01/22/2006 - 3:34 a.m. | i'm so much older than I can take

My memoirs teacher tells me that it's not such a good idea to write about events so shortly after they have happened, as emotion will still be playing into the equation, and things are bound to be skewed. Well, hell, I don't have time to sit around and wait for me to get unemotional, so I'll just go on ahead anyway. I find "night of" entries tend to get to things pretty damn fast.

Errrr... Kyle and I went out to Pickles for lunch today. My only meal, come to think of it... but there is reason for that. Their slap-in-the-Lord's-face of a fried shrimp dinner really dug into my intestines and started burning away at them. Cheese stix could not have helped, and I also ordered a pi�a colada because, well, it's damn funny to have some rum in you at 11 am. That is not the proper time, don't listen to me.

We watched some "Arrested Development" and I was all set to go and repay Kyle for the lobster dinner I so stupidly promised him, but Pickles was not about to let go, and I was flopping around in agony. Those fucking expensive fuckers. I like how they price like they think they're one of the big boys, too. "Oh yeah - 8 dollars for a cheeseburger! But anyone would pay for one with the PICKLES name slapped on it!" You delusional fucks.

Shelly and Kyle are having drunken sex, making it far more noticeable to me than the usual occasion. Do I close the door or get closer? YOUR VOTES COUNT, AMERICA! The only thing I can think, though, as I hear the moans (hers) and all, is, "His breath can not be pleasant at this stage of the game." Ooh, Kyle just let out a moan there. That's a first (of many, it turns out). Anyway, it is pretty weird to think that while I am sitting here, tap-tap-tapping away, a penis is flying in and out of a vagina at fever pitch. And of my two best friends, no less!

They paused for a while, but now have returned to full force. I don't believe I can carry on until at least one of us has an orgasm.

OK, good. I've been through all sorts of varying stages of drunkenness and moods tonight. Being off the meds has restored me to the blithering lunatic I truly am, and the rest of you retards just have to ride the wave. "Well, you see, I am annoyed because you are pestering me to do something with you even though there are times when I actually secretly like that you pester me because it makes me feel wanted." For the most part, though, I lurked up here, got real, real trashed, puked and rallied (mmm, shrimp cocktail sauce!), and flailed around on my mattress as I listened to various weird things I dug out from the past. Richard Thompson, 1991 superstar. I was 6 at the time, but I remembered his song, got it now, and thrashed on the bed, enveloping the lamer spirits, wine and beer.

Ooh - and an ass slap for good measure. And another. Lord, the things one learns.

I get sorted, though. I get drunk and then sort of back off the edge of the ravine, hovering there for the rest of the night. Kyle comes to, completely obliterated. And it's not even that! It's the Wild brothers! The two absolute worst people to have very drunk together at the same time! You can't even believe how intolerable they are. I can't believe it, and I saw the shit they did. I have this theory. If we were to actually leave them to their own devices, they would eventually gather enough of their faculties to do what was required of them. As it is, however, they pretty much always have an audience (and protectors), and some backwards part of their subconscious knows it and is doing its best to be the most aggravating motherfucker ever. They have their crowd, why not use show off a bit? Try some patience, create antics that will lead to interesting stories the next day. I just can't see it making sense otherwise. I have met some very drunk people, but few are so resistant to commands and so driven to cause chaos as the Wild Bros.

See, the pauses I don't get. I keep thinking they're done, and then suddenly it is a return to old form. BAM BAM BAM What do they do in the down time? Incidentally, I think it is funny that Shelly still says "gosh," even in the throes of passion.

Obviously, since Kyle was in town, Geo's was the only answer, the only option at all really. None of us even remember being given a choice. There was some wacky hat party I would have loved to attend, but I'm just as obligated as all of you. So we got there and had to wait over an hour before our songs came on, which meant lots and lots of drinking. Fine in my case, as Kyle was deceived into paying, and infinity Coronas is money, but Jevon did not need his six gin and tonics, Kyle did not need all those Mason jars of Long Island iced tea.

Come to think of it, their breaks have been coinciding almost perfectly with a Boggle timer. You kinky shits!

Geo's was... typical for Geo's, which means we walked the usual fine line of making fans and getting murdered. Poor Jevon. You know, he needs the sex more often than you or I, but he is of course also obligated to see his brother whenever he happens to show up in town, meaning that when this happens he will not be out at any of the good bars where he could get a reasonable piece of ass, instead staring down the pig demons grinding up on each other to the downtimes during the Beastie Boys' song. It's a good thing I'm celibate! Grandma.

It's weird to have old fears plaguing me, actually being scared to get up on stage to sing, but lord did we have a pretty receptive crowd or what? They were pretty cheery through Jevon and Kyle's slurred manglings of popular 90's hits, and they were downright receptive to such an obvious entertainer as myself, booty shakin' and all. Dudes be all coming up to me, giving me those awkward secret handshakes I never got the memo on. Nasty tubbos all giving me the "why not you soak me in butter?" eye. Best of all, I had this one middle aged soccer mom lady fixated the fuck on me. She had been lurking around all night before my performances, kept rubbin' her booty on me, but then when she saw my shining talent, she rushed up to the front row during, screaming and dancing and shit. And then the weird congratulations. High tens and hugs and I swear she slapped me or beaned me upside the head at least a couple times. Like it rough there a little, huh, Florence? How do we keep ending up at this place?

Keeping the Wilds reined in on the walk home was more or less a lost cause. Obviously we could not make it home without a stop at the adjacent porn store. I'm sure Shelly and Kyle had a good time, looking at items, no doubt getting ideas for the very preceedings I've heard below me. Jevon, however, not understand the point of all the rooms in the back (or just ignoring the fact that he did), ripped open each of them as I pulled at him to stop. "You'll find nothing in there you want to see, I promise you." Luckily, they were empty, and I shoved the party out the door before the skeez at the counter completely caught on.

Anyway, journey. Kyle would fall over or run off, for full effect, Jevon would often imitate, and oh yes, we were kicked out of Schnucks. Shelly and I kind of stood back in horror (she eventually retreating to the front of the store) as Kyle haphazardly crashed a cart around and threw random things in it - sack of grapefruit, bananas, some wad of weirdass pseudomeat. Nothing actually edible, of course. Objects thrown, spiked on the crowd, placed randomly. 100 yard turkey bacon Hail Marys clattering to the ground again and again. Finally, I was actually on the verge of rage, practically screaming at both of them to shut up and calm down, when who came up but the manager and security guard? And then, when the tossing out was imminent (and actually in progress), I watched as they both tried to turn the Wild Charms up the fullest, Kyle wielding his facts and figures and knowledgable tone ("You do not actually want the money I would be paying you for these goods? That is money lost, sir!"), Jevon using his Southern Hospitality, trying to shake the fat manager Bob's hand. It was actually rather amusing. Bob was having nothing of this handshake, though, despite Jevon's increasingly-agitated insistence. I had to pull him away from poor, oft-maligned Robert, trying to quell Jevon's faux-perky cries of, "Thanks a lot, Bob! :D I'm going to cave your nose in! :D This is the last time you'll see me alive! :D"

Obviously the police were phoned. And roughly four cars went by us as we treked home, probably circling the block, waiting for us to fuck up, but things were kept enough in line that they really had nothing to fault us for. Take that, Schnucks! Although it will be a little awkward the next we have to step in that place, huh? And it was really luck that kept them from spotting Kyle tossing branch javelins at car windows.

To keep the Wilds indoors, I locked us in, and Shelly made eggs. It just barely worked. I expected daring leaps out the window even still. Jevon alone must have eaten half a dozen eggs soaked in ketchup. I'm hungry now, too, myself, and I believe it is to the point where I can walk downstairs and not get soaked by smegma wads or whatevs. UPDATE: I cannot get to my food because both the can and can opener are too cheap to function. Damn you, Aldi! You know this can opener would never work on your shit, and you sold it anyway, didn't you? Didn't you! Happy miserable Saturday everybody!