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Monday, May 16, 2005

Blender Helmet Anthropology

There comes a time in life when one must make a decision. Try this: six people, four cases of beer, a modest pile of coke, loud music, and shish kebabs. End the revelry with the rising sun and you've got a lazy Saturday on the horizon. Am I right?

Not if you promise several people you'll hoist the regal banner of hedonism again the next day. Three sheets to the wind and damn the torpedoes! I went out Saturday afternoon to a barbecue keg party. Steaks, sausages, corn on the cob, and a delicious avacado brushetta tumbled in my concrete mixer stomach to create a healthy blend of hangover medicine. The keg was tapped at sundown.

I decided to refrain from drinking beer. Once upon a time it made me giggly, happy, fun, goofy, hungry, and finally, tired. Now it makes me bloated, morose, grouchy, angry, belligerent, clumsy, hungry, and finally, tired. People began to notice I wasn't drinking.

"Dude, whoa, are you drinking straight gin again?"

"This is water."

"Oh. Um, okay. Keg's tapped."

"I know, it's Bud Lite, which tastes like fermented racoon urine. I'll drink some hard liquor a bit later. Thanks for looking after my blood alcohol level."

"Sure man. We'll do some shots later."

For a while there I felt pretty grim. I wanted no part of the beer, I was drowsy from the heaping mounds of scorched animal carcasses I'd masticated so ravenously, the dance music was giving me vertigo, and I thought about giving up and going home.

I snuck down to the psychadelic blacklight basement and reclined myself in a collapsable vinyl folding chair. The music was extremely loud but I managed to zone it out.

Time passed, flying by, never leaving sight. I was awoken by beautiful girls dancing. Several of them on me, to my grinning approval. I lit their cigarettes and doled out smiles, laughs, and hoots for their raunchiest shakedowns. When they're competing for your attention, you're the audience, not a leering ogler.

Several hours later I tried to convince a horde of stumbling spilling drunks to play darts with their eyes closed. I'm not sure where I got the idea, but I think the following vision may have birthed fully realized into my lizard brain:

Darts arced beneath the kitchen ceiling, sticking into hamburgers, splashing into cocktails, rattling into the sink, scraping old paint from the walls, piercing shocked drunks square in the ass. People covered their eyes, hit the ground, and balled themselves up in fetal positions. "Stop stop stop!" they yelled. Bloody darts were plucked from wincing asses as the angry and injured tried to figure out who was to blame. Who would get a royal beatdown for tying the blindfolds? Who would be punished for the sobbing gutstabbed girl that accidentally spilled the pitcher of pulpy screwdrivers?

Nobody wanted to play. Shame. I tried it myself. The result was embarrassing, and I was mostly sober. A few wayward darts bounced harmlessly from the walls.

I nominated myself as toastmaster and was elected easily. A mudslide victory. I downed a few shots of Jameson whiskey and Rain vodka. I had people shout out different states, and we had a particularly spirited and enthusiastic toast for the state of Tennessee. I'm not sure why. I toasted "to anvils falling on cartoon character's heads" and "to the succesful repelling of the evil alien invasion of Illinois." I wanted to toast to "haberdasheries," mainly beacuase I don't know what they are. I never did, however.

I just looked it up. It's an establishment that sells notions or men's clothing. I thought notions were whimsical ideas. Clothing? Next time I'm wearing my favorite shirt I'll have to ask around to people "Do you like this notion?" I'll re-establish the term, firmly entrenching it among our modern parlance alongside words such as "fuckface," "retard," "cool," and "infectuous munonucelosis."

The host's property sported a huge back yard with giant maple trees, acorns strewn about, fire pits, grass and mud. I'm going to go back there soon and try to organize some sort of squirrel lasso competition. I can already see the drunks bouncing on trampolines, aiming their rope loops into the trees, puking on themselves from all the turbulence. I doubt we'll catch any squirrels, but it'll be worth a home video or two.
8:30 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


May 16, 2005 9:19 AM, Blogger Kerouaced said...

"I know, it's Bud Lite, which tastes like fermented racoon urine." Hilarious. I should be working but couldn't resist reading this. Keep on writing...

May 16, 2005 10:09 AM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

Harry Truman was a haberdasher. That's why people my age know about haberdasheries. But we don't care about them now. Not like we used to. Now we spend all our time avoiding Bud Lite.

May 16, 2005 10:22 AM, Blogger Dave Morris said...

great story man!

The only reason I can think of to toast Tennessee would be... that I'm NOT there.

Again, nice piece of writing. Between reading you and Kerouaced, I never have to go to Borders!

May 16, 2005 10:30 AM, Blogger karen gsteiger said...

When I was 19, I learned in London that a game of darts is always better when you're drunk and using The Force.

Great story!


May 16, 2005 10:55 AM, Blogger Saucy Monk said...

your weekends wear ME out.

for the record:

Pronunciation Key (hbr-dsh-r)

1) A haberdasher's shop.
2) The goods and wares sold by a haberdasher.

and thus,

Pronunciation Key (hbr-dshr)

1) A dealer in men's furnishings.
2) A dealer in sewing notions and small wares.

May 16, 2005 11:12 AM, Blogger Wino McHackenpuke said...

Hey, did Neil show up?

It's not a party without Neil, as far as I'm concerned.

May 16, 2005 11:22 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

Nope, Neil didn't show. Nobody likes him.

Last I heard he was sucking cock on the southside for donut money.

May 16, 2005 2:07 PM, Blogger clothosfate said...

hahahaha... its good to know when to stop a drug, and thats ussually when its not fun anymore, but so many people don't get it, they just decide to take more.

I used to work as a bartender, and beer had the worst effect, especially on tap. yeck

Playing games with drunks sounds like more fun then being a drunk, I think I'm going to go out and try it, and if I get arrested I will tell them, Steve made me do it!

May 16, 2005 3:13 PM, Blogger Stace said...

Why couldn't you have taken a shot for Texas? I mean really is there anything wrong with us? Good story glad you TRIED to be good.

May 16, 2005 3:42 PM, Blogger Chris said...

Next time you should play British Roulette. That's where everyone in the room has a dart, they close their eyes and spin around for ten seconds, then throw the darts forward. This is followed by lots of crying and bleeding.

May 16, 2005 4:19 PM, Blogger if_i_had_a_hammer said...

i think water has more alcohol content than bud light anyway...

May 16, 2005 4:27 PM, Blogger Isabella said...

you made me hungry and i think that you have a better social live than me. i'm going to exact my revenge by correcting you.

its bruschetta, danmit, don't forget the fucking "c" -- fuck, the way you people fucking butcher the goddamned language. its shameful. Jeebus Crimany.

May 16, 2005 4:27 PM, Blogger Isabella said...

i meant "life".
i am so funny.

May 16, 2005 5:57 PM, Blogger ty bluesmith said...


i feel ya.

May 17, 2005 8:27 PM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Your writing astounds Steve, and you keep getting better.

May 18, 2005 7:11 AM, Blogger Mishka said...

Good idea to avoid the Bud light...I am amazed that they still make the stuff, apparently they have to put something in kegs...

Jamison is not on the top of my list either. Two of my friends drink that stuff and it will kill you, let me tell you. But some of the most fun I have had, had been with the two of them drunk on it, so I guess as long as I don't have to drink it....haha.


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