Just like the rest of this sub this didn't happen today, but about 15 years ago.

I was in high school and my parents went out of town a lot. Naturally we took full advantage of this to party. Not a night of Monopoly and video games kind of party, oh no. It was always a $200 worth of hard liquor kind of party. Projectile vomiting straight up a foot in the air while my best friend had sex with his girlfriend on the bed next to me kind of party. Throwing a spare tire at a opossum in my yard kind of party. Looking back, soaking my developing brain in so much alcohol so many times probably explains a lot about me.

Anyway, for years I had a huge crush on this girl who was a mutual friend of our group of friends. This wasn't a cute crush by any means. It was an unhealthy you've been served a restraining order kind of crush. The type of obsession Ahab himself would see and say bro.. can you chill? Let's call her.. Moby.

So Moby was invited to every party because she was close to several people in the group and of course I always wanted her there because I psyched myself up that tonight will be the night she likes me back! (spoiler: it never was). Moby was very aware of my crush on her as I asked her out several times and sent plenty of cringe worthy hand written letters telling her as much. I was basically that dude who was always heavy breathing down Helga's neck and I'm not proud of it.

So my parents decide to go out of town, we decide to hit up the liquor store on the outskirts of Detroit that conveniently didn't ask for ID. Southern Comfort was exclusively all I drank at that time because obviously I had excellent taste and was a classy motherfucker. Being classy we made sure to get a full handle then some vodka and whatever mixed drink mikes hard thing the girls wanted.

Cut to later and there's about 15 of us in my basement taking shots, blasting music and likely all talking shit about who can outdrink who and why Vegeta will never be more powerful than Goku, super important teen bullshit stuff. After a while Moby shows up but she's with a guy I've seen around school before. For the sake of the story we'll call him Dick. I see Moby and Dick coming down the stairs side by side but no big deal theyprobably just walked in together.

I go on drinking, just doing shot after shot because I'm 15 and retarded and had to learn my limits the hard way. Cut to a couple hours later I've had half the handle to myself and am very very drunk.

Throughout the night my suspicions about Moby and Dick had been growing. They sat next to each other and never left each others side. There was lots of touching and giggling and I had gone into full on detective mode analyzing every interaction they had with each other and my debilitated brain was not happy with what it saw.

From this point on it's very fuzzy as I had reached the magical land of blackout drunk. A land where as you move from room to room you feel as if you teleported there. You hold conversations with people that you are certain are very eloquent and well thought out but in reality nobody knows what the fuck youre saying, they nod and laugh and hope you bug someone else. The majority of this story from here was pieced together from my friends filling me in while I stared at the ground feeling great shame and dishoner for my family.

When I saw Moby and Dick begin kissing it was the tipping point for me. With all inhibitions floating uselessly at the bottom of Lake Southern Comfort I stormed over and incoherently began raving about how dare you bring this guy into my house when you know how I feel about you. Blah blah, my butthole clenches to this day at the thought of the entitled shit show I was in front of all my friends.

But here it is, the fuck up you read this far to read more about. I turned around from Moby and Dick and in a glorious fit of rage channeling the spirit of the Hulk I punched a hole straight through the drywall that walled off my furnace. I swear there was that little record skip sound as the music went off and everyone went silent. Then someone - nobody ever owned up to it - began cheering me on to do more.

Just like that the rage was gone and I was basking in the approval of my peers and they wanted more so by jove I gave them more. I continued punching out drywall high and low, ripping off pieces hanging after a full on fist assault. Every once in a while I'd turn around and shout out some incomprehensible warcry and go right back to hammering away at the walls with my meat hammers.

I woke up the next morning. Bleary eyed, exhausted, confused where I was and slowly as I came to I began praying the fuzzy memories were a bad dream. I walked out of my bedroom and the tiny hope faded. My basement was missing approximately half of the drywall in the main room and the floor, furniture, everything was covered in white dust.

My friends had a blast filling me in on my stupidity and the nickname I've used for so many things, even my Reddit account, was given to me by nobody other than Moby herself.

TL;DR - Drank way too much Southern Comfort. Saw my crush making out with her new boyfriend at the party. Went into a drunken rage and remodeled my parents basement.