Being drunk in a foreign country is not where you want to be learning about science.

Or trees.

Or gravity.

Or your own stupidity.

Especially when you?re the kind of drunk that will believe anything anyone says as long as there?s rum involved.

You stop thinking.

You stop questioning.

You just nod and say ?yeah buddy? like a fuckin seal.

Me and a couple of the boys were laid out along the edge of the pool in Cuba.

Glasses full of rum.

Belly buttons pointed straight at the sun.

We weren?t even drunk enough to enjoy the topless women anymore.

We were past that stage.

We couldn?t talk without spitting on each other.

That kind of drunk.

Someone notices coconuts hangin in a palm tree above us.

Now, who the hell cares about coconuts?

But earlier, we saw this little Cuban guy on the beach selling them for a buck.

He?d chop the top off, fill it with rum, and apparently if you ate the coconut the next morning you?d be liquored instantly.

Instead of paying the guy a dollar like a normal human, I decided to be a stubborn son of a bitch.

?I?ll get one.?

I grab onto that tree like a drunk baboon and start shimmying up.

Now listen.

I go to the gym.

But I go to the fridge more.

I?m strong enough to lift a small car but I got a gut on me the size of a work horse?s ass.

Halfway up the tree, the bark is scraping my stomach like rubbing sandpaper on your nipples.

The boys are cheering like I?m in the fuckin Olympics.

This only convinces me I?m doing something heroic instead of incredibly stupid.

Because when you?re drunk, you think you can do anything.

Fight bears.

Climb trees.

Solve world hunger.

Whatever.

Before I even reach the halfway mark, the wind picks up and starts whipping my fat ass and that tree around like a rodeo ride.

Next thing I know the coconuts shake loose and hit the ground like a couple of two by fours.

Perfect.

Mission accomplished.

No need to climb higher.

Except nobody tells you one very important thing about palm trees.

The bark grows up.

I start coming down and instantly learn this lesson the hard way.

Going down that tree felt like someone was sanding me with 30 grit sandpaper from my bag right up to my chin.

Fur and meat getting left behind in the bark like breadcrumbs.

Twenty seven and a half minutes later I finally get out of the tree.

I?m sober.

Completely sober.

Arms sore.

Legs sore.

Chest sore.

Ego dead.

And the best part?

I didn?t even get a fuckin coconut.

The boys kept two and gave the other two to a couple of sixty year old women in one piece bathing suits.

I spent the rest of the week walking around the resort looking like I was raped by a full grown gorilla.

And that?s how I learned the bark grows up on palm trees.

?????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

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