At 10:30 PM tonight, in a terrible motel room off of Route 40, two naked women will hold stock still on a bed, a double-ended dildo connecting them at the genitals. The women, like the fourteen men surrounding them crowded together in the twelve by eighteen foot room, will stare with their mouths gaping open at a forty-seven year old father of two whose shirt will be pulled up above his nipples and whose eyes won't be open and whose neck will look to be bent at an impossible angle. You're him, the one they'll be staring at. A moment before you'll have shouted 'Let me show you why they used to call me Captain Kegstand!' But only a few people will have heard you over the sound of The Eagles blasting from a cheap boombox. After moving the keg closer to the wall, with both hands gripping the handles on the rim, you'll throw yourself from your feet to flip up through the air and slam your entire 207 pounds upside down and backwards against the wall. A few cheers will erupt from those who are watching, and Martin, the only one in the room who went to high school with you, will grapple with the tap to get it into your mouth before you tumble.
He won't make it. Your flip up to the wall will look almost graceful, like you were seventeen all over again, but the tumble back down will happen so fast it will look like you just got shot. No one will move. The only sound will be that of The Eagles, continuing to blast from the boombox. Finally your nephew, whose bachelor party it is, will run to you on the floor and he'll listen to your chest and then he'll shake you, causing your head to jostle about freely at the top of your rubbery neck. One of the naked girls will detach herself from the dildo so that she can pull her legs up to her chest and cry in shock when she sees how loose your head is on its neck.
Martin will shut the boombox off. Before anyone can shout for an ambulance or run or assign blame, before you've officially been declared dead, and long before your open-casket funeral, he'll make sure that everyone present bestows upon you the honor you deserve.
'Raise your glasses,' Martin will shout. Everyone in the room will hesitantly lift their plastic cups half-full of Miller Light.
'They called him Captain Kegstand,' Martin will say. 'He died in the line of duty.'
Everyone will exchange a glance, and then they'll follow Martin's lead and down the contents of their cups. Some beer will spill on the carpet underneath you, which will already be damp since the motel will have been flooded just the week before.
Happy They Used To Call You 'Captain Kegstand' Day!
