WARNING: Not for the Squeamish.

I arrived at Cory's Saturday evening at around 11 PM. When I walked inside, my eyes were met with the reflective shimmer of broken glass which covered the floor. Matt H. and Miles were both inside along with Cory who was cursing loudly as he went for the the broom to sweep it up. Apparently, Adam had broken the window earlier in the night and, in his drunken stupor, had forgotten to clean it up.

After the glass was swept up, we talked for a bit. After the action had reached a stand still, Adam made his entrance. He was immediately scolded, and understandably so, by Cory for not sweeping up the glass. Taking the cue, everyone immediately began yelling at Adam for various things, some legitimate, some fabricated. Adam was angry and nonplussed, and with a dirty look, he turned to leave and slammed the door behind him. Less than thirty-seconds later we heard, through the broken window, the sound of more glass shattering. It sounded like there was a definite impact involved. This led me to believe that Adam was outside smashing beer bottles. I went outside to check, and suddenly I head cries of "Holy shit, get a towel!" and "Oh my fucking God, there's blood everywhere." Without even looking at the scene, I ran to my car and grabbed my camera. (That's right, I'm going to hell for you. You're welcome.)

I grabbed the camera and snapped the following picture:



Blood was pouring out of Adam's arm. What happened? Well, I've since gotten three conflicting reports from the cut man.

Scenario 1 (The Official Account): If you ask Adam now, this is what he'll tell you: "I was just leanin' on a window, and it broke."

Scenario 2 (The Initial Account): Right after it happened, he said: "I must've just stumbled and fell into it."

Scenario 3 (The Confession): On the way to the hospital, he said: "I think I might've done this on purpose."



So, believe whichever account you want, the point is that Adam somehow put his arm through this window.

Now, we have a major problem. Adam desperately needed to seek medical attention. The problem was made worse by the fact that the incident occurred less than one hour after the Florida game let out just up the road so, needless to say, the traffic was still shitty. The fact that I was the only person with a car, made me Adam's de facto savior. We wrapped the arm up in a blue towel, and Adam and I hit the road toward East Alabama Medical Center. I used the excuse of "I'm sorry officer, but I have a hemorrhaging man riding shotgun" as a justification for driving like a fucking maniac. I got in the suicide lanes where traffic was at a stand-still, and drove upwards of 90 miles-per-hour down Donahue towards US Highway 280 which would be our road to deliverance.

We made it to the hospital in pretty good time all things considered. Adam only had to sit in the waiting room for about 15 minutes or so. I, on the other hand, sat in the waiting room for an hour and a half. I read three Entertainment Weeklys cover to cover before I was allowed into the ER.



The room had two beds with a curtain dividing them. In the other bed was a guy who couldn't have been older than 24. He was about 6 and-a-half feet tall and weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 400 pounds. He was shirtless and hooked up to EKG machines and breathing tubes and IV's and all kinds of shit. He was conscious, and speaking with, who I assume to be, family members. From what I could gather from their conversation, this guy had a heart attack sometime before halftime of the Auburn/Florida game. "It was the game, Tommy" an older woman told him, "you can't go to them games no more, you get too worked up and it ain't good for you." Meanwhile, Adam (who is still drunk at this point) is making fun of this guy. When the doctor came in to tell the other patient what was wrong, Adam began to mime a heart attack while the doctor delivered his prognosis to the other patient. That's when I lost it. I bit down on my index finger and fled the room. Once out in the hall, my laughter was uncontrollable. I couldn't go back into the room for a couple of minutes.



After about twenty minutes, the seamstress came in to tie up the loose ends of Adam's epidermis. I didn't like her attitude. We were cracking jokes back and forth, and just generally trying to make the best out of a fucked-up situation. In the midst of all of this, she says, "I hope you guys aren't driving." This bitch thought that I was drunk. Furthermore, of course we drove there. There's a wristband on the man's arm that tells you he's from Auburn, so it's not like we "mosied", as Adam put it, the fifteen miles or so to the hospital. So, you know, fuck her and all that.



I watched the entire operation. Adam received six shots of anesthetic directly into the wound. After it was all said and done, Adam received 20 stitches on the outside, and up to 10 more on the inside that we couldn't see to count.







"My name-a Borat"











After being sponged, Adam was discharged at about 2 AM and we headed back into town.

On the way back, Caroline called to check up on Adam. He asked if there was anything going on still. She told him about a party at Shady Glenn. I thought he was joking when he said "I might stop by." Sure enough, as we passed the first entrance to Shady Glenn, Adam requested that we stop by the party. We found it, and Adam went inside while I stopped outside to talk to Caroline. When I looked inside, I experienced the most rock 'n' roll moment of my life:



That's right, he started drinking again. This time, however, it didn't take very much. Having lost a whole lot of blood, the tolerance leveled was lowered. After about an hour I found him asleep on the couch.

I got him home and saw him off. Next day, come to find out, he tried to make some steaks and fell asleep and almost burned the apartment building down. The steaks caught on fire which caught some Styrofoam on fire. The neighbors heard the smoke alarm, and had to wake up the occupants.

What tangled webs we weave.

Bonus Materials:

Here's some pics from the most recent DBT I went to in Macon, GA.



The opener, Bobby Bare Jr., looks very similar to Jon Mosman; except for the tread marks up and down the arms, but there's always time Jon. It's never too late to pick up the needle.









Good show. Good show.

Fin.