Come one, come all. Pull up a chair and I will regale you with my epic story of lust, greed, passion, pride, bravery, and all sorts of other descriptive words that I'm too god damn lazy to think up.
This is a story of a man...and not just any man. A really, really drunk man.
The story starts, as most stories do, with a humble beginning. A simple poker game with a six-pack. I'll be damned if there is nothing more innocuous and righteous than gambling and drinking. Now I admit that lesser men would have stopped after losing all their money and consuming their beer. But I am happy to assert that I am not a lesser man. Nay, I am a hero. A drunken, drunken hero.
The night was young, the beer was cold, and the women were afraid...very afraid. We young men ventured forth to wreck havoc across all of Fredericton in the only way we knew how. We hit the bar. In hindsight this trip was completely unnecessary, but hindsight is for women and pussies. Do you think Columbus would have faltered on his way to America? Do you believe that Neil Armstrong had second thoughts about going to the moon? Would you dare assert that instead of invading Europe, Napoleon should have just stayed home and took a nap? Would you? That’s what I thought.
One road beer later and we were two fisting pints of sketchy draught. Sometimes sipping, often chugging. One of our members was unfairly cut off from the bar for being “too drunk”. As if there is such a thing. Another unnamed protagonist tried to goad fellow bar patrons into a fight by shouting at them from across the room. By the end of the night, the bar was ours. All others had left shaking their heads in disgust. We were the victors and victory pints were due.
As all stories have a beginning they must also draw to a close. Our unlikely heroes managed to hail a cab against all odds by somehow convincing the driver that we would not vomit on his seats. True to our word we made it home, pizza in hand. An inconspicuous end to match our humble beginning. Truly the stuff that dreams are made of.
