The Keg Chronicles

            Joseph Carver lay immobile on the floor of his living room. His snoring along with the plethora of beer cans, red cups, and puddles of strange fluids made for a pathetic scene. His head started to throb as the noontime Washington DC sun snuck through the slit in his curtains and tickled him awake. He sat up. Fuck. What the hell happened here? Joe wiped the sleep out of his eyes and started to rake his matted brown hair. Then it started to come back to him. A party. A good party. Beirut. Thumper. Beer bong. Females. Joe was known for throwing the choicest post game parties at his Georgetown apartment. Second to none. He stood up and hobbled into his bedroom, where his roommate was passed out on the top bunk.

            “Phil! Wake up! We’ve got cleanup to do.” He started to shake Phil’s shoulder. “Phil, you fat sack of shit! Wake up! Damn!” His intense headache made him more irritable than usual.

            Phillip Goldstein started to groan.

            “Fuck off.”

            “Phil, it’s already afternoon. We’ve got to clean this place up.”

            “Eggo,” Phil groaned.

            “Okay. I’ll put some in the toaster if you get out of bed.”

            On that note, Phil opened his eyes and rolled off the top bunk down onto the floor. His two hundred and five pound frame cracked a floorboard.

            Cleanup commenced after a typical college breakfast of Eggo waffles and Pop-Tarts. Joe picked up the cans and cups, Phil mopped the floors. After forty-five minutes, Phil turned to Joe.

            “Dude, where’s the keg?”

            “Last night it was up on the roof top,” responded Joe.

            “Can you bring it down?”

            “Yeah, for sure.”

            Joe left through the side door and ran up the metal stairs leading to the roof top. The spectacular view out over the Potomac made the roof the perfect place for partying. At the top of the stairs, Joe scanned the flat brown patio. No keg. Puzzled, he entered the apartment.

            “Phil, where’s the keg?”

            “Dude, isn’t it on the roof?”

            “No. It’s gone.”

            “Go check again. The keg didn’t get legs and walk away.”

            “I was just up there, and I didn’t see the damn keg. It’s gone.”

            Phil, deep in thought, had a brilliant idea. He brandished a dub sack from his back pocket.

            “Carver. Let’s smoke this up and then figure this shit out.”

            “Phillip, you are a smart man.”

            Two blunts later our heroes were planted on the beer stained couch, watching infomercials on the plasma screen television.

            “Dude, Carver, how can all those knives cost only three easy payments of $13.33? I can’t handle this. Ron is crazy!”

            “I can’t get past that flavor injector, man. That’s wild. Whole cloves of garlic in the meat? It’s unthinkable!”

            “Alright. For real. We gotta figure out where our keg went.”

            “Goldstein, someone must have stole it.”

            “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

            “Let’s go through who came to the party last night.”

            “Well, Jono brought some of his rugby guys. Then Brian came with some of those weird artsy shits, and Chris rolled with half of the football team. Claire and her crew came, then Danielle and all of her friends. I think there were about a hundred fools at this party.”

            “Don’t forget about the glee club. They rolled kind of late,” added Joe.

            “Oh yeah, that’s right. The glee club. What poodles. I think that we can rule out all the females. They have no need to steal the keg.”

            “That’s fair. So we’re gonna have to look into all those groups, and see who stole our keg. But we’ll start that shit tomorrow. These infomercials got me going.”

            The following afternoon, Joe scanned the two hundred seat lecture hall for any sign of Danielle’s curly brown hair. He had known her since his freshman year, when they lived across the hall in the dorm. She would tell him what he needed to know. Class was about to start. The professor had prepared his overheads and was checking the microphone. Luckily, at the last minute Joe spotted her in the third row from the back. Perfect. He bustled his way through the row, stepping on feet, banging knees, knocking over laptops. Almost sweating, he plopped down in the seat next to her.

            “Hey.”

            “Oh hey, Joe. Your party last night was incredible.”

            “Thanks, I appreciate it. But we’ve had a minor complication.”

            “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

            “Someone stole the keg.”

            “No?! Who would do that?”

            “We don’t really know. So we’re kind of investigating things a bit. Can you help me out?” By this point the professor had started his lecture. This Government class was boring anyways.

            “Sure. What do you need to know?”

            “Alright. So we know that Jono and the rugby kids rolled, as Chris and some of the football guys. Then I also remember Brian and those art freaks, and Claire and her sorority girls. Do you remember what each group had to drink?”

            “Hmmm...Let me try and remember. I think you can count out the girls at the party. They drink hard liquor, and have no need for a keg. And I think you would have noticed a bunch of small sorority girls hauling a keg off of your roof. And those art losers don’t even drink.”

            “Yeah, that’s real.”

            “And I know for a fact that Jono and the rugby guys were drinking Carlo Rossi. I saw about eight of those jugs on your ping pong table. And then I saw them all leave empty handed. So I think you can count them out also.”

            “Danielle, I love you. Got anything more for me?”

            “Oh yeah. I saw this strange little fish on the roof patio right before I left. It seemed weird at the time, so I picked it up. Here, you can have it.”

            She reached into her backpack and picked out a small reddish fish. It looked like a sardine.

            “You carry around dead fish? Who are you?”

            “I asked my roommate about this. She’s a marine biology major. She says it’s a Red Herring. Rare species.”

            “Woah, no shit. Maybe whoever stole the keg came from the river. Mermaids or something!”

            “Joe, you’re an idiot.”

            “Hey, you in the back! The guy who’s been talking the entire time! Get out!” called the professor from the front of the lecture hall. His bald head was red with fury. Before Joe could stand, one of the lurking TA’s had grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the aisle. He always had hated the TA’s in that class. They were like the Gestapo or some shit. This TA must have been six foot six and two hundred pounds. He literally threw Joe over his shoulder and flung him out the main doors and onto the floor.

            “No talk in class. You in college now. No kinnygarten,” spat the TA in some foreign accent.

            “Yeah, fuck you asshole. You better watch yourself. I’m from North Berkeley.”

            Joe was heated because of the TA, but in the end he got what he came for. He triumphantly strutted back to his apartment.

            Phil was curled up on the couch watching infomercials and sipping a Keystone Ice when Joe entered the apartment.

            “All hail the conquering hero, fat ass! You haven’t moved all day!”

            “Nice to see you too,” grunted Phil.

            Joe plopped the herring down on the kitchen counter, and then went to his room to get a beer. He could hear the microwave buzzing in the background as he checked his Facebook. Twenty minutes later he joined Phil to give him the scoop.

            “Aight, Philly. I hate to say it, but I think the football guys stole the keg.”

            “Really, in that case we’re screwed. We can’t get it back from them.”

            “It was either them or some weird water folk. Danielle found some rare fish on the roof. Crazy shit. Let me show you.”

            Joe stepped into the kitchen to grab the fish. But to his dismay, it was gone.

            “Phil, did you see that fish I put on the counter there?”

            “Uhh...yeah. Why?”

            “Well, what did you do with it?”

            “Was it important or something?”

            “Important? It was a vital piece of evidence that will likely determine whether or not we find the keg!”

            “Uhh...I hate to say this, but I ate it.”

            “What?!”

            “I ate the fish.”

            “How?!”

            “I put it in my sandwich and ate it. It was sitting on the counter!”           

            “Phil, you fat fuck! You ate an endangered species!”

            “Red herring is food! I was hungry!”

            “I should turn your dumb ass over to the EPA or some shit. They would have a field day with you. Fuck. I guess that’s that.”

            “So what now?”

            “We pump your stomach.”

            “Oh, hell no!”

            “I’m kidding, Philly. I’m going to check the football lead. I’ll head over to that apartment where they throw parties and such. I’ll be back later.”

            “Carver.”

            “Good luck.” 

            Joe crossed the campus to the football apartment. Only a few members of the team lived there, but the entire team partied there. He could detect the residence from the foul stench of old spilt beer flooding out the open windows. The football guys were known to party hard. No way was Joe going to actually deal with the players themselves. If he accused them of stealing the keg they would surely beat his ass. He scanned the premise for a possible entry. Oh shit, and open window. It was on the second story, just above the metal stairs leading to the fire escape. He ascended the steps, and hopped up through the window. He found himself in small dark room, with wooden floors, and football jerseys framed on the walls. It must have been a mini hall of fame o f sorts. Then he saw it. The wall of kegs. A huge triangle of stacked kegs towered ten feet high over Joe. Incredible! The one thing that made his keg different from the rest is that he had painted it green, as his favorite beer, Heineken, comes in a green bottle. Damn. None of these is mine. Carver turned to leave. But standing between him and the window was Terry Tate, the six foot six, three hundred and forty pound nose tackle.

            “The fuck you doin’ here homeboy?”

            “Umm…well…I can explain.”

            “Ay! Six four, six four! We got a bogey!” bellowed Terry throughout the house. Five other gargantuan footballers streamed through the doorway like a pack of hungry wolves. All Joe could remember was his dead smack against the ground and feet stomping against his back.

            Joe awoke in the gutter. It was already dark. Jesus Christ. What the hell happened? He tried to stand up, but buckled over from the pain coursing throughout his body. The football players beat him good. He started to stumble back to his side of campus. Damn. I’ve hit rock bottom here. No leads on the keg, and I’m practically a vegetable, he thought to himself. About ten minutes into his walk, he noticed a faint singing a bit farther up the road.

            “Sons of Georgetown alma mater, swift Potomac’s lovely daughter…” rang through the air. He couldn’t pinpoint the song immediately, but then realized it was the Georgetown drinking song. He rounded a bend and spotted the source of the song. The Glee Club. Then everything clicked. The Glee Club! How could I forget! They rolled to the party. I never saw them leave. They must have stolen the keg after I passed out! Joe circled around behind where the singers were standing. He peered beneath their donation table. There sat his green keg, with the tap and all, in pristine condition. The bastar ds stole my keg! He snuck up and crouched behind the table. He tried to lift the keg, but found that it was full. This wasn’t going to be so easy. He tried to tilt it on its side lightly, but instead it fell over violently and clanged against the ground. All thirteen members of the Glee Club immediately stopped singing and turned around.

            “Stop him! He’s got the keg!”

            “Fuck you! It’s my keg!”

            Joe started to roll the keg down the street. The road pointed at a slight downward angle down towards the river. It was a straight shot. The Glee Club was chasing after him rabidly, bent on re-stealing the keg. He started to sprint behind the huge piece of metal, which by that point was rolling ridiculously fast. The river was no more than a football field away. When the keg reached the barrier dividing the road from the river, it burst right through the retaining wall and fell ten feet down into the river. Joe jumped into the water after his keg. The current swiftly dragged him east. He braced to the keg for flotation. The river was ridiculously cold, as the ice had just melted away. The Glee Clubbers were standing in shock where the retaining wall was broken. They didn’t bother to jump in. W ater started to fill Joe’s lungs. He gasped and choked, trying to expel the liquid from his body. The current was too strong to swim against. And Joe would rather die than abandon his beloved keg. He started to black out. Then he hit shore. The river bended around and threw him on a small beach. Joe coughed the water out of his lungs. The keg lay beside him, perfectly intact. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, which was waterlogged.

            “Carver? Is that you?”

            “Philly! Thank God you’re here? How’d you find me?”

            “Dude, I was just on my way to get a second lunch when I spotted you

down there. You need some help?”

            “Yeah. Get me out of here.”

            Phil reached over the retaining wall and grabbed the top of the keg as Joe pushed from beneath. It rolled over the top of the wall. He then assisted his beat up roommate in hopping the stone wall. They rested for moment.

            “Aight. Let’s get some food,” suggested Phil.

            “Good idea. How about some Red herring?”

            “Screw you. Let’s go.”

            Joe laughed. “Thanks buddy.”