So he and all the guys arrive at my apartment, we're sipping some beers, and it was kind of sweet how Former Roomie was gushing over his bride to be, right down to the fact that he loved her big boobs. He proceeded to show us a (fully clothed) picture. Yup. Big ones. Then he makes an announcement: "Listen, guys. No shots tonight. I'm serious." I had planned on doing maybe just one as a celebratory thing, but zero is just fine too.
Former Roomie said that inviting anyone was cool so Night Train met us out. I forgot that Night Train orders shots nonstop so before I could think to tell him about the rule for the night, Night Train saddles over to us with a tray full of one ounce booze cups known as shots. Former Roomie didn't even hesitate going against his own rule and immediately knocked down the shot of Jameson, or some other brown, vile liquid, and it wouldn't be his last of the night . . .
Oh yes, he did have one other rule: We had to end up at Liars Club before the end of the night. This is a rule I liked even better than the first because, as long time readers will know, this is my favorite place on earth. And this was the perfect night at Liars: Everyone was dancing, the music transitioned perfectly between Daft Punk and Motorhead, and all of us were having a ball. Except Former Roomie who said that what he really wanted to do is go somewhere with a jukebox to use a phone application that he has to pick songs. Despite the fact that my other good friend, James Douglas Morrison, and myself were dancing our faces off, we decided to do the right thing and accompany Former Roomie and his cousin to an after hours bar with a jukebox to play with.
|Two more robots called in sick.|
The next day I asked James Douglas what in the hell that was all about, and he texted back, "I saw puke come across the table, and I was worried I would be next, so I got outa' there like shit through a Goose Gossage." He has a way with words, that guy . . .
|Goose: "Whelp, that's a rap on the evening, gentlemen."|