Since my college at SUNY Cobleskill in upstate New York is a shit hole that also smells like cow shit, I tend to spend a lot of time at Oneonta College which is about 30 miles away down interstate 88.

Last semester my friends, Nick Camia, Mike Morano and Frank Losee, lived at 24 Columbia street, a typical college party house in a bizarre neighborhood. When the weather was suitable last year we would chill out on the porch and watch the “normal” everyday activities of the neighborhood occur.

Whether it was the toddler albino boy riding his big wheel down the sidewalk while screaming and making weird noises, or the 12-year old albino boy skipping up and down the street talking to himself, or even the strange bi-polar boy who lived across the street that would wear a cape and boxing gloves and proclaim himself to be “Super Dude,” there was always something totally strange that could be witnessed if you just sat out on the porch for a little while.

Directly across the street from 24 Columbia was a house with notices nailed on the front of the house. This humble abode belonged to a group of three fifty five to sixty year olds that could barely even move. Every time you would see them they would always be holding a case of Milwaukee’s Best sitting on their porch, or trying to walk down the street moving at a snail’s pace. One time while having a baseball catch in the street, the ball was overthrown to me and landed in the old drunkards’ yard. While retrieving the ball I couldn’t help but to read the notices on the front of the house.

The bulletin read, “This building has been deemed an unsafe habitat by the City of Oneonta.” I really didn’t think too much of it, after all the roof looked like it was collapsing, and the house is pretty slanted so the notices weren’t too surprising. We really never interacted with the old men at all, and didn’t know too much about them, except that they were drunks and they shook around like Mohammad Ali. And our only interactions would be them asking us “You guys wanna beer” and us answering “No we had too much last night,” or them asking us “Who do you like the Yankees or the Sox?” Other than that, we didn’t really know too much else about them.

A new semester has begun recently in Oneonta. Camia and Morano have graduated and moved on, and Isaac Cass and Miles Ross have taken their place at 24 Columbia with Losee finishing out his college career with one more semester. All the staples of the neighborhood still remain except for “Super Dude,” which really wasn’t much of a loss at all.

The notices on the front door of the old men’s house still remain. This Sunday morning they all sat on their front porch, and killed a plastic handle bottle of Barton’s Rum in no time, then proceeded to scarf down a case of Beast like it was an after dinner mint. Isaac, Losee and I went to go have a baseball catch at a field, and as we were leaving we saw the shakiest and most crippled of the old men lying on his back on the driveway as the other two tried to lift him up. An hour and a half later when we returned we saw the same old man on the ground of his front porch reaching for the door knob trying to pull himself up. He had probably moved about six feet in an hour and a half. We all could not refrain from laughing at this spectacle; there was no way you couldn’t if you had seen it.

On Monday night the residents of 24 Columbia and our friend Fairweather and I drank a bottle of Svedka Vodka. Things got real rowdy real quick. Billy Joel’s “River of Dreams” came on and everyone went wild. During the melee many things were smashed including the screen door amongst other things. The old men must have heard the craziness and enjoyed it, because shortly after they had invited Fairweather and Losee to come over for a beer.

Fairweather and Losee walked inside screaming, “The old men invited us over, we’re going to the old men’s house!” Cass and Miles didn’t move from their seats, and Cass said “didn’t you see the Texas Chainsaw Massacre man!” I was reluctant at first, but then decided to follow Fairweather and Losee as they walked across the street. The most shaky and crippled of the old men was at the door, holding on to a wooden beam trying to keep himself up.

The last thing I heard from his mouth was “yeah we’ve been having a hard time moving around recently.” After that I turned right around because I knew it was going to be too sick for my liking. I went back across the street to 24 and explained what happened to Cass and Miles. During the time that Fairweather and Losee were gone we all speculated that they were now being killed. After about 20 minutes Fairweather and Losee busted through the door screaming. They both ran to kitchen sink and washed themselves off, while screaming “OH MY GOD,” and “THAT WAS SO FUCKING DISTUGSTING!!!!”

They described a scene that seemed straight out of an X – Files episode. They said that each guy was sitting on their own filthy piss stained couch, drinking their own personal handle of vodka. They said that you couldn’t even make out what they were talking about, and everything was covered in scum. Losee went on to explain that he had to go into their fridge for a beer and said that it looked like most things in it had been sitting there for years. Their coffee table, which held all of their items, had collapsed through, and there was dirt everywhere you looked. Also, one of the guys on the couch had pissed himself. They told them that they had been in Vietnam and that they had been living there for 10 years, and they get by on their payment checks they receive from the Army, and the only thing they spend it on is booze.

So you get the idea that these guys only live to drink and that’s all. I couldn’t help but wonder how you enjoy getting drunk in such an environment. Does that load of shit in your pants feel better when you are hammered? Does it feel all squishy and nice? Can you completely forget that your life is a pile of shit, and you live worse than some animals do after you’ve drained a bottle of Barton’s to your dome? Maybe, I don’t know but I will tell you this, if my life ever got to that level I would be eating a .22 caliber sandwich pretty fucking quickly.

Losee explained a plan to kill them and put them out of their misery that just might work. He said to blast scenes from Full Metal Jacket into their windows and shoot off fireworks at their house and they will surely all die of heart attacks. Whether we will go through with this plan is unknown. All I know is that I will never be able to look at that house the same way ever again.

Questions or comments? E-mail itsbyrne@hotmail.com