My friend, Michelle, is concerned that her husband, Marc, isn't getting out enough. She suggests to my friend Ben that the next time we have a night out we invite Marc along. The plan is we head over to their house for dinner, have a few beers to loosen up, and then head downtown for a fun little night out. Ben and I go over and have a couple brats and brews.
9:35. 5 beers. Feeling groovy.
We move the shindig downtown. At the Metro Coffee House I, John Woo style, order four beers; two for myself, two for Marc. Over the next half-hour or so Marc tells me that he's always been a career wingman. I tell him about my New Year's resolution to chase more tail this year. He's there for me, however Michelle had told him that whereas I'm looking for more of the The One, Ben was out to score. He says we should concentrate on Ben this evening. I agree.
11:20. 2 beers. Maintenance buzz.
We are walking down the street past Ye Olde Renaissance Pub and Gifts. Ben hates this place. I'm an asshole so we go in. A lone musician is plucking the best of the late nineties out of his acoustic guitar against a backdrop pulled straight out of a LARPer's basement. I notice that Guinness is on special, $6 for a 32-ounce mug. I order two. At some point our friend Matt shows up, he points out that we are in a chick-repellent zone. He says he knows a place.
12:48. 64-ounces of Guinness. Jaigermeister shot. Why am I in a car?
Disco lights and desperation. Marc hands me a vodka and Red Bull. Explains that now is my time, suggests a pick-up line- "What color are your nipples?" Never fails. Last call is approaching and the pickings are slim, he says I may have to duke it out but no worries- "If you're rolling up on a girl and her man wants to start a fight, just scream out 'KHAAAAAANNN!!!" and I'll be on it. I'll punch that dude in the cock." This seems reasonable.
2:23. Whatever's been put in front of me + vodka and Red Bull.
Vodka and Red Bull is liquid anger. It unlocks my inner Scottish soccer hooligan. It is my red kryptonite. It's hazy from here on out, but I remember peeing on someone's car. I remember being in a drive-through and loudly demanding a bucket of snatch. I remember being in South Carolina looking for "The Spot" where last call is just a sad joke.
3:42. Tall glass of water. Lucid.
IHOP. We're pilfering the uneaten food of the empty tables around us. There are kids starving in Africa for God's sake. Michelle comes in to take Marc home. We haven't quite pulled off the Guys Gone Mild night expected of us and we think that he might be in trouble. I get dropped off at home and hit the bed.
I wonder if Marc's still allowed to play with us.
9:35. 5 beers. Feeling groovy.
We move the shindig downtown. At the Metro Coffee House I, John Woo style, order four beers; two for myself, two for Marc. Over the next half-hour or so Marc tells me that he's always been a career wingman. I tell him about my New Year's resolution to chase more tail this year. He's there for me, however Michelle had told him that whereas I'm looking for more of the The One, Ben was out to score. He says we should concentrate on Ben this evening. I agree.
11:20. 2 beers. Maintenance buzz.
We are walking down the street past Ye Olde Renaissance Pub and Gifts. Ben hates this place. I'm an asshole so we go in. A lone musician is plucking the best of the late nineties out of his acoustic guitar against a backdrop pulled straight out of a LARPer's basement. I notice that Guinness is on special, $6 for a 32-ounce mug. I order two. At some point our friend Matt shows up, he points out that we are in a chick-repellent zone. He says he knows a place.
12:48. 64-ounces of Guinness. Jaigermeister shot. Why am I in a car?
Disco lights and desperation. Marc hands me a vodka and Red Bull. Explains that now is my time, suggests a pick-up line- "What color are your nipples?" Never fails. Last call is approaching and the pickings are slim, he says I may have to duke it out but no worries- "If you're rolling up on a girl and her man wants to start a fight, just scream out 'KHAAAAAANNN!!!" and I'll be on it. I'll punch that dude in the cock." This seems reasonable.
2:23. Whatever's been put in front of me + vodka and Red Bull.
Vodka and Red Bull is liquid anger. It unlocks my inner Scottish soccer hooligan. It is my red kryptonite. It's hazy from here on out, but I remember peeing on someone's car. I remember being in a drive-through and loudly demanding a bucket of snatch. I remember being in South Carolina looking for "The Spot" where last call is just a sad joke.
3:42. Tall glass of water. Lucid.
IHOP. We're pilfering the uneaten food of the empty tables around us. There are kids starving in Africa for God's sake. Michelle comes in to take Marc home. We haven't quite pulled off the Guys Gone Mild night expected of us and we think that he might be in trouble. I get dropped off at home and hit the bed.
I wonder if Marc's still allowed to play with us.
posted by J-Syn at 10:22 PM
2 Comments:
Y'know in some circles, it's believed that "KANEDAAAAA!" is the new "KAAAAAHN!" Although the former,with it's mere two extra syllables, is only slightly less handy than the latter,the context for the original quotes are different and the "KANEDAAAAA!" school of thought may therefore be the rantings of but a small percentage of Nihon-o-centric anime fanatics. Thoughts?
Well Wayne, as you know I'm a pragmatist at heart and so though the extra two syllables may seem insignificant, the importance of brevity in a battle-cry/call-to-arms cannot be overstated. I believe this is best illustrated with the disastrous flirtation of "Jin-Roh (Wolf Brigade)! 'We are not men disguised as mere dogs, we are wolves disguised as' GAH!!!" with the "GAH" being you catching a beat down while your crew, oblivious to your plight, heatedly discuss whether or not Ghost In The Shell's Major Motoko Kusanagi was built anatomically correct.
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