Chapter 01
It is a sad, strange time we live in. I awake on this cruel morning after being out the night before, partying it up with friends and colleagues to celebrate my roommate's 23rd birthday. The pool hall is a dim corridor in which my memory is having slight difficulties traversing down. I do remember the free food, though, which is another story completely all on it's own. I shall have to get to that later, but for now, I must journey forth on this particular road.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Dooly's on a Thursday night is shockingly empty, but for our party, it was perfectly fine that way. We simply found a small, dimly lit corner in which to challenge each other to friendly games of billiards and consume massive, or as massive as our bank accounts would allow before slapping us silly, amounts of alchohol. Curse Dooly's, however, for not having any Rickarts's Honey Brown, though. I had asked, on my first two visits to the bar, specifically for the stuff, and was rewarded for my efforts with Rickart's Red. It is not to say that I don't like Rickart's Red. Quite the contrary, I enjoy the stuff, it sits well, has a nice taste.
I'm rambling. shit. I also seem to have problems when correcting I's that need to be capitalized, but anyway, this is simply another thing to veer me off-track. The third time, I figured, would be the charm in asking for my desired drink. I was disheartened to find out, however, that the bar was currently out of Rickart's Honey Brown. I had to wonder to myself, "Why the fuck would they put me on this emotional rollercoaster of hope and despair if there wasn't any fucking beer in the first place?" It made no sense to me.
Had the waitress, who, despite the beer hassle, was nice, told me at the beginning that there was no Honey Brown, this whole thing could have been avoided. Oh well. Simple miscommunication, perhaps. Such things are prone to happening, I suppose, or is that true? Can we so easily pass off the complete lack of interest one being, whether intentional or not, shows to another? Are we not entitled to be both heard -and- understood when we express ourselves? do we not live in a democratic society, where each person's voice and opinion matters? One wonders, sometimes, how far the Freudian Slip known as Democray has allowed us to tumble.
I've lost my track of thought. Repetitive bass is drumming in my head from my roommate's side of the room. Cinnamon toast crunch and Neji? Hmm...interesting. I need to regain my composure. Right, the partying. After numerous games of pool, many beers and cocktails later (and on that note I will sadly mention that my attempt to honor the late Hunter S. Thompson by ordering a Singapore Sling with Mescal on the side failed) we departed.
The bass is thundering now. My roommate is giving his speakers another one of his acid tests. My microwave is shaking in fear, literally vibrating in sheer terror. My head feels something like the microwave sounds, and I wonder if one can be forced into a trance from such powerful, rhythmic vibrations.
After leaving the pool hall, our party walked for at least 20-30 minutes, until we reached one of our destinations and rested. We then began to wind down our night between playing Dance Dance Revolution and watching really shitty looking Japanese games shows on the internet. If any nation knows how to perfect perversion, it seems that the Japanese take the prize. Never before had I imagined a game show where 3 female volunteers each straddle a seat, where one holds a secret compartment containing some sort of strange device that repeatedly...fuck...I'm not sure how to describe exactly what it is that it did, but it involved stiff bristled brushes making contact with the woman's crotch. Needless to say, the one straddling -that- seat was enjoying herself, but it seemed the object of the game was for men to place bets to see which of the 3 women got the good seat. The other 2 simply faked pleasure, which made me worry about my own relationship, as I noticed that they were very, very good at faking. I was soon reassured, however, that I had nothing to fear. My male pride was saved.
I should probably mention that I don't mind my roommate's music. I'm very open and broad when it comes to enjoyable genres for myself. So long as it causes no collateral damage, I am very accepting of his musical tastes.
Watching the gameshow reminded me of a commercial we had also seen on the internet. It was a spoof, and a good one, too, of a product aptly named the 'Nut-Bra'. As you may assume, the product was a bra for old, saggy testicles. Not a bad thought. The bra, not the old, saggy testicles. It reminded me of our country, Canada, actually. Once very proud and firm, the foundation for something wonderful, something with great significance, and now nothing more than a saggy reminder of how the wife, which, in the country's case, is the goverment, took it by balls and dragged it where she would, until those balls simply swung in any direction, unable to return to its once glorious image and make a stand for itself.
Shit, I should keep going, I have other work to do after this. This isn't a job or anything. I don't actually get paid. I may put adsense on this, though. It would be interesting to see how much I make from the ads. It could possibly reflect how many people actually read this, though numbers are not something I worry about much. This would explain the booze I bought last night, considering money is not something I particularly have at the moment.
After the dancing and gameshows, we departed once more. My girlfriend and I went back to her apartment and finally found some rest. I guess this brings us back to the start of all of this, the cruel morning. Strangely, even though we had been kept up until about 3 o'clock, we awoke at around 8:30AM this morning. I was unfortunately not able to stay the whole day, as I have rehearsals to go to tonight...actually, in 2 and a half hours. It is 2 o'clock right now. I managed to save paying for a taxi when one of my friends at my university offered to come over and pick me up, much to my relief. Now I have the pleasure of learning around 7 scenes in that amount of time that I have left.
Shit. I should probably go do that, or my director will slice my ears off. Well...maybe not slice off my ears, but she will definitely feel that urge, I think.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Dooly's on a Thursday night is shockingly empty, but for our party, it was perfectly fine that way. We simply found a small, dimly lit corner in which to challenge each other to friendly games of billiards and consume massive, or as massive as our bank accounts would allow before slapping us silly, amounts of alchohol. Curse Dooly's, however, for not having any Rickarts's Honey Brown, though. I had asked, on my first two visits to the bar, specifically for the stuff, and was rewarded for my efforts with Rickart's Red. It is not to say that I don't like Rickart's Red. Quite the contrary, I enjoy the stuff, it sits well, has a nice taste.
I'm rambling. shit. I also seem to have problems when correcting I's that need to be capitalized, but anyway, this is simply another thing to veer me off-track. The third time, I figured, would be the charm in asking for my desired drink. I was disheartened to find out, however, that the bar was currently out of Rickart's Honey Brown. I had to wonder to myself, "Why the fuck would they put me on this emotional rollercoaster of hope and despair if there wasn't any fucking beer in the first place?" It made no sense to me.
Had the waitress, who, despite the beer hassle, was nice, told me at the beginning that there was no Honey Brown, this whole thing could have been avoided. Oh well. Simple miscommunication, perhaps. Such things are prone to happening, I suppose, or is that true? Can we so easily pass off the complete lack of interest one being, whether intentional or not, shows to another? Are we not entitled to be both heard -and- understood when we express ourselves? do we not live in a democratic society, where each person's voice and opinion matters? One wonders, sometimes, how far the Freudian Slip known as Democray has allowed us to tumble.
I've lost my track of thought. Repetitive bass is drumming in my head from my roommate's side of the room. Cinnamon toast crunch and Neji? Hmm...interesting. I need to regain my composure. Right, the partying. After numerous games of pool, many beers and cocktails later (and on that note I will sadly mention that my attempt to honor the late Hunter S. Thompson by ordering a Singapore Sling with Mescal on the side failed) we departed.
The bass is thundering now. My roommate is giving his speakers another one of his acid tests. My microwave is shaking in fear, literally vibrating in sheer terror. My head feels something like the microwave sounds, and I wonder if one can be forced into a trance from such powerful, rhythmic vibrations.
After leaving the pool hall, our party walked for at least 20-30 minutes, until we reached one of our destinations and rested. We then began to wind down our night between playing Dance Dance Revolution and watching really shitty looking Japanese games shows on the internet. If any nation knows how to perfect perversion, it seems that the Japanese take the prize. Never before had I imagined a game show where 3 female volunteers each straddle a seat, where one holds a secret compartment containing some sort of strange device that repeatedly...fuck...I'm not sure how to describe exactly what it is that it did, but it involved stiff bristled brushes making contact with the woman's crotch. Needless to say, the one straddling -that- seat was enjoying herself, but it seemed the object of the game was for men to place bets to see which of the 3 women got the good seat. The other 2 simply faked pleasure, which made me worry about my own relationship, as I noticed that they were very, very good at faking. I was soon reassured, however, that I had nothing to fear. My male pride was saved.
I should probably mention that I don't mind my roommate's music. I'm very open and broad when it comes to enjoyable genres for myself. So long as it causes no collateral damage, I am very accepting of his musical tastes.
Watching the gameshow reminded me of a commercial we had also seen on the internet. It was a spoof, and a good one, too, of a product aptly named the 'Nut-Bra'. As you may assume, the product was a bra for old, saggy testicles. Not a bad thought. The bra, not the old, saggy testicles. It reminded me of our country, Canada, actually. Once very proud and firm, the foundation for something wonderful, something with great significance, and now nothing more than a saggy reminder of how the wife, which, in the country's case, is the goverment, took it by balls and dragged it where she would, until those balls simply swung in any direction, unable to return to its once glorious image and make a stand for itself.
Shit, I should keep going, I have other work to do after this. This isn't a job or anything. I don't actually get paid. I may put adsense on this, though. It would be interesting to see how much I make from the ads. It could possibly reflect how many people actually read this, though numbers are not something I worry about much. This would explain the booze I bought last night, considering money is not something I particularly have at the moment.
After the dancing and gameshows, we departed once more. My girlfriend and I went back to her apartment and finally found some rest. I guess this brings us back to the start of all of this, the cruel morning. Strangely, even though we had been kept up until about 3 o'clock, we awoke at around 8:30AM this morning. I was unfortunately not able to stay the whole day, as I have rehearsals to go to tonight...actually, in 2 and a half hours. It is 2 o'clock right now. I managed to save paying for a taxi when one of my friends at my university offered to come over and pick me up, much to my relief. Now I have the pleasure of learning around 7 scenes in that amount of time that I have left.
Shit. I should probably go do that, or my director will slice my ears off. Well...maybe not slice off my ears, but she will definitely feel that urge, I think.
posted by Brad Butland at 10:31 AM
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