I was at a crossroads in my life, flush the toilet and bang this chick, or make a memory that would last forever!
Before we go any further, we need to get my nickname out of the way; it is paramount to my stories! Since college, I have had the nickname El Dookie. Thousands of people that only know me by that name. I mean, people around the globe know that name, seriously! I wouldn’t say that it is a household name, but probably very close. To my friends, it is just the crazy dude they went to college with. To the seedy and rancorous population of the Earth, it is a mysterious person that causes death, destruction and chaos everywhere he goes. It is important to tell the story of the who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s of how I came to be known as El Dookie. Many people have asked me how I got that name, and I simply reply “Because I am ‘THE SHIT.’ That is not one-hundred percent true, though, but it does have some bit of accuracy I suppose.
So here is the real story. Picture it, the rowdy living room of a fraternity house (Sigma Chi) during the 1998 World Series. Orlando Hernandez was pitching for the Yankees. The name El Duque pops up on the screen and someone yells, “Aldridge that is your new name!” Well, it stuck! I have named a few guys in the fraternity over the years, that’s how it works. As an unwritten rule, everyone in fraternity life is referred to by their last name, but not everyone is cool enough to have a nickname, though. Some guys I only knew them by their nickname, and they probably only knew me by mine. Nicknames are not always embraced by those they are inflicted upon, though. Sometimes, nicknames refer to a physical flaw with someone. For instance, a buddy of mine (Yakimo) nicknamed some pledge ‘Fanny’ because he had one of those chins with a crease in it. Me on the other hand, I loved my new name! Now, if you are thinking that a World Series caused this name, you are mistaken. That is actually the end of the story. There was a quick transition from Duque to Dookie, though, and a shit story to go along with it. From that point forward, I had to live up to my new name! I had to live life by my own rules, and shit in the proverbial bed that I slept in.
You know there had to be a catalyst, or two, somewhere to cause a name like this; so here we go. There was this girl I was mildly interested in, back in the day. Not too much of a looker, but she had an amazing body and an acne problem to go along with it. She lived with her parents and I found myself at her house one afternoon, on the verge of a mind-numbing bowel movement. I have always been very particular about where I popped a squat. I mean, I leased an office near campus so I would have my own personal bathroom through college if that happens to be any indication of my peculiarities.
After having tied my legs up like a pretzel twist for hours, I couldn’t take it any longer. I excused myself to the guest bathroom for what I thought was going to be some sort of a Lamaze session. So I am sitting on the pot and there was a kitty litter box sitting right across from me. I would be lying if I said that the thought never crossed my mind to drop a deuce in the box, but that would have been as ridiculous as it was stupid. As I sat on that porcelain throne of what could have been, I dropped a 1/32nd scale of a Russian Akula Class submarine. Most people would have flushed and went on to hop in the sack with this chick, but obviously, I am not most people. I was at a crossroads in my life, flush the toilet and bang this chick, or make a memory that would last forever! And here we go, yes, I did the unthinkable; I cradled it from the toilet and carefully laid it out in the box. I have spent less time packing dress shirts in a suitcase, but this was a masterpiece that I couldn’t put into the sewer system. So there it was, a cornucopia of sorts, three tiny cat turds and this grand turd I had just dropped that was hanging off both ends of the box. And so I left it there, in all of its glory. Usually, the best practice in a situation like this is to get the fuck out of the house as soon as possible, before someone tries to stab you with a fireplace poker. Me on the other hand, I generally don’t follow my own advice, so I stuck around for a little bit. I didn’t stick around long enough to close the deal on this chick, but I stuck around long enough not to cause any suspicion to the newest member of their household, which was sprawled out on a bed of kitty litter.
For me, that part of the story doesn’t really touch the surface of weirdness, but I am about to tell you how it did get weird for me. The next evening, this girl calls me in tears, crying her eyes out. Apparently her mother had walked into the guest bathroom and saw this monstrosity. She assumed the cat was very sick so she took it to the veterinarian. Funny story right? WRONG, the veterinarian incorrectly diagnosed the poor cat and decided the best course of action was to put it down. This moron never did any testing; he just euthanized this thing! Damn it, I never even knew that cat’s name.
A few years ago, I connected with this girl via social media. I had to get this off my chest, so I told her the truth. She immediately deleted me from Facebook! She was happily married with kids, so probably of no use to me anymore.