Did You Just Hit A Bird?

Within my group of friends, there was one in particular who just couldn't seem to drink as many beers as the rest of us.  Naturally, after he threw up all the time after 2 or 3, we just called him a pussy and busted his balls for about 4 strait years.  It was automatic.  The rest of us could really put them down, and here was Beansy, perpetually in the bathroom puking after just a couple.  It just became commonplace to the point where it didn't even bother anybody anymore.  We had taken his dignity and sent it back to his family.  It was just accepted.

That's not to say he didn't correct the problem or he couldn't drink.  He made the switch to vodka and was fine.  Nobody could understand this dynamic until years later when he was diagnosed with Celiac Disease.  Celiac Disease, for those who don't know, is a genetic, gastrointestinal disorder that affects the intestines.  It's an intolerance to gluten, which is found in wheat, grain, and barley.  You know what beer is brewed from, so there ya go.  Beansy has an excuse for all those years of being a bitch and puking all the time. 

I'm of the opinion that he should have just kept drinking beer and eating gluten so he was still skinny and didn't look like a pregnant guy, but what are you gonna do?

There WAS one such occasion where no amount of Celiac Disease could be used as an excuse.  Beansy and I had gone out to a nice Irish pub with another buddy and a couple of girls that we went to high school with and had known for a long time.  We hung out, had a good time, watched a Red Sox game, listened to a band, caught up.  It was a fun night.  We drank beer.  Beansy drank beer.  Beansy happened to be the designated drunk driver that night, so after the drinks were paid for, we staggered out of the bar and made our way to the small black sedan that he owned at the time.

Aside from Beansy, there were two guys and two girls, including myself.  His car didn't have the ideal interior space for 5 people, but we made it work.  To this day, I'll argue that I called shotgun first, but somehow one of the two small girls wound up in the front passenger seat while us two guys and the remaining girl squeezed into the back of this shitbox.  We began swerving home and we distracted each other with drunken conversations when an explosion of what appeared to be blood, guts and brain matter plastered the entire windshield.  The conversation quickly stopped as Beansy pulled to the side of the road, unable to see out the windshield, without missing a beat.

"Did you just hit a bird kid? What the fuck happened?"  Beansy, appearing unfazed by the "exploding bird" was remarkably calm as the car came to a stop.  The three of us in the back seat were perplexed by what could have caused such a mess.  What the hell did he hit, a fucking bald eagle?  Was it a person? Did we just become accessories to vehicular homicide?

"Turn your wipers on asshole."  My fellow backseater suggested.  Seemed logical to me.  It was a big mess, but at least blast some washer fluid on it and get to a gas station so we could clean the carcass from the windshield completely.  Still speechless, Beansy calmly opened his door and puked out onto the street.  Not unusual considering his history.  I mean the kid WAS drinking beer all night and there WAS a disgusting mess all over the windshield. 

The three of us in the back seat were still a bit confused by what was going on, as it happened fast and our brains were moving slow.  The smart-ass girl who stole the front seat from me; however, knew exactly what happened, because it happened all over her legs.  And by "it", of course, I meant the projectile vomit that Beansy had splattered all over the INSIDE of the windshield with such force that I literally was convinced we would be scraping a body of some kind off the front of the car.  It had finally dawned on us in the back what had happened.  "How's the front seat working out for ya now, hahahahahaha!!" 

I forget exactly how the substantial mess was cleaned up, but I know three things:  I didn't help clean it, we didn't go to a gas station, and there were no windshield wipers involved.  Most disgusting thing I've ever seen, and I've seen some nasty shit.  If you've read my post titled "My Friend's Brush With Death,"  Beansy also happens to be the friend that almost wound up splattered all over a windshield, which makes me laugh for some twisted reason.  Sweet irony.