Let me give you a little background on this. The sales meeting and Toronto 2 were 3 months apart, in that time I’d gone completely insane. The stress from work with my boss leaving, The Wife’s pregnancy, the very real fear of a miscarriage and the overload of taking care of The Boy while The Wife was in a complete state of exhaustion made me snap. From the beginning of March to mid-April I had lost 30 pounds because I had just stopped eating and I stopped sleeping. People at work asked me how I was losing the weight and no one appreciated the humor of my honest answer of ‘developed an eating disorder’. People can be so up tight. So with this as the backdrop, Silent Bob and I embark on our second trip to Toronto…
We hit the border and stop at the beer store to stock up for the room. When we finally get to the room we start throwing back like there is no tomorrow as we look out of our $75 room onto beautiful Lake Ontario. I am instantly tanked and it’s not even 5PM. This does not bode well for our Friday night. We end at an Irish Pub where I’m sloppy and sitting on the lap of our waitress. We call it an evening and I’m asleep by 9:30. Alcohol is a wicked mistress.
The next morning we determine we are going back to said Irish pub for lunch because of the friendly and tolerant service and these pleated plaid skirts which are the dress code for the waitresses. Bob and I attended catholic high school together, so the attraction to the pleated, plaid skirt is something so deep seeded we have no control over it. We are throwing back and making friendly with the bartender by 11AM, this has disaster written all over it. We make it to the baseball game and I am taking in more beer than oxygen. At one point I think I grabbed a stall and was using the back wall as a backboard for my 3 pointer of a pee. I’m pretty sure there’s a janitor who says ‘aBOOT’ a lot that I need to apologize to. At the end of the game, I vaguely remember stumbling out of the stadium, I do remember climbing into a cab, do not remember the cab ride nor getting back up to the room. My next coherent thought is being woken up by Bob with the phrase of ‘Dude, it’s 9PM, we should probably grab dinner.’
Jigga what?
I have time traveled 5 hours, this is amazing, I’m still drunk and now well rested. Something cosmically special is brewing. We hit the road and get seated in a crowded restaurant. I start throwing back Rickards like I’m in a Mexican stand off with my liver waiting to see who will blink first, knowing full well it will be my consciousness. Bob is taking it slow and steady. I sometimes think he doesn’t hate himself as much as I hate myself. What a fucking pussy.
Me: Dude, I got a joke for you.
Bob: Uh oh.
Me: What do you say to a woman with two black eyes?
Bob: Do I want to know?
Me: Nothing. It’s obvious she wasn’t listening the first 2 times you told her.
Bob: Shit, you’re going to fucking jail tonight.
We finished eating and ended up at the Irish pub yet again. It’s very crowded and all of a sudden it hits me. Evil Me is born. I look upon the bar and find the hottest chick in the place and decide I’m going to throw so much game at her, either a) I collect my first ever one night stand, no shit, I’m not kidding, or b) I go down in a flaming disaster that makes the Hindenburg seem like an early morning hot air balloon ride. Ooh, ooh, where do you think the safe money is riding?
I find my target, a very attractive blond who looks a lot (at least according to my beer goggles) Kiera Sedgwick. I don’t even tell Bob my plan for fear he would know and jinx it. Me being the clever bastard I am and big time coward (This is the birth of Evil Me, I am naked, screaming and blinded by the light, take pity on me, I grow at an alien rate…) I position us near the Blond and her friends and wait for Silent Bob to break the ice. Amazingly, through a telepathy I didn’t even know we had, he strikes up a conversation with the whole group. Fucking A. He has earned wing man for life status, and will get front row seating for each and every fabulous disaster I can conjure up. I love him. I catch a name as he’s introducing himself, take a heavy swig and decide, Fuck it. I have nothing to fear, but gonorrhea.
Me: Hi, I don’t mean to be rude, I’m Bob’s hetero life mate, Evil Me.
Her: Oh hi, I’m….
Me: Hot Drunk Skank. Yes, I caught that, it is truly my pleasure to meet you.
Ok, it’s not perfect but fuck you, it’s a start. I slyly position myself to isolate her and make her my focal point. I make her feel intelligent, important and beautiful. When placed in this position, you have to remember THE greatest line in the movie Swingers. ‘I just stare at their mouths, wrinkle my brow and all of a sudden I’m a big sweetie.’ Don’t laugh, it works.
Now the thing you need to understand about the situation is this is my first meeting with Evil Me. I have no idea how to balance him or control him. While I’m laying it on thick with HDS, I’m being equally as much of a dick to her friends. I can not help this, one of her friends strikes me as a stuck up twat and I feel the need to let her know I don’t like her. I announce that I’m going to buy the group a round which endears me to the crowd. I stand at the bar still focusing on HDS, holding a Canadian twenty and let the bartender ignore me. After 15 minutes the Angry Twat gets frustrated and voices her displeasure at my inability to order a beverage in a timely fashion. I have no idea what comes over me but all of a sudden I utter the phrase that will epitomize Evil Me. “Fuck you, I’m famous.”
She looks like I just cut the head off a puppy. Fuck her if she doesn’t think I’m as funny as I know I am. HDS has determined I’m hilarious and is enthralled with me. In the span of an hour I only order 2 drinks, partly because the bartender is sure I’m a leper, and partly because I’m buzzed and don’t give a shit. I have the hottest chick in the place paying attention to only me, while Bob is playing crowd control with her cock blocking friends. I even drop my 2 black eye joke and she thinks I’m a riot. I cannot lose. Just when I think it can’t get any better, it does. Out of the blue, the air turns.
HDS: I bet you’re a very sensuous lover…
Me: Me, no, I’m actually a screamer.
HDS: Really?
Me: And a puncher too. Is that a problem?
She laughs. Thank fucking God. Where did that come from? Am I cock blocking Myself? Let’s sit back and watch…
HDS: You’re funny.
Me: Yes, I get that a lot, but at least for once I’m wearing my pants.
HDS: So what sort of things do you scream during sex?
Me: Oh I don’t know. (Then really fucking loud) I’M SORRY MOMMY! I’M SORRY MOMMY!
HDS: Change Mommy to Hot Drunk Skank and we’re all set.
Me: No promises…
What the fuck? Who said that, and why is that Candy Ass Bob letting him cock block me like that. Oh wait. What the fuck is wrong with me? Oh wait again, I’m a fucking mess and I hate myself. ‘Nuff said.
We eventually start the classy move of making out at the bar, which will become a running theme, so get used to it. To me this is victory. Fucking her would blow my head off my shoulders, but just making out at the bar with the hottest chick in the joint, I realize I’m a god amongst ants. Maybe not but Fuck You, I’m famous. Other conversational tidbits that are note worthy:
HDS: You’re not from Boston, you don’t have an accent.
Me: I want to paak the caa in haavid yaaad…
HDS: Oh My God, you have to tell me what that really means!!
Me: It’s just a phrase us people from Boston use to show off our accents. And if you want me to come up with something more clever, you need to stop rubbing my crotch. I can’t think…
And then she dropped the greatest line I’ve ever heard in my life.
HDS: God, you have me so wet I’m sticking to the bar stool….
Check please!
I’m having a hard time closing the deal. I am conflicted by the obvious opportunity that lies in front of me. I am not so big of an asshole that I try to protect her from the asshole that is me. Fuck you, I told you have no idea what I’m doing. Not only am I fighting myself, evidently my proclamation that I was famous to her bitchy twat of a friend has upset her and the older broad who can only be described as 5th wheel. Silent Bob’s value as a wing man is only enhanced by this statement, it’s nearly last call, I’m on the verge of scoring and I haven’t even had to mention the tamer friend because he’s done such a good job of crowd control. I almost have to feel for him because Evil Me is the ultimate cock blocker. He spends so much effort melting one particular pair of panties, all other panties are locked shut within a 2 degree of separation basis. Wow, does it suck to be my friend, oh well, not my problem. After convincing HDS to come back to our hotel room I go to the bathroom. As I come back I interrupt a discussion on how Americans are all dicks or something and I proclaim:
Me: Oh please we’re just ugly Americans, embrace us or your economy will fall.
5th wheel: No, Bob is actually cute and you…
Me: Oh wait, here it comes…
5W: You look like Ben Affleck, not the cute one, the chubby one.
Congratulations Twat, you’ve dropped a line I’m sure to use when I cum on your friends face. I hope you’re happy. Last call hits and we find ourselves standing around outside using words, maybe having conversations, I don’t know, I’m hammered and concentrating on HDS. We continue the drunken public make out because, well, I don’t know any better until she slips her hands down my pants.
HDS: Oh my god, you’re so huge!
Me: You’ve obviously never heard of the Irish curse….
This is me, I will not let myself succeed. By now Bob has lost all control of the situation and the Angry Twat is looking to drop the gloves with me. I give HDS my hotel and room number and tell her to meet me later. This is the best I can do because I’m fucking retarded. Fuck you, I’m famous.
Bob and I get back to the hotel room and we are just giddy with the retelling of the surreal events that have just taken place. Neither of us can fathom the reality that just happened. Mid sentence, I announce I have to take a shit. It’s a shit the locals should be writing folk songs about. It is massive, it is crippling, in short it fucking reeks worse than a sewer hole. I make Bob swear it is his in case HDS shows up and eventually pass out without cumming in a Canadian’s mouth.
It does not matter, I have come out of the evening victorious. In my first big league at bat I went 10 pitches and worked the count 3-2. Eventually I grounded out to the short stop but I took a lot of pitches so the batters behind me could see what the pitcher had. I also fouled off a lot of bad pitches to keep myself alive. A good ball player learns from his mistakes, even if they are made in his first at bat. Honestly, if you hit a home run in your first major league at bat, what are the chances you end up like Barry Bonds as opposed to Lou Merloni?
