There's Drunk, Then There Was Last Night.

“There’s Drunk, Then There’s Last Night”
A Tuesday story

The night started off innocent enough, an attractive young lady coercing me to a distant place for Buffalo wings while watching the Boston Red Sox engage in a game of baseball which at the time didn’t sound threatening. Little did I know that over the course of the night events would unfold that would result in an O’Connor classic Irish goodbye. It all began as soon as I left work en route for the subway, the first disappointment occurred when I passed by the beauty salon to see some hot chicks doing shit but sadly they were closed so onward I went to the subway.

Being an avid rider of the subway and personally disliking the public up to and including speaking to people I sit in the last car of the subway as I do in church to avoid human interaction as taught by my grandfather; sit in the back of the church like I do and you don’t have to shake anyone’s hand, you just simply have to nod in acknowledgement to the people around you as they too don’t like people. A strong theory from a strong man that has been tried through and tried true for every time I sit in the middle car some dumb twunt feels the urge to ask me to sign a petition to limit the size of class rooms or a dwindling jerkoff from Idaho feels so compelled to tell me how awesome NYC is. Yes asshole, NYC kicks ass, you live in a shed and grow potato’s that no one buys, I know NYC kicks ass as that I live here, do yourself a favor, get in the coffin and die. I also, as per usual, feel the overwhelming urge to push any male wearing an Affliction shirt onto the tracks, and with my luck this creation of douchebaggary was begging for it as he leaned over the edge to see if the train is coming, to which it was and this nameless douchebag will never know that he was seconds from death saved only by the fact that I really wanted wings and to see the Red Sox game. On a total side note (something I do all the time) I think that anyone who throws themselves infront of a train, regardless if they die or not, are the biggest assholes in NYC since they suspend service but give the motorman a vacation to supposedly deal with the situation, way to go asshole, unless of course it’s all part of your grand plan to piss people off, in that case you will be the American of The Day in my book.

As always without fail I was the lone white guy in a sea of Hispanics on the train and of course one sits directly across from me while I tried to figure out what the fuck to listen to, surly there’s something good that should follow Shock the Monkey god damnit! It was at the moment of clarity that Genesis would suffice as I noticed the Mexican across the way was staring at me the whole time, eye fucking me. I knew right then and there that this man either had something against my “Ramone clean this mess up” shirt or wanted to have sex with me. Ironically enough this doucheface got off at 53rd street along with the rest of Mexico and I had the train to myself, so I did what I always do when alone in a subway car.

The one man screaming contest began as soon as the train departed the station, running up and down the train as people on the platform going home/under the Gowanus for their night shift saw me in my glory. I imagine that they think all white people are crazy, to which we are, and I personally am the man your mother told you about, I am the man that enslaved your great great grandfather, I am the white man, and you should fear me. For those who speak Spanish, soy el Diablo blano y tu miedo mi boca de fuego. Knowing the next stop was coming I ended the screaming contest and picked a seat with my back to the wall since I have a phobia of people being behind me. I was a little pissed off that at 46th street people got on the train since I was really amped up for round two of the screaming contest but I was lucky enough to have it once. I suggest to one and all that the next time you are left alone in a subway car to get up out of your chairs and to start screaming as loud as you can, it’s one of the best kept secrets of the NYC subway line. Take joy at the next stop that what you had just done was a moment shared only with yourself in a public place.

Cursing the only other passenger in the train trying to blow her up with my mind the train pulled into Union Street and I got off, hoping that the now lone passenger in the train would be grateful at the gift I bestowed upon her. Walking up the stairs a Mexican couple walked side by side at a pathetically slow pace angering myself and the fugly white chick next to me, maybe not fugly, but at the very best a 4am hot. Once out of the station making up for lost time in the stairwell I hustled towards 200th 5th to find that Shamus had taken yet another vacation, cocksucker nark. Regardless Steve was working and he put the Sox game on which because of the slow Mexicans, and yes I place blame upon them, I missed the fight in the game. Shortly after my partner in crime Kaite showed up and ordered the wings of fury that would make up for the horrible Domino’s chicken parm sandwich, NEVER GET THEIR SANDWICHES THEY MAKE PIZZA AND DECIENT WINGS! Kaite went out for a smoke break and I joined her thinking I would be safe outside, I was wrong, dead wrong. Not even outside 30 seconds I heard something shitty in the distance, it quickly registered that some jerkass was blasting Bon Jovi in his parked car, I have been cursed from a prior life as that I am haunted by Bon Jovi, but it was alright because the wings were on the way and I’s a love my wings!

Out from the darkness on his bike a man of African descent approached me with incense and said “here, some free samples” which I stupidly took as he said this one was for Barac Obama which amused me and off he went, for I wasn’t giving him any money. Sitting back in the bar I take a sip of my pint of Yeuingling only to realize that my hands smelled of the Obamainscence! Fuck shit ball(s)! Despite my best intentions of washing my hands under scolding hot water, my hands were and still are rendered smelling like shit, thanks Obama, thanks for all the change, you prick. Needless to say I could not enjoy my wings the way they were meant since the smell of changed ruined my all American dinner of wings and beer whilst in the company of said hot chick. Meeting up with her friend Jason straight from bean town we ventured to The Bean Post for a session of drinks which I knew the outcome before it happened as that going to The Bean Post is never a really good idea since I seldom remember being there.

A couple of shots of Jameson’s and Ow I Hurt My Heads later I was in the happy state known as hammeredland. The night then took a turn for the worst when Shaft came in with a couple of his work buddies, one of which knew my friend Jorge which prompted me to berate him with texts to come out and join in the soon to be madness. Upon Jorge’s arrival shots of Jameson’s began flying as I did shots with him, shaft, and with Kaite. That is not to say that it was a round of shots, no, it was a shot with Jorge, then a shot with Shaft, then a shot with Kaite along with another shot with Darrin. It was at this moment that some Peruvian scumbag ordered a round of carbombs, which if you do not know I am much like a gremlin, do not feed me carbombs after midnight because the end result is never good, or so I’m told since I generally do not remember the outcome. Thinking quick on my feet I needed to exit the vicinity and begin my drunken march home so I pulled the ace from my sleeve realizing that saying goodnight would result in Shaft calling me a bitch and me staying to 5am drinking more inevitably resulting in a hangover far worse than the one I’m going through now. I began my Irish goodbye by actually breaking the rules and saying goodnight to Kaite, though I do not recall if I was the one who announced to her that there was an Irish Goodbye adrift or if I was called out on it, end result was that I apparently texted her when I got home along with a text from Shaft saying that my exit was inexcusable. Oops?

A couple of block into my stumble I was wondering why it was taking so long to get home, this walk clearly seemed longer than usual, then I realized I was at The Bean Post and not The Bullshots which is cloer to my home. Upon my realization that this was truly an adventure my shoe became untied, no big deal right? WRONG! Sitting on someones step I tried to fix the knot that by the grace of god turned out to be impossible (which really was a tough knot as that it took my leatherman to get it out this morning reminding me that I walked home with my shoe falling off every left step.)

Awaking in the morning to the screams of Khabiboulin (my cat) most likely still drunk I walked to get my hangover coffee and then off to work where I sit now, dead, writing this paper that has killed two hours of my day and countless minutes of your lives. To complete the circle that was this day, I stupidly crossed the street forgetting to pass by the beauty salon to see hot chicks doing shit, what began with a fail ended with another fail. Fun on a Tuesday night, this is Tom O’Connor signing off saying as always God bless America and get your dick sucked.