Humor: This happened to me

A Gun Pointed at Me, My Drunk Friend Ordered: Drink or Eat This Full Chicken or…

A funny incident that I’ll never forget

Note: I am not a Gun Supporter or Promoter (I have never owned one, and don’t even know how to operate one), and neither is this story. It’s about a funny incident which happened with me, many years ago, at a friend’s place. If you don’t like one or two mentions of the word ‘Gun’, feel free to stop reading now. Thanks.

I don’t drink. I have never drunk. Alcohol, we are talking about.

And, I can never eat a full chicken, no matter the size of the chicken. Especially after I’ve already eaten half-a-chicken.

BUT, I once did. Because there was a gun. And, it was pointed at me. By my fucking friend, who was drunk.

Please don’t ask me why I had friends with Guns.

Let me take you back to 2008.

3 Main characters of this story

There are 3 main characters in this story: Zayn, Hussy, and myself. And, let’s say, there are a few supporting characters.

Zayn’s persona: He’s twenty-something, tall skinny guy, hacks stuff on the internet, doesn’t back off from a fight, and is a social guy. He’s stupidly brave and is not afraid of anything.

Hussy’s quick intro: Hussy is in his late twenties, son of a feudal lord, lives on a ten-acre countryside property, has many servants, and is a charismatic young man, famous for his hospitality. He loves to drink.

And then there’s me: A twenty-something guy with glasses and looks like a book worm. With cataracts, wouldn’t go alone outside, at night.

How I met Zayn

We met on the internet. We are from the same city. He visits my family, and I visit his, so we are good buddies. He, one day, introduces me to his internet friend, Hussy, who he has never actually met, and we all became good internet pals.

One day Hussy invites us both to his countryside ten-acre residence, to spend a night with him.

Let’s meet Hussy at his countryside residence

On a winter evening, Zayn brings his motorbike, and we start our journey to Hussy’s place. It’s freezing, pitch black night. Without google maps, we somehow, reach Hussy’s residence, after riding the bike for ~70 KMs.

In the middle of the green fields, there’s a big house. Two guys with big moustaches, waiting to welcome us.

One of them is Hussy, welcomes us warmly, takes us inside to a big room with rugs on the floor, and pillows set next to the wall. Finally, some warmth. We are freezing.

“Zayn, I see you brought professor (referring to me). Good, good. You guys must be hungry, let’s eat first, and then we go for the detailed introductions, it’s so good to meet you both finally,” says our host, Hussy.

Servants bring big trays of food, cold drinks, and desserts. We eat, share laughs, and everything is fantastic.

Bring the bottles

After a few hours of food, talking, and laughing, when it’s midnight, suddenly our host says: “The night is still young, eh? Let’s not waste it anymore,” and orders one of his guys to go bring the bottles.

“What bottles?” I ask.

He looks at me surprised, and then looks at Zayn, and then replies: “the good stuff, you know.”

I knew then that the night’s gonna get funny.

There comes whiskey, scotch, and a few other ‘flavors’ which I can’t name because I have no idea about alcohol.

Here comes the trouble

“Professor is going to open this bottle, and he’ll have the first shot.” Hussy announces proudly pointing to a bottle, which somehow is special.

“No no no no no no!” I yell, my hand making a stop sign, and my head shaking.

“What do you mean no? If you don’t drink, no one will drink tonight.” Hussy declares.

“Yes, we won’t, if Professor won’t.” everybody in the room says in one voice.

I look at Zayn angrily, and he jumps in: “Professor doesn’t drink, he has some allergies. You guys — don’t be angry; I’ll drink his share too.”

There is visible sadness in the room.

“Please, I’m so sorry, I don’t. And I can’t. No matter what. But you guys go ahead. Don’t stop because of me.” I try to convince them.

Half-heartedly, Hussy agrees. And, the drinking games begin.

I don’t know when I fell asleep on the floor. But a poke woke me up. There’s a gun in Hussy’s hand, and he’s mumbling.

I can’t comprehend what is happening.

“Prooooofesssssssor, you didddnnn’t drinnnnnk my frienddddd. Okay that issss okayyy. But, you brokkke myyyy heartttt.” Hussy is trying to convey a message to me, his gun hand waving.

“Look, I’m sorry man, but I can’t drink.” fully awake now, I apologize again.

“Can you please take the gun away from me, it’s scaring me.” I beg.

“I’ll only do that, if you drink, or eat this chicken.” he points to a peg (a drink shot) and a freshly cooked chicken.

“Come on man, I’ve already overeaten.” I complain.

“NO, youuuuu havee toooo, or…” he waves his gun at me.

“Zayn, Zayn” I scream.

He is no where to be found.

Hussy points to the cooked chicken.

And. I. Start. Eating.

Cursing Zayn and my decision to come, I promise, I’ll never make another fucking friend on the internet, and will never visit any strangers from the internet.

10 minutes pass. I am slowly eating. Gun is still pointed at me while Hussy is sipping his drink, fully drunk, half-asleep.

“Can I please stop eating? I can’t eat more.” I beg loudly.

Zayn enters the room.

Afraid of the gun, I almost ate the full chicken after I had eaten half-a-chicken, an hour ago.

“Thank God, you’re here. Where the fuck were you? Look, I don’t want to eat anymore. And ask him to take the fucking gun away from me.” I scream at Zayn.

Zayn looks at Hussy and everyone else in the room.

There comes a burst of laughter. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha — everyone is laughing hysterically.

What the fuck is happening now? I get more confused.

“We got you, professor, didn’t we?” Hussy stops pretending he’s drunk and puts the gun away.

“I’m leaving now; I’m going home. Zayn, you coming with me? If no, give me the bike’s keys.” I’m fuming. But, then I realize I’ve cataracts and I can’t see at night, correctly, hence I can’t leave.

“Please, please, please, we are all very sorry, we were joking, we didn’t mean to hurt you. The gun wasn’t even loaded.” Hussy and his servants come to me, feeling the gravity of the situation.

I don’t have a choice, to end the situation, I accept their apology. And everyone goes to sleep.

The next morning, everyone apologizes to me again. And, at breakfast, I pretend I have forgiven them. But I haven’t.

It took me a few weeks to accept whatever that was, was just for fun.

Hussy is a great mate, and whenever we talk, he still reminds me of that night, by saying: “Professor, I got you that night, didn’t I?” followed by a long funny laugh. And I laugh too.

Salam writes humor and poetry, at ILLUMINATION, among a few other Medium Publications.