Stubby

It's story time boys and girls.

I'm not sure if I've shared this one on here before - but it's one of my favorites and I'm sure everyone I know has at least heard it once before.

Chris Langbang (names have been changed to nicknames to protect the innocent) was one of my heroes in college. Of course, I was new to the scene and he was the embodiment of basically all that was amazing and impressive in movies about college.

He was spectacular. When I saw him he was either drunk, completely shitfaced, half awake but still drunk from a long night of drinking or trying to ride his bike somewhere because he knew he couldn't drive - because he was fucked up from drinking from his flask while riding. If someone was going to get a DUI for riding a bike it was him. I'm pretty sure he got at least one. He was a scrapper. Probably about 5'10, square jaw, brown hair and a beard he would grow every so often when he was afraid he would kill himself with a razor because he couldn't hold it straight - because he was seeing double (or infinite!) in the mirror. One of those guys you didn't really want to mess with because you knew he had this crazy monkey inside of him just waiting to eat you alive.

A fellow tuba player in the band - I respected him not only for his drinking abilities, but his massive chops. And of course the nickname of "Langbang" stems from his ability to bang the most of the best chicks on, around, near and off campus. One evening during an away game in a hotel the male tubas decided to have a penis measuring contest (measured by an unbiased 3rd party) and he was the only one I looked up to (on the list). However, out of all of us only the top few names were given to help avoid embarrassment for the others.

There are only a select hand few of people that will stay with me forever in my memories and Langbang is one of them for the Arizona State trip that we took in October of 2001.

This wasn't my first rodeo. I had been on the road before and partied at other schools. Chris I'm pretty sure at that time was a 6th year senior (I don't actually really know if he ever graduated from UW or if he actually went to school there - I could check FB but it's more fun this way) and still had that twinkle in his eye of a 14 year old getting his first taste of Budweiser.

I had no idea. We were sitting there near the field and I watched as not only the cheerleaders ran by - but then there was an army of the pom squad. And then...in utter disbelief I turned to Langbang and I could see the wheels turning up in that foggy noggin of his. He forearmed me and said, "Look!" I turned back to the field, mouth agape, as a dance team floated past.

What was this place? Did they want to outnumber the football players (all of them?) on the field by a 3:1 ratio? It was insane.

And there's something about the desert that melts the pounds off of bodies and bleaches the hair a lighter color. Maybe.

In my mind I can't remember how I ended up going from the field - to getting included in an invite from one of these women to a Halloween party - to going back to our hotel and having no idea what to wear to this party.

So of course we ripped the sheets off of our beds, stripped down to our boxers and went in togas.

We had full on free shuttle service from the party hosts. The only problem was it was clown car style and we had to fit about 13 guys in to a '93 accord. We made it though...and couldn't wait to drink as soon as we got out.

As soon as I stepped through the door a fellow tuba from the ASU band slaps me on the back and says, "You've got to try this Yucca."

Let me back this up a bit. You have to remember that I am 19 years old at this point and still feel invincible and that I can take on any challenge. End rewind.

We head over to the bar and the guy hands me a keg cup full of what looks like either coconut milk, or regular milk, and ice. I don't even smell it. I just gulp.

"WHOA! Whoa whoa...holy shit!"

"What?"

"Dude, that was everclear."

So the rest of the night - I grabbed another cup of Yucca and walked around the party and just sipped. Within an hour I had hit the wall and really couldn't talk. Not that I needed to. The music was loud - and lucky us: the big hit for Halloween that year? Was dressing up like the ladies of Moulin Rouge. And a majority of the girls there got the memo.

So I just circled the party. Socialized. High fived. Until our driver said it was time to go. I had no idea what time it was - only that I knew as the only one that was probably still on his feet it was more than likely my responsibility to round people up.

I found people and told them to find the accord out front and that we were leaving in :10. The only person I couldn't find was Chris. It was probably because I wasn't looking low enough...because on my final tour around the house I found him on a couch underneath what looked like to be a vicky secret's angel...dressed in all white lacy lingerie - mounted on top of him and sucking face like they were underwater.

"Chris!" I yelled at him - but it more than likely came out like, "Chss!"

He didn't hear me.

I reached in and grabbed an exposed shoulder hoping it was his.

"Hey Chris! We're getting out of here man - you look like you're having fun though, so we'll see you tomorrow!"

Suddenly an arm reached out and pulled me in close. It was Langbang and he was yelling in my ear.

"Get me...the fuck out of here!"

I thought he was flipping me shit.

"What? You're crazy man! We'll just see you tomorrow."

From there, I brown out and pile in to the car and somehow ended up sleeping at the hotel (not sure if I was in a bed) until morning and then frantically packed for the trip home.

And here is one of the best parts about drinking. Is that morning look. Nothing needs to be said because the brains hurt too much and noise is bad. It's just that shared look among friends that you experienced something amazing together - and now you were all beat. Or hoping you weren't going to puke on the plane.

Little did we know we'd get much more entertainment that morning than just a shared hangover in what was already a dry 82 degree desert heat.

The last to board the bus was typically our director. And he'd always do the head count before we left - no child left behind or some BS.

But this morning for the first trip all year...there was someone missing. So the yell went through the caravan:

"Who are we missing?! Everyone look around and see if you can figure out who we're missing."

As we're looking around the bus we see this old corolla pull in to the hotel parking lot and park parallel to the parade of buses. Immediately we all look over and someone yells out, "It's Chris!"

We've all had our walks of shame. But I think this one takes the cake. There was Chris. Completely disheveled and hung over, sitting in a car in only his boxers and not wanting to get out - in front of 250+ band kids anxious to get moving.

But he sucked it up, opened his door and got out. Little did we know that his vicky secret gal pal was also going to accompany him and hug and kiss him goodbye. So as he's walking towards the bus, she opens her door - and struggles with it a bit.

As she steps out the realization then hits me as to why Langbang didn't want to live up to his nickname the previous night. Why he was so adamant about coming back to the hotel with us. And it was because as she kissed him goodbye and reached around to give him a hug - the entire audience saw nothing there. There were no fingers. No knuckles. Not a thumb to be seen or even wrists.

Only stubs.

We sat there dumbfounded. Had Chris done the unthinkable? I mean, was she really that good with her toes?

A hush turned in to a dull roar which then turned in to all out laughter. It's OK - we all know that we reserved our place in hell a long time ago.

Chris hung his head a bit and waved goodbye to the car and as he climbed aboard - a chant was started from the back...

"Stah...be
Stah-be
Stah-be
STUB-BY!
STUB-BY!"

The whole bus was chanting it. It was all of Chris' glorious debauchery on display for a moment in time. And to this day I still tell this story so that his legend lives on - in the hearts, minds and palms...of some of us.

Stubby indeed.