9622.net

Here is the Drunk Legends website [via Milk and Cookies] in case ... *stifles hyena-like laughter* ... you can't remember any.

My heart says WC Fields (Fields gave this rationale for not drinking water: "Fish fuck in it.") but my drunkard's soul says Peter O'Toole:

"The pubs to the north of Oxford Street opened at 10.30 in the morning, in what is now called Fitzrovia. The trick would be to get in there at opening time, then get across, somehow or other, to deepest darkest Soho by three, so one could pop to Muriel's or the Mandrake or the Gargoyle or the Stag or the Kismet. God! Dancing underneath the stars at the Kismet! It was a disgusting old place beneath an Indian restaurant, and the guvnor had got these dreadful cut-out stars, which he'd attached by bits of old thread to the ceiling. Then we'd fall out at opening time, 5.30, then straight on in time for Billingsgate, then Smithfield, then Covent Garden and then go like fuck to north of Oxford Street, to see if we could do the 24 hours."

A pleasant deraileur: who's the best drunk you've known personally? Me? Mike Grein. My frat brother, the guy who gave me my nickname. He and I got into a fight with four guys from the U of I wrestling team (I pissed blood for a week after that). He wore his bathrobe on Bourbon Street. He threw a pork rib at a guy who was making fun of my long hair. He fixed me my first vodka and tonic, in the sawn-off bottom of a plastic liter tonic bottle. He'd pound on my door, 10 o'clock in the morning, me hungover to shit, screaming "grab your cash and get your shit together, Festerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!! We're going drinking, and we need to be at the Tap at 10:30 to get our seats!" And damned if I didn't stumble up, throw on last night's clothes, and follow. The man drank more beer, slung more whisky, and got me into more fights than anyone in this world. He would ease his prodigious ass into a barstool, and he reigned like some bald, back-haired, bathroobe-wearing kinglet, some pork-rind Dionysian with a Marlboro (mine) in his hand and a fragrant sweat just starting to bead at neck and temple.

A finer drunk I have never known.

Fes:

Ha! What a brilliant description! I've met him.

My Mike Grein is my Argentinian friend Carlos - he does all that stuff, plus he does mating dances, strutting around his wife as if his feathers were on edge, all the while spilling his drink like he was seeding gin, as if it could possibly grow.

He once had the gall to tell me he made a point of having only friends who drank less than he did, as it helped him "moderate his drinking".

What he meant, of course, was "get him out of fights", "apologize to women", "pay the bill" and "take him home".

No one I've ever met drinks less than he does - so he has a lot of friends, our Mike Grein. :)

Speaking of favourite drubks are we going to plan nothing for our First Anniversary on the 25th of this month?

As it'll be a Friday, perhaps a little no-holds-barred drunka-musica-monkeyathon shindig could be arranged?

If I may borrow a Portuguese memento (for 'twas on the 25th April 1974 that we liberated our asses from the yoke of pernicious authoritarianism):

Remember the olden days at 9622.net?

No one I've ever met drinks less than he does - so he has a lot of friends, our Mike Grein.

Should of course read "drinks more than he does." ;)

My favorite drunk would, of course, be Rob The EMT. (Sorry To be Predictable). Between the two of us we've put many a distillery employees kids though college.

The man who decided to wrestle in a pile of trash on Lower Fifth Ave. with me. Who discovers Fountainbleu Hotel grade bars in the backs of Greenwich Village japanese restaurants, where we sat sipping perfectly mixed $15 served to us by tuxedoed waiters, the lot of us dressed like clients at a methadone clinic. Who carried a flask of Knob Creek to drink on the rides at Playland in rye. Upon whos floor, in the midst of a crowded drunken party, I announced I was going to sleep on(after several shots and beers) and I did, while people continued reveling around me. Who goes in to bars in Miami malls and teaches the bartenders how to make drinks, resulting in of course more free drinks for us. Who soiled the floors of my first apartment with a drunken cake fight, from a cake whose origins we could never figure out, giving the cockroaches a feast. Upon whose back deck I had my first outdoor sex. Also, when we were drunkenly playing bar trivia in the Stamford Marriot, and annoying the hell out of a middleaged man and his teenage son eating wings next to us, while I was in the bathroom said "Yes, I know he's obnoxious but we're very deeply in love." (You never saw people switch seats so quickly). Who in the midst of a bar brawl where our table was knocked over dove valiantly to save the beer.

Peter O'Toole would probably be my pick as well. Does anyone remember the scene in "My Favorite Year" when he's taking a leak in the ladies' room and a horrified doyenne stammers, "This is for ladies only!" and he replies, in reference to his apparatus, something along the lines of "As is this, madame, but occasionally I must pass water through it."

I always felt I was a great drunk in high school and college, favoring waterproof garb to allow the rivulets of any spilled beverages to reach the floor unfettered. One night, after drinking 6 margaritas and a Dixie cup full of Jagermeister in a dorm room of a college I no longer attended, I realized belatedly that I had exceeded my limit. After locking myself in the bathroom stall and emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet, I heard someone else stagger into the bathroom and enter the bathtub stall next to mine. Hearing the olympic-level vomiting, the wet plops of whatever onto porcelain, set me off again and we vomited in tandem for 5 minutes. I heard his panting and moaning on the other side of the partition so I unfurled a length of TP and thrust it under the stall. "God bless you," he mumbled. "God, I am so glad I don't go here anymore," I said.

"I've never gone here," he replied.

I have no idea who he was.

Also, last night I learned the hard way that there is no such thing as a "spill proof cocktail shaker" no matter what the label says. I had to spend the rest of the evening drinking sans pants, which was a hardship. or a pleasure. or something.

I don't really drink, but wow, strong arguments for it all around.

Can I nominate myself? I'm working my way through the liqour cbinaet based on the mixers w ehave on hand.

The best thing about drinking to excess is that it makes it ok to kiss a lot of people that it might not otherwise occur to you to kiss. Like the valet parking guy. Or your husband's ex-wife. Or your ex-husband's wife!

Pour the champagne and I love everybody.

wikkie sours are mighty tastee.

Tizzie - that's the reason I never get drunk - well, not truly drunk - I'm far too affectionate. I must have fallen into a cauldron of Ecstasy when I was a baby, or been loved too much by my mother till far too late (only yesterday, two in the morning phone call) for even when I'm sober I have this unfortunate urge to hug anybody this side of the Hitler youth.

*Old Migs here loves these quiet weekends on 9622, a' whittling and a' sipping with Tizzie, Jon and Dong!

The best thing about drinking to excess is that it makes it ok to kiss a lot of people that it might not otherwise occur to you to kiss.

Ha! You and I are like-minded monsters, Tiz. My first night in New York City? I drank 6 vodkas, 6 Fuller ESBs, and kissed goneill on the top of her head. I also made a valiant effort to kiss mdn, I think, one which she handily rebuffed I might add. And thus, the limit of my midwestern charm was established :)

I think I may have kissed jonmc, too. But that was, you know, a we're-just-good-friends kiss.

Happy First Anniversary, 9622! *lifts glass, kisses monitor*

Speaking of favourite drubks are we going to plan nothing for our First Anniversary on the 25th of this month?

I'll bake a cake. A banana cake, of course.

That dosen't explain the tounge, fes.

Sadly, all my friends were/are not especially entertaining drunks. Not-bad, entertaining drunks, yes, but not especially. Even the drama majors I lived with in London -- who gave GREAT parties. But as far as great drunks that I wish I'd known? No question about it: Dylan Thomas.

That dosen't explain the tounge

youthful enthusiasm?

I nominate the bearded captain from Das Boot, who received a medal in the beginning of the movie. He was pretty funny.

I bet Mae West was fun to party with.

I find most drunks tedious.

You wanna talk about tedious Drunks? I watched this this weekend.

Richard Lewis AND Calista Flockhart? I think I'd rather stick pins in my eyes.

I watched this!

Heh. Apparently it was Faye Dunaway weekend with the monkeys.

Maybe she should be our spokesperson...?

9622: we puked in tandem for 5 minutes

I prefer the term "spokesmodel."

I've always felt that, had I not been so wildly successful in the corporate arena, spokesmodelling would have been my career choice.

That, or modern interpretive dance.

Or being a criminal mastermind a 'la Lex Luthor or Ernst Stavro(sthewonderchicken) Blofeld

To Spokesmodel
---------------
I spokesmodel
you spokesmodel
he spokesmodels
she spokesmodels

we spokesmodel
you spokesmodel
they spokesmodel

I am spokesmodelling
you have spokesmodelled
we will spokesmodel
they spokesmodelled

"Spokesmodel" is just an umlaut away from being a German beer.

Since I have not been more than marginally successful in any of my careers, perhaps my true calling is spokesmodelling.

**puts on bikini, practices pointing at cars**

Lupo, I get so *flustered* when you conjugate.

I'm sorry, tiz. That conjugation was a little premature.

Wow, our poor dear Commish! Hope he's better in time for the monkey anniversary.

I'm sorry, tiz. That conjugation was a little premature.

"To" is a preposition, "spokesmodel" is a verb. The verb intransitive: Did you spokesmodel?

Don't spokesmodel in me.

9622.net: Don't spokesmodel in me.

Or the more common "For a lousy $10, you'd better not spokesmodel in my hair."

spokesmodel for me, baby.

Say, is Spokesmodels.Com some sort of rehabilitative work release program?
I routinely get more attractive women than this, and I'm even less pleasant that I come across in print.

"click to enlarge"
Er.... no.

[off-topic]

Refresh my memory...was there ever such a thing as vanilla Yoo-Hoo?

The real question is, was there ever a chocolate flavored Yoo-Hoo?

I know there's a strawberry, and vanilla does ring a faint bell, but I could be thinking of methadone.

I think you're thinking of Coconut Yoo-Hoo, which isn't made anymore (except in South Florida, under the pseudonym of KoKo Blanco).

I routinely get more attractive women that this

With a name that puns the black shit that collects on a water pipe, all the while referencing an unspecified penile, er, property--is anyone surprised the ladies come in droves?

Don't you mean spokesmodel in droves?

I do.

Use to be, I could spokesmodel all day long, but now, even a little spokesmodelling and I need a roast beef sandwhich, two Darvon-C's and a nap.

Dude, I need the Darvons *before* I spokesmodel.

So does Roman Polanski, if you get my drift.

When I was a kid, I stuck a stick in my friend's spokesmodel. He flew over the handlebars and lost a couple of teeth.

Do they still make the spokesmodels with handlebars?

Sure, but they're a bitch to ride that way.

What about banana saddles?

That would be a bespokemodel.

I prefer the Thus Spake Zarathrustra Model.

I'm not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any longer as I think this is getting too silly!

Quite right my dear Poulos. Quite right.

I mean I don't eat squirrels, do I?

Prove it, squirrel-eater!

Mmmfffarrgle mmmfff.

*gulp*

Nothing to see here. Move on.

For our next stomach-punishing expedition, I think Jon should locate a bar in New York that serves squirrel meat.

Denny's will serve white squirrel meat, but they get weird about dark squirrel meat.

People in Kentucky were getting Mad Cow disease from eating squirrel brains. They're a delicacy, you know.

Tizzie, you always make Kentucky sound so desirable. Are you trying to get all of us to move there?

Wolfgang Puck has a delightful Squirrel Brain pizza. Look for it in the freezer section of your local Piggly Wiggly!

I'd humbly suggest that all of Wolfy's pizzas are squirrel brained.
Cilantro and squid spincters?
What was so wrong with tomatoes?

You know I think the only thing that will cure this hangover is my after-work beer.

Mixed with Mylanta.

"We don't even fix squirrel gravy anymore," said Otis Hicks.

I could not make this stuff up.

Readymade, every time I hit the post button, property values soar.

I don't mean to spokesmodel, but if a spokesmodel spokesmodelled up to me and spokesmodelled, I'd probably spokesmodel right back.

Damn skippy you would. Be rude not to.

That would be Skippy from Family Ties, right?

Or is there some other Skippy I haven't been told of?

This:

http://www.niftyness.com/askskippy/skippy-robot.gif

apparently, is Skippy. Again, thank you Google image search.

[You will notice, friends and neighbors, how I did not link to the site but instead pasted the URL for others to copy. This is to circumvent the possiblity of Skippy The Chicken Eating Robot's creator following his or her referrer link back to us, and making us be nice to him or her. And god knows we wouldn't want to do that.]

Skippy the Thread Killing, Chicken Eating Robot's work here is done.

Yeah, I think that's Skippy from "Family Ties." I hear he's doing a one-man Chicken Eating Robot show off-off-Broadway. I also heard he was caught spokesmodeling Scott Baio.

I have a question:

How many spokesmodels could a spokesmodel spoke if a spokesmodel could spoke models?

I want these two to be my spokescritters. Thank you, matt pfeff!

Next thing you know, we'll get Boner from Growing Pains get caught spokesmodelling himself in public again.

9622.net: Next thing you know, we'll get Boner

This made me laugh, I have to confess.

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