyone though).

by sunset, we had secured our fair share of the women in
somverville/cambridge and were ready to move on to conquer the vast
expanses of saugus and beyond.  susanna somehow ended up totally
duct-taped spinning around in some room full of people shrieking "help me
i'm stuck" so i ate through all the tape with my teeth (my hands being
full with a forty and a still bleeding piece of cow), at which point she
bounded away for another forty.  then i had to save rob who had a huge
inflatible shark taped to his head.  at first i was ready to beat some
communist ass for trying to oppress our bold american revelry with tape
manufactured, i assume, by a bunch of communists.  however, i soon
discovered that it was just dave "soupie" weiss taking matters into his
own, ill-coordinated hands.  i was proud of him.  

but before i could congratulate him for very long, i decided that i needed
to wear one of the thirty pack cases on my head (oh yeah, someone else
brought over sixty more beers).  i think i was running into the walls.
then rob's physics grad student roommate came home.  so i said hi to him
cause he looked sad about being left out, or maybe that was because this
girl (caitlin) was puking on the wall in the hallway by the front door
where i met him when he came in.  but i think she was just serving her
country proudly, so greg couldn't have minded.  although he didn't look
amused when i dropped my half-finshed forty (number five for the night) of
king cobra on his foot, where it spewed malt liquor for like etertity
before i could chase it down the hall and recover the last bit of it.  of
course, i can understand his disappointment at losing so much booze.  

i think some time after i recovered the last bit of my cobra i found
myself in the kitchen, where some girl was being escorted to a bedroom,
well, carried, by her friends cause she was out cold.  then this guy marty
(god love him, a true red-blooded, meat-eating, commie-killing american)
and i started discussing something very important in a loud tone, the
subject of which i cannot recall.  however, i decisively *won* the
argument when i grabbed a pitcher full of water from the counter (why
there was any water nearby i cannot imagine) and poured it over my own
head in the middle of the extremely crowded kitchen.  marty and i were
both surprised.  everyone i think stopped talking long enough to marvel at
the profundity at what had transpired.

at some point, i had to take the case of beer off rob's head cause he was
starting to scare people.  when the grill ran out of propane, we put
charcoal in it and a lot of good democracy-loving lighter fluid.  i think
we put a lot of lighter fluid in cause the porch above ours (rob's pad is
on the second floor) had scorch marks on it the next day since the flames
were shooting like 8feet in the air.  however, we quenched much of the
flame with a forty, and the remaining burgers were consumed quickly.  for
some reason later on i got mad at the phone book and ripped out all the
pages that had fucking pinko names on them.  fucking commies.  there were
pages everywhere and i couldn't explain to anyone why i was doing it
mostly because i was, at that point, speaking in tongues, channeling the
spirits of our founding fathers themselves, who were speaking by the grace
of over 8 hours of partying and almost 200 ounces of sparkling malt
liquor, and a few ounces of some "punch" (recall the wine and vodka)
which really pushed the whole party over the top.  

somehow, when i went into the bathroom shortly after midnight, i noticed
that there was no more beer left in the bathtub and that the toilet was
full of all kinds of toiletries and shaving stuff.  i had never thought to
keep my shaving stuff in the toilet before so i asked rob about it.  he
wasnt happy and was ready to take on all of red china.  however, he
couldn't do that very well in his apartment cause the whole place was
about a quarter to half inch deep in water and malt liquor and booze and
the patriotic upwellings of proud americans.  it was too slippery to beat
ass.  so pretty much everyone decided to hit the bars or go home.  a few
of us had to take naps on the way home, behind bushes or in streets.  i
wasn't one of them (matt williams served his country proudly though), but
i hail all our fallen companions.  

rob, i understand, went on to even more greatness later in the evening. 
youll have to hear that from him, however.  he, marty, and a.j.  went to
the thirsty scholar, where they "made contact" with a few members of the
other half of the species.  apparently, the story involves getting into a
car with six 25 year old women on the way to "their place"  and having the
breasts of a school teacher pressed into his face (if that's not the most
therapeutic treatment for a traumatic and repressed childhood, i'm
changing majors to psychology).  

well, gentlemen, that's everything that i remember of the night.  the
artifacts of the party have all been destroyed in the intersts of national
security and preserving the calm of the general populace.  but it was a
hell of a mess.  i should note for you all that, in the tradition of the
ancient greeks, the progenitors of democracy, and south central l.a.,
about which some really ass-beating movies have been made, we poured a
malt-liquor libation "for all the homies who ain't here."  

ma peeps, walk proud, drink hard, and sort it all out the next day.

bill