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An Armenian Tale

2004-09-01 - 4:28 p.m.

What My Body Feels Like: An Antacid Voodoo Doll

Listening To: Foo Fighters, The Association, Pixies

Quote:"I must have sat in somebody's hamburger." - Peter

Hey all - while you bloodthirsty vultures "patiently" wait to pick the rotting bones from my birthday carcass - here's an appetizer to hold you over. What follows is the adventures that Coty had in San Diego a couple of weekends ago. It's written by him with the follow-up at the end being an interview between him and me. Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------

The evening started out normal. I was not in a drinking mood, per se, so when Stace called to say that they were hanging out and drinking some beers and then going out, I replied that maybe I'll go over for a few drinks but I don't have the cash flow to hit up downtown. I hung up the phone and hopped in the shower and put on my favorite pair of cargo shorts, a Lawyer Milloy jersey, and slipped on my flops. I came downstairs and my roommate, Adam, asked me what I was up to and I told him (trying make it sound less fun than it already did). I could sense that he didn't want to stay at the house, so I offered him an invite that I was hoping he would refuse, but to my chagrin he took me up on it.

A quick side trip to the liquor store, we arrived at Stace and Marshall's place, myself with a 40 oz. in a brown paper bag and Adam with a couple nips of vodka and an energy drink. It was just Stace and Marshall when we got there, so I had the bright idea of getting some Beirut going. I only wanted to play a couple of games with beer in the fridge and casually drink my forty. Adam had never played so we were excited to pop his cherry. After 2 games the beer was low, so I gave Stace and Marshall money to go pick up a 30 pack. They eventually got back and we played quite a few games in which my team was definitely House Champion. Stacey's friend Lindsey arrived - and if I could dislike anyone more than that 12 year-old-boy Tara Reid - it would be her. More drinking ensued, I was shot in the face with a hose by Stace, meat hooked by Marshall, and Lindsey and Adam started to hit it off.

It was about midnight at this time and so far it seemed like it would be an average Saturday night but the night was just beginning. Someone mentioned a trip to 7-11, which is about a half mile journey down a busy street. I wanted to walk home but decided to follow the crowd. Lindsey and Adam quickly sped ahead of us to get some alone time. It has become sort of a past time for Marshall to steal food that costs a dollar from sevy and me being of sound judgement thought this to be an excellent decision as well so I pocketed a bag of chocolate donuts and left the store. Outside we applauded our triumphs, me with my donuts and Marshall with a bag of funions and cool ranch doritos. On our trip out of the sevy parking lot, we stumbled upon a shopping cart and Marshall jumped in and I took the wheel. We playfully pushed ourselves around and then I decided that we should go really fast. Marshall objected to this notion and stated that he thought the sidewalk would be getting rough soon. I told him not to worry and that I had control of the situation. I started pushing super fast and wouldn't you know it, we hit an uneven part of the sidewalk and Marshall and the cart slammed hard on its side. I keeled over laughing as Marshall tried to regain consciousness. I haven't laughed that hard since a well timed Gaylord Perry joke on Route 4, baby. Marshall was okay and began to laugh as well.

What about a well timed Gaylord Perry Bobblehead joke?

I wasn't finished with the shopping cart so I picked it up and started to freestyle walk with it. It entered into my head that it would be a good idea to run up to cars and jump onto them and leap off with the cart. My intention was also to set off alarms but none sounded. As we progressed, I noticed a port-o-potty in an apartment complex parking garage. I quickly ran over to it and tried to cram the cart into the potty. However, it was not fitting because it was too wide, so being of sound mind. I thought I had to get into the port-o-potty and pull the cart in. As I was attempting this, I pulled it so far in that it wedged extremely tight into the door and I was trapped. That's when the port-o-potty started to rock because Stace and Marshall thought it would be a good idea to tip me over in it. After my continuous screaming and an extremely close call on tipping over, I dislodged the cart and we were on our way again.

We arrived back to their house and Marshall decided to water his front lawn at 3 in the morning. He quickly tired of that and broke out a beach cruiser to have Stace ride it in the street. I picked up the hose and continued to spray at 3 random people passing by, drenching the guy but he was cool with it, and exacting my revenge on Stace from earlier. As she went inside to change, I hopped on the bike and commented to Marshall that I'm gonna ride it through his front door and into their living room. He agreed that it sounded like a good plan so I carried the bike up the steps and mounted it. Now this is where time goes into slow motion. The bike didn't fit through the door and I got bucked off the back of the bike. As I was falling down the concrete steps, my only thought was to not whiplash my head into the concrete. I eventually settled upon the ground and was extremely relieved that I had accomplished my goal and did not suffer brain damage. Stace hearing all the racket runs to the door and is about to throw the bike on top of me when she notices that just below my left knee, blood is spurting out in a constant stream. At about the same time, I realize that my leg is shooting blood out like it was a super soaker and I look into the wound and can see muscle tissue and all that other good stuff that should not be visible but is when you have a 3 inch gash that's opened a half an inch. An ambulance is called to the scene, as we fear that maybe an artery was hit. After about a 30 minute wait as I lie on my back with my leg elevated, saturating my shorts and ground in blood, the paramedics show up.

Super Soaker indeed

They determine that no artery was hit, but I should go get stitches immediately. Stace, Marshall, and I drive to the ER leaving Lindsey and Adam behind (I bet you can guess what happened with them). After much joking with the hospital staff, listening to a crackhead black woman who overdosed hollering at everybody and their mother, and careful inspection of my wound, I received my stitches and tetanus shot and was on my way back home. It was now 5 in the morning. Good times.

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Zach: Ok, now bear with me, since I'm hopped up on Gatorade and Benadryl

Z: First off, how is the wound/injury right now?

Coty: It's sweet looking, I got the stitches off on tues. and the thing scabbed up something fierce, but it's not really hurting anymore

Z: Chicks dig scars

Z: Especially goth and skater chicks - your two favorites

C: That's what I kept saying to the nurse tending to my wound in the ER

Z: You remember that?

C: Nakomis is hot

Z: Ha ha

C: Yeah, I remember the ER

C: Once you basically amputate a leg, you sober up real quick

Z: Understood

Z: Now, earlier in the story/night you mention becoming House Champion over at Stace & Marshall's . . .

Z: Off hand, how many houses would you say Coty Markarian is Champion of anyway?

Z: Please - no need to be modest

C: Yes, this harkens back to my days on rte 4 with Morandos and then to Parsons St. in brighton. I ruled that house. No one could touch me in beirut, wiffleball, muscles, darts, tennis. you name it I was a champion. I've continued that tradition on the west coast. Sadly, I lost the chip in wiffleball and beirut or our final days at Parsons but I'm undisputed on the left coast

C: I forgot to mention that TC was my main comp

Z: Good to know - though I'm glad you weren't brazen enough to try to claim house championship on Mario Kart at Rt. 4, as that would be a filthy lie

Z: And Bean Game for that matter

C: I forgot about Mario Kart and Bean Game but I was champion at torturing Frederick

Z: And God smiles upon you for that

C: Charlie tuna has nothing on me

Z: I'm ignoring that . . . anyway, 2 part question:

C: alright

Z: I notice that much of the hi-jinx that went down was born out of a desire to put Marshall in dangerous situation that would lead to either his death and/or maiming. One can almost draw a correlation between Marshall going down in the cart as the catalyst that sparked San Diego's need for blood lust that wouldn't end until Coty was in the Emergency Room. My question - do you think, looking back over time, that many of our/your/other's near-scrapes with the Grim Reaper come from a desire to see Marshall hurt?

Z: Part 2 of that question: Do you not also believe that most of the time Marshall starts this violent cycle? Perhaps he wants to be publicly humiliated? Remember, the night did start with Marshall "meat hooking" you.

Z: To say nothing of the fact that this is a boy who has not only driven down Rt. 4 naked until we'd let him back in the house, but shit his pants and openly bragged about it.

C: Whenever there is blunt force trauma, Marshall is the common factor involved. First, I want to say that he was against the shopping cart going really fast. I was the one who took control of that because he was stuck inside so what was he going to do if I start running really fast

Z: Understood

C: However, I don't know if it's a desire for Marshall. He obviously likes to be the center of attention. And there's no better way to be that than getting injured which usually happens to him but somehow the gods chose me this time

Z: They certainly did

C: And yes, I do believe he secretly wants to be humiliated. if it makes people laugh whether at him or with him, he's all for it

Z: I also notice that a common thread in many stories involving you and/or Marshall involve rampant and illogical shoplifting. God knows that I would never shoplift, but I'm sure I would if I was with you or Marshall - say, Mac & Cheese from Store 24 perhaps. And rarely is the shoplifted item crucial to your well being, ie. - chocolate mini-donuts, cinnamon floss, beef stew, god awful FUNIONS, etc. So is 7-11 the new Store 24 for your shoplifting needs?

vs.

C: It definitely is for Marshall, I usually say he's retarded and just pay for my stuff but I don't know about this time. I got that rush like we used to get from store 24 and I needed my fix.

Z: Sometimes I like to pour a 40 out for Charter.

Z: You understand.

C: I never stole from there. You were the only brazen one to do that

C: I commend you.

Z: True. Considering it was 2 feet by 5 feet. Close quarters indeed.

Z: I mean, wait, I've never shoplifted!

Z: Oh well, my halo grows dimmer . . .

C: I wanted to mention another thing about sevy.

Z: Please do.

C: Because my story was so long I left out a couple of elements that I felt weren't necessary but I wanted to tell you

C: Well, all the sevy's in socal are manned by Brazilians for some reason. I mean, they've got that market cornered. Everyone's store is closed for the day on carnivale.

Z: I'm sure it makes you miss the Pakistanis in Boston

C: Apparently, for some reason I didn't feel my shoplifting was risky enough so I started yelling at the clerk

Z: Yelling what?

C: About how he sucks don't give us attitude when we're buying stuff and finally "Fuck Brazil!" as I walked out the store.

vs.

C: Now, you're probably wondering where this came from

Z: Always nice - always so culturally sensitive that Coty

Z: Well - part of me thinks the beer, and part of me thinks that, like me, who always thinks that people are trying to "wrong me", that he "wronged you" previously and you're holding a grudge

Z: I can also write that confidently as someone who laughed at you when you had a charley horse over FIVE YEARS ago and you still hold it against me to this day

C: No that's not it. Stace said something about me being stupid for taking donuts so i went off on the clerk and not her

Z: Oh - ok

C: The guy didn't say anything to any of us. I just didn't like how unhappy he was looking for working the 1 to 6 am shift

Z: Wait, so you yelled at the clerk, at the same time practically alerting your shoplifting, because Stacey told you not to take donuts?

C: Yeah, I was still in the store by the door

Z: Oh - and you were mad that he looked unhappy that his lot in life was working the 7-11 3rd shift?

Z: Boy - you showed him

C: Exactly, this is the reasoning after a 40 oz. and a 30 pack

Z: I've certainly thought crazier after such numbers

Z: I need some clarification from right after Marshall almost dents his brain . . .

C: Okay

Z: You say, "It entered into my head that it would be a good idea to run up to cars and jump onto them and leap off with the cart"

Z: So, I'm a little unclear how one would do this . . . You run up the car with the cart and then jump off with it?

Z: Seems rather unwieldy

C: Well, I would run up the hood and roof and push the cart along the side and jump off

Z: Oh ok - I get it

C: Even though I didn't mind denting the cars, I didn't want to scrape them

Z: This would not be the first time that innocently parked cars get punishment meted out on them due to a drunken Armenian

C: True

Z: Now - quite obviously - the funniest part of the story involves the porta-potty

C: Yes, that was everyone's favorite part of the night that was there

Z: "I thought I had to get into the port-o-potty and pull the cart in. As I was attempting this, I pulled it so far in that it wedged extremely tight into the door and I was trapped. "

Z: That has to be one of the funniest things I've ever read

C: Which wasn't that big of a deal until they started to tip the potty because then I got scared

Z: Even if it was about a stranger - but because I know you it's even better, since I can only imagine the mixture of stubborn determination and fear in your eyes as you were realizing you were about to be entombed in feces

C: It's one thing to be stuck in there but it's a whole other thing to be stuck in there covered in excrement. If that had happend I'd probably be serving 2 life sentences right about now

Z: Oh god. I'm laughing so hard right now buddy. I'm sorry. But the whole visual is just really killing me

C: Also, I was screaming like a little girl at this point that I was stuck

Z: Yes - I meant to mention that too. And while I have the advanatge of knowing what your girlish drunken scream sounds like, it makes me laugh even harder. But even those that haven't heard of must see the humor in all of this.

Z: If it's not too upsetting for you, I'd like to go over a bit of the details of the actual injury

C: Sure

Z: "Stace, hearing all the racket, runs to the door and is about to throw the bike on top of me . . ."

Z: Ok, I acknowledge that Stacey had the "quick thinking" to not follow through on her plan when she saw your "super-soaker-esque" wound

Z: BUT

Z: Was she actually going to THROW the BIKE ON YOU?

Z: This sounds more Coty or Marshall, nay - even Zach-esque. But perhaps Stacey has grown more bloodthirsty in the intervening years

C: Yeah, she was pretty mad at me for trying to ride the bike into her house and had picked up the bike to throw it on me. Then she saw the wound. That's my friends. Always maim first and then see if okay second.

Z: Ha ha.

Z: Yes - too true.

C: I'm the same way though, so I can't fault her.

Z: Yes - you are.

Z: Now - I know things were moving in slow motion at this point, but even at my most drunken, I would think that my Spider-Sense would be buzzing somewhere in back of my mind if I had almost just snapped my leg off. Did I get the wrong idea from your story, or am I to understand that you didn't even realize you'd hurt yourself until Stacey's horrified look mid throw of the bicycle tipped you off?

C: That's exactly it, I was so relieved that I didn't slam my head into the concrete that I didn't even know I been ripped open.

C: It was when I saw her face, when I looked at my legs and saw the opening and then the pools of blood forming on the ground.

Z: Considering how many close calls you had that night - trying to incite an anti-Brazilian riot, jumping off cars, drag racing shopping carts, drowning in poop, almost cracking your skull - I suppose you should feel fortunate for only getting what you got.

C: Yes, and it didn't hurt.

C: Thankfully, cuz of the alcohol

C: Now, the next day was a different story though.

Z: Oh god, did you cry sweet salty crocodile tears?

Z: God knows I would have.

Z: I'm still getting over a splinter from 2 weeks ago.

C: No, not really. I was more upset at how stupid I was and I deserved the injury to teach me a lesson.

Z: I'm sure 16 straight hours of Con-Air would have helped to ease the pain.

C: Yeah, the memories. The next day, I got chipotle from Stace to ease my suffering since the bastards at the ER didn't give me any pain pills.

C: I'm still upset about that.

Z: Wait - hold on - first of all, that's ridiculous that you didn't get any pain pills. But CHIPOLTE?? How the hell did that help? Were you eating your stitches with some chips and wanted something to go with it for flavor?

C: Chipotle is a restaurant out here that has awesome burritos.

Z: I see. Much more sense. Please excuse my East Coast ignorance.

C: You're excused.

Z: Well, I don't think I've got much more to say. . . except:

C: I've got one last thing that I left out of the story

Z: We've seen that the Indians, the Chinese, and now the Brazilians all have their own niche markets cornered - What market, by 2050, will we see the Armenian's cover? (And The "Big Muscle" Market is not an acceptable answer)

C: That's an easy answer. Sports broadcasting.

Z: Damn you Tim Kurkjian! Damn you!

Z: I have no idea if I spelled that right

Z: Well, I know I at least got the last 3 letters right, that's a gimmie.

C: I think you did. don't forget about Armen Keteyian and Matt Vasgersian!

Z: I subscribe to Armen's snowy and wind-swept sideline work, not yet converted by Mr. Vasgersian.

Z: And what did you want to add to the story?

C: He's the announcer for Padres games and his words are sweet music to my ears.

Z: I'm sure.

C: Finally, to end the story. Stace and Marshall drop me off at my house but I don't have my keys on me. That's okay though because I've lived there for about 8 months and we've never locked the front door.

Z: It's locked.

C: Well, guess what, the door is locked.

Z: And Adam and Lindsey are there.

C: No, they're hooking up at Marshall and Stace's place.

Z: Oh ok.

C: But my other roommates are there, so I start with the doorbell for like 5 minutes non-stop.

Z: At what, 6 am?

C: It's about 5:15 am

Z: Gotcha.

C: No answer, so we drive back to their house to get my keys and I finally get inside.

Z: Good God.

Z: You really pissed of one of the many gods that weekend.

Z: Probably some Brazilian God no doubt.

C: The next morning, I see these two bastards and I'm like, hey did you guys hear the doorbell last night and they're like, yeah, but we thought someone else was going to get it.

Z: Ha ha.

C: Pretty sweet.

Z: Well buddy, I thank you for taking the time to "record" this extra for your Saturday Night Epic.

C: You're welcome. I hope you enjoyed the added details.

Z: I did - and I can only hope others will too. I know Fred will. If he gets past the 1st paragraph. Which he won't. Oh well. I'm off to pass out from all this benadryl.

C: Lata

--------------------------------------------------

It's been real,

Cayuckula

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