Happy Thursday, Ghosties! We’re all alive and well so far, and we’re not curled up in a ball crying in the corner so far. Just getting through this shit like everyone else, reading the news like everyone else, and having no motherfucking idea what life is gonna look like after this…like everyone else.
Shit seems to be getting worse by the day, and since FemaleGG and I have already touched on the virus and our thoughts on things, we’re once again gonna have a little fun.
If you can’t laugh your way through a pandemic, who even ARE you?
This morning, I thought I’d share a quick little tale that still makes me laugh whenever I think about it. Back in like 2005 (give or take), I was out with some friends shooting pool. I miss pool halls, they seem to be mostly a thing of the past but there’s always been something fantastically grimy and awesome about them at once. You can smoke inside, nearly everyone is some level of drunk, and it’s the only time I won’t put up a fight at country music assaulting my eardrums from the jukebox.
On this particular night I was with a group that included this dude Jonathan. Jonathan was a sweet guy, and extremely funny, but he had what I’ll politely call a “slight drinking problem”. He actually passed away a few years ago I found out, I guess it eventually took its toll on him and it’s incredibly sad.
This story took a turn, get ’em back AFH!
Ok, but here’s the thing- it IS sad that the dude died, but we’re here to talk about shit BEFORE he landed on the wrong side of the gnarly fence. Jonathan had a rad Mars Volta tattoo on his leg and when I knew him all we did was laugh and tell stupid jokes when we were around each other so let’s stay in THAT headspace.
So we’re all shooting pool, drinking pitchers of beer, and being dorks. A few hours go by and next thing I knew, Jonathan was standing in a corner singing to himself and holding an almost empty pitcher of beer in his hand. Homeboy could REALLY put ’em down and apparently he’d been ordering and DRINKING PITCHERS TO HIMSELF for like 45 minutes. My head and/or butt hurts just thinking about it. Yikes.
When you’re approaching 40, which I’m NOT, I’ve heard all you gotta do is LOOK at beer to get a four-day hangover.
Since life happens fast when you’re too drunk to tie your shoes correctly, before any of us could say “let’s call it for the night” we turned around to find a security guard in Jonathan’s face. Since he was practically unconscious already, I knew he probably just said something stupid to the guy and the bouncer was being all “look how big my dick is” to the poor bastard. He wasn’t the fighting type, but I’m the “I smelled a beer, let’s rumble!” type so I rushed over to make shit inevitably worse.
We asked the bouncer why he has fucking with our friend, and he yelled at us and explained that Jonathan spat on the floor. I got in the guy’s face and “asked” him why it was such a big fucking deal to spit on their shitty floor and before the guy could answer Jonathan did it again. The guy looked like he was gonna take a shot at my inebriated buddy so I went into full “hold my earrings” mode and did the only logical thing I could do- I grabbed the guy by his shirt collar.
There are a couple things you should know about the rest of this scenario.
One: This dude was easily like a foot taller than me, and he was also quite a healthy amount larger than me. Not in that super-jacked kind of way, more in that “I’m big like an actual bear” sort of fashion. Two: being in the south, this bouncer was the kind of guy that LIVES to kick the shit out of guys like me, so let’s just say the cards were pretty respectably cut in his favor.
Thing is though, I don’t give a fuck. I’m not scared of people, I don’t give a SHIT how much bigger than me you are. If you fuck with my people, I’ll throw down. So, there we are, I’ve grabbed this dude my the collar of his shirt and he turns to look at me instead of punching my friend in the face.
Instead, THIS happened:
He looks at me as though I’d just fingered his grandma under the dinner table and I figured it was go time. Instead, he brushed my hands off and I fell slightly back. He then VERY loudly yelled in my face “DON’T TOUCH ME ASSHOLE!” and since I was wicked hammered and unable to form sentences correctly I replied with ” I’LL TOUCH YOUR ASSHOLE!”.
With that, the greatest “slip of the tongue” ever was born. The room fell silent. The guy looked at me like he’d just seen a winged puppy fly by the window dropping cupcakes on cars and made what may still rank as the most confused face I’ve ever seen in my life. He then said “What the fuck dude?!” and backed off, which we used as our window to grab Jonathan’s punk ass and get the fuck out of dodge. We laughed the entire way home, I have no idea who was sober enough to drive, and that’s the end of this fucking story.
There you have it folks, nothing diffuses an impending bar fight situation like the threat of anal touching. Speaking of anal touching, if YOU touch anyone’s asshole make sure to wash your hands for 20 seconds with anti-bacterial soap. Probably goes without saying in 2020 but then again, NOTHING seems to “go without saying” anymore so consider that your Ghost Generation PSA for the day.
A blog/website where these happily married, 30-something parents of 2 little minions rant, rave, and speak in tongues. Raw, honest, and riddled with profanity. Get on board and let’s make The Ghost Generation awesome together! http://theghostgeneration.com Twitter.com/Gh0stGeneration