“Get your ass up, we’re going to Topanga’s,” I said to my college housemate Cody.
“Nope,” he replied, not taking his eyes off that very captivating game of NHL 97.
“Turn that shit off. Get your ass up. We’re going now,” I insisted.
“Nope,” Cody snapped, cruising Teemu Selänne up the ice.
“Oh yeah?” I said and pulled out a huge bottle of Bankers Club rum I had with me.
“Yep,” Cody flipped like a switch.
Cody jumped up, shut off the PlayStation, not even bothering to quit or save, and we were off. Topanga lived about a 10 minute walk away, so we were there in no time. We stopped to pick up a sleeve of Coke while we were out.
Oh Bankers Club rum, it was always Cody’s weak spot. Ugh, if I even smelled that shit today, I don’t know if I could keep from puking. Cody couldn’t turn it down though. Although most of the people in our lives at the time were assholes, he was one of the good ones. Kind of a chaotic-good type of personality.