Do you remember those times when you first realized that partying was the best thing ever?

Back in a time when it was much harder to get a hold of alcoholic beverages, but when you did finally get them in your possession you knew it was like having a one-way ticket to the planet FUNZOR.

I think this particular occasion cemented that idea in my brain, for it may have been the most outlandish spectacle of drunken madness, and blatant disregard I have ever dealt with in my 20 years on this planet.

This tragedy all started in the Yorktown High cafeteria on a Monday when one Cliff Chung leaked out the words that he knew he should have kept inside his mouth.

The same words that must have caused him so much grief for the next several months after. “My parents are going away for like a week.”

Cliff may have gotten away with this statement scot-free if he wasn’t sharing a table with a man named Mickey Kopilak, one of the loudest, most obnoxious motherfuckers on the planet.

From that point on you can guess what happened.

Mickey shouted “PARTY AT CHUNGS!!!!” as often and as loudly as he could in the YHS hallways and completely blew up Cliff’s spot.

Throughout that school week, word about a Chung party spread like wild fire through the High School. When Friday rolled around, people were screaming things like “PARTY AT WANG CHUNG’S!!!” and “PARTY AT DENG XIAO PENG’S” as loud as they could in the halls in between periods.

When school was over that day a large group of us hooligans walked to the Chung premises and prepared for the mayhem.

The first line of duty was to obtain lots of beer.
CHECK.

A bottle of Jack.
CHECK.

One large bottle of “HEAVEN HILL BOURBON.”
CHECK.

Our friend Fernando was the only person with a fake ID, and he came through in the clutch. At around 6 p.m. we had started the boozing.

Cliff and Mickey left to go pick up Josh Wong—a kid that left our school district in third grade—in White Plains at about 6:30. At this point the madness was coming, and we all knew it. What we didn’t know was that Cliff and Mickey wouldn’t return until around 3:30 in the morning.

Six guys were in charge of the Chung fort.

“At least we have Lance,” we all thought, “that 240 lb, big, black defensive lineman will protect this house, right?”

Wrong.

We all knew a larger burden lay on our shoulders when we heard Lance screaming out lines from Gladiator at the TV, with a nearly empty bottle of Jack in his right hand.

The YHS lip-sync was getting out soon. The High School parking lot was about to empty and drive to the Chung residence which was just around the corner. In the meantime we got as wasted as possible in preparation. Not before long the Chung residence was blitzkrieged by dozens of out of control teenagers. It didn’t take long for the entire house to be filled wall to wall with degenerates looking to get as rowdy as possible.

I’m not sure how the crowd realized that there was absolutely no control, but when they did, all hell broke loose.

Kids were throwing eggs and tomatoes at each other in the living room, dumping out whole gallons of milk onto the floor, throwing big bags of rice all over the place.

Total chaos irrupted.

Finally someone realized that the Chung's had pigs, and not normal pigs but Vietnamese pot belly pigs. Crazy looking bastards with tusks.

People soon started fucking with them, riding them and putting beer and Jack in their bowl … it got real ugly. The pigs of course lapped up the alcohol like only a pig could.

The Mayhem continued on through the night, with the level of chaos increasing minute by minute. I remember walking out into the living room and thinking to myself “HOLY SHIT.” It was a disaster zone. Cigarettes put out in the couches, eggs splattered on the walls, coffee beans spilled out all over the living room rug. The worst party damage these eyes have ever seen. “How could it get any worse?” I thought to myself.

That question was answered when the sound of a fire extinguisher shooting out all over the place filled the air, which sent the crowd into a coughing frenzy. Many of the people in the house escaped the Chung household for fresh air.

When the dust settled Cliff’s house looked like a hellhole. Dusty gray shit from the extinguisher was everywhere you looked. The party was still going even though the house was a chemical biohazard zone. Sick fucks were still inside taking shots from the Chung’s extensive liquor cabinet, as most of the party sprawled out onto the front yard and the streets.

Finally the Cops showed up, ending the two and a half hours of destruction that had ravaged the Chung premises. The cops went around looking for somebody in charge, but found no one. The looks on their faces described their reaction to the way the inside of the house looked. The partygoers fled the scene, and it was the first time we all got a sobering look at the massacre that had occurred. One of the cops said “Whoever owns this place has got enough shit to worry about,” and they all left.

Hours later Cliff, Mickey and Josh Wong arrived. They all looked like they were in shock at what their eyes were showing them. Cliff was surprisingly calm about it all, but we all knew that pure anger was pumping through his veins, only to be released at a later time. This later outpouring of rage came in a terrifying attack months later, involving nunchuks, but that is a whole different story.

We all slept over that night, and were awoken with a soul food breakfast made by Lance. When I left to go home the place was still in ruins, but the pigs had recovered which was a big relief to us all.

Never have I seen a more outrageous spectacle than that day in late March 2001. I will indeed remember it as one of the most out of control nights of my life.

“Chungfest from a Dirosa perspective”
By Chris Dirosa

Let’s go back to 2001.

Friday. 2 p.m.

School has just let out. Today is the day. Immediately after school ends, Bryan, Seth, and I spill out of YHS and journey past the perve Elk’s club to the future gravesite of our souls, the Chung household.

Cliff’s parents Fung Lung and Judy were gone. (Yes Cliff’s fathers name was Fung Lung Chung). Nobody knew where, but they were gone for quite some time. Cliff Chung is about to pick up his friend Josh Wong from New Jersey at the train station. I personally had no memory of Wong; the legend has it he went to Yorktown schools back in the day.

Before him and our friend Mickey were about to leave, Cliff says something to the tune of “okay I’m going to pick up Josh. No smoking in the house.” Immediately after he stepped foot outside the front door, our friends Fernando and Lance bust through the side door with 30 packs and cigars hanging out of their mouths. We all indulge in the 99-cent fine stogies, anticipating the madness. The beer started flowing, the liquor started flowing, and the masses were soon to arrive.

There was one question eating away at all of our minds, however. Where’s Cliff? 30 minutes passed. One hour passed. Three hours passed. No Cliff. The stage was being set for a Cliffless Cliff Chung party.

We decided to make Lance’s 6’4”, 240-pound frame in charge to keep the soon-to-arrive drunken savages in line. That plan was pretty much destroyed when we went upstairs to find Lance screaming at the TV, watching GLADIATOR with an empty bottle of Jack nearby.

Plan B? No such thing existed. At around 9ish, the madness finally began. Completely inebriated, there was no way we could possibly hold down the fort. It was like the invasion of Normandy, minus the German resistance.

The next two hours defined chaos. Kids swinging from the upstairs banisters. Food fights breaking out in the kitchen, waves of uncooked rice flying. A fire extinguisher emptied out in the kitchen and dining room. Squealing pigs, mad with confusion, scurrying about in the living room.

Yes, you read that last one correctly; the Chung family keeps pigs as pets. There is a pigpen in the backyard. When the pig incident happened, we realized we weren’t doing a very good job of keeping people in line. But what could we do? There was no Cliff Chung.

OR WAS THERE????

Jason Chin stood quietly in the corner, eyes wide with fear of what he was witnessing. Plan B suddenly started to take shape. Jason Chin and Cliff Chung were two of the few Asian kids in the grade. We actually started to think that we could pass Jason for Cliff. I guess it could work, Jason and Cliff kind of look alike, except for the fact that Cliff is taller and he has a DIFFERENT FACE.

There was no way that they would buy this, but we had no options. We executed the plan like a full-court heave at the buzzer. Holy shit it worked. Not like magic, but to a degree. In a suburban high school that is 90% white, these things can actually get pulled off. Eventually the cops arrived, and order was restored. It finally seemed like it was the end. It wasn’t.

4 AM.

Cliff Chung arrived and stood, speechless. The look on his face was expressionless, but it was clearly a mask that hid an uncontrollable rage. Bryan, Seth Burdick, Fernando, and I sat on the beer-soaked couches, afraid of what may be coming next. It was clearly a sobering situation.

The place was a shit hole. The house featured some classic post-party clichés—like pictures on the wall positioned at awkward angles—but there were also the less usual damages, like the fire extinguisher, rice on the floor, and the drunken pigs unconscious in the living room. Finally, Cliff spoke the famous words that will be implanted in this brain for the next 50 or so years that I have left to live.

“What the hell.”

Apparently Cliff and Mickey actually got to the train station, but never made it back. Somehow Mickey’s car got stuck in mud somewhere. If I remember the story correctly, they got stuck in the mud, had to walk miles down the road, and got a tow truck. The tow truck got stuck in the mud trying to get their car out. God only knows what horrors were going through the mind of Cliff Chung throughout this nightmarish episode. The next day began with eggs and grits a la Lance Gaskin.

Damn, this is fucking movie script shit.

Questions? Comments? Email me at itsbyrne@yahoo.com or contact me in the forum. If you want to speak with Dirosa his screen name is Dirosable. THANK YOU COME AGAIN.