8.21.2005
Pink elephants? Why not a kooky pink whale?
Ok. Here's part two of your free ride on my choo-choot-train of thought:
I want to be drunk all day tomorrow. And not your regular "happy hour" tipsy...but, swilling Mad Dog 20/20 out of a paper sack soused.
I want to wait by the door of the local package store and be ready, with cash in my hand, at 10 a.m. to purchase said liquor. I want the packi-store's owner to see the crazed look of determination in my eyes. I want the clerk to offer me a free sample of the salami-stuffed pepperochinis that flank the register in a dingy jar...just because he thinks this might distract any forthcoming rogue actions...
I want to make a mockery of myself and my family in this tiny-ass town.
I want to stumble my wasted-at-11 a.m.-on-a-Monday-morning-ass down to the town wharf...cigarette dangling out of my mouth...here, I'll chuck the first empty bottle of 20/20 at the iron whale that sits atop the gazebo. I want the Harbormaster and his cronies to think about saying something addressing my obvious intoxication and attempts to vandalize historical public property...but, become apprehensive when they see me lurch towards the ocean like one of those "28 Days Later" zombies...those guys were so quick!
I want to drop to my knees in water...take the second bottle of brown-sacked 20/20 from my back pocket and motion as if I were presenting the malt-liquor as a sacrificial offering to my Ocean God...who, curiously, lives in the sky. When it becomes apparent that Ocean God isn't interested in the gift...I want to open the bottle, violently, with my teeth, and down the beverage in one, or possibly two, swigs.
I want to get up...stagger two steps to the right...stand absolutely still for 43 seconds and then make a sharp, about-face...reach down to my left sock where I've stored two nips of vodka in the elastic (don't even ask what I'm carrying in my right sock)...and place one in a tiny, liquor-nip-sized paper sack. This will make it look soooo cute.
Ok.
Hmm...I don't think I'll do that tomorrow...It's more likely that I'll find myself on a bus to Connecticut.
So, the train of thought has de-railed and I need to sleep...we'll leave this as one of those obnoxious "to be continued..."
I want to be drunk all day tomorrow. And not your regular "happy hour" tipsy...but, swilling Mad Dog 20/20 out of a paper sack soused.
I want to wait by the door of the local package store and be ready, with cash in my hand, at 10 a.m. to purchase said liquor. I want the packi-store's owner to see the crazed look of determination in my eyes. I want the clerk to offer me a free sample of the salami-stuffed pepperochinis that flank the register in a dingy jar...just because he thinks this might distract any forthcoming rogue actions...
I want to make a mockery of myself and my family in this tiny-ass town.
I want to stumble my wasted-at-11 a.m.-on-a-Monday-morning-ass down to the town wharf...cigarette dangling out of my mouth...here, I'll chuck the first empty bottle of 20/20 at the iron whale that sits atop the gazebo. I want the Harbormaster and his cronies to think about saying something addressing my obvious intoxication and attempts to vandalize historical public property...but, become apprehensive when they see me lurch towards the ocean like one of those "28 Days Later" zombies...those guys were so quick!
I want to drop to my knees in water...take the second bottle of brown-sacked 20/20 from my back pocket and motion as if I were presenting the malt-liquor as a sacrificial offering to my Ocean God...who, curiously, lives in the sky. When it becomes apparent that Ocean God isn't interested in the gift...I want to open the bottle, violently, with my teeth, and down the beverage in one, or possibly two, swigs.
I want to get up...stagger two steps to the right...stand absolutely still for 43 seconds and then make a sharp, about-face...reach down to my left sock where I've stored two nips of vodka in the elastic (don't even ask what I'm carrying in my right sock)...and place one in a tiny, liquor-nip-sized paper sack. This will make it look soooo cute.
Ok.
Hmm...I don't think I'll do that tomorrow...It's more likely that I'll find myself on a bus to Connecticut.
So, the train of thought has de-railed and I need to sleep...we'll leave this as one of those obnoxious "to be continued..."
--- a likely story from --- themellenhead @ 11:55 PM 
Quibbles:
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I really wasn't feeling all that vacant yesterday...so, don't cry.
It was just a thought that I had late last night and felt like sharing.
I used to share more of my random thoughts outloud, but I learned in my first couple years of college that this was just asking for my daily "what is wrong with you" dose.
It was just a thought that I had late last night and felt like sharing.
I used to share more of my random thoughts outloud, but I learned in my first couple years of college that this was just asking for my daily "what is wrong with you" dose.
You know, I actually think the best place to be intoxicated is in a public laundromat. No, really -- it's fun. I used to do my laundry "three sheets to the wind" all the time when I lived in North Texas, and shared facilities with a small apartment complex.
I can remember one Friday night ... I'd spent most of my "down time" after the night shift chasing shots of Tullamore Dew with pounders of Ice House. I realized that I'd probably be vomiting later, and that having a clean set of clothes handy would be a good idea.
So there I was, folding unmentionables, when I realized I wasn't alone anymore in the laundry room -- my elderly next door neighbor was seated a few tables down, smoking a cigarette while she waited for her mumus to finish rinsing. I wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but I was certain it had been a while, as she shot me a suspicious stare. After all, I was applying an awful lot of concentration to fold socks, rocking back and forth and trying not to fall over.
I wondered what might happen if I just stared back, and ever so slowly started to wet my pants. Slowly, letting the sound hit her before the sight. She'd look down at my pants, then back up at me, then back down again; her mouth would be slightly agape in a look of disgust and horror.
That would teach her to stare!
But of course, I didn't do that -- was all in my head, which, of course, led me to laugh hysterically, standing there with a pair of boxers in my hand.
That creeped her our just as much.
Three cheers for public intoxication!!
Hip Hip, Hooray!!
- gerry -
I can remember one Friday night ... I'd spent most of my "down time" after the night shift chasing shots of Tullamore Dew with pounders of Ice House. I realized that I'd probably be vomiting later, and that having a clean set of clothes handy would be a good idea.
So there I was, folding unmentionables, when I realized I wasn't alone anymore in the laundry room -- my elderly next door neighbor was seated a few tables down, smoking a cigarette while she waited for her mumus to finish rinsing. I wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but I was certain it had been a while, as she shot me a suspicious stare. After all, I was applying an awful lot of concentration to fold socks, rocking back and forth and trying not to fall over.
I wondered what might happen if I just stared back, and ever so slowly started to wet my pants. Slowly, letting the sound hit her before the sight. She'd look down at my pants, then back up at me, then back down again; her mouth would be slightly agape in a look of disgust and horror.
That would teach her to stare!
But of course, I didn't do that -- was all in my head, which, of course, led me to laugh hysterically, standing there with a pair of boxers in my hand.
That creeped her our just as much.
Three cheers for public intoxication!!
Hip Hip, Hooray!!
- gerry -
#-- posted by -- 
: 24/8/05 10:22 AM
: 24/8/05 10:22 AM
I didn't know you could even do laundry without being intoxicated.
Like...the ice cream man and Lik-m-aid, they belong together.
And, gerry, if I only knew that old, smoking, mumu-wearing women made you want to wet your pants, we would've taken many a trip to the bingo parlour back in the day...
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Like...the ice cream man and Lik-m-aid, they belong together.
And, gerry, if I only knew that old, smoking, mumu-wearing women made you want to wet your pants, we would've taken many a trip to the bingo parlour back in the day...
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