The World Cup Saga//My First High

[Razzy]

The Saga Of World Cup//My First Time High

Disclaimer- Certain names have been withheld or changed, mainly because I’m paranoid, and haven’t run the story past my friends for approval (although it‘s unlikely they‘d say no anyways). Some parts have been cut for sizing, but if you have the time, and enjoy a good read, I‘d suggest you stick with it. So, pack a bowl, and ride along with us as we head to the biggest event in paintball, the World Cup, with handfuls of drugs and gallons of alcohol.

Preface
17 and bored in a Northeastern town no one’s ever heard of, save for the racist past it carries with it. I am not from this place, a small town stuck in the trash filled and ignorant 80’s. Less than a decade ago, KKK members stormed the streets daily, holding hate rallies in the town’s local eateries and luncheons. The railroad passes through the center of town, hastily and direct, as if to cry out “let’s get the fuck out of here before we’re shot.” The town itself is brown, bricked and broken down. The cracks in the sidewalk are stained in blood and tears. The hate itself illuminates the night and is alive with every breath the old generation still muster to breath.
No, I’m not like them. I’m from Florida, and hating just about every moment I have to spend in this shitty little town till I graduate, move out or die from the fumes this hate community shoves down my throat. I play first violin in the high school orchestra. I’m a nerd for paintball and my best friend is a very lovely 17 year old girl who hates everything about the sport. She’s blonde, gorgeous, and we love each other without knowing it. We spent the better half of last year getting to know each other, growing up where we didn’t belong and loving to find out if the other one would want to fuck. Unfortunately, we’re both emotional wreckage strewn together by ties we know nothing about.

“You know,” she says, “having sex on the rag is supposed to sooth the cramps.”
I sit there on the couch looking to make a move. She’s wearing a tight orange top and her nipples are poking out as if to say hello.
“That’s not such a bad idea.” I said.
She looks at me with wanting eyes,
“Yeah, it would be great if I could have that now…”
But she’s involved with some jerk off two towns over, who narrowly missed giving her the herp after cheating on her. She’s a good girl, but not too bright to when she’s being played.
“Maybe I could help” and I flash a smile at her. She looks at me as if to say yes, but laughs it off. She would never cheat on her boyfriend, whoever it might be this month.
She taps my knee and the hand lingers, “hey, do you wanna see my bowl Raz?”
I say sure.
She scurries into her room filled with animals as I try and relive the situation that would play itself over ten-fold that night. Even if she were bleeding, she had a shower I figured, and it wouldn’t be all that bad as long as we’d get to have sex. I mean, this was the girl of my dreams, I spent every day pressed up against her beautiful body with a thin layer of fabric separating us from glory.
She comes out from her room with a small glass bowl and silver pipe. She sits down beside me and I can see down her shirt as she leans to show me her bowls.
“What you can do when this gets all dirty is scrape the resin and smoke it…”
She takes up the silver pipe and begins to disassemble it…
“you can store your weed inside here while you smoke it, so the resin catches on…”
“That’s kool…” I say.
“So when exactly are you leaving?” she asks.
“I’ve got two weeks to go till World Cup. From Z’s house to Orlando.”
“You know I’m gonna missssss you right?”
“I know” I says.

//

Wednesday, October 25<SUP>th</SUP> 2005

I wake up knowing this will probably be the last time I’ll see her till the trip. I rustle around my room, get dressed and head for the bus stop. Tommy is there, like every morning, to greet me with his twisted drug induced smile. He’s a good kid, but caught up in crime, theft and violence that would have otherwise torn any boy his age to shreds. The bus arrives and we chug toward the town of hate.
I see her, hug her and listen to how her night went. The orchestra begins to squeal, as rosined bows meet cold-snapped strings in a stuffy room along the banana hallway. It’s the only time I’ll get to spend with her before my trip, and account every minute I can. As the class continues, she makes her presence known with “I love yous” and knee grabs as we play. It’s over, and I hug her goodbye as we head to our classes. The rest of the day is a blur.

If you’re not keen on the paintball world, there isn’t much to say really. I write for a magazine you’ve never heard of, play for teams that couldn’t care less about the “real world” and have friends that no Wheaties box is likely to show. But it’s fun. Professional leagues hold national events much like skateboarding and BMX, with teams shooting each other for huge cash payouts. We play on Astroturf with brightly colored bunkers that are blown up like balloons. The guns shoot 15 balls per second or higher and leave bowel weakening welts. It’s a waste of time and money, but again, it’s fun, so I play.

Before I know it, my flight takes off tomorrow, I don’t have to do any homework and have a free ride for the weekend. I’ve never smoked weed before, but saved up enough money to either buy an ounce or piss away on booze. For the moment, I’m very hopeful that I’ll like this “weed” the kids are all talking about. I make the decision to go to school tomorrow for the 20 minutes I’d be there to say goodbye to my little violin girl.
It is of course, her birthday.

//

Thursday October 26<SUP>th</SUP> 2005
Day 1//World Cup

I arrive in a hurry to say goodbye to this sweet girl and say happy birthday. She had broken up with her boyfriend a few nights ago, and obviously upset she couldn’t live up to his standards. The better she was for it, as this guy was a down and out douche. However, he was the one who introduced her to weed, and with that in mind, she was his for the time. She loved weed, but realized it was available elsewhere and cut the bullshit out of her life.

“Just promise me that you’ll tell me about all the girls you fuck, ok?”
I laugh and say “sure.”
[I’m no prize pig.]

The office rings up the orchestra room and tell me to “get the fuck down there” or I’ll miss my ride to the airport. My mom’s a super lady, and drives my broke ass to the airport. I’m only bringing a backpack, full of clothes, some paintball gear and a camera.

After being searched, I walk to the terminal, wait an hour for my plane to arrive and saddle up. I pop a few sleeping pills and sit back, waiting to fall asleep. It’s no good, the plane ride takes forever.

After a few hours of mindless stupidity and engine humming, I step off the plane, bag in tow. The Ft. Myers airport greets me with the promise of a friend on the other side of the wall. I hasten my step and see Big Z waiting for me. Tonight is the night I finally get to smoke weed. We hop in his mom’s Jeep and head back to the neighborhood I so badly missed. I had grown up here for a short while when I met the Big Z. It was almost a desert town living under the Florida sun, with sand below every acreage of grass and covering the streets that lied parallel to each other in every direction.
The night was upon us, and Z was ready. I had to make a phone call first…

I got her voicemail.

“Hi *******!!! I just wanted to tell you I made it in alright, and we’re about to smoke some weeeeeed. Happy birthday again hun, call me if you can this weekend. I’ll see you on the other side….”
*click*
“So, you ready?”

Z had a closet for his smoking. He called it the “bat cave”. Posters and magazine cutouts were taped on the wall in an unholy collage of boyhood splendor. It was small, and where he hid most of his pieces. His room contained more posters, paintball junk and a single mattress in the center of the room against the wall. He took out a few pieces from his collection and got to packing. He told me what I needed to know while he broke apart the weed.

I had seen him smoke the previous summer, during a stay at his house with heavy drinking and good times with old friends. He could roll the perfect joint, sold a good bit at the time and basically ran the show when it came to getting high.
As he pulled out his lighter, I began to feel more ready for what was about to hit me. We sat down and leaned against the wall, sitting under the window that led outside. He took the first hit from a small glass bowl and passed it to me. I had spent the better half of the past few months learning how to inhale smoke properly using cigarettes as a guide. ******* had turned me on to cigarettes, and I was beginning to enjoy them. We had this plan where I wouldn’t smoke weed until World Cup, seeing as I missed out on what should have been my first time that summer. Although the pact applied to the four of us smoking tomorrow, we felt it would be a safer bet to find out if I even enjoyed smoking weed that night.
Zip, click, light.

//

“My god”, I said looking back, “I never knew weed rocked this much ass…”

It was true. That first hit was just a starter. We smoked bongs, joints, bowls and this nifty little wooden pipe I was beginning to enjoy so very much. I felt like a miniature Hugh Hefner with an Irish streak in my leprechaun stature. My eyes began to droop and my mind began to wander about the room. I felt tethered to the images on the wall, following the line of sequence in which they were hung up, the cracks that separated the collage into individuals.

There’s a picture somewhere of my first few minutes high. I look so fucking out of it, and to be honest, I was. I was handling myself rather well, but grew tired with the traveling I had done that day. My eyelids became a burden I no longer cared to keep. It was hours later than I remember it being, and all I felt like doing, was sleep. We said goodnight and I blacked out on the floor with a pillow and some old school blankets Z had ready. Tomorrow would be grand.

//

Thursday October 27<SUP>th</SUP> 2005
Day 2//World Cup

Although the tournament had started yesterday, it was mostly the vendors and 5 man teams that were playing. I walked along the tiled kitchen floor helping myself to some orange juice and snacks before smoking another bowl that morning. I was keen for weed. There was something about it that just made the little things entertaining. The perception change was enjoyable, seeing as I hadn’t noticed the little things in life that made it worth living. It was peaceful in a sense. Step by step.
The plan was to drive the three or more hours to Orlando from where we were with myself, Z, Jake and John. I was already packed and the same was true with Z. All we had to do now is wait on John to pick us up as Jake was already with us. We gathered our things, made the calls and waited outside eagerly to start our adventure. Yep…
Uh….
“Where the fuck is John?”
20 minutes later, and no Civic…
Z, Jake and I waited on the edge of the driveway. The sun was shining it’s warmth on the day and it was beginning to get hot. We popped open a few Mountain Dews and continued to wait. The most likely cause was John jerking himself off, and as I told this to Z, the Civic came into view.
“He’s probably driving one handed.” I said, which in fact could have been true. The road Z lived on was a main street into the neighborhood and was quite long. Although we could see John driving, it would still take some time for him to reach the corner we stood on, as he was driving very slowly. By the time he got there, we were finished our Dew.
“Sup bitches?”
Our string bean of a friend had stepped out of the car, parked on the edge of the grass while we loaded up our gear. The trunk space was nothing spectacular, and with four nearly grown teens packing all their shit into this one space was going to be difficult. We got into the car, with Z taking shotgun and myself Kennedy. I enjoyed the back seat and it gave me a good spot to hang out, chill and most likely pass out. We had already picked up Jake a while back. I don’t really remember when…

“Hey guys” he said. Jake was skinnier than John, a bit shorter and pale overall. He made a statement about the alcohol and as I looked down in the cooler, I could tell it was funny, whatever it might have been. Two bottles of Everclear, a handle of my favorite Captain and beers to fill the void left in that Styrofoam casing. Jake also brought along an 1/8 of Cali weed, which was supposedly dank, not that I knew the difference at the time. He kept it in a small test tube with a cork on the top to keep it fresh. I didn’t realize who had actually brought all the weed with us, but I suppose it was either Jake or Z, and now that we were all together, we could be on our way.
But not yet. Publix was a short drive away, and we were in need of sugar. I was beginning to feel antsy. We walked into the store and headed to the snack aisles on the left side of the store. It was to be quick, with pick ups on candy and Dew. I don’t know how much soda we actually bought, but it was all Mountain Dew, and a shit load at that. I picked up some gummy fruits, as were my favorite, and headed to check out. We rushed back to the car and loaded the Dew in the trunk. We kept one box inside on the back seat with myself and Z on either side. Again, I rode Kennedy.
Finally, we rolled out of the parking lot and made our way to the highway.
“Guys, we’ve got something to tell you,” Z said,
“Me and Raz smoked last night…”
“OH man, that was supposed to be all of us man,” said John, “I can’t believe it”
“Well,” I said, “we wanted to know that I would get high for today.”
“Yeah, it was a good thing I popped his cherry.” Z said.
“So did you get high?” John asked
“Oh god, hahahahah, yeah, you could say that.”
We all laughed. It didn’t really matter now as we turned onto the on ramp. The weed was already out as Z packed a bowl in the back seat. I was a little worried about the police presence the open road held. Technically, I was showing up for work. I had to cover a few things, talk to a few company heads, meet some more players and just generally chill out for the remainder of the weekend. However, it wouldn’t look very good if I never made it to the event, had to call my mom to bust my ass out of prison thousands of miles away and have no money to my name to pay for any of the fines that may have been put on my head.

Meh.

We passed the first golf course on our way out when we lit up. From there, it seemed like a blur. Bowl upon bowl, we kept smoking. The car was filled with smoke before we knew it, hot boxed and blurry. We dare not open a window, it felt like an oven with the sun beating down through the windows. Z rolled a joint afterwards and we dug into the snacks. Less than an hour into the trip and almost all the candy was gone. In fact, we hadn’t been on the road more than a half hour before I began to feel the effects. I was incredibly stoned. The joint made it’s way to the back seat as Dew was being passed just as frequently. The sugar high kicked in and I suddenly felt very sluggish.
My head began to bang against the seat as I lost control over my body. Suddenly laughter broke out over nothing, and the four of us couldn’t stop. For some reason, something none of us said was extremely funny. Mile markers passed, exits, the local paintball field, gone. I felt naked against seeing my past. I hated everything about living up north except my friends. I missed my girl the most and checked the clock. I couldn’t make out the time, but she would be at lunch by now. It was a riot that I could miss so much school, and for all reasons, paintball and weed.
The next hour went by uneventfully till we had to make a stop. I was drugged up, delirious and enjoying myself very much. My eyes half open, I yelled, “HOLY SHIT! It’s the colonel!!! GUYS!!! IT’S THE FUCKING COLONEL!!!” and snapped a picture.
We had passed a KFC, and for some odd reason, I had repeatedly pointed it out, yelling. Everybody laughed as we pulled into the town’s Taco Bell. We parked and stumbled out of the car, with smoke billowing out. It was like all those rap videos I had seen, movies and television. I tried calling her, but couldn’t operate my phone to the point of turning on. Whatever devil designed this thing didn’t take into consideration the condition I was currently under.

I remember ordering nachos and having the inability to finish them, not to mention the hard shell taco that came with it. I was full on candy and Dew, as were the rest of my friends.
“Hey Raz, check this out”
Z made his way to the soda fountain, looked right, looked left. Quickly, he dunked his head under the dispenser and sucked down the juice. Again, it was Dew. He filled his cup and we made our way out. I felt wrecked and tired already, with miles and miles to go. The thing about Floridian towns on the highway is that they all look just about the same. Maybe one had a Chilli’s where the other would have a Friday’s. Housing developments sprouted only a few miles in, and whatever Spanish name it held, it looked the same as the houses 20 miles down the road. It was all the same.
We pulled onto the highway again. More weed was smoked. We were making good time, and had a good portion of the day to go before we could check in to the shitty hotel made in my name. I had haggled with my father to book us a smoking room, to which he didn’t really understand. The group of us were all under 18, with my birthday being tomorrow. With no credit, we had to pay upfront, with no guarantee a room would be held for us. I don’t remember how I talked him into it, but we scored a smoking room.

The day began to drag on as the middle of nowhere Florida presented itself with cow pastures and fields of dried out tress and grassland. As the hours flew by, so did the cities. We passed Tampa with haste along with a few highway patrol cars that either didn’t care or couldn’t see the cloud of smoke we trapped within the car. Eventually the sites became more familiar on the road to World Cup. The outer limits of the Orlando landscape grew. An ice rink with a hockey player busting out of the walls, the Mickey Mouse shaped electrical pole, the signs for Disney and Universal passes in navy blue and tarnished gold. I remembered them from my child hood with great ease, but they looked different now, as I was no longer a member. We were almost there. We began to clean out the car and put the weed away for when we’d hit the hotel.

As we arrived, we passed the event, now held at the Disney Wide World of Sports. We could see the fields from the highway, as the Redz balloon hovered overhead. It was exciting to see. For the past two years, Z and I had gone to this event. The first time with my parents and another friend named Ray. We rented out the room next to my parents and had some privacy to party, although being 15 wasn’t anything to party about. The next year I had lived at a team house that we rented out cheap for the week. It was another group of people I hadn’t known, and Z and John drove up with another kid and stayed with Z’s parents, again, in a different room. They had weed that year, but it wasn’t something I knew much about. I remember walking into the room, smelling pungent smoke, and checking out the small stash they had safely tucked away in the hotel safe. It would be no comparison to what we had this year.
We took the exit towards our hotel, a few miles out from Old Town, and dumpy. We rolled into the Radisson parking lot with an hour or so to go before check in. We decided to check out the event to kill some time and began driving towards the Wide World of Sports. The vendor turnout was a lot better than last year, with the NXL taking hold of the paintball world. A few years ago, the two major leagues had split and were now competing for every last dollar in the industry. What followed would become a fantastic denial of failure, as neither had the leg up on the other. However, each league would pull out all the stops to make the next event that much better, and seeing as this was the end all be all of paintball events, was quite the spectacle. I was to meet my editor for the first time that weekend, but decided against looking for him that first day. We had decided to head back to the hotel to check in and get the party started.

As we arrived to the front desk, I scooped myself from the car, still very tired and stoned, and headed to check in.
“Hi, I’d like to check in.”
“Your name please?”
“Raz Richards” I said.
“….and your 17?”
“Yeah. My birthday’s tomorrow…”
“Well happy birthday, but why the smoking room?”
“Well my friend John has a problem with cigarettes. He can’t get enough of um. If he could have his way, he’d smoke anything put in his mouth.”
She gave me a glance at first and slowly began typing. I wondered if she caught on to that obvious cock sucking joke.
“Alright then, that’ll be $174.95”
Ah shit, I forgot to ask for the money in the car. It wasn’t a big deal, I’d just ask the guys when I got back, and emptied my wallet on the desk.
“Alright, your room is just straight to the left if you go down towards the back. You’ll be in 1134.”
“Kool, thanks.”
I picked up the key card and headed out, my wallet notably lighter and less intrusive then the mold my ass had made during the ride.
“Alright, we’re down that way,” I pointed out.
“I’m gonna need all your money for the room guys…”
“Ok, I’ll give it to you in the room.” John said, with the rest following suit.
We were parked on the farthest end of the hotel, with a view of reconstruction and a dumpster at the corner of the parking lot. The field behind it opened up to a small woodland. We had already figured out the sleeping schedule, two guys would sleep on the floor while the other two slept in their own respective beds. The first thing we did was bust out the cooler and Mountain Dew, of which we had cases of. We quickly unloaded the car and brought Z’s bong into the room. We packed it up and started smoking and wasted the rest of the day just chilling. There wasn’t much for us to do until tomorrow. The games had pretty much wrapped up at the event and we were all underage. For some reason, the booze remained untouched, and as the hours faded, one by one we fell asleep.

Friday, October 28<SUP>th</SUP> 2005
Day 3//World Cup

I woke up to the sound of a bong and smoke blown in my face. Z was the first one up and greeted me with a happy birthday wake up call. I couldn’t tell how early it was as I sat in the chair next to him and smoked. I was finally 18, and began celebrating early. Jake and John had yet to wake up, but were slowly beginning to smell the bong and hear the coughs. Soon, they were up, showering and ready. We busted open the Captain and began mixing. We had a few cups to use and filled them with coca cola. I had needed to get to the event and meet with the boss. I had a good buzz going before we decided to officially “wake up”. I turned on my phone and had a voicemail…
“HI CHAD!!!!”
The small group of friends I hung out with in orchestra, known as the Corner Crew had left me a message. For them, it was donut day, and they didn’t have to play. We had a small hangout in the band room away from everyone else. *** had arranged a phone call…
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONEY!!” she said
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHAD!!!” the rest yelled out. I could hear the background music from the room.
She had continued… “I know we couldn’t be together today, but I just wanted to call and say happy birthday Raz. I love you, be safe, ok?”
“everyone say goodbye…. GOODBYE CHAD!!!”
“ok, love ya, bye bye…*click*”
That was nice of them I thought. I couldn’t really call them back at this hour, seeing as they were in a different class by now. I noticed John was having trouble finishing his drink, and offered it to me. I gulped it down rather quickly. Jake felt the same way, and again I drank. After being unable to finish his rum and coke, John reached for a beer, opened it and took a sip. Again, the man could not finish his drink, and as the beer would otherwise go unfinished, I drank that as well.
After we were clean and ready to go, we headed to the event to meet up with my boss. The guys would walk around as I would do whatever god knows what and talk about work. We pulled into the event as the horns were wailing against the humidity of the day. I walked to the booth my magazine had rented out for the event and split off from my friends.
“I know this kid…” he said
“Oh shit, do you?” I quickly said.
“Come, talk with me.” he hung up the phone. We was a Canadian man working in France and was my boss for the majority of the work I did for the magazine.
“Can I get you something? Cigarette? Coffee? Beer?”
I said “sure, it’s my birthday, not really old enough to drink.”
“Ah fuck it man, no one’s gonna stop you.”

This was true. The paintball industry was quite possibly the last brink of the wild west still alive. I mean, we were paid to shoot each other, and the law was certainly far from involved. The majority of playing population was on some sort of drug, with a rounding majority selling to finance their teams. Not to mention it was Disney and no one was around. The beer was a tall boy Bud Light, rounding off at about $8 seeing as it was a Disney venue. I snapped the top open and began to drink for the fourth of fifth time that day. We sat down and talked a little bit about the magazine and what we were doing for the next year. I had gulped most of it down before we were done talking. I wasn’t sure if he knew how high I actually was, but it didn’t seem to matter. We wrapped up the conversation, as he had places to be. We went back to the booth, he handed me some shirts and I was pretty much finished with my beer as my friends walked towards me. I chucked the can in the garbage and was feeling pretty good.
After some discussion we decided to head back to the hotel for more drinking and weed. The humid screen that covered the event was sticky and beginning to get on our nerves. Seeing as we missed breakfast, we made a quick stop at the Burger King around the corner, which we had been to in the past years. It was next to a run down mini golf course with waterfalls and streams. It was a nice view for a fast food joint. After we finished we ran back inside our room. Before I knew it, the bong was packed, another bowl was going around and that sweet Captain seemed lonely. I remember drinking, but never stopping. Somewhere in that blur of time and space, I had downed half the handle. It was around noon when I started doing push ups for no reason, my eyes sunk into my skull. None of us could keep our eyes open save for John, who was driving for the remainder of the weekend. John took a picture of us at 12:31. Z, Jake and myself were incredibly drunk, with none of us able to keep our eyes open long enough for the photo. A good friend of ours, A-Town, had called to hang out. I continued drinking. Slipping through time, we had made our way back to the event. I remember very little after that. I was leaning against a steel cable as my eyes opened. I was watching a five man game taking place on a field I couldn’t remember.

I closed them again. Z told me we needed to go. I don’t remember going back to the car, only showing up with A-Town at our run down hotel.
There was a head shop in town, and with A-town with us, we decided to go check it out. Before we left the hotel, Z had brought along a trash can for myself. I sat in the back seat with A-town and Jake as I recall, although I really didn’t know where I was at the time. A-town began yelling “ROLL OUT! ROLL OUT! ROLL OUT!” over and over and over again. It was one of those things that was only funny high, but he nailed the beat every time he said it, and I couldn’t stop laughing before I blacked out again. Muffled words and tunes woke me up. For some reason Z had left the trashcan in my hands. I don’t remember feeling sick.
We were headed towards and past downtown Orlando. The rest is a blur. I suddenly began to feel very sick with the need to throw up. Z had my back in this respect, he had probably seen this coming. As I began vomiting, A-town and Jake, again, I’m not sure, began to lean as far away from the mess soaring from my mouth. Surprisingly, I began to feel a lot better.
“guys…” I said…
“What’s up Raz?” Z asked.
“dude, it tastes like provolone….”
“hahaha whaaaat?”
“really…” I threw up again. I could tell it was the rum, but something about that vomit just tasted like cheese.
“dude, smell it, it smells like cheese”
“hahaha no way dude, it smells like straight alcohol!”
“I’m serious dude, check it out…” I vomited a little more and spit the rest out.
“dude, put your nose in it, taste it man, it tastes like provolone. I swear to god…” I said.
It was true, it really tasted amazing, as far as puke goes.
“aww dude, it smells horrible” John said.
I contained most of the mess within the bucket as we were headed to the head shop. I felt especially light headed at this point as we took the exit off to visit the shop. I stepped out of the car with a few drops of vomit on my shirt. Z took the bucket and dumped it out for me in the parking lot trench. I don’t remember what happened to the bucket itself as flashes of black overcame me as I walked into the shop. A-town and I were the only ones old enough to check out the wares of the store. Myself being 18, I pulled out my driving permit as the lady at the desk asked for it.
“Ah, it’s your birthday, happy birthday!”
“thanks” I said. I could still taste the cheese on my lips and had difficulty holding myself up as she handed it back to me. The next few minutes were nothing but madness. I slowly walked around the glass shelves and noticed the porn section on the back end of the store. Hanging from the shelves were strap ons and dvds, gift cards and adult toys. I rounded the corner, trying my best not to crash into the glass cases of bongs and bowls in front of me. I stepped out the door with Z there.
“dude, you alright?” he asked
“Oh sure. I’m fine, I just wish you guys would believe me about the cheese.”
“hahaha dude, it was straight rum. There’s no way in hell that could ever taste like cheese.”

I began to laugh and felt better about the situation. I only hoped I hadn’t soiled John’s back seat, which I later found out, I hadn’t. So it was all good.
I stood there pressing against the metal frame that held the store’s front window in place. There was a small drill hole that exposed the silver lining under the black paint. I remember bouncing against the frame with my hand and feeling the hole dig into my hand, with no shots of pain when there should have been. A-town stepped out and we were back on the road before I knew it, headed back to the hotel before doing god knows what. When we arrived, I immediately headed for the shower with a new shirt to try on. I had been in the shower a good 40 minutes without knowing it before snapping back to consciousness with a knock on the door asking if I had been “jerkin’ it?” I assured whatever voice it was, “no”, as I had enough trouble keeping the rest of my body from falling over the edge of the tub. I was bouncing in strides against the walls and making a racket with the noise. I turned off the shower and dried myself off, feeling refreshed and wanting to smoke a little bit to calm myself. I had opted to get some rest as the other guys went to hang with A-town. I passed out on the bed and woke up hours later when the guys returned. They had had to drop off A-town near a strip club near a Walmart. It was somewhere near 10 oclock. I picked myself up, smoked a little bit with Z and just took it easy before we went to sleep. This time I had chosen to sleep on the floor, as it felt more steady. It was a pretty good birthday, but the bit I remember amounts to about 15 minutes time, so it was of course, very short.
“ah ok.” I said to myself, realizing the cheese I tasted was from my Croissant sandwich at BK from earlier that day.

Saturday October 29<SUP>th</SUP> 2005
Day 4//World Cup

Z was the first to wake up again, and the bong rips woke up. I had decided to take it easy with the alcohol until tonight, where we’d be heading to Old Town for the player’s party. We smoked by ourselves as our friends woke up and continued on to the event. Today we checked out all the new gear that was being released, talked to some booth babes and watched a few games here and there. The general consensus was to preserve our weed for tonight and tomorrow. We ended up leaving a few hours later, cruising along the ins and outs of the tourist trap known as Orlando. Passing the convention center, we made our way to the center of the trap where FAO Shwartz and restaurants scattered the street. We were for the first time that trip, completely sober.
“Turn that shit up man”
It was a rap song I don’t recall.
“I don’t know man,” John said, “we might get shot.”
“Nah, no way man, no one’s gonna shoot at us.”
John was worried that the 305 anthem, whatever it was, would piss off the locals. That’s when it happened.
As the streets were tied up, we saw a stretch hummer limo pull up beside us. It was a party bus of sorts, with presumably older women inside. The window rolled down with girls shaking their tits at us as they continued to move up in traffic.
“Oh shit dudes” John said
We were more than eager to follow.
“We gotta follow that man” Z pointed out. I agreed as well as Jake.
“Yeah, and when we hang out with them, I’mma rub my face all up in their tits like mrmrmrmrmrmr” John said.

We began to follow the hummer, and for the next hour of traffic bound madness, we caught up with them. They pulled a quick u-turn, and we had passed them at the light as they did. We had reached the end of whatever major road we were on that turned into a dilapidated shopping center. We swerved around, tires screeching and eventually caught up with them again.
“When we get close enough, I’m gonna make a run for it and knock on their door.” Jake said.
We all laughed. The next few minutes, traffic began to let up, and he had his chance, but decided against it.
“We should invite them back to the hotel man, I got a feeling about these girls, like they’re ready to give it up to anyone man.”
We had finally met side by side with the Hummer, and once again, the window rolled down.
To our amazement, 2 13 year olds popped out of the window, and our jaws dropped. The women we had chased were no older than middle school.
“Holy shit, we’re going to hell dude.”
“yeah…… we should… probably go smoke some weed.” Z said.
They continued yelling at us from the window as we all turned away, horrified. We took the nearest onramp, kept silent, and drove back to the hotel.

Before anyone had said a word, the bowl was lit.
Seeing as tonight was Saturday, the parties had begun. With only the finalists to play tomorrow, the majority of players were set to hang out at Old Town. The official player’s party was to be held at Sun On The Beach, the bar of paintball players set in the middle of a tourist strip of shops and amusement themed spots. We let the time roll by as the sun began to set. We loaded up our own bottles with Everclear and soda, as we were too young to be served at the bars. Z rolled a few joints for when we got there, and John was driving.

As we packed ourselves in the car, we had no idea what we might be in for. I had remembered visiting Old Town as a kid, but nothing clear or evident in memory prepared me for the experience I was about to embark on. A short drive down the Orlando strip and we were there. We stepped out of the car and lit up the first of the jays. It was nicely rolled, as always, and I began sipping away at my drink. We passed it around as the high began to kick in and took a look around. We were parked on the far side of the lot, near the amusement rides and roller coaster. The strip was split into two parts, with a street separating the parts with traffic, and the other side having it’s own assortment of rides, go karts and Checkers stand, along with the bars.
After the joint, we begin walking down the strip, seeing various players doing the same, getting shit faced and high. We crossed over to the bar side of the lot, and walked into Sun. The bar is pretty much empty, and we take a spot on one of the pool tables in the back. We begin playing a few rounds of 8 ball and continuing to get drunk. John begins complaining, even though he’s high, he can’t get drunk, as he is the designated driver. After successfully winning a few games on technicalities and skill, we ditch the pool tables and walk out as the crowds begin to burst in. The pro players are out in full force, and already knocking back bottles and shots. I say hi to a few of them, catch up on how their year went and continue walking. At this point, the bulk of our group is relatively drunk when we see A-Town again. Things are going faded. We hit up the Checkers and buy a bit of food. Out of the distance, I see an old friend I met online years ago, and scream at him, “ERIC!!!”. He turns around, and with a smile on his face, rushes over to us. He’s familiar with myself, John and Z, as we had all been apart of the same web forum. I spent last year’s World Cup living in a team house we had rented out with Eric and others from the forums, so it was a joy to see him again. We talk a bit more about how his team did, why they lost and all that. We begin walking towards the bar again and meet up with his team, the captain and owner of which we had also known, but for very different reasons.
This captain was also the owner of his own private label circuit board company, that had promised a certain board in 2003. Seeing as it was the end all be all of paintball boards at the time, we were disappointed when the board wasn’t released till almost a year and a half later. We had camped out at his booth every morning that World Cup, waiting to be the first to get our greedy little hands on this killing machine circuitry. As drunk as I was, I asked for him to get a picture with me. Right before the flash, I put my head on his shoulder dreamy like and it freaks him out. His wide eyed stance and awful facial expression would go down as digital history, and always gave me a good laugh whenever I saw it. As we’re walking down toward the arcade, we see a crowd begin to emerge. There are a few gangster teens trying to one up each other on this punching game, where a speed bag dangles from the machine, and the harder the punch, the higher the score. These kids are going crazy as each one out does the other, before the machine begins to break down with the force these guys are hitting it.

After a few rounds of this, things get boring. We head back to Sun, standing on the street when I see this gorgeous model I was very fond of. I had met her through some online wheeling and dealing through the industry. She was from Pittsburgh and was once an Angel model. She was unbelievably beautiful. I had offered to buy here a drink, but in hindsight, said I wasn’t old enough, so it didn’t really matter. I walked up to her and introduced myself. She seemed delighted to finally meet me and we got to talking a bit more. We had some things in common, but as she was 10 years older than I, things began to stray. My friends were looking to hit up the go karts, so I said goodbye to her, hoping to see her again, and scurried along through the large crowd that was beginning to form.

We walked the street down to the karts and paid the unbelievably high fee to ride. It’s become my theory that go karts were invented for the drunk- not fast enough to kill, but not slow enough to seem boring to the average booze hound. Pounding on the gas, we begin bumping each other, and spinning out others whenever we could. It was fun for sure, but not worth the price. Afterwards we headed back to the bar as what appeared to be a fight was taking place.

To our surprise, it was a dance off, with one being a player from the Midwest here for the tournament, and the other being a very disgruntled local from Orlando, with dark skin and flashy clothes. They were dancing to one up each other, one step at a time. The crowd had gathered in a large circle directly in front of the bar, blocking off patrons and giving the two ample room to bust it down. The local kid had some legit moves, in fact, they were too legit to quit, and our paintball brethren was sure to lose this match up. At the end of his step, the local kid does a back flip and blows everybody away. The crowd went wild with excitement and people started cheering and yelling like they had just discovered masturbation. Really, it was that loud.
But our poor Midwestern player was not done in yet. He was white, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t dance. He begin swaying and moving his arms, pulling his legs from under him to eradicate any indication of doubt. Twisting, twirling and all that jazz. As the attention began to wane, he pulled out the robot, and stepped his game up. Out of nowhere, he begins busting out the dance to “Thriller”, and the crowd goes absolutely nuts. It’s clear this white kid from nowhere has won. As he goes to shake hands with his dark skinned opponent, he quickly bows down and kisses the dude’s hand, to which the local kid freaks out and looks like he’s about to stab the thriller. He backs away quickly with a laugh as our local competitor begins cursing and stomping. His friend holds him back, and they begin to drift off from the crowd. I could have sworn a riot was to break out had he actually started a fight.

As was the norm at the time, John began complaining about heading back to the hotel, but not before hitting up the roller coaster. Another $5 down, and we take the ride before pissing in the woods of Old Town and driving back. When we get back, the majority of us still wanted to stay and enjoy the festivities, but John was looking to get drunk, and guzzled down a few beers before the argument could be truly resolved. I figured I had the money, so I called a cab service to pick us up at the hotel.
Between the time it took for him to arrive and the time we had already spent back at the hotel, we had smoked a good bit more and dug into the remainder of our alcohol. The hotel was a complete disaster. Z had been piling cans of Mountain Dew to form an actual mountain of cans, blunt tobacco was skewered around the room, with spilt bong water and the evident smoke surrounding the room in weed.

We stumble into the cab and start back to Old Town. When we get there, T-Hump from Trauma is on the phone, climbing into the cab and talking about how they need to beat the Russians tomorrow for the NXL championships.
With all of us drunk and high, we enjoy ourselves, talking to random players and people. All of a sudden, this completely trashed teenager comes up to us and starts asking about if we smoke bud. We tell him “sure, it’s the shit,”
“that’s coool man. Gotta love tat green baby. WHOOOOOOO!!!!!!”
“Yeah, definitely man.”
Z gives me a glance and I start laughing.
“yeeea man, drunk as hit ssss getting high, nothing beats it man, gotta smoke that herb, rollin L’s, you guys know how it is…”
He stumbled with his words and dropped his bottle of Bud Light. The bottle shatters.
“eaaaahh, yeah man, FUCK.”
It took him a minute before he realized he had dropped it.

“GOD FUKKKING DAMNIT”

His wild streak was beginning to emerge and we parted ways after reaching Sun again. We stood, smoked a bit in the crowd and after another hour of boredom, decided to go back and sleep. We headed to the closest hotel for a cab and sat on the lobby furniture as a very drunk Swede walked through the door, propped up by his friend. This Swede in particular played for Joy Division, and the man holding him up, filmed for Derder.
“Excuse me, could you help my friend here?” he said to the clerk behind the desk.
“My friend here is really drunk and doesn’t know what room he’s in.”
The Swede began speaking in tongues.
“He doesn’t speak English, could you help us? He knows he’s staying here, but I have no idea where…”
Again, the Swede begins speaking, and starts yelling out bunker calls from the field. I have no idea what he’s saying, but he’s calling out positions on a field that only exists in his mind.
I look over to Z and just sort of smile. Jake and John are walking around a bit to stretch out their legs and see this guy. We catch eyes and begin laughing to ourselves. Our cab arrives and we leave as the Swede continues yelling, louder still.
A short drive later, and all I have is a $20. I give the entire bill to the driver and tell him to keep it.
“heh, good one Raz. Don’t tip the first guy, give this dude $20.”
I laugh a little bit, not really caring, and imagining our first driver pissed off at this new guy. We set ourselves for sleep and pass out around the room.

Sunday October 30<SUP>th</SUP> 2005
Day 5//World Cup

At this point, I really don’t know where I am. I wake up half asleep, to Z’s bong ripping again. I join him again, and begin to gather my things for my flight later that day. Somewhere between the drunken stupor I was still in, and the new high creeping up on me, the day seemed to fly by. I don’t remember checking out or cleaning up. We eventually steal ourselves some breakfast from a rival hotel chain and load up on food. The girl with the violin calls me, and tells me she loves me. She tells me her birthday party would be missing me, but there‘s nothing I can do. My flight won‘t arrive for a good few hours after the party is over anyways. I later found out she cried halfway through and broke down. I never found out why, but I always assumed. It would later bite me in the ass.

One last drive to the event to watch finals and clean up on the Sunday deals. Z and Jake steal some gear from the Empire booth and I can’t help but laugh. We sit down in the grandstands and I see the Angel model again, snap a quick picture and give her a hug good bye. She’s unbelievably tiny, and I almost crush her. I’m still half eyed awake when we have to leave. A-town sees us, and tells us he needs a ride home. Because I will be heading home from Orlando, there’s enough room for him to hitch a ride. We load his gear into the back, and head towards the airport. We stop at a Taco Bell and sit down to eat for what becomes the last moments I’ll see of these guys for a good few months. It’s time to go.

As we pull up to the gate, I tell my friends a fond goodbye, and walk into the airport, getting frisked again and too high to realize where I really am. The rest becomes a blur.

tl:dr- The first time I got high

[omgitsryan]

longest story ever.

[Blaz3]

wow can i just say that is the most ive every read in my life haha, i had to read the lot after a qatar of it i couldnt stop lol.
thats a great story man very long but great none the less realy enjoyed it, the dance bit and the dance pic had me laughin for a good 5mins haha, but it did take me a good 45mins to read with smoke brakes aha. if i can find out how i will +rep you bro

p.s are you getting with that girl from back home ? now she's not with her guy..?



B.

[Razzy]

Originally Posted by Blaz3

wow can i just say that is the most ive every read in my life haha, i had to read the lot after a qatar of it i couldnt stop lol.
thats a great story man very long but great none the less realy enjoyed it, the dance bit and the dance pic had me laughin for a good 5mins haha, but it did take me a good 45mins to read with smoke brakes aha. if i can find out how i will +rep you bro

p.s are you getting with that girl from back home ? now she's not with her guy..?



B.

Thanks man! Sorry bout the length, but it felt like one long ass day, and as I remember it, one chunk of time. Glad to hear you enjoyed it!!

I did eventually get with that girl, but that's a whole 'nother story.

[Blaz3]

Originally Posted by Razzy

Thanks man! Sorry bout the length, but it felt like one long ass day, and as I remember it, one chunk of time. Glad to hear you enjoyed it!!

I did eventually get with that girl, but that's a whole 'nother story.

ah sweet , hurry up and post it then haha nice one on getin with that gal every1 likes a happy endin

[HerbsINtheBurbs]

So uhh, after you emptied your wallet and your teammates said they'd hit you back... did they?

[Razzy]

Originally Posted by HerbsINtheBurbs

So uhh, after you emptied your wallet and your teammates said they'd hit you back... did they?

Yeah, they all paid me back.

Originally Posted by Blaz3

ah sweet , hurry up and post it then haha nice one on getin with that gal every1 likes a happy endin

If this thread gets a larger response, I'll post one with her in it. I plan on posting about last year's World Cup where we had an oz. of kush with more people and more crazy situations. Just want to see how many people like this one before I put the time into it.

[Baron]

Dude this story was epic.... im a tournament baller myself so i could relate to a bunch of stuff you were saying.... especially the joy player calling out field positions, haha that would be jokes "snake 1" lol

I played for 7 years, and i recently quit, i used to play in the CXBL (equivalent to your AXBL). Played for Toronto Rage, we came 2nd last year in the league... not bad for all of Canada.

What magazine do you write for? pb2x? facefull?
and what team do you play for? what division?

great story, +rep for sure

happy ballin

oh, and the angel model.... Bea Youngs?

[Razzy]

Originally Posted by Baron

Dude this story was epic.... im a tournament baller myself so i could relate to a bunch of stuff you were saying.... especially the joy player calling out field positions, haha that would be jokes "snake 1" lol

I played for 7 years, and i recently quit, i used to play in the CXBL (equivalent to your AXBL). Played for Toronto Rage, we came 2nd last year in the league... not bad for all of Canada.

What magazine do you write for? pb2x? facefull?
and what team do you play for? what division?

great story, +rep for sure

happy ballin

oh, and the angel model.... Bea Youngs?

Ah! Sweet up, kool to see another player on the boards. I know the CXBL, I was thinking of working for the AXBL, but it's a bit far away right now.

Not on a team right at the moment, and I'll let you guess which mag it is, just follow the clues in the mags, we're the only one printing "dank" to describe stuff in our gear section. lol

The model however was a girl named Tiffany who used to work for Angel. I see her every year at cup. Bea's pretty kool though, I talk to her all the time.

I didn't plan on reading all of that but I did and it was def a good read

[lamby]

Good read man! I paintball aswell so I can relate to everything you were saying. Ever play stoned? Now thats an experience in itself haha

[Razzy]

Originally Posted by lamby

Good read man! I paintball aswell so I can relate to everything you were saying. Ever play stoned? Now thats an experience in itself haha

haha funny you should ask. out of all the weed I've smoked and paintball I've played, I've never played while high. usually it turns out that I play and smoke, or smoke, drive to an event//practice and then play, but by then, the high's gone.

God damn I love both. I've been wanting to play high for so long.

I'm putting that on my list of things to do for '08. Thanks for reminding me.

I'll have an 06' cup story probably, and follow it up with some stories about my lil violin girl. We've done alot of fun//sexy//hilarious stuff together. It should make for a good read.

a bit drunk right now, but i can see people enjoy the post.

EDIT: Tampa 2006 Tampa first. You guys would like that. It's a great story, I'll have it typed up soon... :tup:

[lamby]

EDIT: Tampa 2006 Tampa first. You guys would like that. It's a great story, I'll have it typed up soon... :tup:

lol at the :tup:, we aren't on pbn!

[Elk]

Wall of text approaching!


seriously though, that was log as hell, but good none-the-less..

[wahman]

that shit was long. but it was an almost magical read. haha. took me a while to finish. but I finished. so it must be good.