McNugget
by Adrian Palenchar

    They dropped McNugget off at his parents' house shortly after sunrise: cold, barefoot, in a sleepless daze, soaking wet and holding the one thing that would be the demise of his story. They were McNugget's friends, but didn't act like it that morning or the night before, and left him standing there with a look on his face which was a mix between that of a 7-year-old who's just been given a lesson in quantum physics and a puppy whose owner abandoned him by the side of the road. In McNugget's hands were his shoes – his dry shoes – the demise of his story, which gave him away because to cover up the embarrassing truth, he told his parents he tripped and fell into a pool.
    His friends pulled away in a topless Jeep in their own state of sleeplessness and wind-chilled discomfort. They were like two Everest climbers who, instead of climbing Everest, spent a week in t-shirts drinking at base camp. They left McNugget against his wishes and he had to come up with a story, quick. He was in no state to think. That's why the pool alibi, all things considered, sounded pretty feasible. That kind of thing happened to him all the time – except for the shoes, of course.
    Maybe it could've happened. Maybe he fell in head-first, a controlled fall, and was able to keep his feet dry by hooking his toes to the side of the pool while the rest of his body continued to fall forward like the hands of a clock, his feet ever the sturdy pendulum ... but then again, maybe not. Definitely not. No way in hell!
    His parents were no fools and obvious questions popped into their heads. Why was their 17-year-old son, who loved to sleep, home so damn early? Why did he smell funny? And finally, why were his shoes completely dry while the rest of him was soaked?
    The answer to all three: because McNugget actually spent the night in a bathtub.
    Twelve hours earlier it was Saturday night and Dozer was having another party. It didn't start off as a party. They usually didn't, but when this good-timer was left home unsupervised, one never knew who was going to show up. It was the day-and-age before cell phones, but word-of-mouth traveled quickly in the small, wine-country town.
    Like McNugget, Dozer was a junior in high school, but seasoned described him best. He'd made a name for himself early in his career and was held in high regard by many of the upperclassmen because of his Barney Gumble-like drinking abilities. He was never one to take it easy or take a weekend off. Hell, weekends meant nothing to him. He earned the name Dozer, short for bulldozer, during his freshman/only season on the basketball team. By his junior year, his favorite sports included long boarding, steak eating and card cheating. Not sports? No shit.
    Parties at Dozer's started early and ended late. No one wanted to miss a minute, though one minute was hard to distinguish from the next. The venue wasn't the cleanest of places, but there was always an open invitation to crash. All one had to do was find a clearing beneath the clutter.
    Around 7 o'clock the usual suspects showed up at Dozer's door with 12-packs of Natural Light. This group of kids, like many others in the town, was too young and inexperienced to pace itself. As soon as one can was emptied, another was popped, like a Congo line to drunk town. A few hours passed and the group carried on, laughing, playing cards, snapping bong loads, listening to music and dusting 12ers. The place looked like a homeless man's paradise: CRV heaven.
    By now, other characters had showed up. Grippo was one of them. Grippo was a lovable oddball who had a few years on McNugget and company, but loved sharing in their immature antics and putting them up to new ones. One never knew exactly what was going through his head while he came up with entertaining stunts. They could be weird. They could be scary. They could cause a person to black out.
    A thought came to Grippo that evening that quickly became the stuff of legend. It was a funny stunt, which only one kid really had the guts and flare for showmanship to carry out: McNugget, of course.
    McNugget just as easily could've been named Cheese Nip, though it's a little longer and not as catchy. Thor, the name of Dozer's blue, 2-foot plastic bong, had seen a lot of action that night and things were just getting started. Thor was reserved mainly for "mokee rips," which were half tobacco, half weed. It was one nasty machine.
    And it was about to get a lot dirtier.
    Grippo was personally bar tending for McNugget that evening. Anything he wanted – and some things he didn't – Grippo made. Beer and juice? Hell yeah. Beer and Tequila? Sure. Cheese Nips and Chicken McNuggets? What? Don't worry, no one can drink those.
    But McNugget could smoke 'em! That's what Grippo thought, at least.
So that's what he did. He smoked 'em. First, crumbled up Cheese Nips, then a nugget of a McDonald's chicken nugget, out of poor, old Thor. The kid was so wasted that he was smoking food through a bong. Apparently, it's possible.
    After that, things got a little hazy. What a surprise. McNugget passed out in the living room, then the bathroom and eventually made it into the bathtub. No one can remember why or how he ended up there, he just did.
    Then some asshole peed on him. That's the embarrassing part of the story. That's the part he wanted to hide from his parents. Well, the whole story might be considered embarrassing to most, but not to McNugget. He took things in stride.
    As mentioned before, his friends were of little help. They'd been drinking for hours and were just beers away from smoking turkey sandwiches themselves.         They did what they could. They took off his shoes, keeping them dry, and turned on the shower. And that's how McNugget spent the night, or at least a few early-morning hours: barefoot, soaking wet and in a daze.
    The party was a late one and when it finally wound down, his friends were able to find clearings among the cluttered living-room floor – or was it the hallway? No matter, they were only there a short while before one of them, the one who drove McNugget home, had to get up for work. Pulling late-nights like that was no sweat back then. It was a time before responsibility and most of them certainly made the most of it.
    But Birdman – he was the one with the Jeep – was responsible and was going to be late for work if he stuck around to help McNugget come up with a story that winter morning. McNugget had no choice because a ride home was a ride home and someone without a driver's license didn't let those pass. Their other friend, he was delirious – and probably a little drunk still – found the whole predicament humorous. What a jerk.
    So see, they had no choice but to feed McNugget to the sharks. And although his parents didn't believe he fell into a pool – and grounded him for the next couple weekends – he never did provide them with another explanation. He stuck to his story, holes and all.
    "I wasn't going to tell them I got pissed on and shit," said McNugget, reflecting on the incident eight years later, not realizing the irony that they're sure all hell going to find out now.