Worst Birthday Ever. Of All Time.

Ready yourself for the most horrid story ever.

I was sitting in my room just a scant week after Halloween. It was bright out a two’ o clock in the afternoon, and Pokemon was on the television. So far, I had been having a pretty good day.

Until I saw an unfamiliar vehicle enter our driveway. I was pretty creeped out. By that age I had been trained to be scared of anything I didn’t understand in order to stay safe, so I ducked behind a wall and looked out of my window. A small boy (younger than me) stepped out of the car clutching a large, rainbow bag filled with paper. He also had some balloons, and looked as if he was here for a party. How silly! There was no party today….

Memory washed into my little head like a waterfall in a desert. Today was my younger siblings birthday party. I was horrified. Now let me get this straight, my bro is a pretty cool guy. he plays video games, likes food, and only gets on my nerves a few times a day. (Less than most little brothers.)

But his friends at the time were little monsters. They were ravenous beasts ready to attack anything that came their way. (They watched Power Rangers, so go figure. I went through that stage too.) And when fueled by soda and cake?

I was a doomed man.  The party started in about an hour, so I pulled the most horrid stunt ever. I called my best friends, and invited them over.  Treeman, and Captain Monky. They had no idea what in gods name they were getting into.

Don’t blame me, I needed back up to defend against the hoard. Besides, we were going to a movie and eating cake so they would be happy later. When they arrived they got the gist of things, and we ran straight to my room. We barricaded the door, got some nerf guns out for good measure, grabbed the halloween candy, and waited to leave for the movie.

When my mother called we were thrilled. The whole pack of children were going to see Madagascar 2, the hottest movie at the time. My friend and I grabbed our coats and ran to the car. My comrade left his wallet in my room so he went back to grab it. I told him to shut the door, and meet me in the car.
After about an hour of seat organizing and planning we were at the theater watching the movie. So far, the party wasn’t a complete mess. It was going well and everyone was having fun. After the movie we all went home ready to gorge ourselves with large amounts of crappy, box birthday cake.

When we arrived something was up. Normally when anyone arrives at our house they are greeted by a chorus of barks and whines from Fletcher and Annie, our dogs. We were getting a little worried. When we opened the door Fletcher was waiting for the guests as usual while Annie was in a corner crying. Not usual. Fletcher was vibrating like a blender. Also not usual. At the moment I couldn’t care because I wanted to get back to my room as fast as possible.

When I arrived at my door I became furious. The door was open. I told my friend to leave the door closed, the reason to become obvious in a paragraph or two. I walked into my room, scared at how clean it was. I stepped in something wet. Dog drool. I then noticed the few ripped pieces of pillow case on the floor, along with one or two candy wrappers along with a full bag of Good ‘n’ plenty’s. (Nobody likes those things.) My mind was a blur until I heard a massive scream from downstairs. This is when the whole afternoon/night turned around.

I rushed downstairs to yell at Capt. when I was stopped by the horrid scene. All of the little kids were standing around Annie, wile she was standing over a hot, steaming pile of vomit. The gross mixture was white, black, orange, and filled with candy wrappers. It was accompanied by a piece of soggy pillow case. It smelled like candy coated crap.

A gut wrenching sound innturupted the viewing of the vomit as more of it poured out of Fletcher’s mouth this time. This cycle of one dog vomiting, then the other continued for another hour or so before some kid gut the guts to say “I’m hungry”.

Grandma had not arrived home with the pizza yet, which was also a problem. We had sent her out over an hour ago to get it. Fog had risen over the landscape, and it swallowed everything. So now we had no food. What about the cake you ask? BAH! It’s birthday party LAW to eat the pizza first! It’s right there in subsection 3.9/2.

So, here’s a rundown of the situation so far. My friends and I are trapped at home with a large amount of ravonus little kids. We have no food and no Halloween candy either. The dogs have turned into puke fountains, and my grandma is lost somewhere with our pizza. (Now most likely stone cold.) It seems that the party couldn’t get worse. It did. Remember, “If nothing can go wrong, it will anyways.”.

It was another hour before my grandmother came home with the pizza. Good thing too, since the little kids had started to look like chicken wings. Grandma stepped inside the house and the mood lightened. She was safe, and now we had pizza to eat. My friends and I ran to the box and were horrified.

What lied in the boxes she had brought was not a delicious treat, but solidified vomit on a piece of soggy cardboard. I don’t think what was in those boxes even qualified as food. It was cold, squished, runny, and covered in a weird colored fake pepperoni. One party goer tried to stomach the food and was instantly greeted with an upset stomach. He barfed. So did the dogs. Thus, the cycle continued.

My poor mother had had enough for one evening and started to call the parents to bring everyone home. The massive evacuation was slow going, as it was still pouring outside and when leaving the poor children had to dodge piles of vomit. One of the mothers came with a carpet steamer and tried to save the party, but gave up. For every pile of bile she eliminated another two took its place. She finnaly gave up, and left with her son. My friends stayed the night since they could handle the massive mess. My brother was devastated. This was the worst night of his life. But he lived. He got like, $100 dollars so he was happy later.

The aftermath:

The dogs stopped barfing the next morning and lived to mess things up another day. (Their still alive to this very day.) My mother called everyone and appologized for the mess and luckily for her the other paerents wern’t too horrified by the mess. My friends and I spent the whole day cleaning the house and in the process a whole three bottles of lysol was used. It still smelled like crap. Now believe it or not, there is a moral to this tale. A very good moral indeed. Don’t trust Captain Monky. Ever.


One response to “Worst Birthday Ever. Of All Time.

  1. I can’t believe I wrote this. The sad part? I did not make this up.

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