I started out in poor fashion last night. I bombed an accounting test. Given, accounting is the most dismal science known to man, and as an animate character it kills me slowly from the inside out. But at any rate, I bombed it. I studied hard, did the homework, had no life for the whole week, all for nothing. All the book-splitting, T-account forming, balance sheet bullshit, and I remain financially infuckingcompetent. So, depression sets in. I want a beer. I want twelve beers. I want to go see MY TOTES FAV BAND BURNIN' SMYRNANS AT MEDICI! It's free, my old room mate was going, why the fuck not.
So, I start home in a cloud of failure, get Megan an ice cream. It's the nasty kind she likes with gummi bears in it. I pull into the drive, and there are two cars there I have never seen before. I open the door. My roomate is there with some friends, and a few easy women. They are drinking Natural Light, the smoothest, bum rated piss-water around, and they are drinking it without the beautiful accompaniment of coasters. I can't handle it. I just can't. My roomate introduces me, and I quickly introduce them to my good friend Mister Coaster, and my other good friend, Mister Get your fucking feet of the sofa. It didn't come out that way. I wasn't yet drinking. But worry not friends, that part of the story quickly approaches. I discover that this entourage will be joining us for the evening. It's fine, I could use the company of some random strangers. So we go to the bar. There are six of us in a five seater, but at least i'm not driving. We pull in to the bar, which is most appropriately attached to an IHOP. As I approach this seemingly "free" event, a neaderthalesque bouncer peers out from the smoky pit. "That'll be six bucks". "Um, I'm of age". "It's six bucks". "I assume the beers are free then". He just looks at me like I have Down Syndrome. I shell it out while mumbling how evil and wrong they are for charging a cover to someone over twenty one. Fuckers. I buy a beer, it's three dollars, which isn't too bad. It was some good Dutch beer that tasted like Oranges. I sit down, become comfortable, and wait for the band to start.
By the time the band kicks in, I have had a few. I had a few before I got there, and now I have had a few more. Other people were buying and driving, so I helmed the drinking department. I felt it was the least I could do. My roomie is just sitting there looking like he is having the absolute worst time in the world, so I offer to by him a beer. He softly mutters the words "Chimay". Dare he threaten me with some type of exotic brew? What delights boil beneath the surface of this so called Chimay? So, I head to the bar. You can't hear a goddamn thing, so I point to the beer list, and to my new beloved Chimay. He pours the golden nectar in to chalice befit for a king, embossed with the words "Chimay". OMG it even gets its own glass, no, chalice! He hands me the two glistening cups, along with a tab that I glance at mildly. I glance again. TWENTY ONE FUCKING DOLLARS. Chimay was no longer my friend. It was a Bastard. It was dead to me. I deliver the glass to my roomie, whom after considerable time and expense, finally seems happy. Good for him. He looks up at me, "Mmm, this is good". "Fuck Chimay". I've been toppled from my thrown of delight, by Chimay. Ruined by some Dutch fagsauce brewed by some rediculous monks that cost ten fucking dollars a glass. I am now in a bad mood. I decide immediately where to target my agression. Those girls. They have done nothing wrong, and yet they will become the object of my blatant hatred.
I go over to them, and start to puff on their Hookah. Guava, typical. She starts a conversation, which I entertain for a bit. It's harmless. Then, for no reason at all I mutter these words: "See that exit door over there? Make it work". She thought I was joking. She starts to laugh, and it sounds like the screams of a thousand dying kittens. She says "Do you treat all women this way?", and I reply "Do you buy all your coats at Goodwill"? She shreiks "Charlotte Russe"! and then turns quickly away. This conversation is over. She pretends not to hate me for the rest of the evening, but you can see the glow of vile contempt in every bat of her plucked and waxed brow. What do I care? I've got mine, bitch. Over time, my anger is quelled by the dastardly Chimay, which is actually quite delicious, but still not worth ten dollars. No beer is ever worth that much. I don't care if it's been brewed with stem cells. The night ends right where it began, at an ice cream hole. This time it's Steak N'Shake. I pass on everything, because I know it will all pass right through me, and I don't want to foul up my new PD&C jeans. I go home, get yelled at, go to sleep, and here at am at work typing a goddamn blog. The night was a failure. A miserable failure. But, I'm not sad because I didn't forget. I'm just happy I can remember. Thanks for that, Jeebus.....Fuck the dutch.
So, I start home in a cloud of failure, get Megan an ice cream. It's the nasty kind she likes with gummi bears in it. I pull into the drive, and there are two cars there I have never seen before. I open the door. My roomate is there with some friends, and a few easy women. They are drinking Natural Light, the smoothest, bum rated piss-water around, and they are drinking it without the beautiful accompaniment of coasters. I can't handle it. I just can't. My roomate introduces me, and I quickly introduce them to my good friend Mister Coaster, and my other good friend, Mister Get your fucking feet of the sofa. It didn't come out that way. I wasn't yet drinking. But worry not friends, that part of the story quickly approaches. I discover that this entourage will be joining us for the evening. It's fine, I could use the company of some random strangers. So we go to the bar. There are six of us in a five seater, but at least i'm not driving. We pull in to the bar, which is most appropriately attached to an IHOP. As I approach this seemingly "free" event, a neaderthalesque bouncer peers out from the smoky pit. "That'll be six bucks". "Um, I'm of age". "It's six bucks". "I assume the beers are free then". He just looks at me like I have Down Syndrome. I shell it out while mumbling how evil and wrong they are for charging a cover to someone over twenty one. Fuckers. I buy a beer, it's three dollars, which isn't too bad. It was some good Dutch beer that tasted like Oranges. I sit down, become comfortable, and wait for the band to start.
By the time the band kicks in, I have had a few. I had a few before I got there, and now I have had a few more. Other people were buying and driving, so I helmed the drinking department. I felt it was the least I could do. My roomie is just sitting there looking like he is having the absolute worst time in the world, so I offer to by him a beer. He softly mutters the words "Chimay". Dare he threaten me with some type of exotic brew? What delights boil beneath the surface of this so called Chimay? So, I head to the bar. You can't hear a goddamn thing, so I point to the beer list, and to my new beloved Chimay. He pours the golden nectar in to chalice befit for a king, embossed with the words "Chimay". OMG it even gets its own glass, no, chalice! He hands me the two glistening cups, along with a tab that I glance at mildly. I glance again. TWENTY ONE FUCKING DOLLARS. Chimay was no longer my friend. It was a Bastard. It was dead to me. I deliver the glass to my roomie, whom after considerable time and expense, finally seems happy. Good for him. He looks up at me, "Mmm, this is good". "Fuck Chimay". I've been toppled from my thrown of delight, by Chimay. Ruined by some Dutch fagsauce brewed by some rediculous monks that cost ten fucking dollars a glass. I am now in a bad mood. I decide immediately where to target my agression. Those girls. They have done nothing wrong, and yet they will become the object of my blatant hatred.
I go over to them, and start to puff on their Hookah. Guava, typical. She starts a conversation, which I entertain for a bit. It's harmless. Then, for no reason at all I mutter these words: "See that exit door over there? Make it work". She thought I was joking. She starts to laugh, and it sounds like the screams of a thousand dying kittens. She says "Do you treat all women this way?", and I reply "Do you buy all your coats at Goodwill"? She shreiks "Charlotte Russe"! and then turns quickly away. This conversation is over. She pretends not to hate me for the rest of the evening, but you can see the glow of vile contempt in every bat of her plucked and waxed brow. What do I care? I've got mine, bitch. Over time, my anger is quelled by the dastardly Chimay, which is actually quite delicious, but still not worth ten dollars. No beer is ever worth that much. I don't care if it's been brewed with stem cells. The night ends right where it began, at an ice cream hole. This time it's Steak N'Shake. I pass on everything, because I know it will all pass right through me, and I don't want to foul up my new PD&C jeans. I go home, get yelled at, go to sleep, and here at am at work typing a goddamn blog. The night was a failure. A miserable failure. But, I'm not sad because I didn't forget. I'm just happy I can remember. Thanks for that, Jeebus.....Fuck the dutch.
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