3:47 p.m. - 2004-04-17
Whateva....
Last night I went out for a night of drinking and bar-hopping, and somehow managed to go the entire night without once tasting the sweet, beautiful flavor of Jack Daniel's whiskey.
I was drinking Newcastles all night long.
British ale.
It seems unpatriotic on afterthought, but what can you do....
Everywhere we went was either an Irish pub or a British pub or some other European-themed shithole.
Nobody supported Jack Daniel's.
Nobody offered it.
Newcastle is my alternate drink of choice. My spare tire, so to speak, when the Jack Daniel's tire goes flat on my car of life.
Whatever.
There's a metaphor or some shit, in case one of my old English teachers is reading this.
Don't worry, though, I won't change my Foundation to the Newcastle for Kids Foundation.
Anyways....
I don't remember what my point was....why I mentioned the Newcastle business. I can't recall the moral of my story.
I have a tummy ache and a headache. It's almost 4 p.m. and I just woke up. My body can't handle British ale as well as it can handle whiskey.
But, that wasn't my point.
I have to stop writing soon so I can watch boxing. I have money on a couple fights. I could be bling-blingin' if Andrew Golota and Fres Oquendo win their respective fights tonight. I could win big bucks which could go towards whiskey.
There was something about the Newcastles I was going to mention, which is why I brought it up in the first place. I don't know.
One thing those British pubs are notorious for is that everytime I go in their restrooms to piss all over the place, I notice they have a chalkboard hanging over the toilet. With little pieces of chalk.
So, men can write messages to other men who will be pissing and/or shitting in there later that night.
It seems like a good idea, I suppose.
It seems awfully cute.
I wouldn't mind drawing a picture of a flower or little hearts or something on the chalkboard while I'm standing there pissing.
But, I can't help but think how disgusting it is to be handling chalk that some other drunkard has touched with the same hands he holds his cock with to piss, or wipe his shitty drunken ass.
It's disgusting.
To add to the disgustingness of the chalk, I always make it a point, as I'm standing there pissing, to use the little pieces of chalk to try to write on my penis.
Or write on my balls. Like a big "L" on the left one, and a big "R" on the right one....So I don't get my testicles confused.
Chalk doesn't write on skin very well...But at least I still try.
"A" for effort.
You can see now why it's a pretty gross idea to touch chalk in a public bathroom.....I don't know where those other guys' hands have been.
My point, I remembered just now, is that one of the parking lots of one of the British pubs looked remarkably familiar to me. I had been there before it seemed, yet I had no memory of the inside of the bar.
I only remembered this little alley near the parking lot, where cars were parallel parked near a brick wall.
Deja vu.
When we left the bar, I remembered that I had tried parallel parking in that exact same alley a few weeks before, at that exact same bar.
I had been drunk at the time and, therefore, utterly failed at the parallel parking job. I managed to scrape the front end of my car against the brick wall, which left huge, white gashes in my fender.
Parallel parking is hard while you're drunk.
Harder than driving, which I do often.
So, since I had parked there drunk, it means I had drank at that same bar too, and I didn't even remember.
The part of my brain which handles memory had failed me....a malfunction due to alcohol consumption.
What had I done at that bar previously? What did I drink while I was there? What bodily orifices had I inserted the chalk into?
I couldn't remember.
I thought that was sort of funny though...The fact that I couldn't remember being at that bar before, even though I had not only been there before but had also crashed my car there.
I think stuff like that is funny.
You know, stuff like memory loss and car crashes due to drunkenness.
And deformed babies.
Stuff like that.
