While one roommate was rushing to the bathroom in an attempt to wash the regurgitated liquid off his face, Squeaks, was lying back on his bed, spitting out the remaining chunks of vomit that were still in his mouth and moaning about how he "didn't feel well" and "needed help."
Newsflash: If you come back to your own room, wake everyone up, and puke on your roommate - DO NOT expect to be cuddled and pampered.
Expect to be tortured and shamed.
When Hockey Player got back from his late-night shower, we began to devise a plan. A plan of sick and twisted revenge, fueled by the fetid stench of drying vomit that was slowly creeping its way into our nostrils from the bedroom.
We managed to drag Squeaks out of his puke-ridden bed and sit him down at his desk in the other room. At this point, it is after 2 AM, and Squeaks is half passed out. He was swaying dangerously back and forth, like a skyscraper in a windstorm, while barely managing to stay on his chair. Every 20 seconds or so he managed to moan out something like:
"C'monnn ghuyssss. You ghuyss need taa helpsh me. I'm soooooooo wasssted."
His inebriated pleas for aide fell on deaf ears, and we threw back our heads and laughed the booming laughs of those who would soon taste the sweet delicacy that is revenge.
Seeing as how Squeaks had managed to wake us all up with his drunken antics, we decided that his sleeping privileges in our room were stricken for the night. No matter what, he would be spending the rest of the night out in the hallway.
That said, we moved on to more pressing issues. As Hockey Player's sheets and pillows had been soaked with Squeak's vomit, we both decided that it was only fair that we do something to his sheets.
It took us about a minute to rip the sheets off his bed. It took us another 30 seconds to find our Sharpie markers.
10 minutes later, Squeaks was the proud owner of relatively new white sheets with "BITCH" written all over them in indelible black ink.
With the bed sheet situation rectified, we put Phase 2 of our plan into action. Squeaks was still, for the most part, incapacitated and helpless, like an injured young fawn limping across the middle of an open field - a prime target.
How could we live with ourselves if we didn't take advantage of this opportunity? It would be sinful to NOT take advantage.
God had smote us with Squeaks vile vomit, but He is a fair and just God, and He had seen fit to place Squeaks in our care for the rest of the night.
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
We hunted for the masking tape, and Phase 2 was underway.
About 20 minutes later, Squeaks had no hair.
Or rather, you couldn't see his hair because the top of his head was covered in tape. Have you ever had masking tape stuck in your hair? Have you ever tried to get it out? It's like getting your dick stuck in a meat grinder - better to just cut it off and save yourself the pain.
Cut your losses, so to speak.
Needless to say, Squeaks spent the next month modeling a vast array of hats and was the proud owner of a new nickname: "Cue ball."
Now, even the meanest of readers out there are probably saying to themselves, "Alright, they got him back for puking all over the place. They've had their fun...and now enough is enough. Time to stop and go back to bed."
Enough? Stop? Bed?
These words were just a meaningless jumble of letters.
We were on a mission from God, sent down from the heavens to prove a point:
Don't fucking puke on us again, bitch.
We religiously moved on to Phase 3.
We decided to cap off the night of debauchery and shaming by moving all of Squeaks furniture (excluding the bed because it was bunked) out into the hallway. His desk, chair, computer, books...everything was carefully removed from the room.
It was almost 3 AM at this point and Squeaks had passed out long ago, so we picked his slovenly inebriated ass up and carried him "potato sack" style into the hall with the rest of his belongings.
He spent the night swaddled in his newly acquired "BITCH" sheets (some parts of which ended up sticking to his tape-covered head and had to be cut off the next morning) and slept on top of his desk out in the hallway.
Squeaks awoke the next day (around 1:30 in the afternoon) to find the following note taped to the outside of our door:
We got a call last night from the police saying they had found you passed out and butt naked in the bushes outside of [fraternity]. Apparently you got really drunk and passed out in their basement, so they shamed you pretty bad and dropped you outside the house. We had to bail you out of jail and contact your parents. After explaining the situation to them, your mom said that you would be moving out immediately and that she'll be coming up to school tomorrow to "take you back home." She also advised us to move all of your stuff outside the room to make the move easier. She'll be here at 3 pm. It's been a great couple of months. Have a safe trip home.
Your former roommates,
(Hockey Player, and Kazz)