Ever get so busy that every day is Groundhog Day (yes, the Bill Murray flick), but YOU are the star? The only differences being that you get to change your clothes everyday, or whenever the overwhelming stench of your unwashed tuches becomes unbearable in all possible situations, and folks are looking at you with palpable disgust because you have a rather prodigious itch about your nether-regions that you just can’t stop scratching. In Public.
You make YOURSELF sick. But, I digress.
I often find that in these days when time is short, that food is a luxury that often remains forgotten. Usually this occurs when there’s much to be done, and I have to travel from one side of the city to another, making multiple stops for errands, rehearsals, appearances, retrieval of pay from gigs….. To have a seat and enjoy a meal is implausible. This is further compounded by my stubborn nature. If I want something done, then dammit, it’s getting done, and woe be to ye who obstructs my aims. By the time it’s all said and finally, at long friggin’ last, the sun has dipped beyond our hemisphere, and the night is upon us.
With the night cometh Booze.
An evening sponsored by Hunger, Frazzled Brains, and Alcohol. This is going to be fun,….or a questionable decision. Or Both.
So I choose Gin. Gin and tonic, specifically. I want to know that this spirit is kicking me square in the arse. I can hear some of you already, “…why not [insert favorite anise-flavored booze]?” My response: ” Bleach, Antifreeze, and Strychnine would make a better tasting cocktail. Plus, I’m sure I’d have some intense hallucinations before I kick the bucket…” I’m sorry folks, I can’t stand a certain brand of anise-flavored liqueur. Really, all of them. I just can’t obtain the acquired taste that is required. Simply put, It tastes like stir-fried crap. Sitting at home and repeatedly smashing my junk with a sledgehammer would be more enjoyable. Plus, you can’t get the taste out of your mouth.
The taste of the liqueur,that is. Keep your mind out of the gutter, kiddos.
Some folks can’t handle alcohol. Really, it isn’t for everyone. If you know this, Good! If you are blissfully ignorant of this simple truth, chances are you are the star of Amateur Night, Starring you, the drunken idiot girl who can’t hold her liquor, but will drink 4 shots of Rumple, and will need to be carried out of the establishment by your date, who is well aware that he has an unconscious woman in his arms, and is even more aware of the fact that everybody in the bar has already made a mental image of his mugshot, in case Drunkelina McDrunkenstein turns up missing ( a bit of a personal story). Or the runner-up, the girl who sets her hair on fire while lighting a cigarette.
Oh no, it’s not just the fairer sex who make an act as simple as having a drink an arduous task. Nay, it is men who have forever been the Grand Champions of Hapless Drunken Dumbassery, Whether it’s the guy who drinks too much and thinks that he’s the UFC Heavyweight Champion and the WWE Champion. Yes, at the same time. Yes, all in one person. However, he forgets that he’s 5′ 5″ and 135 pounds.
The man whom our illustrious “champ” is challenging? A real pushover, or so he thinks. A pushover that resembles Quinton “Rampage” Jackson, Vitali Klitschko, and Chieck Kongo, all rolled into one person. Need we continue to the inevitable, yet ridiculous end?
Or the second runner up: The guy who passes out in the MEN’S BATHROOM. A waste-water treatment plant is cleaner than most men’s restrooms in America. If it isn’t the smell, it’s the inch-thick layer of an unidentified liquid on the floor.
Third: Johnny Knoxville
Fourth: Mel Gibson.
Amongst this zoo, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Catching a buzz, going to an after-party at somebondy’s crib, then home. To be honest, sleep sounds like a good idea. I’m going to bed.