|By Louched_Liver on Saturday, December 29, 2001 - 09:29 am: Edit|
Getcher motor runnin'
Head's out on the highway
Louchin' for adventure
Or whatever's poured his way
C'mon Livah we gonna make it happen
Drink Weyerbacher in an A-town place
Take a run to that big ol Apple
Haul our asses all over the place
And like true absinthe drinkers
We were born, born to be stinkers
|By Head_Prosthesis on Saturday, December 29, 2001 - 08:42 am: Edit|
"Getcher' motor runnin'..."
|By Louched_Liver on Saturday, December 29, 2001 - 06:33 am: Edit|
And on it goes for who knows how long. I don't. Feeling a tad shagged, I decide it's time to get back to Ann Arbor, where that cocksucker Tom Bodette didn't leave the light on for us. And off we venture, back into the chill night, the air laced w/Johnson products. And suddenly, who should arrive but a Head groupie. Was she and her party of 2 waiting for him to pop out? In the dead of night, in the middle of an urban nowhere, and on a school night to boot? She didn't look Dutch, and it was too cold for her to show any pussy if she was so inclined, so she talked a shitload instead. Which would have been cool, but it was cold. It was 21 degrees, windy, and one of her minions had tossed some attitude my way, and I hadn't had any eggnog in a long while. I finally made some smartass Louched Liver retort about wind chill and frostbite, or something er udder, and it was time to load the mighty 84 Le Baron w/my new artpiece and say goodbye.
So we clutched each other tightly, and kissed each other on the cheek, and no air kisses either, 'cuz we're comfortable w/our manhoods and shit. A tear froze in the corner of my eye at having to leave my new found bro', but Mrs. Liver and the cuddly rodents would worry if I didn't make it back to the No-tell by dawn (which, at this point could easily happen. I was already thinking waffles and maple syrup).
And so we parted, on a slushy, cold as fuck Ypsi street. Soon to reunite in e-mail, IM session and phone call. But hey, how about Head heads east?
|By Louched_Liver on Saturday, December 29, 2001 - 06:13 am: Edit|
Shit now kicks into overdrive. "Run Lola Run" on the monitor. Which by the way is my absolutely favorite movie of all time. I need to see it monthly, at least. Like it so much, I buy DVD copies of it for people. To spread the joy of it around. She ain't Dutch, and she shows no pussy, but damn I love that Lola.
Anyway, Cabeza Boy had thoughtfully kept a taste of La Fee for me to sample. To my simple palette, it was as if you mixed Deva 50 and N.S. 70. Not bad at all, not bad at all.
Then it's off to the internet in search of Zitty Xena, who is Dutch, and does show her pussy. No ZX, and no magic pisstub. Better pour some more absinthe, and see who is prowlin' roun' the Forum. Huh, nobody. Better pour some more absinthe. And then Melon Replacement breaks out the family album. Now yer talkin'!!!
Guess What?-"David is was."
Peapod Legs-"Cancel White Castle."
The Fatass Brutha w/bbq sauce on his forearm.
Better pour some more absinthe. Faux Skull reveals the art he has created based on the e-mail I sent of the "You Are Going In the Drink Now" sign I snapped in Ireland. Cool, better pour some more absinthe.
|By Louched_Liver on Saturday, December 29, 2001 - 05:51 am: Edit|
Food is procured, in copious amounts, and damn tasty it is too. I opt for the dry rubbed ribs, Headly Lamar gets a pile of what looks to me like well stirred road kill. Plus the side dishes. Plus eggnog. Plus more beer. Plus the crap yuppy conversation in the booth next to us.
Our servster wasn't Dutch, and we saw no pussy, just a look on her mug as if Head's plate contained the remains of her hamster. She didn't bring the squeeze bottles of sauce, my host had to get his own to go container as well. And the few, precious moments when she did happen to remember we were her customers, she wore an expression as if our Depends were overflowing. No wonder she helped herself to a $20 tip. Now, don't get me wrong. Usually I'd pitch a royal bitch about such a thing. But, I didn't want to impose on my Virgil to find a suitable place to stash the body parts. Plus I just had eggnog. Who can raise a ruckus when they've just had eggnog?
Back to the Batcave!
|By Louched_Liver on Saturday, December 29, 2001 - 05:33 am: Edit|
In the vertical casket that is HP's lair, the talk turns to members of this fine, fine Forum, and how we love each and every one them. Deeply, and with all our hearts.
But hark, the rib joint closes soon, we must not balk. Food, which is of little importance in the face of our hobnobbing, must be consumed to stave off weakness.
Into the Big Red Headmobile we go, mentally checking off which hair weave joint looks most likely to suit our needs.
As I had lamented the dearth of suitable BBQ here in Allentown, Cranium Cap had thoughtfully remembered, and whisked me thus to a place where the smoke could be whiffed as soon as you exited your vehicle into the icy night. We gonna get our muthafuckin' grub on, yo!
|By Louched_Liver on Saturday, December 29, 2001 - 05:18 am: Edit|
Shit, daylight already?
|By Artist on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 11:59 pm: Edit|
"Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat."
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 11:15 pm: Edit|
|By Artist on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 11:12 pm: Edit|
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 10:52 pm: Edit|
And the Weyerbacher is goin down smooooovvvee baby!
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 10:15 pm: Edit|
We be up and out. Time to get the case out of the car, so as not to forget it. A microbrew, thoughtfully chosen. And on to the the "Headaway" we go.
To say it is "bijou" is pretty on target, try to fall down, and it is a challenge to feel carpet.
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 09:47 pm: Edit|
Common ground-beer. And the Forum. And Izzy and the Unicorn. And where to go for a hair weave. So many choices! The Pulp Fiction barmaid.
"She's not your girlfriend?" the Unicorn had growled to Head after a particularly $173K behind on the child support kind of statement. But she was a hotty. And well travelled. So to speak. And Vera, she was not Dutch, and we saw no pussy.
So beers were drunk, and plans to move on were made. The supplanting of Pulp Momma by a skinny efficient dude facilitated moving on. We don't shwing that way.
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 09:20 pm: Edit|
The Unicorn is gone. And awkward silence takes his place. Face to face isn't IM or talking on the phone. The stakes are higher. The tension is heavy. We've spent some sessions going back and forth, by intenet and by phone, that have been A1. Now, it's face to face. No lounging about in the comfy chairs in the dark. Eye contact required. Things start to thaw, conversation begins-staccatto.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 09:04 pm: Edit|
I wanted to pop that fucking thing soo bad...
come on Jack lemme just give it a squeeze...
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 09:00 pm: Edit|
HEEERRRREE'S HEAD! And in he comes. Lookin' alot like a not under a glass bottom boat version of Ethel's Merman. Grins exchanged, and into the maw of drunkard yackitation we fall. Me tending Izzy, Head nodding at Jack. Bottles of Bell's finest to assuage the sting of listening to gibberish, and blah, blah, blah, respectively. This is becoming old quick. And then Izzy is up and over. Holding court at mid-bar. Yackity Jack sees his opening, and phones for a cab. Freedom is near!
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 08:41 pm: Edit|
Turns out Yackity Jack the Unicorn is $173,000 in arrears on his child support.
Has a walnut sized lump between his eyes, and an urge to piss on the world. He is not, in any sense of the word "chilled out."
Big Hearted Izzy the Blowhard buys a round, and in his mind, the right to churn on endlessly about unions, and his position, both pro and con at the same time, about them.
Smile, smile, grin, grin.
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 08:21 pm: Edit|
Well, the wormwood has soothed me.
I got to the meeting place on time, and w/out incident. Both rare occurences for me. Shaking off the chill, I gave the dive a quick once over, looking for the shoulders that know no natural head. Based solely upon the "Ethel's Merman" photo, I'm in the joint 1st.
I seek a position by the front door, to minimize awkward wandering about by the parties at large and plop my ass between Yackity Jack the Unicorn, and Big Hearted Izzy the Blowhard.
Not a good move.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 08:03 pm: Edit|
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 07:54 pm: Edit|
The water defies gravity, it's the Mystery Spot in the Irish Hills of Michigan.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 07:51 pm: Edit|
I said Work it girl!
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 07:50 pm: Edit|
Awwww! ta hell with the text only business...
Work it girl!
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 07:10 pm: Edit|
I just got in from Y-town, and boy is my ass tired. Much carnage on I-80, causing a record slow return to A-town. Much absintheal lubing is needed to salve the horrors of the drive.
The P Head has the basics of the evening down, I'll embellish when I recover.
Taking the whack from the Sandman after 3am, then getting on the road before 9, followed by all the extra excitement of highway closings, stoppings, detours, etc... a jockey could use a tonic.
|By Petermarc on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 04:30 pm: Edit|
tell me about the slerpis, daddy...
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 02:13 pm: Edit|
The beauty of it's landscape is exceded only by it's hair salons and liquor stores.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 02:12 pm: Edit|
Yep. Y-Town. Ypsitucky. Home of the Hurons. The Legendary Birthplace of the Fabled Slerpis.
|By Petermarc on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 02:05 pm: Edit|
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 01:22 pm: Edit|
We ate some juicy ass ribs and some badd muthafukkin' pulled of the fukkin' bone ass pork. I ain't et' so good since my boy Tiny was blazin' this summer.
Our stoic tightly laced pastey waitress tipped herself with the change.
"Turn that frown upside down, tips are automatically deducted from your change when you're in Y-town"
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 01:07 pm: Edit|
We drank the shit out of some mother fuckin' booze, boy.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 12:24 pm: Edit|
I showed Louchmensch my "Cornycopious of Stuff".
He wandered around wide eyed and mystfied. Like a wacked out 6 year old on Christmas morn. He couldn't say anything but "This is great! This is GREAT!!!" He'd never seen an entire library dedicated to the archival and preservation of the world's finest porn.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 12:13 pm: Edit|
That long john of a man is my Uncle Prince. He goes by the stage name of Prince Innocent. Louchey was very impressed with his sense of style and suave sophistication within his line of work. He does Private Meetings, Bachelorette parties, Baby Showers and of course Orifice Visits.
He is the funk doobiest.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 12:08 pm: Edit|
When I started showing Louchington my fambily albumum, he immediately got his "CRAVE" on!
My cousin ME ME, isn't she sweet? Long peapod legs that turn into a big ol' onion soakin' in a double wide tureen of beef gravy.
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 12:01 pm: Edit|
Matilda the lovely Bear Woman said to young Henry...
My favorite person is DAVID. He killed a giant man. He is was 9 feet tall...
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