Hola, amigos. What’s going on? I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I’ve been out of my head lately. I’ve put on about 15 pounds since I started my job driving people back and forth between the airport and the car-rental place. I don’t get it. I’ve been driving my ass off, and I’m still becoming a king-sized fat-ass. I’m trying that Atkins diet. They got a book about it, but why bother with that? I think I got the gist of it from hearing Wes’ mom talk about it all the time. I mean, eat nothing but meat? Sign me up. I went out and got myself 12 packs of hot dogs and a 10-pound box of frozen hamburger patties. I haven’t lost any weight yet, but I figure you gotta give these things some time to work.
It’s been real hard to keep off the chips, though. I got myself a primo weed source last month, so I find myself with the munchies pretty much every night. That’s why I got some jerky. It’s like having chips made of meat, only they don’t crunch, unless you fry them for a couple minutes. Then they’re like meat Doritos.
I’d be pretty happy just sitting around the house eating my jerky chips and watching the tube. The only problem is that I can’t get people to come over to my place, and I don’t like being all alone. I’m a social animal by nature. I can usually count on Ron to stop by, since he’s a cheap son of a bitch. Wes used to be good for hanging out, but then he got himself a girlfriend named Mindy. God only knows how. I think they met on some computer chat line last month or so. Since then, Ron and I haven’t seen much of him.
Anyway, Ron called up and told me that he needed to go out for once. He had the brilliant idea of going to The Bull for their Valentine’s Day special. I like Valentine’s Day less than I like Sting, but there are always good drink specials that night, like two-for-one on anything pink. I’m not much for pink booze, but who am I to turn down a good value? Plus, he laid on the old Ron guilt. He told me that Wes and Mindy were going to meet up with him, and he didn’t want to be a third wheel.
Now, the secret to going out for the night is drinking before you leave the house. At home, you drink for half the cost, and you don’t have to tip the guy who gets the beer out of the fridge. Ron stopped by on the way to The Bull, so we ate some hot dogs and knocked back a few for about an hour.
When we got to the bar, it was only about half full. I thought it would be packed with couples, especially on a Saturday night, but I guess everyone had something better to do. Wes and Mindy were already waiting for us. They were at a table, and both of them were drinking some kind of pink ice-cream drink.
I went to the bar and asked if they had any pink drinks that weren’t totally weak. The bartender said I should try a cosmo. I’m totally into all the outer-space science stuff, so I ordered two of them and headed back to the table. Ron tried to grab one of my drinks, but I told him that that wasn’t an option. I took a sip of my first drink, and it was pretty good. It went down smooth, like Hawaiian Punch. I made it through pretty quick, and I figured that they were probably best cold, so I kicked the second one back right after.
I wanted to play darts, but some fat guys were all over the dartboard. They had quarters lined up like it was a Pac-Man game, so there was nothing to do but sit at the table and get more drinks. Meanwhile, Ron was trying to make time with a table of ladies. I could see them rolling their eyes from across the bar, but that didn’t stop Ron. He’s like a pit bull on the trail of a steak.
That left me the third wheel to Wes and Mindy, which is the situation Ron dragged me down there to avoid in the first place. Mindy seemed all right, though. Kinda cute in a weird, computer-chat-line sort of way. She didn’t say much, but I don’t blame her for that. I know what it’s like to be the new person in a group. It’s best to sit back and take it all in at first. I guess you can’t say a whole lot when you’re making goo-goo eyes, anyway.
We were talking about movies—that’s the kind of small talk you make with chicks—when my sixth cosmo hit me. Mindy was talking about the Hobbit movie, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Wes must have spotted that unmistakable look on my face, because he pulled Mindy away right before I lost my hot dogs all over the table.
The bartender ran out from behind the bar and grabbed me. I tried to get away, but I could barely lift my arms. Before I knew it, I was out on the curb. I wanted to head back in there to show that prick a thing or two, but I couldn’t get up all the way. I just had to lean against a car and try to stop the spinning. Ten minutes later, Ron finally came out to drive me back to my place. I just wanted to get home without any chatter, but Ron kept going on about how I blew his big chance with the women at the other table.
I never thought a pink beverage could fuck you up so fast. I guess it was my fault, because I failed to follow the cardinal rule: Beer before liquor, never sicker. I never should’ve listened to Ron and gone out in the first place. Valentine’s Day has always sucked, and now I have one more reason to hate it.
I called Wes and apologized for almost puking on his date. Like a true friend, he was cool with it. Even better, Ron said that Mindy didn’t even rag on me. Some girls would’ve dragged me through the dirt for the rest of the night. Time will tell, but Wes might have found himself a decent one.
Jim Anchower joined The Onion’s editorial writing staff in 1993 after several distinguished years on The Come Back Inn dishwashing staff. He comments on community-affairs, automotive, and employment issues. He attended LaFollette High School in Madison, WI.
