Saturday, February 24, 2007

Near Barf

It started by taking a trip down Bundy to Comedy Carhole for laughs, especially since funny people grabbed the microphone last time.
I missed Collin’s set from nap lagging, and in the process I saved brain cells that would’ve evaporated from his wily brand of humor. Lawyers have a unique way of expressing themselves.
There was no sign of severely clipped girl from my last visit, which was probably the best for all, but overall a good crowd of 50+ showed up, so $5 keg went a long way.
A couple much needed chuckles assisted in calming my somewhat stressed temperament. I was stoked to see The Hawk clean and sober.
He once busted a window with his fist trying to swat a mosquito. His cup was filled with tea, I checked out of concern, and his humor was sharp and biting, unlike the past instances of hazy and disturbed.
Barrie was funny, reading a letter he allegedly “found” in box that he wrote to a girl in the 7th grade. He got a great reaction, but I was squarely focused on drinking this evening.
I’d probably had 7 or 9 beers, an estimate because of the half-fills and general pilfering from achieving grand Keg-Master status. In case of emergencies, I actually have a tap in my trunk. I pretty much have everything in my trunk except bodies.
After realizing how quickly the keg got killed at the last show, I decided the correct course of action was to stand next to keg, in turn filling up everyone in need and pumping to keep perfect flow.
The Hat decided he would take the stage fearless, not caring if they gave him the hook or booed him away. He went inside to put together his makeshift routine on the fly.
He convinced the MC that he'd play his kazoo, a claim that got the ball rolling.
He then became The Hat in front of everyone, rattling off spontaneous ideas to the amusement of the audience.
Cinnamon had never been to the Carhole, but she’d randomly heard about it through her friend Sukie, who had been there over a year ago to let out a bellyful. She applauded the work of The Hat, a legend in the making at the Carhole.
Raj and Steven made it late into the show as well.
Amazing the time a girlfriend can take away from social activities. I once had a girlfriend that thrived in social atmospheres, the life of the party, truly a Basher, never questioning an option to go out take the town hostage. Misty was incredibly fun for a while. Of course, it didn’t work, it wasn’t meant to be, and I moved on, so I’ll stop reminiscing of the good old days.
I was hoping The Hat would score some digits after his brilliant turn on the stage. Then I come back to Steven, let loose from his floozy and attacking the night with reckless abandon. I barely knew he existed, Raj being the only one to ground me in reality with brief mentions of his existence from time to time. I went in claiming that The Joker wouldn’t happen, so Lost & Found was the call after the keg was emptied.
I was kind of hammered when we left for Lost & Found, a dive in the neighborhood renowned for being the last bar where smoking is encouraged.
I wondered which bar patron was rocking the military style jeep parked outside. Everything was better on the inside.
Apparently they hired a new bartender, and I stayed away from her sights after seeing some poor pouring technique, a major flaw at a strip mall dive.
No smoking now, so I wasn’t able to get strange effects that had happened in old photos. The same bartender that’s always there poured cheap stiff drinks. Tonight was cheaper, because a patron that didn’t want to be identified decided to buy two rounds for the entire bar, meaning at least two Captains.
Since the house rounds were courtesy of a mysterious supplier, The Hat thought it was this guy.
Leonard bashed with us as well, stuttering in a strange Scottish vernacular after two kamikazes.
Drenched in free booze at a bar is mightily appreciated, and a few more sealed the deal on my fate. I was a little bit more than drunk.
A few more cocktails were added on at The Hat's abode before I called it a night about 5. As the saying goes, “Beer before liquor never sicker,” I certainly went down the path of nauseated bed spinning, couldn’t lie down for anything, even a girl. To remedy the situation, I actually neighborhood drunk walked 18 blocks to the beach, hoping that my height and belligerency scared away potential muggers.
The result was no yuck mouth in the afternoon.

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