Wichita.

Three years ago, me and my stepbrother Earl were parasailing off the coast of Severnaya Zemlya to raise awareness for bone marrow. We were hoping (as we always are) to pick up some chicks on the side, but it turned out that December is their “off season” and we were the only ones there, except for a couple hundred penguins and this guy named Gord. Gord was a weird dude. He bathed naked in seawater every morning because he thought it “cleansed the soul,” even though he was an agnostic humanist and didn’t believe in souls any more than me or Earl (I’m a nonpracticing polytheist and Earl is a vegan anarchist and one-quarter Polish on his mom’s side). Gord also liked eating uncooked French fries and constantly talked about Gary Busey, who was apparently his second cousin twice removed.

On the nineteenth day Earl thought it would be a good idea to play a little joke on Gord (who at that point was calling himself “The Sergeant” because he had just discovered the Beatles’ landmark album *Sergeant Pepper*). So he went over to our acquaintance, all coy-like, and offered him a piece of gum.

“Hey Sergeant, have some gum,” was what he said.

Gord reached his hand out, but boy was he in for a shock! Not literally of course, giving someone an electric shock would be cruel. Instead, while he accepted the polymer-based treat, I was spiking his coffee with dangerous hallucinogens. Within minutes Gord was jumping around screaming about invisible monsters and violent insects. That wasn’t enough for me and Earl though. We took advantage of his temporary (and quite possibly permanent) insanity by blindfolding him and putting him on top of an icy outcropping that the locals call *мудак полуострова.* Without the power of vision or cognition, Earl babbled for a while about the end of days before we shut him up by jamming Crayola crayons down most of his major orifices. We would have kept it up but the authorities showed up after two days and demanded we let him down.

That wasn’t enough, though. Thanks to the drugs, Gord was convinced that he was some sort of potted plant (possibly the Mexican Lime Cactus, or *Ferocactus pilosus*) and so we felt we were at liberty to put him in dirt and water him occasionally. But our landlord Augustus doesn’t allow pets so we drove him out in the wilderness near Wichita (the Paris of Kansas) and buried him there. As we drove off, Earl flipped him the bird and shouted,

“Hey Gord, hot enough for you!”

Anyway, Gord now runs a company that makes hay bales. Sometimes he comes over to our house and we laugh about the whole thing and throw glassware at him. True friendship is a difficult thing to find in this world.

[Le Sauce](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1fbbju/what_is_the_farthest_you_have_gone_for_the_sake/ca8mvsz)