smirkingatyou

i thank you all for the birthday coolness. even though i don't know who half of you are, it still feels good.

i am currently three-sheets-to-the-wind, thus i am now even more honest and even less tactful than i normally am. the following story is true. nothing has been changed because no one is innocent.

tonight i broke a bar . . . well, part of a bar.

a window part.

a 3-foot by 7-foot window part.

actually, i didn't break it. my friend thomas broke it with his ass . . . after i knocked him into it.

perhaps details would help. tonight some friends took me out to our usual bar for my bday. we are known there. hell, our tabs pay for half of their electric bill. anyway, we had a few shots and a few beers. then we decided to play our customary round of full-contact-video-game-golf.***note: this and miniature golf is the only kind of golf i play. i believe the passtime is elitist in nature (and i'm not talking about my particular brand of intellectual elitism) , and one of the last bastions of the american bourgeoisie. *** anyway, i digress. so we were playing a video game and fucking with each other. it's now my turn. i've already fucked up my friends' last two shots, so i expect severe retribution. i decide to prevent this with a pre-emptive attack. the biggest threat (in terms of sheer mass) is mike, but he is too far away to be a problem. thomas, however, is close at hand. my plan is flawless. i drop low and hit his center of mass with my hip, slide back, and make my shot. it would have been perfect, if it weren't for the unmistakeable sound of breaking glass. apparently, my technique was too good.

since you guys don't really know me, allow me to explain something. i'm an asshole. it's both a curse and part of my charm. however, i rarely cause structural damage.

with my eyes wide as saucers, i walked up the the bar and told the first bartender, "i just fucked up." suddenly, a crew of brooms and dustpans appear and clean up the mess. before i can light a cigarette, a circular saw is cutting plywood to cover the breach. god bless my bar; they were prepared.

i spoke with the head bartender and one of the owners. i admitted my guilt, yet all anyone could do was smile and assure me that everything was ok. they even lauged about it. apparently, they have asshole insurance. after i took a picture of me sitting in the broken window-hole, i promised to feed them well. tomorrow they get pizza. later this week, i'll grill new york strip.

they were more pissed off about the time i took off my shirt so a friend could drink a shot from my navel. i don't know how the fuck i walked away from this without getting decked.

so, yeah. i'm 27, and i'm safe at home. i always said that i was one of god's favorites.