|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, you have to understand, at the most unlikely of moments. This evening, wasn't supposed to turn into the fiasco that it became. In fact, it wasn't even an evening. It started off as an attempt to watch Saturday Morning Cartoons.
What I'm really saying is, you can't plan things like this.
It was a fine day in May, it was starting to feel like spring again, which may have had something to do with what happened. I was hanging out at mightydogking's place, as I do, and we did, of course, revert to form. By that, I mean, we were watching cartoons. It's hard to find a decent Saturday Morning cartoon anymore. Teletoon, however, has us covered. First there's Batman, and then, there's MegasXLR. For anyone who's not seen Megas, I highly recommend it. The thing is, this is the age of the internet. So, one episode wasn't good enough. We had to have more.
By about the third episode, it occured to us that this show was perfect. Oafish, entertaining, dumb to a fault, with no redeeming qualities at all, except that it had its own special charm. Also, we love giant robots.
Perfect for a drinking game, that is.
HOw did we come to this conclusion? Well, the show airs on Teletoon at 10:30am. At 11am, the bars open. We weren't at a bar, but 11am is the designated time when it's "OK" to start drinking. And by "OK", I mean we'd decided that 11am means you're not an alcoholic because that's when the law says you can start buying booze.
Yes, it's spurious logic. Shut up. Who's telling this story anyways?
So, there we are, beer in hand, 11:03am on a Saturday morning, pretty much just because we can. mightyoddking showed up fairly shortly, and he's always good help when it comes to logical rule making.
It's hard to remember exactly how each of the rules came into being, but really, the logic was thus:
mightydogking: So, repetitive things. Those are good for drinking.
boozysmurf: What are we talkin' about then? I mean, there's a lot of repeaters, aren't there?
mightydogking: Yeah, there are. Coop Speechifies, breaks something important, bashes a button with his head.
mightyoddking: Don't forget about multiple instances.
mightyoddking, he's helpful, you see. So, he reminded us that some of our rules happen simultaneously. Like, you could have a triple-cut of Coop bashing a Meta-button with his head, while speechifying.
This leads to many, many drinks. I think the most we hit was nine, which is basically, "chug a beer". The other interesting phenomenon? We'd watch more episodes, and see more things that are in every episode. Not suprising, I mean, this drinking/tv game thing, this isn't new, it worked with the Smurfs, too, right? But, we'd get more and more enthusiastic about what could be included.
I know we started the day with about a case in the fridge. Maybe a little less. Now, we're up in Canada, eh, so for us, a case is 24 beers, of 355ml (12oz) each, just to clarify. I think the case had about 20 in it.
By 4pm, there was none left. And we were drunk. I'll give the due, we shouldn't have been served anymore booze, even at that early stage. Which is why we sent someone else to go get more beer. I think, I'm not sure, but I think, it may have been agingcusahack, but don't quote me on that. It's a year ago, and we'd had a few.
Now, all would have been fine. I would have been content to just pass on out. But, agingcusahack and proonjoos were going to play pool. THis sounded like a good idea to us. We'd have a beer or two to cool down a bit, play some pool, and that'd be that.
What were the rules, though, dammit! What were the rules, you ask?
Well, we did write them down as we went, which is good, because we were in no condition to remember them. You can go read 'em here, and should do, so that you can play too.
Ok, so I can see NOW that that wasn't going to happen. Even then, the indicator should have been calling myclevername and clumsy_me. They have their own particular little story in all this. You see, when we called them, they thought going out was a good plan. However, they, like us, prefer to imbibe a small amount before going out, to prime the pumps, as it were. So, they went and bought beer, and took it home. Taking it home meant breaking open the case and drinking as quickly as possible on the way home, then drinking more while they got ready to go out, and then drinking more on the way to the bar. That's the limit of what I know of their story. They're free to correct this as they see fit.
And we all arrive at the bar, a pool hall called MacLaren's.
Here's where things get interesting. Myself and mightydogking, we'd drunk about fourteen or fifteen beers each by now. Admittedly, this is over a seven or eight hour time frame, but still, that's a metric assload of beer(tm). myclevername and clumsy_me, they did their own damage.
No one should have served us any more beer
But they did. I don't know why. I wouldn't have done. But they did.
So, we played pool.
The problem is this. We're boys (well some of us). We're drunk boys. And even at the best of times, like when we're sober, we don't have much of a filter.
You know the filter, right? The one that stops you saying inappropriate things at inappropriate times? That filter.
We don't have much of one of those, even at the best of times. If you consider sober the best of times, then these, with apologies to Charles Dickens, these were the worst of times.
And the ladies we were with, well, they're beautiful girls. And well endowed. They have massive ... intellects. You can see where I'm going with this.
Of course, this becomes a discussion. It really had to. It ended up with some groping, and some inappropriate commentory, and much laughter, and mightydogking wearing a cupful of clumsy_me's beer. I think someone got punched in the face, too, but as I don't think it was me, all is well.
And this continues. For several hours, and we continue to get served, and more and more........
Socially lubricated, shall we say?
After all, we'd nevr met clumsy_me before, and we were making friends with the bar staff all over the place. But, if you really, really want to know how out of hand it was getting, you have to understand, the girls were biting each others boobs. Oh, you say, that's bull, but no, it's true. And we have the pictures to prove it.
You'd think that'd be enough, wouldn't you?
You'd think, in the midst of all this, someone would say, "hey, we've been at it for twelve hours. Maybe it's time to go home."
You'd think you know us then, and you'd be wrong.
Because this had turned into a bender. An Epic Bender. A night which will be spoken of for years to come. Nay, for time immemorial.
We drank HEROICALLY. And, by heroically, I mean stupidly.
I have to digress here.
There's a guy, I don't know if you know him, there's a guy known as Tucker Max, who does ludicrously obnoxious things when he drinks. We were approaching Tucker Max Drunk (yes, that's a level of drunk) that night, I think. I don't know if we made it, but we got REALLY close.
I have to note that, because I don't know if I'm capable of truly describing what came next. Some of the stories are second hand. Some of them, I'm directly involved in, and well, even those I'm hazy on.
Back to the story.
We were still at MacLarens. Things could have ended there, happily, easily. Painlessly. But it wasn't one of those nights. The only thing for it was to go somewhere else, somewhere with loud, thumpy music. Somewhere with a crowded dancefloor, and all kinds of people, from drunken sorority girls, to spandex-clad cougars with teased up, 80's style metal-hair. From fratboys to old drunks to old perverts and all manner of combination of the above. Or below.
we were going to Maxwells of course.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: No one should have served us any more booze
Now, You'll note I said "booze" this time, not "beer". That would be because I staggered into Maxwells, up the stairs and yelled (loudly, I'm told) for Jager!
"Jager! gimme Jager!"
And promptly bought a round.
Yes, you see, this is the point at which I start to have problems. The problem being, I'd drunk somewhere on the order of twenty-five beers over ten hours. On top of that, there'd been a coupla vodka/OJ, and some unnamed shooters. I think. and then the Jager. And more beer. You can see where the problems come from. mightydogking was in the same condition as me; obliterated. Gibbering, stinking, ugly, drunk. Fun, in other words. myclevername, and clumsy_me, they were well along for the ride too. How do I know all this?
Well, there's pictures.
Now, what happened, of course, is that I don't dance. But, I was drunk, and evvvvvvveryone ended up on the dancefloor. agingcusahack (sober), proonjoos, and plastykgyrl as well. They weren't in the condition we were in, though.
They weren't INVINCIBLE!
A good measure of how drunk you are is your absolute level of embarassment. For instance, if you were to be told, sober, that you had to take your shirt off, you'd probably blush and say no. However, after more drinks than any sane person should imbibe, not only will you say yes, it'll be your idea.
This happened to myclevername. At least, I think that that is what happened to her. I assume that much, as this story is completely second hand.
She and clumsy_me staggered (I'm assuming staggered) into the bathroom, where myclevername decided for some reason to remove her shirt. She had to wear something ELSE for the dancefloor festivities.
That something else ended up being a bandana. And not a particularly large bandana. In fact, I'm quite sure that physics were looking the other way, because had they been even glancing at Ms. Name, well, she'd have exploded outwards showering a detritous of hoisery everywhere.
To her credit, she danced like this, all night.
Where are the pictures, you ask?
They are not for your eyes. You're reading a story, not flipping idly through a picture book in your dentists office.
Eventually, after more beer, more sweat, more "dancing" (you know that drunken shuffle you do on a crowded dance floor? yeah, we call that dancing). There were girls dancing with boys dancing with girls, dancing with girls and quite honestly, I was a happy, happy, and very drunken, man.
Two o'clock in the morning came and went, and the bar shut down. I think it was that late. I know we had to leave, and I think the lights came on. The girls rode home with proonjoos and agingcusahack, one of whom was definitely sober. They're cool like that. Myself and mightydogking, we figured we'd walk home, because, really, it's four blocks, and how much trouble can we get in?
I know you want to. You know where this is going, I think.
"And that's when the police showed up."
Well, it's true.
And it totally wasn't entirely our fault. BUt it totally wasn't entirely NOT our fault too. There were a coupla events that happened very quickly, like, over the course of about ten minutes, that conspired to get us in trouble.
The first thing that happened was some drunk handed us an umbrella. Not a personal umbrella, but a patio-umbrella. Well, the drunk in question handed it to mightydogking, who took it. Why? Because it was a Molson Canadian umbrella, and we like that kind of think. That's our brand!
In hindsight, maybe, just maybe, we should have figured out why a drunk had a patio umbrella in his hands, and didn't want it there anymore. We were walking past a notorious bar/club called The Bulldog at this point, and there was a large crowd. Ok, fine, so, yes, it PROBABLY came off a patio in the vicinity.
We just knew, in our haze, that it was a cool umbrella, and it was, ostensibly, ours now.
We were also, as we walked along the street, wrestling and throwing each other around, and against the apartment buildings along the way.
This is the SECOND problem situation.
You see, people, stupid, stupid people, live in those apartments, because it's conveniently close to Elgin st, where the bars and restaurants are. Except that's only convenient if you're going to the bars and restaurants, not trying to sleep while the patrons of said bars and restaurants are coming home from a night of copious carnage. Often enough, one of two things happens. People fight or playfight along this strip, disturbing the peaceful slumber of the residents, who are annoyed. Or, they're thinking (and expressing) thoughts of a carnal nature with a newly found, and often equally drunk, companion.
So, we were fightin' and stuff, and banging off the walls and street signs, having a good old time, and probably annoyed someone.
Or, alternatively, someone saw us with the umbrella which was almost undoubtably stolen from a local bar, and made the obvious assumption.
Either way, it was at the exact moment that decided that the umbrella was useless, the but the cloth that coverd it was cool, and potentially useful. And at that exact moment that he walked along the street trying to release the cool looking cloth shade from the steel umbrella that held it. And at that exact moment he was banging it over and over against a steel railing.
At that exact moment two Police Cruisers rolled up, lights flashing, sirens going, and spotlights on...
Well, on us.
It seems that we were causing something of a disturbance. And the second cop (there were three, shortly, cruisers, that is, which personally, I thought was complete overkill given the situation and the riotously good mood we were in, but, I can see how our mood could have been ... misconstrued), the second cop, he thought the whole situation was hysterical. Oh, he was being careful and watching everything, but still, you could see the laughter in his face.
Not so with number one cop. First on the scene. In charge. A big man.
A big man, who was maybe 5'7 tall, and MAYBE twenty-one years old.
In our defense, drunk or not, we're not completely retarded. So, we did simmer down, we did act rationally, we even stood up straight (and let me tell you, that was an effort that late in the evening). And they asked us for our ID, which we gave them. I don't like giving my ID up, and I like it even less when it disappears into the cruiser and doesn't come back out with the cop, but I wasn't going to make an issue of it.
I also don't like the way cops will try to trip you up in your 'story'. Because, dumb as it sounds, ours was true. OK, I understand it didn't sound particularly credible, but the state we were in should have been a dead giveaway that we weren't capable of fabricating a story at this point.
Cop: "Where are you going?"
mightydogking: "Home. It's over there."
Cop: "What are you doing with the umbrella?"
mightydogking: "Trying to, umm, keep the good cloth bit?"
Cop: "Unh hunh. Where did you get the umbrella?"
mightydogking:"some guy handed it to us?"
Cop: "Unh hunh. You stole it you mean?"
boozysmurf: "No. Some guy handed it to you. Him. Us!! Us! handed it to us!"
Cop: "Yeah, so you stole some guys' umbrella?"
mightydogking: "No! Some guy handed it to us!"
Cop: and then you..."
"mightydogking: "beat it up."
Cop: "you beat the guy up?"
mightydogking: "No! The umbrella!"
Cop: "unh hunh."
Cop: "where are you coming from?"
Cop: "I thought that's where you were going?"
boozysmurf: "Hunh? Oh, right! that is! we're coming from over there!"
Cop: "so, you were lying to me when you said you were going home?"
mightydogking:"No! We're going home!"
Cop: "So you were lying to me when you said you were coming from home?"
boozysmurf: "No! That was a mis.. miss.. mistake! *burp* We're going home, coming from OVER THERE!"
mightydogking: "Yeah, overthere!"
Cop: "over where?"
Simultaneously: "the bar. duuuuuuuuuuh."
*pointed look from the cop*
Cop:"You're ... 31, boozysmurf?, and you, mightydogking, 34?"
Cop: "Maybe you guys should try acting your age."
I'm sure, in years to come, the story will change, and we'll actually have said those fateful words to that cop. The words that really, would have got us a night in the drunktank, and probably with some justification. I know was thinking it. If I was thinking it, I know he was thinking it.
mightydogking and boozysmurf look pointedly at each other, at the 5'7, 21-year old cop, and say, in perfect unison, "Maybe YOU should try acting YOUR age, Occiver!"
And that, of course, is the point at which we would have gone to jail. Fortunately, the pair of us are smart enough to say "Yes, Sir" and let things go. It's amazing what our years of drinking publicly have done to our survival instincts. I mean, yeah, some animals are genetically predisposed to know when a predator is stalking them, but we, we've trained our bodies to know when enough is enough, and our bodies will actually prevent our mouths from acting, and more imporantly, speaking, without proper authorization and prompting from the brain. Now, Some of you, who know us, are shaking your heads in denial right now, I know that. But it is true. We'll stay stupid, confrontational, ignorant, sexist, mean, and just plan dumb things that don't make any sense, but when it's a truly important moment, like when talking to a cop who acn plant us firmly in the drunktank for the night, our tongues are held in check. And for no good reason. I mean, we SHOULD have beenmouthing off to the cop. We'd been mouthing off all night, for God's sake!
And yet, at this point, it was hard not to take that tiny, little, blue uniform seriously. He just looked so serious in his bullet proof vest, and all.
It was suggested that maybe, just maybe, we should head home now.
Which we were doing anyway, when we were so rudely interupted in our revelry.
It was suggested that maybe, just maybe, we should put the umbrella in the trash.
Which we were goign to do, after we got that infernal covering loose.
It was suggested that maybe we call it a night.
Which we were going to do, if they'd just get those damn spotlights out of our eyes!
And so, we staggered home. Yes, we were drunk. Heroically, epically drunk. That's true. But we'd survived. Not only that, but we had some good stories to tell, if we could remember them in the morning.
Fortunately, we also had pictures, which made some of the details come back. And I've endured enough therapy and self-contemplation now taht I can talk about the incidents of that night without falling to the ground in the fetal position and rocking back and forth.
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.