Tweet
As blas and myself can attest to, consuming alcohol is about the most popular recreational activity there is in Cheeselandialand. It never ceases to amaze me how many people are totally bombed by mid-afternoon.
Of course, I do partake in the barley pops and other potent potables myself. I just make sure not to get drunk while it's still light out.
So here's the scene: It's a little after 6:30 in the pm, and one Irving Patrick Freleigh and his co-workers are taking their last break of the day, outside, in front of Le Shack Du Radio, and this guy comes staggering along with his wife, and the two of them are having an animated conversation about...something.
Clutched in the guy's hands is a big, tall, gold can full of...something. Given the size of the can I thought it was an energy drink of some sort. He's bobbing, weaving and wobbling as individual air molecules strike him and push him to and fro.
Finally, he decides to head into Le Shack Du Radio, but pauses when his wife tells him he can't bring his can into the store with him. So he sets it down by the bike rack.
"Aww Jesus, I just want to get Grandma's...stuff...she's moving outta our other...apartment." CLUNK. "Dammit!," he says as faceplants into the door frame on his way inside.
Irv and his co-workers:
Our break ends, and I take a gander at the can still sitting by the bike rack. It was Olde English 800. Otherwise known as a forty if it's in a glass bottle.
Later, I'm up by the service desk getting a printer so I can acknowledge the truck, when who should happen by but Drunky Walks-Into-Doors Pants. He asks for four quarters for a dollar and the clerk reels back from the alcohol fumes coming off him. She gives him his quarters and CLUNK. "Shit!" as bashes into the door frame with his shoulder and finally waddles out the door.
Irv and service desk lady:
Of course, I do partake in the barley pops and other potent potables myself. I just make sure not to get drunk while it's still light out.
So here's the scene: It's a little after 6:30 in the pm, and one Irving Patrick Freleigh and his co-workers are taking their last break of the day, outside, in front of Le Shack Du Radio, and this guy comes staggering along with his wife, and the two of them are having an animated conversation about...something.
Clutched in the guy's hands is a big, tall, gold can full of...something. Given the size of the can I thought it was an energy drink of some sort. He's bobbing, weaving and wobbling as individual air molecules strike him and push him to and fro.
Finally, he decides to head into Le Shack Du Radio, but pauses when his wife tells him he can't bring his can into the store with him. So he sets it down by the bike rack.
"Aww Jesus, I just want to get Grandma's...stuff...she's moving outta our other...apartment." CLUNK. "Dammit!," he says as faceplants into the door frame on his way inside.
Irv and his co-workers:
Our break ends, and I take a gander at the can still sitting by the bike rack. It was Olde English 800. Otherwise known as a forty if it's in a glass bottle.
Later, I'm up by the service desk getting a printer so I can acknowledge the truck, when who should happen by but Drunky Walks-Into-Doors Pants. He asks for four quarters for a dollar and the clerk reels back from the alcohol fumes coming off him. She gives him his quarters and CLUNK. "Shit!" as bashes into the door frame with his shoulder and finally waddles out the door.
Irv and service desk lady:
Comment