J.Lew Visits Binghamton, New York; I Have An Accident In Public

Sunday, January 29, 2006 - J.Lew, my right hand man in college, came to visit me in Binghamton before I moved to NYC after much suggestive selling and coercion. My basic premise was "I'm the motherfucking man here and Binghamton is like Las Vegas, New Orleans (pre Mother Natures menstrual irregularity) and South Beach all rolled into one". Hint: half of what I said is a bold faced lie and I'll give you a hint, Binghamton does not have gambling, Mardi Gras or a beach with big tittied naked chicks. J.Lew was eager to see for himself the hallowed city in which all of my outlandish stories have taken place, and he was about to find out first hand.

The night before J.Lew arrived in Binghamton I thought I would be a good idea to rest up for his arrival by drinking until 7AM and then sleeping until 7PM. I literally felt like a bag of assholes the day he shows up.

J.Lew pulls into town around 10PM, and I still felt terrible, but still had to show out for my friend. I decide to give him a tour of the city, showing him a condensed version of my Manifesto and my old neighborhood. Needless to say, J.Lew was impressed with the grit and grime Binghamton streets had to offer. We were hungry, better yet, had to line our stomachs before we engaged in some awful binge drinking. Hey, I'm a college kid (alcoholic) at heart, so a back-to-back bender is light work for me. I suggest we go to IHOP to eat, Manmol had been banging out this naive 19 year old who was pretty cute and, like typical girls her age, LOVED disrespect. We walk in and immediately tell her "Next time I see you bitch I'm gonna lick your face", She retorts "Oh my gosh, Searrrrch you are such an asshollllllllle!!" J.Lew looks at me and says "Is it really that easy around here?" I slyly quip, "Trust me, it gets worse". We wolf down our food and I take him over to another restaurant exemplary of girls from Binghamton; Hooters.

Two of my associates, Fragile and Mello, have made themselves VIPs at Hooters, paving the road for me to say and do whatever I feel is appropriate. J.Lew and I belly up to the bar and begin to aggressively attack every beer on the list. I see J.Lew is a little hesitant to get greased and drive around a foreign city. I remind him I am Search and that rules don't apply to my friends or me. Which surprisingly put him at ease. If you've ever been to Hooters in Binghamton and a Hooters anywhere else in the world, you understand the Binghamton Hooters is like, ahem, farm league. The quality leaves something to be desired. Obviously you have your stars in the league, but the rest? Yikes.

J.Lew begins to follow my lead in my typical tirade of harassing girls and says what I think the best question to really throw a girl off her game:

J.Lew: Excuse me, can I ask you a question?

Vapid Hooter Bartender: Ummm, sure honey!

J.Lew: What is the capital of Denmark?

Vapid Hooter Bartender:...

J.Lew: It's time to go.

I almost fell out of my stool laughing, we tactfully removed ourselves from Hooters, preparing to gear up for what we felt would become a night for the records, which in one way or another, did. On our way to the car, I felt a gentle rumble in my stomach. "That's funny, I just ate, and maybe I'm more hungry." I thought (and yes, I think in incorrect English when I drink), so I grab something back at my apartment.

J.Lew and I walk to the downtown bars on what I like to call, "my personal ramp". The apartment I had was less than a quarter mile away from the bar, right across the Susquehanna River. The only thing separating me from the bar was an on-ramp bridge. We descend upon the bars with calm grace, surprisingly for once. I was still feeling the effects from last night, and that gentle rumbling gave way to steady waves in my stomach. I felt a few shots would clear all that nonsense up.

We walk into the first bar and meet up with my friend Manmol, who was already 15 Red Bulls and Vodka away from anything that resembled a normal human being. I introduce J.Lew to Manmol, the conversation went as follows:

Search: J.Lew, this is Manmol, Manmol this is J.Lew

J.Lew: I've heard much about you, you're a legend.

Manmol: You're Search's friend from out of town?

J.Lew: Yes sir, straight from Rochester

Manmol: Well, here welcome to Binghamton.

Manmol sure has a way of keeping his name strong for years to come. J.Lew, obviously bewildered, as a college student when an associate hands you $10, its something of a milestone. J.Lew immediately recognized the company I keep as some above decent dudes and we begin to further drink. The rumbling was still at the steady level after the last drink was drank. So we stroll across the street.

We walk to the second bar and grab drinks at the bar, I grab a jack and coke, and it tastes....awful. It was by far the worst drink I had in my life. J.Lew looked at me strangely and said "Are you alright man?" Perhaps, like a dog, he knew something was wrong before I did. I said "Yeah man I'm fine I just-...oh my God, J.Lew I will be right back". I was somewhat out of shape at the time this story was transpiring, but I still had a spring in my step, when needs be, and believe me, I needed all the springs I could find to the bathroom. Those steady waves, were now crashing tsunamis into my stomach, I could barely stand before I made it to the bathroom. The IHOP had taken its revenge on me, fuck you IHOP. I walk into the first stall and find the toilet taped down shut. I grimaced in pain and wondered if I was going to make it on to an episode of "When Bar Hopping Goes Wrong", and stumbled next door, the stall over there was taped down also...it was a fucking trap and I reacted. I dropped my pants and fired a symphony directly on the floor of the bathroom. Remember when Shitbreak got fed medical laxatives in American Pie? I beat him, bad. A liquefied stream of feces rang out in such a profane fashion that would have paralyzed children and drove horses crazy. I finally finished and turned around and saw a puddle of what looked like my soul, wiped up accordingly, and prayed to God that no chicks were waiting to use the bathroom. I held my breath, for more than one reason, and stepped outside. No one there. I run to the front, grab J.Lew by the arm and say "Dude.....we've gotta go". He looked at me and understood fully, and we quietly exited the building.

After the beef stew I left on the floor of the second bar, I felt a little better and pushed full steam to the next bar, but not before participating in one of my favorite activities; standing outside the bar and hitting on chicks. I see a striking Spanish looking girl walk by us with her friend saying "Lets go into this bar." In a typical Search brash and rude way I immediately but in with "Alright lets hurry up." She looks over at me and says "Oooh, you're hot, lets go right now." I take this girl by the arm, immediately making plans to kick her out of my apartment by 3:30AM Naturally, I am expecting J.Lew to be playing the proper role of wingman and keep the Spanish girls friend occupied, wrong. Thus failing in his wingman like duties, she was able to successfully cock-block me from my lovely taco. After this disappointment, I "get her number" and leave, but before leaving we catch wind of an after hours party and proceed accordingly.

The "after hours hot spot" in Binghamton is located in an abandoned warehouse-turned strip club-turned drug spot-turned whatever-illegal-activity you can think of. It is literally, on the other side of the tracks, right behind train tracks. As we pull up to the after hours spot J.Lew commented on its location "How many bodies are on the side of these train tracks?" he asks. "Probably as many Hooter chicks who don't know the capital of Denmark." I reply. We pay the cover and walk in, there was stories of an "open bar"(two words that should never be separate) here and I was determined to show J.Lew how Binghamton parties. But as with most things with Binghamton, there was a fuck up...no cups. They had 3 kegs, and no cups...of course they would, that is purely logical. The "bartender" told me "hey, if you find a cup help yourself." I've done some purely un-hygienic things in my day, like shitting on floors, stealing peoples drinks etc.Overall I'd say I've done some pretty unclean things, figuratively and literally, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I am willing to bet money that at least 40% of the people at the after hours had some sort of VD floating in their blood stream, coupled with the fact that this building hasn't seen any sort of cleaning since when tapered leg jeans were fashionable, I was not even REMOTELY going to consider finding a cup in this filth haven.

I felt another gentle rumble in my stomach, I plan to cut this off at the root and immediately run for the bathroom. I vividly recalling running out of toilet paper at my apartment, so in typical raw Binghamtonian fashion, I took it upon myself to relieve this building of the toilet paper after giving the toilet a reason to commit suicide. So you might asking yourself "how come you were willing to shit in a terrible building like you describe, yet would not drink out of a cup you found somewhere in the party?" Well, there is a simple axiom I live by that might answer your question. "Filth leaves body, with or without a potty."