I woke up Friday afternoonish to the very distinct memory that Messin With Sasquatch, sometime on the way home from the airport, stopped the car in the middle of the street, pulled me out of the car, and slapped me. I don’t know why this happened. Sometimes people don’t quite get me right off the bat. It happens.
We started smoking. We watched movies. Beer was consumed. We watched this great cartoon about colonial times, which ended with cartoon Thomas Jefferson delivering the most eloquent justification of chattel slavery that I’ve heard to date, and believe me, I’ve heard a few. He succeeds in convincing a young female reporter type not to publish a scathing piece on the hypocrisy of declaring human freedom while owning other humans at the same time. Awesome. This was followed by something about Jesus when I swear I heard “the Romans froze Jesus in carbonite.” We smoked again.
We went out fairly early that night and got some food. This was followed by a succession of bars where I proceeded to drink a lot. I was introduced to a dude who shares my name and had an unfortunate condition that prevented him from drinking alcohol. We all went back to the apartment and smoked, and decided to go to the only bar who’s name I actually remember this entire trip.
Snake and Jake’s is without a doubt, the sketchiest bar I’ve ever been to in my life. It’s kind of all by itself in what looked like a mainly residential area, questionable looking characters hanging around out front. I rode over with MWS, while Booze Zombie rode over with another friend who we’ll call SpeedRacer. Other people were finding their own way there, but it was just us when we got there. We walk inside, and it’s uncomfortably dark. There’s just couches lining the walls, and a home-made looking bar. I loved it immediately. Dives aren’t created, they just have to happen. And this place may very well be “the perfect dive.”
MWS introduced me to a bunch of people who I apologize for not remembering. I just now while writing this realize that I have no clue how Sarge got here, but I ran into him later on. I was on my third vodka tonic by the time BZombie showed up with SpeedRacer. He plants him on a couch and starts telling us what happened to them on the way over.
BZ: SR is really trashed man…he was weaving all over the road and shit…he drove halfway across town. I was trying to get him to pull over and he was all “man, you’re just messing with me, I know where I’m going…” We finally came to a stop sign and I reached over and yanked the keys out of the ignition. We almost died.
I realize that drunk driving is way more ok down here than where I’m from, but that’s pretty crazy. We drink more and BZombie decides to bring SpeedRacer somewhere because he’s so goddamn trashed. They sort of half carry him out to go to somebody’s apartment. I move in on an empty couch and quite possibly passed out for a couple of minutes. I come to to MWS giving Sarge and me shit for not drinking enough. I wake up and drink more. It’s nearly 4 am, and this 100lb girl is drinking me under the table and giving me shit the whole time. Goddamn. I’ve been feasting on AAA pitching in New Hampshire, but this is The Show. I enter a Zen like state of consciousness. I separate my mind from the intoxication of my body, and I continue on.
We get back to the apartment and I get involved with MWS in a fantastic discussion of Russian literature. She pulls out a pile of books and tells me I can have them. Everyone passes out but us, and I feel a great sense of victory at having remained awake. We watch an old Woody Allen movie, “Love and Death,” which continues the crazy Russians thing. MWS goes to sleep. I’m the last one to go down. All I hear is hacking and groaning from everyone in here. We’re all dying. Saturday night, here we come.
-LFODD
No comments:
Post a Comment