Preamble -- a lot of people are gonna open their entries to this Lexiphiliac Write-Off with apologies. Not me. Instead of "forgive me ahead of time", I say to thee, "go f*ck yourself." I'll eat that NH for breakfast, then p*ss in your pool. Thank you for your cooperation.
December 4th, 2001
2 P.M.
In a quiet little southern town, a storm is brewing.....
I slowly awaken to the steady, rhythmic thump of a hammer somewhere in the distance. Glancing at my alarm clock, my eyes shoot open as I lunge upward and exclaim my sentiments at the alarm that failed to go off 5 hours ago...
"You smug bastard!! It's my birthday, I was supposed to be up getting ready for the big celebration tonight!! Sh*t, my own birthday, and already it's starting off on the wrong foot!!"
2:30 P.M.
After a good shower, I'm up at last, searching high and low for the cordless phone, which is nowhere to be found. Finally, upon locating it, I trudge through the house, calling all around to find out what the latest big plans are for this evening.
"Yo -- OJ, what's the latest, holmes? Are we still on for some hot and wild senior bingo over at the retirement palace?"
"Nice try, kid, but we're gettin' you fuuuuuucked up tonight!!"
4:00 P.M.
I pull up to the run-down, ramshackled 2 bedroom house with bright eyes and all the hope in the world for the sloppy-good time tonight surely holds. Making my way inside, I find my good friend OJ sprawled out on the couch, as per usual, and I plop down in the sunken-in, yellow corduroy armchair across the room.
"Get your lazy ass up and start calling around, I'm ready to get this party kicked off. It's been way too long since I've spent a good night on the town."
4:45 P.M.
Trouble, in the form of a sleeping giant, strolls casually through the door. "Mark and Lacy -- greeeeat", I mutter to myself. "Just what I need, these trouble-makers to hang out with tonight." If all goes as planned, The 4 of us should be in jail by dawn.
"So, where we headed tonight?" With that, Mark's face slithers into a sly, impish grin.
"Nothin' too wild", I reply. "Gotta be to work at 8 in the morning..." A premonition -- thunder rumbles in the distance.
7:00 P.M.
Just after nightfall, the 4 of us step out into the crisp, December evening, and make our way towards Poochie's, the local hot-spot. Not being much of a big drinker, I'm looking forward to this night about as much as I look forward to greasing my testicles and plopping them into a salad-shooter.
Arriving at the already-packed tavern, I sheepishly follow the broad-smiling OJ through the front door to observe the surroundings. "Looks harmless enough", I thought to myself, slipping into the narrow booth and peeking over at the long-line of barstools, all occupied by perenially-drunken ne'er-do-wells. "This is my kinda place!!", exclaims an eager Mark, as if on cue, over the raucous, searing shouts of Joan Jett's Bad Reputation. A quite voluptuous, full-lipped bartender makes her way over to us, suspiciously eyeing all 4 of us individually, as if she were trying to pick one of us out of a criminal line-up. Glancing at the nametag, OJ flashes his 2,000 teeth -- "Whassup, Kristina..what say you hit us off with a couple Heinekens?" Unimpressed, she turns to head back to the bar as all 3 guys pretend not to glance at her lower-body shimmying it's way across the crowded room. Thumping out the tune of the song on the table, I finally feel myself starting to slip into this bar scene. Among the mindless banter of my 3 companions, I say to myself "hey, this isn't too bad after all. I'm 21 now, I could damn-well use a Heineken once in awhile."
In the exact same manner as before, the buxom Kristina makes her way back to our table, 4 long, phallic, green bottles in hand. "Thank you sweetheart", says OJ with a wink. "Nice teeth" shoots back the fiery vixen, promptly turning and walking away. Ahh, the drinks are here at last, now it's time to kick this celebration into high-gear.
8:00 P.M.
An hour of friendly chatter and 3 Heinekens each later, we decide to split the fast-fading Poochie's in search of a more lively joint. We all step out the door, in search of bar #2 on this journey.
Arriving at Shooter's a short walk later, the 4 slightly-loud and boisterous friends are looking more like young party-goers at last. Upon making a grand entrance at Shooter's, I spot my old friend Marty, and head his way.
"Heeey, what's crackin' over here, Marty?" I exclaim, ushering him over to our table. Making his way over, I immediately sense a different swagger about Marty. "Oh sh*t", I think aloud -- "that kid is f*ckin' wasted!!" Sliding a chair from the crowded table next to us, Marty slides into the backwards, wooden seat, and greets us. "What kinda trouble you guys gettin' into?" "Just celebratin' my mans birthday here with a few drinks", replies Mark. "Oh, that's straight -- but hey...you really wanna get this party started?"
8:15
The 5 of us eye the menacing green bottle in the middle of the table. "Jagermeister...that's the real sh*t right there", observes Marty, distributing out full shot glasses like a pro. The thick, oily, brownish-green liquor seems to rise beyond the glasses, almost daring us to drink. "Lets do this", I finally sigh, as 5 full shots go up, and 5 empty glasses slam into the table.
"Woooooo, DAMN!!! That sh*t is RAW!!" I exclaim, not realizing how loud I was until after the words had already slid out of my alcohol-lubricated lips. "Let's line up another", Lacy speaks up. Cocking an eyebrow her way, the 4 guys quickly agree, as Marty does the honors once again. With my chest feeling a bit heavier than before, I down the second shot, a little easier than before, and squint hard as I hear the 5 glasses hit the table, seemingly a little further away than last time. A chuckle escapes OJ's fiendishly-grinning mouth, bottom lip liquidly quivering. I lean back a little and take a moment to appreciate the warped frame of that smile. I think I'm starting to feel a buzz. Too early to tell for sure, though.
8:50 P.M.
"Man, this place is jumpin' off pretty good" Mark chimes in. I politely observe that the Jager didn't seem to be doing it's job. Disappointed, I reach for the bottle, pouring out an even 5 shots, and sliding one glass to each person. Downing this one without abandon, I can feel my legs starting to get a bit more rambunctious. Finally, this night is looking fun, after all.
9:05 P.M.
Somehow, unbeknownst to me, each person had squeezed out 2 more shots in the last 15 minutes, having cracked a brand new bottle of the cackling Jager, glaring at me like a long, green, smirking vagina. After munching on some stale tortilla chips, I stood up to make my way to the bathroom. Though a little slow, everything seemed relatively normal until I hit my third step. "Whooooa...easy does it there..", I tell myself, making a slightly-deformed beeline towards the bathroom. Upon entering the restroom, I tensely glared at the restroom attendant. "Oh sh*t, this guys KNOWS I'm f*cked up. Wait, I'm not really that f*cked up, but he's gonna think I am, and he's gonna call the cops. God, why does someone always have to spoil my fun??" With an icy stare, I proclaim "I know what you're pl--", I started at the sneaky bathroom attendant. Mid-sentence, I felt much more relieved when I saw an old, weathered man toss a balled-up paper towel into the large trash cylinder I had spitefully almost called out seconds earlier. Not thinking twice about it, I stumbled into the nearest stall, propping my hand on the wall for balance.
"...y ahorita, tenemos un bebe..."
"Heeey," I thought aloud -- "Sublime! I love this song!"
...un poco despues, tu ve que regresar...
Quickly rinsing off my hands, I chuckled to myself, tossing my paper towl into the large trash barrel. "You're not so bad after all", I muttered, less-than-gracefully discharging the plump wad of paper.
...con un chingo de dinero, cuz you know I'm a star..."
Making my way back to my table of friends, I noticed one was missing. "Hey, what happened to Marty?" I asked aimlessly. "Oh, he had to split", OJ replied. Damn, always like that guy, he's a little devil on your shoulder -- making you abandon any rational judgement at all, then up and leaving. Oh well, I could tell at this point, the whole group was starting to feel the effects of the liquor we had underestimated just moments before. Alas, the night as still young...
10:00 PM
"Damn," I mutter to the group. "You see that girl over there? That's Hava, I've seen her around the way -- she's the most beautiful bar patron I've ever seen." My 3 companions giggle at my drunk sincerity. "I gotta go for it," I said excitedly. Standing up and trying harder than ever to focus, I made my way across the loud, crowded bar to the slender brunette sitting alone at the other end of the bar.
"Wow, I sure do like your boobs," I said, in the absolute least erotic manner a man has ever spoken, facing Hava's back. I could feel my words drawling out of my mouth like melted butter at this point, though I knew I wasn't intoxicated. "Huh???" the young lady fired back in my direction. "Wha-- oh, yea, your breasts..they're lovely." "Listen, I sure wish you'd get outta my face...asshole."
Making my way back to my table, I heard Mark chime in -- "Well, what happened??" "Oh," I replied, "She told me she's got anal-warts dude, you don't wanna mess with her -- they must be really flaring up too, she didn't seem too comfortable."
10:45 P.M.
...tuesday's gone with the wind..."
"I don't give a flying sh*t, Charles -- El Visdo, Elvis Do, or whatever the f*ck your name is!!" Our new companion was feeling the second-hand wrath of the Jagermeister.
"Blasphemy!! You can't possibly look at me with a straight face and say Blood On the Tracks is a better album than Born To Run. If you do, you're kidding yourself, pal. From this point on, I know that every word that comes out of your slimy Canadian mouth is a big wad of juicy, jiggly HORSE SH*T!!!"
10:53 P.M.
"You know Charles, just between you and me, I always thought you were so much cooler than those other drunk idiots. I don't know how to tell you this man, but if I die, I want you to get custody of my daughter, Kendra."
"But Darion...you don't have a daughter..."
"Oh..nevermind then."
11:00 P.M.
"...I can still hear you sayin', 'I will never break the chain'..."
As the group of 5 bumbling blumpkins stumbled out into the chilling air, I couldn't believe how drunk my friends were at this point. Me, of course, well, I was perfectly sober. Just a little tired, that's all. Making our way to the next bar, Sloppy Pete's Tavern and Tattooing, Mark, in the cheesiest possible manner, spun around and exclaimed the most brilliant idea we'd ever heard -- "Hey!! I got it, let's lay down in the street and try not to get run over!!" Of course, no objections were heard, so Mark stumbled out into the icy street, and promptly got hit by a large Ford Bronco. Peering over at his busted, bruised body, I sighed heavily. "Damn," I mumbled, "I really liked that guy. He was a reeeeeal winner, you know? Oh well, let's go find more alcohol."
11:30 P.M.
The 4 remaining friends walked carefully into Sloppy Pete's, taking a moment to look around. "Pretty dead in here," Lacy muttered. "I know," replied OJ, "But maybe it'll pick up in a little while, let's just check it out."
11:55 P.M.
"...now I just act like I don't remember, Mary acts like she don't care..."
"...and she said, 'but I don't WANT to buy a dutch oven.' Ya get it??"
Roaring in appreciative laughter, the group has now taken a bright upturn, with the emergence of Jim, the drunkest Republican I've ever seen. "Ah Jim, quit blowing smoke up my spinchter, man," Charles chuckled. "I swear to you, it's true!! Every word of it!!"
At this point, I think our bartender..the one with the scar..is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life.
12:20 A.M.
For some odd reason, the group decided that rum was needed to top off this party, so a hefty bottle of Captain Morgan sat next to our half-empty Jager, plotting some fiendish plan. "Dude, that f*ckin' pirate just winked at me...that's freaky." Everyone giggled inanely at OJ's comment, and shots were taken. At this point, I could feel the stank humidity in my chest with every breath. "That stuff is no joke, boy," Charles drawled out. "It's just a good thing we don't have tequila....hey, there's an idea."
1:00 A.M.
I'm not sure where my friends are..I think Lacy went to the bathroom about half an hour ago. At this point, I'm cold and alone, with my head in my arms at our table, trying to convince myself that I was only hallucinating. There wasn't really a pirate riding a German deer swinging a worm like a pair of nunchukas riding towards me calling my name. Thankfully, Jim and Charles emerge from seemingly out of nowhere, each with an arm around the other. "...so I says to her, 'look babe, don't worry about it, just shave off the hair, rub this cream on the area very liberally, and you'll forget you ever had a crotch infestation.'"
2:00 A.M.
I've completely lost my concept of time, and I haven't seen Lacy in about an hour and a half. At this point, Jim, Charles, and myself are walking down the street, the two others carrying an unconscious OJ. I'm walking a few paces behind, wondering whether or not OJ is gonna remember the tattoo on the small of his back that reads "David Lee Roth wuz here." Chuckling to myself, I barely notice the snow that's started falling. I'm tempted to stick out my tongue and try to catch a flake of snow, but I can't muster the energy. Oh well...
2:45 A.M.
We're in some bar now, I don't think I've ever been here. All I know is some grizzly-looking British guy has his arm around me and is telling me about his ex-wifes glandular condition. I know!! I was just as surprised as you, I didn't know Britian had grizzled people either!!
"So Bob, you gonna do it?" Snapping myself back to reality, I turn my heavy head to the man. "My name isn't Bob...it's Charles..I think..and am I gonna do what?" "Are you gonna take up my offer and marry my ex-wife, geez, haven't you listened to a word I've said?"
I don't remember much more of that conversation, but it would explain why that creepy, Christian chick with the afro keeps showing up at my door uninvited with the plates of pigs-in-a-blanket. Anyway, I'll save that story for my Smirnoff review.
3:10 A.M.
Our busboy is the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life.
3:25 A.M.
"...these are my snow-covered trees..."
"Dude, I think we forgot OJ", I said, rather carelessly, to Jim. "That's OK, let that douche-bag find his own way home." "Works for me."
By now, Charles, Jim, and myself are riding in the back of the British guy's pickup truck, blazing down the highway, and all I can think is that that British guy is the most handsome man I've ever seen in my life.
4:00 A.M.
Somehow, we've ended up in Georgia, as the grizzly British guy pulls into Wendy's, and the three drunken passengers in the back tumble out of the truck bed and head into the warm, inviting restaurant.
"Man, I want a hamburger bad..one with bacon, and lots of onions..and..and cottage cheese..yea..and maybe some jelly, man." "Dude, no way." pleaded Charles, you'll just puke it back up..you need a muffin or someth--" "SCREW YOUR MUFFIN, YOU COMMIE BASTARD!! I WANT SOME MEAT!!"
The 3 remaining friends find seats in the restaurant, which is completely unoccupied except for some old couple in the corner. "Yo..that old guy, I think he's a pirate..look at that f*ckin' big-ass pimple he's got." "That doesn't mean he's a pirate, that means he's like, a witch or something." pipes Jim. Suspiciously eyeing the old man, I took a big hearty bite of my burger, and Charles' warning came true. Everything..everything came up after one bite.
I welcomed every ounce of corn, every spaghetti-o, every diseased, mummified-by-cheese piece of meat that my oral cavity pumped forth.
"Awww sh*t!!", shouted Jim, quickly noticing the old muffed-looking couple in the corner. "Uhh, I mean..Aww, feces!! Dude, you smell like ten rotten nutsacs!!" "Shut up Jim, geez, just go ask Wendy if they've got some of that minty sawdust sh*t, you know, like the janitors used in school. Hurry up, before it stains this nice plush carpeting!" At the time, all I could think was that Wendy was the sexiest woman I'd ever seen in my life. "I'm gonna marry that girl someday."
4:20 A.M.
"...wasted away again in Margaritaville..."
Well, we unanimously decided to leave Wendy's, right after getting kicked out. I really don't remember much about the next 36 hours.
Epilogue
In closing, if you're gonna mess around with that vile, malevolent German deer, know what you're getting yourself into. Don't take it for granted -- Jagermeister is a bitch goddess. She giveth and she taketh away. And if you drink irresponsibly, she'll most certainly giveth you the shaft. Take it from me. And take it from Mr. T -- don't be a fool, stay in school.
This is an entry in the Lexiphiliac Write-Off, sponsored by my friend Annextion -- R.I.P. good buddy, he never saw the truck coming. The following participants have balls o' steel -- kristinafh, roxymarie, kris-kochanski, xiphoid, badkittym, annexation, fragglemom, phixed, lessaleigh, love_less, fez_monkey, petra, psychovant, bijou, young1208, deaser26, davidk93, brendmetcalf, repulsemonkey, pogomom, flamepillar, jsallen, galileo365, fallenjesusboy, suspecterrain, dastr8poop, seraphofhades, maggsmom, shadow_dream, spyder550, imokliel, officer, artbyjude, farfetched, prfstars, nifer, 29th_candidate, sordid-1, lattechick, sloucho, blackmonolith, mauriced, difrentisgood, dgturtle2, jkkelley, natch, and me..ObiWanJabroni
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