Don’t read into the title. They ask for a sing-song, I give them one belting rendition of a Bowling For Soup track. Didn’t go down too well. I think HH wanted more depth. But there’s a certain risk with depth; you could find yourself swimming into a brick wall. Because of it being dark and all. In the deep.
Now, I have a routine with drinking establishments. Get out before you get stupid. By stupid I mean bad stupid. A little stupid can go down well. Everyone’s met a lovable drunk. It’s fun being the lovable drunk. You momentarily become an ugly sort of puppy, stumbling about being all very innocent, the child of the group in any part of the room.
I say ugly, because it doesn’t always work out. Some people think you’re a douche regardless of how momentarily incapacitated you may be. They stomp on the puppy act. You swiftly move onward. Instinctively, like a boat against a rock when the current is strong. Towards another drink, perhaps.
Bad stupid, though, is when you pretend to be someone else entirely. Maybe you genuinely think it’s the real you. No one knows at this point. You need to do something. You need to experience something. And sooner or later it’s going to hurt.
That’s when I get out. Cold isolation shines like a beacon to the bad stupid drunk. You can be as rude as you want to the shadows. They don’t care. Unless there’s someone in them, of course, but that tends to sort itself out. Either you find a new friend or you discover how good you are at handicapped athletics at 3:00 in the morning.
In such moments, a cigarette is a welcome burden. It feels cool, and by this point you’re not worrying about health problems. Unless you’re a non-only-when-drunk-smoker, this is usually a pretty rare find, but some of us come prepared.
The Bar is a wonderful establishment, don’t get me wrong. Love it. Top notch. Haven’t had a bad run yet.
But, see, I haven’t quite shaken what happened on Rabbit World. I forgot my own back-up plan, my safety net. My Hitchhiker’s Guide to the bloody Galaxy. And someone else made the call for me.
HH is currently on the table. Again. Shouting in Dutch, dancing away, a tankard in one hand and a battle axe in the other.
This round’s on me.