Castor Oil...sickeningly good

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Well done grasshopper

Well it’s been some time now….

I’ve been busy. SHUT UP!!!

Anyway to recount the last couple weeks in detail would be long and hard on the brainpan so I’ll just summarize some of the high and low points.

The band(ito) played a really fun show at the Velvet Lounge. An odd moment came and then came and came again post-set when an amorous attendee set her sights squarely upon young Trey and tried to lay lip smuckers on him over and over. Rebuffed by our stalwart Texan she proceeded to lavish attention upon other brutally handsome rakes such as me, myself, and I. Using my highly developed catlike reflexes I shucked and jived this Morganna of rock….back, left, right to and fro I went and was left with barely a smidgen of a smear of lipstick on my cherubic cheeks. Sometimes being raised in a puritanical ninja household has its advantages.

Thanksgiving festivities were good. The older brother of yours truly, Saint John as he is known, was in town looking younger than ever. People think I look young for my age but the Saint takes it to a completely ridiculous level. If he weren’t so damn virtuous and overall nice I would suspect he has a withered portrait of himself stashed away like Dorian Gray but I think he just keeps to a good diet and strict moisturizing regimen. Freak. I did my level best to get him good and drunk as often as possible and came close on a couple of occasions but never to the level I desired….the one where I could get him to confess to something really rotten that I could use against him when it was time to get Pops to update the will for instance. Yeah, Saint John talks a good game regarding the spirits but when it comes down to brass tacks he usually won’t go for it and get really stupid. In a last ditch hail-mary effort to get him dizzy I took him up to the local yokels bar along with Ali Baba and the Mrs. and it was high-spirited fun as it always is with the Baba and my loveliest of lovelies. My brother came out of the night OK but me and Ali were in pretty rough trade by the end of the night, something to do with shots named after cheese-based desserts and gallons of shitty domestic beer will do that to you. The brain damaged brethren that inhabit the bar were in good cheer that night getting fueled up to fry turkeys and burn their shitty houses to the ground the next day. Speaking of the cranially challenged I haven’t seen Boob up there in a while. Maybe he’s dead…...hmmmmmm. That would be SWEET as I would be one step up on the ladder of who gets to man the remote control for the TV set over the bar. The death of four hours of Hunter re-runs is nigh, it’s What Not To Wear and Justice League Unlimited on deck!! No wonder those assholes hate me so much.

In a sad sad turn of events my friend Bernard died and that was a pretty rough one to get through. He was a good friend, father, buddy all around. For instance he used to mow my lawn for free without being asked. Seriously. It all started when he bought himself a ridiculously large riding mower and sadly ended when it became apparent that his mowing skills consistently left the lawn with the appearance of a Marine Corps freshcut (complete with bald spots!) after he was done driving over it. Can you imagine how much it sucks to ask someone to stop mowing your lawn for you? If I didn't consider the lawn to be the equivalent of the hair on the head of my house I would never have asked him to stop but sacrifices must be made for the good of the hair...errr....lawn...whatever. He didn't get bent out of shape about it though as he was truely a good one. God bless ya Bernard, you were the swankiest Moroccan I ever did know and I will truly miss you telling me how shitty my wine is and taking me to the most God-forsaken restaurants NOVA has to offer. Sleep well.

Now back to me but still speaking of Bernard; As if going to the funeral of a friend isn’t shitty enough when the Mrs. and I went to pay Bernard our respects we had the stupid asshole family sitting behind us with stupid asshole little kid saying stupid asshole things and making me want to have them all trade places with Bernard. If your kid is such a fucking stupid asshole brat that it can’t keep still and quiet for ten minutes at a funeral leave it out in the car, preferably in the cold. Worse than dealing with the stupid asshole family came directly after the service. We had wrapped up the praying and damn if I wasn't in tears even while glaring at the stupid assholes on the way out of the funeral proper. We got in the receiving line comprised of grieving family including Bernard’s kids and there I am teary and reflective and thinking about Bernard and his family and my kids and the wifey until I’m rudely shaken from my reflection by the fuckface standing in front of me with his gross wife and disgusting kids. Lord King Shitface, (that’s my pet name for him) was talking loudly through his handlebar mustache (no lie) to no one in particular that he was “going to be cutting it close to making the tee time if we don’t get out of here.” I couldn’t believe it. What level of prickdom do you have to attain to even have that train of thought running through your brain at a FUNERAL?!?!?!?! On the off chance that you’re reading this you Rollie Fingers wannabe piece of dogshit why don’t you go shove a seven wood up the hole of your pathetic withered cock and attach yourself to one of those gigantic junkyard magnets so I can shoot arrows with sticks of dynamite duct taped to them at you like the Dukes of Hazzard used to. It would be the only possible useful purpose I can imagine you serving.

Later that day…..

I went with Ali Baba to Iota to see our friends in Brother Seamus play. The Mrs. stayed home to rest her weary head as she apparently finds weekends with me and Ali to be exhausting. Strange thing that but very good times all around hanging and banging with the Arlington crowd of yesteryear. The singer from my beloved old band, the mighty mighty Luka Brazzi, was DJ’ing between sets and all was swell and jolly and it lifted the veil of sadness that I was feeling about Bernard. He would have dug it with all the yukking and hoisting of the devil's piss, Bernard was always up for a party and I toasted him in quiet several times that night. As randomly happens all too often when you have lived in the same area as long as I have I ended up standing next to someone I had not seen in years and had never thought of seeing again. Like a vampire all of a sudden….there he was!!! Johnny V. in the flesh. Ali and I knew Johnny V. from back in the dot-com days when he was a salesman at the company we worked for that tanked through $47,000,000 in less than two years and never saw a dime of justifiable revenue come through the door. Johnny V. was on the business development team......that's just enough of a joke that I don't think I have to embellish it. I don't know if times have been lean for Johnny V. but Ali and I are both convinced he was wearing the same shirt as he was the day we met him. It's like we were frozen in time.


I got yelled at once for not spending enough of the company’s money on a weekly basis. Being a good employee I quickly made up for my dereliction of duty by taking my co-workers to Mister Smith's and running up a $600 tab which is a feat in and of itself. I got a "high-five" award for my commitment to bringing "energy and fun to the corporate culture". Now I would get fired for that kind of company spirit....stupid rules and businesses that make money spoiling my good cheer!! On one occasion at the B-2 dot.bomber I was given some cash at a company happy hour by one of our totally drunk corporate officers to procure some "special tobacco wink wink nudge nudge" for a client. Not being interested in that errand and despite what you may think not being 100% stupid I tried to give the money back. I was refused with another wink wink and nudge nudge so I said fuck it and fuck you and pocketed the dough and took the Mrs. to dinner the next night with the proceeds. Never was a word said about it again although that guy never really liked me too much after that. Irregardless…..

So we’re at Iota hanging out with the Tab Burglar (you know him…..just figures since you’re BROS that he can add a drink or twenty for himself and the sluts he is trying to get drunk so he can molest them on to your tab), Kentucky Rob, a guy named Floppy, Johnny V., Backlick Keith, G.B. and this guy Crazy Rob who is Ali’s slightly insane business associate hooting and hollering and having a ball along with a host of others in the bar, (including a gaggle of really scary heavily maked up middle-aged women that were the picture of the severely horny real estate agent from one’s worst nightmares. I stayed as far away from them as possible). Ali was holding court at the bar as he is prone to do hoisting these snot green shooters and getting love from the throng. Ali is great like that, if they were ever to do a remake of the Gong Show he would have the Chuck Barris gig in a heartbeat. I was chit-chatting with Kentucky Rob and Adam and thinking of how much I would love to dismember this one unfortunate patron that I have long standing disdain for when Ali approached with a wild look in his eye. He had found some companions who assured him that the party of the lifetime was occurring at Club Spank and he just had to go, (it being that kind of party). Heartbroken as he was at my reply of “no fucking way” to his invitation to join him and his new party favors he manned up, banged down three snot shots and with a hug and a smile and four dollars shoved in my shirt (I don’t why) he was off to Spank…fare thee well young Baba!!!! The lights went on and it was time to so go so I went to settle my check and ended up settling the one for the 24 snot shooters which Ali had ordered in his state of ringleaderly madness. Ali squared with me the next day when we went to the grocery store. He’s not a Tab Burglar or worse a Tab Walker by any stretch of the imagination, he was just excited and confused about who paid for what, (and staggeringly drunk to boot!!)

I got home and bade the cruel world goodnight smelling like the devil’s ashtray and wondering who transplanted a washing machine into my gullet. The next day I yelled at the Redskins, ate turkey and fell asleep like a good boy should. It was a good night and a good weekend and a good week mixed with some melancholia and true sadness. The whole range of the human experience…..with shots.

Anybody else read our new and improved strategy for achieving victory in Iraq? I could have sworn that “hoping blindly that the baby Jesus makes things start going our way" was the strategy we had already employed but I guess I was wrong. Thankfully we have a new and improved shit covered piece of toilet paper to use as our roadmap to success instead of the old one.

And now the end is near
I see before me the final curtain

Doo lee doo…


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