Anatomy of a chunder session

"You know how many emails I've sent in my life? Maybe eight."

My old friend Woody said that to me in all seriousness while we were sipping cocktails during the afternoon at Morning Star Beach. I laughed at first but I could tell he wasn't joking.

That's why I'm sure he will never see these photos. Well, he would never fall upon them. Someone in our circle is bound to tell him. He may get mad for a second and then he'll laugh. Then, he won't talk to me for like 2 years. It's all good.

OK, so let's begin...

Here's a nice shot of Woody sipping on some whiskey while we hung out on the balcony from Tavern on the Waterfront. A friend was bartending and she was pouring some stiff drinks. By the way, it's Woody's birthday. He was turning 30.

Later on in the night, my old friend decides he wants to lively up the joint at Caribbean Saloon so he proceeds to shotgun a can of Red Bull. I have never seen this attempted before. Remember, the man is turning 30 and he insisted to be at the bar at midnight to celebrate.

So we made it to Iggies Beach Bar and there's really no one out at this point. It's approaching midnight on a Tuesday night. We're sipping drinks and no one really wants to take a shot at midnight but Woody continues to battle.

Now we've all seen this before. After taking back a tall shot of warm Jameson, he straightens up and hopes the Irish whiskey will comfortably find a home in his belly. This man is a drinking veteran. Will his 30-year-old body hold up?

Another tactic I've seen used before. So the shot didn't go down the right pipe, huh? Go ahead and take a swig from your other liquor drink for a chaser. That will surely help.

And we have liftoff! Woody finally gives in and starts to puke in an empty plastic cup. His girlfriend puts her hand on his back to comfort him and shield him from bartender ridicule. I screamed for him to "Puke on the bar! Do it!!!" so every patron was now looking at this 30-year-old man celebrate his birthday with a midnight shot.

It sounds gross but he didn't actually blow chuncks. Basically, the Jameson shot found its way back up. The bartenders heard my rant and yelled for Woody to puke on the beach and not on the bar. He desperately walked over to the beach with his girlfriend in tow but didn't give the dramatic chunder performance everyone had hoped for.

Since he managed to keep the rest of his stomach's contents in his body, he walked back to bar with his hands raised like he had prevailed. The applause was minimal.

Happy 21st -- ehh, I mean 30th -- Birthday, Woody. You are, indeed, a king among men.

Full moon party?

So there was some rumblings about a possible visit from an old friend. Tim "Woody" Woodward is a high-powered mutant of some sort not even considered for mass production. He's too weird to live and he's too rare to die.

I haven't spoke to Woody since Christmas but I got a voicemail from him last week. He was intoxicated and he must have called me from the middle of a packed club because I barely made out what he said.

"Urn, it's Woody. I'm coming to St. Thomas with my girl. I arrive Tuesday and that Wednesday is my birthday. Call me back."

That was it. That was the entire message. Haven't talked to the guy in months but I guess that's how old friends operate.

So I was at Shipwreck Tavern last night watching Dirk and the Mavs stick to the Big 3. My friend Ross asked me if I wanted to go to the BVIs for the full moon party next week. Now I've heard of these festivities but have never participated.

Once a month, there's a full moon (just learned that last night) and in the Caribbean, it's another reason to get in a boat and act like rock stars under the magic of the moonlight.

Ross is leaving for Dallas soon so he can be closer to Dirk Nowitzki and the full moon party will be a good chance to hang with my buddy. Turns out, the full moon next week is on the same day as Woody's birthday. Sounds like trouble.

I texted him from the bar to confirm the date of his birthday and in keeping with the "no chit-chat" vibe we were working with, I didn't explain my celebration plans for him and his girl.

"Just bring your passports" is all I texted back. Quick. To the point.

Should be a good time. And after such a freakout, be sure to check back with the blog to get an in-depth and comprehensive report on all the lunacy.