So, I've written about my roommate Vinny before on here because of his irregular behavior when he drinks too much. Well, his ridiculous behavior still has refused to cease. Two weeks ago, my school's â€œinfamousâ€ event â€œspring weekendâ€ occurred, in which people from all over the area, college and high school kids mostly, gather and drink. Ten's of thousands of people gather there, get fucked up, and act like douche bags. So, it was a full moon to Vinny's hairy Italian ass. It was Wednesday, W-Lot Wednesday, an attempt at starting the festivities early, since, Spring Weekend normally started on a Thursday. Vinny, my girlfriend, and myself were sharing a handle of Majorska, straight from the bowels of Russia. Black Star was in the air as well as the haunting mist of rubbing alcohol, especially from Vinny's mouth. Vinny's shot glass, first of all, was the most disgusting fucking orifice in existence, surpassing Magic Johnson's wife. It hadn't been cleaned in about a month, so it was sticky, and after he dropped it, it had more pubic hair and donut crumbs on it than your computer chairs. Vinny began requesting dancing music and an audience. We refused to oblige. He ran into the hallway, checking a female upon exit, and began ripping down the posters in the hallway of our dorm. Not only was he tearing them down, but began shoving them into his mouth. We grabbed him and dragged him into our room. I began to shake him and firmly say â€œNO!â€, but I knew it was over. It was only 6pm. Vinny began taking shots of Admiral Nelsons, or Captain Morgan for poverty stricken individuals, belonging to a friend and proceeded screaming â€œDas boot!â€ due to the boot shaped shot glass he was consuming from. Then he ran to our window, on the second floor, and began yelling at passer bys. He was calling them â€œCharmander Faggotsâ€ and â€œBananas in Pajamasâ€. For some reason, beyond me, he really struck a cord in a douchey frat kid, who wasn't going to lose this duel. The frat kid began to yell back insults that were just as futile. One, I remember specifically was â€œI will butt fuck your dead Grandfather.â€ I will give you five seconds to adjust your erection before I continue . . . Then the frat kid decided he was going to come up and beat the shit out of Vinny. Our room is in the exact middle, which is blatant from the outside, because the main entrance is below us. A minute later there is banging on our door. I answer. He pushes past me and gets in Vinny's face. Vinny is a decent size, he played football in high school, and still works out a decent amount. They both get quiet. It's the barking douche bag phenomenon, when they are on their leash they scream at each other, but as soon as they are free, they don't know what to do. Then, all of a sudden, Vinny winds up and slaps the kid in the face, full out mother hitting you for swearing slap. Then he pushed him out of the door and locked it. The kid, in douche overload shock, begins pound into the door with his shoulder, loudly. I begin screaming at the top of my longs for him to stop, because I don't want the cops rolling up to my dorm casing up the place. Finally, a group of RAs begin to roll down the hall and silence ensues. I quickly slip out to talk to the kid during the eye of the storm. He demands Vinny's head on a plate. I gave him five bucks. He was fine with that somehow. Luckily, it was Vinny's five bucks or I would have been pretty pissed. Vinny was laughing manically and eating a take five bar when I arrived back in the room, an image, for the life of me, I can't get out of my head. He began announcing that he beat the shit out of that kid and had won the war. I congratulated him, because, quite frankly, I was hammered. There was also something about disagreeing with Vinny that always resulted in terrifying consequences. Vinny sobered up a tad. It was 8:30 PM. We began to hear rumors that W-Lot was being blocked off by the police. They were turning people away. Fuck. Now I was stuck with Vinny in the dorm. We all decided to drink more and see where the night would take us. Vinny took off the protective inner cap to the handle that causes slow pouring and began to chug straight from the handle. Then Vinny took out his laptop and began playing Taylor Swift and the annoying fucking â€œPants on the Groundâ€ song that I can't stand. He began mashing Taylor Swift lyrics loudly preaching â€œI'm cheer captain and you're on the bleachers!â€. Everyone was laughing at his stupidity, fuel to his inebriation on psychosis. Little did they know there was hidden destruction in Vinny's doofy facade. We all agreed on checking out the apartment complexes and houses near by for a party. We decided that Vinny was ok to go out, he wasn't being unusually violent or yelling racist chants. As we were walking, Vinny was walking aside a girl on my girlfriend's floor, who was quite timid. Vinny began to inform the girl that he â€œloved anal sexâ€ and kept making awkward eye contact. This girl hadn't gone out often and was making an exception due to spring weekend. I quickly interrupted the conversation by dividing them up and walking next to Vinny. Vinny began to irritate the fuck out of me. He kept grasping my arm and asking if there was a god. I kept telling him that he was freaking passer bys the fuck out. He then ding dong ditched a house we were passing by and ran way ahead into the darkness. No one answered the door, so his crime wasn't worth his reaction. We kept walking. About five minutes later Vinny appeared, out of no where, walking out of the woods. He saw us and his face lit up. I asked him where he had been. He informed me he had no idea where he was or where he had been. We had walked by all the main apartments and houses and realized they were pretty dead, so we decided to take the bus to my friend's apartment on the other side of campus. Vinny began making a scene on the bus by talking loudly about his view on immigration and making awkward eye contact with the other bus dwellers. I got off a stop early with him and informed everyone we just needed some fresh air. Five minutes into the walk Vinny ran away, to god knows where. He never went to the apartment. I saw him when we got back to our dorm three hours later. He was asleep. There was shaving cream stained on the ceiling and on his covers. He had blood on his jeans and no wounds. The next day, of course, he said he remembered nothing of the night after taking shots of majorska.