Wasted by Mark Judge

Author:Mark Judge [Mark Judge]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography/Personal Memoirs
ISBN: 9781640191952
Publisher: New Word City, Inc.
Published: 2018-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

A few days later, Shane, Denny, and I arrived at Corey’s house exactly at ten.

When we came through the door, it was like stepping into a Vatican convention, I was surrounded by about thirty guys dressed as Catholic clergy. There were priests, bishops, brothers, monks - even a couple of nuns. Corey had gone all out for the occasion, again renting a full bishop’s outfit. He had a miter - the pointy hat that bishops wear - an avocado green vestment that went down to his toes, and a staff. He looked like a parody of the Pope.

“Keg’s in the corner, boys,” he said. “You might want to get lubricated before this.”

I was on the keg in a second. I drank down three beers, one right after the other. There was no way I was going to do this sober. Contrary to the cliché that drunks drink because they’re depressed, I often drank to heighten my joy and excitement.

I was on my third beer when Corey held up his hands and called for quiet.

“My brothers and sisters,” he said, nodding toward the nuns. “We are gathered here this evening for a very special reason - to destroy a young woman’s home.”

A few cheers went up, but most of us were laughing. Joyce was playing his part of high priest to the hilt.

“The land is defiled with the scourge of sin,” he hollered, raising a fist in the air. “It is the sin of arrogance, and the guilty are rich Catholic schoolgirls. Under the lash of their tyranny, we are forced into a compromise with Satan. We are forced to endure inane chatter with their fathers before taking them out. They make us obey their curfews. They must repent and be punished!”

A cheer went up.

Corey looked at his watch. “Fellow soldiers of God, it is now midnight. Let the Inquisition ride!”

We piled into our cars. I had driven myself because Barbara lived near my house in Potomac, and if there was trouble, I could easily escape home.

The Gordon’s house was in west Potomac, in land that was still used for horse farming, and as we got closer the well-lit suburban streets became dark and curvy country roads.

When we got to the Gordons’ neighborhood, however, we immediately ran into problems. The house was like a well-guarded fortress. It stood on the top of a hill in the middle of the woods and was only accessible through a dark and narrow driveway. It had rained recently, and the ditches on either side of the driveway were too muddy to walk through. We drove around back, but that part was surrounded by a thirty-foot-high hedge. If we got caught rolling the house, it would be impossible to escape without being caught.

On top of all that, the family was home. There were lights on inside and cars in the driveway. After Corey snuck up to investigate, he came back shaking his head.

“We’re screwed,” he said. “We got bad information. Either they canceled their trip or it’s next week.

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