The other night I'm out with some really, truly great people. We were out to see a fantastic show, a band that I now have the privelege of calling a favorite (and no it's not cause you like 'em too).
After the show, I wander outside after paying for all of my grossly undersized beer in cheap ass plastic cups, and low and behold my friends are still waiting for me. Hoota thunk it?
Well, so there's a decision made and off we wander down the road, narrowly missing traffic. So close to the fast moving vehicles as to have been able to hear the buttons on our pants being hit on the sides of the cars. I could have easily lost my goods (and yes they are invaluable, I'm sure you'll agree) in a horrific traffic accident, a 'TA' to those in the know.
Ok, on we go. We've froggered our way across the road and now we're on the sidewalk. All four of us are moving in this odd fast paced fashion, the kind of pace that only the drunk know. The walk of 'damn I need more booze and will exercise vigorously until I get to that bottle of Vodka'. I'm working hard to keep up with everyone, because their motivation clearly outweighs anything I have at the moment, though I still need to get there.
Outside, there are 1.2 shitloads of bikes. Apparently, this is the place where you will find all of the bike messengers around town. They're all a bunch of drunks just like me, though we don't have the 2 wheel bond. Dammit I say.
We get inside, find this grossly -oversized- table and sit at it. We order a beer, but they don't have shit I want. And so then we go to pay for it, and they don't do CC's. WTF, over?! So, I stiff my friends for my beer. Then I realize that I am not that hurt about it. Between the two weemin snaggin' my booze and suckin' down some of my own beer, I think they can pony up for one. Nothing wrong with having a muchacha caliente buy -me- some booze or some sugar, right!? "Sugar Mr Poon? No, never...never. What kind of name is Poon anyway? Comanche Indian." Ah Fletch, you're still close at hand when I need an over used random quote. Mini tanks to you.
Well, so I'm sitting there watching and this weird feelin' comes over me. I am just sitting there watching and listening to everyone talk. As I turn my head, I hear what appears to be 'the verbal coming of Christ'. Well, not even close to that actually, but what I thought I heard or what my mind suddenly wanted me to hear was:
"I'm the lead lemon...."
It was in this deep, low sounding wispy voice. I have to remember this. I instantly go for my trusty, handy dandy mobile email gadgetry, and plow through the keyboard ensuring that I will remember this drunken epiphany.
So, welcome, won't you join us again for another episode of Insane, MQ?
Peace be near the vicinity of your junk.
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