Fuck It!
By Cody Wayne
March 16, 2002I remember when I was 17 and threw my first filthy reckless adulterated party. We were young and gave a fuck about nothing. Jesus, I filmed a huge chunk of a physics project that day. I figured, "Hey, I’ve got all these people here in one spot, they’ve got beer soaking their brains, I bet they wouldn’t mind taking some time out for a little filmage." I did a little remake of Mr. Pink’s escape from "Reservoir Dogs" but I used a football instead of a briefcase. Me and a friend were doing a project on the physics of kicking a football and I figured, "That’s a good start."
There was a moment when I realized that I’d brought together a yard full of evil-doers who had nothing but bad intentions for the day. It was scary to be amongst them, but alas, I’d convinced these savages throughout my junior and senior year that I was one of them. People really were everywhere. This was Pennsylvania. My yard was large. I lived a half-mile away from school. This made it convenient for reckless juniors and sophomores to mosey on over for a brew or six during lunch. The result was a mysterious influx of intoxicated underclassmen on school property. Not good. Not good at all.
It was Senior Cut Day. Every year, a shitload of seniors wouldn’t show up for school and they’d go to a Phillies game loaded to the teeth on whatever fit in their mouths. This year, 1994, I decided I would make a grand gesture and hold the opening festivities on my double-decker porch while my parents were at work. It was a brilliant idea. Really, it was.
We pretended that it was a normal day of school. Everyone got up early so we could drink beer and drive into Philly for the game. We started off with a quarter-keg. Things got completely out of hand (a good thing) and we needed another quarter-keg. Someone with an ID went and got one. I decided I wouldn’t drink. I wouldn’t be able to handle the clean-up operation and evacuation procedures if I was loaded. Therefore, I smoked pot. People got me really high, no questions asked, ‘cause it was MY kegger. For the first time ever, my very own twisted keg party" and it wasn’t even NOON, man! What the fuck was goin’ on?!?
It dawned on me around this time that what I had essentially created was a strong conscientious sense of youthful insanity: FUCK IT. Things had gotten so quickly and completely out of hand that I found myself in a prolonged moment of Zen.
I made some realizations in this moment: "It’s 10:30 am. Someone just went and picked up another quarter-keg. The school is half-a-mile away. My adult neighbors are in the yard. My peers are puking in the yard. It’s loud as hell. It’s a bright beautiful sun-shiny day. My peers are having trouble walking. I’m very very stoned, and I just don’t give a fuck about shit."
My brain had completely zoned on two premises: "shit happens," and "fuck it."
I was subconsciously aware that the shit really WAS gonna happen" to me" once my parents got home.
There were adults in my yard" people from the neighborhood. I thought to myself, "Ya know what? They’re cool. They won’t tell my parents. They’re cool. Yeah. Shit’s cool." At the same time I was thinking, "Hey, we’re not that obvious. They probably think this is a school function or something."
This guy I sorta knew was puking in a nicely groomed shrub near the garage. I figured, "It’s good fertilizer. Just kick some mulch around. It’ll be fine." Funny how things like that look so different in the daytime. It looks sooo" OUT there. All out in the open and shit. Fuck.
It was slowly getting OUT OF CONTROL and I knew it, but all I could think of was, "Fuck it."
Just fuck it.
My God, the Physics project. I remember people talking into the camera like escaped mental patients. Who woulda thought that Pennsyl-fuckin’-vania would have a neighborly yard chock full ‘o young mental patients. Was I one of them?" or was I merely a caretaker? I didn’t feel like I was taking care"
I MADE IT HAPPEN. IT WAS ALL ON ME. HOLY FUCKING SHIT.
Soon enough, it was time for the game. People started leaving in hoards. It was a driving massacre before the casualties could scream, and I could’ve been sued. That’s what my dad said later. Parents and neighbors were running rampant around the yard making sure people were driving sober. God knows we had no checkpoint. We were insane. We gave no fucks.
Someone drove me somewhere. That’s right, the game. By this point, in my mind, the game wasn’t even happening. I was in shock over what had just happened in my yard before the sun could reach its zenith. We all got to our seats somehow, at least 30 of us, or that’s at least how many I noticed. I tried my best to block out the exact size of our raging herd because it really was THAT insane. A huge rowdy crowd of adolescents teaming with testosterone, alcohol, pot, and who-knows what else. It was a most disgusting display. I sat with my usual neutral friends and cringed at the actions of the rowdier bunch.
We took the cake. We smothered the icing. We fired grappling hooks of lunacy into the air and reeled in anything that got caught. It was impossible to watch the game. It was actually embarrassing to be associated with everyone there. I did my best to shut it all out" ride it out, but it was no use. My face was an eternal cringe. Yes sir. It was me. I’m to blame for the madness. I don’t know why I love it, sir. I just do.
My friends were laughing and giving me the low-down dirty truth. "Dude, your parents are gonna kick your ass. Holy shit." All I could think of was, "Well, I did it. It’s done. That’s the beginning and end of it. That’s that. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck"" People were starting fights during the 1st inning. Women were flashing their tits at us. Beers were thrown this way and that. It was 1 in the afternoon.
For the love of God, what the fuck are all these kids doing here?! Shouldn’t they be in school for god’s sake?!? What’s happening to the SYSTEM?!
We were all thrown out of the stadium sometime in the middle of the game. It was complete and utter chaos from where I was sitting. We must’ve stood out like fireworks exploding on the ground. We were in the upper deck behind right field. The batters were probably distracted by our displays. I moved with the mob of escorted youngsters through the stairwells with about 6 security guards. It was easy to get a glimpse of us" we were impossible not to miss. Our stats were immeasurable. I’m surprised we didn’t start a full-scale riot. Again, it was obvious that none of us gave any fucks at all. It was a disgusting display. I loved it. We all did. We couldn’t help it. We were crazed and unsubstantiated. Beautiful. There was nothing there. We were helpless and insane. Get us out of here before our contagion goes spewing everywhere! My God, what then???
I got home somehow. People were saying, "Good luck." I thought I didn’t need luck. No one was at my place at the moment. No one was ever indoors throughout the whole event. Everything was cleaned up, deodorized, and otherwise sterilized. No need to get our panties in a bunch. What the parents didn’t SEE didn’t actually happen, right? There was no way they could know.
Apparently, my neighbors weren’t as cool as I thought. They called my parents, my dad and step-mom to be precise, before lunch to tell them that their yard was full of kids going berserk with no supervision. (HELL FUCKIN’ YEAH, BITCH!!!). This is how I became "fucked."
My dad was home first. I greeted him outside like the day breezed by. See, I asked his permission to let me chill at home on Senior Cut Day like everyone else. My attendance record was border-line perfect, my grades were good, so he decided that it would be alright for me to straight-up skip a day of school. Dad’s a good man, but he should’ve seen past his joy of being able to let me do something "unlawful" on account of my previous "good behavior." " or was I just too damn sneaky and satanized?
I don’t know. Satan seems to be a consistent yet infrequent meddler in my affairs, so maybe the Devil made me do it; unforeseen by my father’s glazed eyes" glazed over by A’s and B’s and good attendance. It only says so much, DAD!
What a reaming. Holy fucking Christ. Dinner that night was a round-table of angry glares and drill sergeant eyes. The screaming and lecturing ensued after dinner. I was speechless. There was nothing to say. In my mind was, "Yes, I fucked up. I fucked up in a big way, but guess what? It’s fuckin’ May, man! Guess what? I’m goin’ to summer school in Penn State, man! I’m outta here. So you’re glad I’m leavin’" well so the fuck am I! I guess we’re at a standstill"
"but why am I crying?"
I was in total lock-down for the remaining few weeks of my senior year. I’d apparently shocked my adult guardians in a majorly huge way. We could’ve been sued for everything if some kid died while driving drunk from my party. I was really irresponsible. Yadda yadda yadda.
Yeah? Well fuck it. Maybe I didn’t think, "Fuck it," at the time, but now I’m realizing "Fuck it." In MY world, the responsibility to stay alive is each our own. In YOUR world, you lay blame and sue, dishing out responsibility and guilt to appease some sense of JUSTICE in an unjust world. You take YOUR hammer of justice and try to hit a piñata of righteousness that doesn’t exist. There is only one rule in MY world: Stay pure. If you’re afraid of getting hit by a drunk driver then stay off the road. Shit happens quite often. But there are some of us out here who welcome the shit and say, "Let the shit happen and fall where it may."
We should probably be having an irresponsible party all the time, and I don’t mean the Eddie Murphy eighties single, "Party All The Time," I mean some serious balls-out mutha fuckin’ PARTYIN’! And if you look at the world around you, it should be clear that we’re rapidly approaching a static state of some truly phenomenal miraculous sinful ALL-PARTY.
Me, I don’t party that much these days. I have a fine line between civility and all-out ridiculousness. I’d rather lay low and avoid arrest. When I find room, I shoot in for a melee of psychedelic-induced reverie, but it doesn’t happen often. Statistics are against me.
But where did this "fuck it" mentality come from, eh? Where did the youth of today find that tarry goal? From what pit did it spring? Who started it? When will it end, or does the attitude itself signify The End?
I like to think that Elvis started it. He engaged white youth culture in a form of FUCK IT and FUCK YOU known as Rock ‘n Roll. Youth Society was reaching a threshold and it wasn’t gonna take much to bust the dam. There was the dress, the attitude, the hair-do, the snarl, and the idea that you were the meanest, toughest, baddest muther fucker who ever stalked the earth. Rock ‘n Roll tied all these teenage whities together into a cause: to uproot the foundations of old-whiteman society and scream, "FUCK YOU!" and "FUCK IT!" There were no rules to rock ‘n roll. Just crank it high, get fucked up, thrash some shit, and fuck.
Just do it.
Fuck it.
That’s what happened.
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