Home of the Whopper
Things were really getting crazy at old Club Plaid. As I mentioned yesterday Philito was busting some serious drunken wreckage on the dance floor (complete with finger pointing and attempted dipping) and Ali Baba was running around yelling stuff for no apparent reason to no one in particular.
“WE’RE ALL BITCHES IN HERE NEW YORK IS ALL BITCHES…..grumble grumble……EWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”
It was the maniacal laughter that was really freaking me out. It was like partying with the Joker. As you know earlier in the evening Ali Baba had left me on the sidewalk and run up to a cab to go to some wicked afterhours party and despite the cloudiness of his thought process he was still holding onto that idea like a Templar Knight holds onto a Grail quest.
“BOWES WE GOTZH CHEW GO TO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Of course it was nowhere near closing time yet so the afterhours requirement had yet to come to bear but that was not an argument worth making at that particular moment. Keeping us from leaving Plaid was a very distraught and confused looking Philito who had discovered that his jacket was missing and worse, Flasky the magical flask was missing along with it. Everyone started running around to the same places over and over again looking for Philito’s jacket while Ali Baba was trying to herd us into cabs like a deranged alcoholic border collie. I was finally about to go get a good stiff drink with lovely lovely Jenn when Ali Baba cancelled my drink order (aggravating me immensely) and yelled at me that we “HAFF TO GO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I was, at this point, not quite so amused as the sobriety thing was really starting to get to me but I figured we would be at another bar soon enough so I would be virtuous and patient, at least for five or ten more minutes. Things really kicked into a higher gear of mania when Ali Baba ordered everyone to stand in one place “DON’T CHEW FUMTING MOVE FOR ZHIS SHPOT!” while he went (being the New Yorker) to find the jacket. Off he shot, careening across the dance floor on his search and destroy…errr, rescue, mission while the rest of us either stood or wobbled in place in the lobby of Plaid not really knowing what was going on. About two minutes passed and Ali Baba came barreling back and announced “PHILHITO ZURE JACKET IZ FOWKING GONE AND I’Z SHORRY BUT IZ TRUE!...NOW WE HAFF TO GO!!!!!” and ran out the front door. We, of course, followed gamely behind.
When we got outside mere seconds later Ali Baba was standing like a gunfighter by a cab driven by a very recently overwhelmed and bewildered cab driver.
“WE HAFF FHIVE…WE HAFF FHIVE..”
The five being myself, Philito, lovely lovely Jenn, Ali Baba and Philito’s good friend and NYC resident Alex. Now Alex, he wanted to know where he was being dragged off to as he didn’t know anyone but Philito and Jenn and it was pretty apparent that we were getting directives from the loosest cannon in the Tri-State area. Madness ensued…
Ali Baba - ALEX GEFF IN THE CAB”
Alex – Where are we going? Let’s go to some cool clubs on the lower east side.
Ali Baba – NO ALEX GEFF IN THE CAB GO TO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Alex – Where?
Ali Baba – “SHNAFOO AT FOURLY SHEVENTH AN LEX….GET IN CAB NOW!!!!!”
Alex – Man…what….I don’t want to go uptown. Lets go….
Ali Baba – NO ALEX GEFF IN THE CAB GO TO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Cab driver – How many? Five is too many
Ali Baba – WE PAY EHHHEXTRA DON’T WORRY BOUT IT ALEX GET IN CAB GET IN CAB GET IN CAB GET IN CAB….
Alex relented and got in the passenger seat and off we were heading uptown to Snafu, a bar where Ali Baba used to work and where he and I have drank well in the past. For some reason Ali Baba felt that it was extremely important that Alex recognize the awesomeness of this excursion and much yelling between Ali’s mouth (right next to my ear) and Alex in the front seat ensued. I will spare you the details but suffice to say between the noise and being one of four people in the backseat I was pretty good and goddamn ready to get out of that cab. As we approached the vicinity of the bar it became apparent that Ali Baba was a tad fuzzy on the exact location of his previous place of employment so he decided to enlist Alex’s help in finding the landmark that would let him know that we had arrived, a Burger King.
SHALLLEXXX ZHOU KNOW FOGGGINK BUHR KING RIGHT AHHHLEX FOGGINK BUHR KIN BUHR KING
Mercifully the home of the Whopper soon appeared and we spilled out of the cab and into Snafu. Have I mentioned that young Philito had been having quite an evening of the drunkies in his own right? It was quite something to see two of the toughest binge drinkers I know, Philito and Ali Baba, both pole-axed while I, very unfortunately, was STILL dead sober. I was hoping to correct that at Snafu and was having a beer and a shot of whiskey and chit-chatting with lovely lovely Jenn who I thought was also sober but as it turned out she wasn’t, she just has an amazing clarity about her even while bombed. Most impressive. Anyway we’re chattering away and Philito comes up and with deadened eye lids and a quirky smile says “I’m done.” And by the look on his face it was very clear that that was that and that's all there was to it. Time to go and goddamn I was STILL in complete control of my brain and body and resigned to my sober fate.
We still had Ali Baba to deal with as he was possibly staying at the hotel. Jenn tried vainly to tell him where it was and finally just gave him a brochure she was carrying so he could find us. With a hug and a head rub I bade fair Ali Baba farewell and we three, (leaving Alex there for some sadistic reason), strode forth in search of pizza. A short cab ride later we found the marvelous pie and Philito seemed to perk up a bit but it was insanely cold and getting a bit miserable so we jumped in yet another cab and took it back to the hotel.
Philito was still hungry upon arrival and luckily there was an all-night coffeeshop kinda thing in the lobby that was open but seemingly unattended. Seemingly only though for upon a bit of investigation Jenn found the cleark sleeping on the floor behind the register. She rousted the lazy scalywag, bought Philito a muffin, and we toddled upstairs to our snug little craphole to call it a night and get some sleep. Before crashing out Philito indulged his most murderous impulses on that poor little muffin and it never stood a chance. We found bits of it’s soft and moisty carcass strewn to every corner of the room the next day as if a pack of Dingos had set upon it in a blood frenzy (assuming blueberries could be substituted for blood).
After some silly chit-chat we all went to sleep and I was sleeping blissfully with my head on the sandpaper pillow when my phone rang. I answered but before I could say anything, “BOWESSSHS SHIT’S ALI I’MZ SHORRRY AND…….”, and just as quickly as he started he hung up and was gone. Weird. I was kinda worried about him but had no idea where he was and I knew, (knowing Ali Baba), that he would not answer had I called him back. So back to sleep for me.
And that was the end of a long and entirely drunken for some and sadly sober for others rock and roll night in New York City.
The next day we got up and cleaned up and marveled at how clothes don’t smell like ashtrays when everyone has to smoke outside at bars. It’s kinda nice actually. We headed out and met Dub John for breakfast and laughed at his story about a drunken Chinese feller named Kato. Good story but only if you heard John tell it. After that we bopped around and headed back towards the car. On the way we bought a beanbag chair, two pieces of pizza, and a blouse and had a pricey little morning in the Rotten Apple. Four hours and a Filet-o-Fish later I was home to my beeyooteefull ladies and the mansion on the hill. Philito and Jenn headed to their abode and I laid my head down to take a well deserved nap when….
RING!
Oh no…..
“Hello…”
“Bowes…it’s Ali Baba…when’s your next show??”
God help us everyone.
“WE’RE ALL BITCHES IN HERE NEW YORK IS ALL BITCHES…..grumble grumble……EWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”
It was the maniacal laughter that was really freaking me out. It was like partying with the Joker. As you know earlier in the evening Ali Baba had left me on the sidewalk and run up to a cab to go to some wicked afterhours party and despite the cloudiness of his thought process he was still holding onto that idea like a Templar Knight holds onto a Grail quest.
“BOWES WE GOTZH CHEW GO TO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Of course it was nowhere near closing time yet so the afterhours requirement had yet to come to bear but that was not an argument worth making at that particular moment. Keeping us from leaving Plaid was a very distraught and confused looking Philito who had discovered that his jacket was missing and worse, Flasky the magical flask was missing along with it. Everyone started running around to the same places over and over again looking for Philito’s jacket while Ali Baba was trying to herd us into cabs like a deranged alcoholic border collie. I was finally about to go get a good stiff drink with lovely lovely Jenn when Ali Baba cancelled my drink order (aggravating me immensely) and yelled at me that we “HAFF TO GO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I was, at this point, not quite so amused as the sobriety thing was really starting to get to me but I figured we would be at another bar soon enough so I would be virtuous and patient, at least for five or ten more minutes. Things really kicked into a higher gear of mania when Ali Baba ordered everyone to stand in one place “DON’T CHEW FUMTING MOVE FOR ZHIS SHPOT!” while he went (being the New Yorker) to find the jacket. Off he shot, careening across the dance floor on his search and destroy…errr, rescue, mission while the rest of us either stood or wobbled in place in the lobby of Plaid not really knowing what was going on. About two minutes passed and Ali Baba came barreling back and announced “PHILHITO ZURE JACKET IZ FOWKING GONE AND I’Z SHORRY BUT IZ TRUE!...NOW WE HAFF TO GO!!!!!” and ran out the front door. We, of course, followed gamely behind.
When we got outside mere seconds later Ali Baba was standing like a gunfighter by a cab driven by a very recently overwhelmed and bewildered cab driver.
“WE HAFF FHIVE…WE HAFF FHIVE..”
The five being myself, Philito, lovely lovely Jenn, Ali Baba and Philito’s good friend and NYC resident Alex. Now Alex, he wanted to know where he was being dragged off to as he didn’t know anyone but Philito and Jenn and it was pretty apparent that we were getting directives from the loosest cannon in the Tri-State area. Madness ensued…
Ali Baba - ALEX GEFF IN THE CAB”
Alex – Where are we going? Let’s go to some cool clubs on the lower east side.
Ali Baba – NO ALEX GEFF IN THE CAB GO TO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Alex – Where?
Ali Baba – “SHNAFOO AT FOURLY SHEVENTH AN LEX….GET IN CAB NOW!!!!!”
Alex – Man…what….I don’t want to go uptown. Lets go….
Ali Baba – NO ALEX GEFF IN THE CAB GO TO AFFFEROWWERZ PARTY…NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Cab driver – How many? Five is too many
Ali Baba – WE PAY EHHHEXTRA DON’T WORRY BOUT IT ALEX GET IN CAB GET IN CAB GET IN CAB GET IN CAB….
Alex relented and got in the passenger seat and off we were heading uptown to Snafu, a bar where Ali Baba used to work and where he and I have drank well in the past. For some reason Ali Baba felt that it was extremely important that Alex recognize the awesomeness of this excursion and much yelling between Ali’s mouth (right next to my ear) and Alex in the front seat ensued. I will spare you the details but suffice to say between the noise and being one of four people in the backseat I was pretty good and goddamn ready to get out of that cab. As we approached the vicinity of the bar it became apparent that Ali Baba was a tad fuzzy on the exact location of his previous place of employment so he decided to enlist Alex’s help in finding the landmark that would let him know that we had arrived, a Burger King.
SHALLLEXXX ZHOU KNOW FOGGGINK BUHR KING RIGHT AHHHLEX FOGGINK BUHR KIN BUHR KING
Mercifully the home of the Whopper soon appeared and we spilled out of the cab and into Snafu. Have I mentioned that young Philito had been having quite an evening of the drunkies in his own right? It was quite something to see two of the toughest binge drinkers I know, Philito and Ali Baba, both pole-axed while I, very unfortunately, was STILL dead sober. I was hoping to correct that at Snafu and was having a beer and a shot of whiskey and chit-chatting with lovely lovely Jenn who I thought was also sober but as it turned out she wasn’t, she just has an amazing clarity about her even while bombed. Most impressive. Anyway we’re chattering away and Philito comes up and with deadened eye lids and a quirky smile says “I’m done.” And by the look on his face it was very clear that that was that and that's all there was to it. Time to go and goddamn I was STILL in complete control of my brain and body and resigned to my sober fate.
We still had Ali Baba to deal with as he was possibly staying at the hotel. Jenn tried vainly to tell him where it was and finally just gave him a brochure she was carrying so he could find us. With a hug and a head rub I bade fair Ali Baba farewell and we three, (leaving Alex there for some sadistic reason), strode forth in search of pizza. A short cab ride later we found the marvelous pie and Philito seemed to perk up a bit but it was insanely cold and getting a bit miserable so we jumped in yet another cab and took it back to the hotel.
Philito was still hungry upon arrival and luckily there was an all-night coffeeshop kinda thing in the lobby that was open but seemingly unattended. Seemingly only though for upon a bit of investigation Jenn found the cleark sleeping on the floor behind the register. She rousted the lazy scalywag, bought Philito a muffin, and we toddled upstairs to our snug little craphole to call it a night and get some sleep. Before crashing out Philito indulged his most murderous impulses on that poor little muffin and it never stood a chance. We found bits of it’s soft and moisty carcass strewn to every corner of the room the next day as if a pack of Dingos had set upon it in a blood frenzy (assuming blueberries could be substituted for blood).
After some silly chit-chat we all went to sleep and I was sleeping blissfully with my head on the sandpaper pillow when my phone rang. I answered but before I could say anything, “BOWESSSHS SHIT’S ALI I’MZ SHORRRY AND…….”, and just as quickly as he started he hung up and was gone. Weird. I was kinda worried about him but had no idea where he was and I knew, (knowing Ali Baba), that he would not answer had I called him back. So back to sleep for me.
And that was the end of a long and entirely drunken for some and sadly sober for others rock and roll night in New York City.
The next day we got up and cleaned up and marveled at how clothes don’t smell like ashtrays when everyone has to smoke outside at bars. It’s kinda nice actually. We headed out and met Dub John for breakfast and laughed at his story about a drunken Chinese feller named Kato. Good story but only if you heard John tell it. After that we bopped around and headed back towards the car. On the way we bought a beanbag chair, two pieces of pizza, and a blouse and had a pricey little morning in the Rotten Apple. Four hours and a Filet-o-Fish later I was home to my beeyooteefull ladies and the mansion on the hill. Philito and Jenn headed to their abode and I laid my head down to take a well deserved nap when….
RING!
Oh no…..
“Hello…”
“Bowes…it’s Ali Baba…when’s your next show??”
God help us everyone.
posted by Castor OiL at
4:40 PM
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