Don't let the title fool you, friends. This disaster was not like the Hindenberg slamming into the flat Kansas farmland.
Fuck no. This disaster, however, left only me running for the hills after witnessing my roommate and his friend strip naked and cannonball into a swimming pool where his wives, relatives and several others were already waiting, also naked.
I had been warned. I had been told to expect this and should brace myself for what has become an annual tradition for this hedonistic group. Not even the Pagen worshipers of the past could hold a candle to the debauchery and insanity that I was taking in though my own bleary eyes this Fifth of July.
Sure, stripping down and jumping into a pool is nothing new. I have vague memories and recollections of one such night in Cape Cod — another night that got painted as a disaster where many of us woke up confused, half naked and uncertain of what we had wrought on that quiet resort location.
Still, it takes a considerable amount of testicular fortitude for me to take off my own shirt in public off let alone strip naked in front of a group of strangers — and this even followed two bottles of wild turkey, half a dozen Sparks and a bottle of homemade beer.
No amount of sobrity was standing in my way. Even in a drunken stupor, it seems, I still have some modicum of shame left in me.
I have found my first boundary — Public nudity. Who would have thought?