|My, but it's quiet in here.
||[Dec. 1st, 2006|09:08 pm]
So, it's been a while, friends and neighbours, but I felt it was time, again, to tell a story.
You see, I have this problem, and I think it makes me a snob, but here we are, in and no one tells stories. Oh, there's recollections of incidents, but "I went out and got loaded and we all threw up", that's not a story. A story, well, a story grabs you, doesn't it? It suspends your disbelief, and it takes you along for the ride. It attaches you to the participents and makes you think, "Man, I wish I'd been there!".
I will attempt to tell you a story. But first, the set-up.
I'm not young anymore, unfortunately. At thirty-three, I've had good, good years, and good, good stories. I have loved booze through all of it, well, since I was about sixteen, anyways. Half my life, drinking and eventually, you gotta have some stories.
( Things tend to happen at unlikely timesCollapse )
Stories are a great thing! Hey! You made it!
It should be noted that we were so drunk some of the details may be skewed. Also, I may have embellished some of the details. Like the level at which we were able to form complete, coherent sentences. And the entirity of any "verbatim" dialogue. But that's ok, because the feeling is there, the spirit of the night is conveyed, and I'm happy with that.