If You Like Piña Coladas

The Fortnight of Andrew continues its murderous assualt on my liver and good graces. This weekend provided ample opportunity for debauchery and tomfoolery.

Friday night brought an intense dinner: takeout from Penny's. The flavors were intense, and I spent most of dinner yelling incoherently at the fireplace. I carried my crippled, coneheaded dog up and down the stairs a couple times, and Jessie and I watched the entire Simon & Simon series on DVD.

Saturday morning I woke up drenched in sweat and tears from the night terrors. You would think after two weeks of being away from that godforsaken hellhole, they would have stopped, but the wounds cut too deep to heal that quickly. That motherfucker's dragon breath still haunts me.

After the shaking and dry heaving stopped, Jessie and I headed to Einstein for some breakfast involving bagels and related foodstuffs. After that, Jester and i hit the Home Depot for some smoke detectors and a tannenbuam. We picked up a 6-8 foot Fraser fir, which we quickly named Frasier, not because it sounds like what kind of tree it is, but rather because we had taken so much acid that it was talking like Dr. Frasier Crane. Pretty smart tree, but kind of full of himself.

After setting Frasier up and leaving him to his own smarminess, we headed over to Chi-Town Tap to meet Morgan "Crazy Legs" Hirst for some afternoon drinks. The photograph you see to the left is an accurate portrayal of some of the last pints of Bell's Oberon in the city of Chicago. And they were pretty good. Then we hit BW-3 for some wild, wings, and weck. And they were pretty good.

Then Jessie and I went to Target, and I was extremely close to challenging myself to a noose-making contest, grabbing a Penthouse, and going out Michael Hutchence style (too soon?).

Saturday night, Jester and I went to a Christmas party at the former apartment of Tron's special ladyfriend, Maggie, aka Magdog, aka Magermeister. Tron mixed up what I would call a hell of a caucasian, and then another, and then another. Before I knew it I was laughing out loud and eating some of the thousands of cookies available for consumption. By the way, Tron's friend Shane came up with a pretty sweet way to eat a cookie. Dunking cookies in milk is now a thing of the past. White Russians are the new milk.

It was around this time that I noticed the surprising and disturbing prevalence of Sparks. For those of you who don't know, Sparks is an alcoholic energy drink that tastes like Sweet Tarts. It's normally reserved for pseudo-intellectuals with beards wearing KU School of Fine Arts hats and brownish gray polo shirts with pink horizontal stripes. Saturday night was no exception. Several beers did little to quell my desire to ask someone at the party, "Hey, anyone know where a guy can get some Sparks around here?" Then I proceeded to continuously screw up the music by hitting the wrong buttons on an i-Pod. But at least I wasn't hopped up on Sparks.

After Jessie and I got home, the combination of vodka, Kahlua, half & half, beer, cookies, summer sausage, cheese, crackers, and lil smokies was itching to escape. I wish I would have weighed myself before and after I sat down on the toilet because I'm pretty sure I shat a pumpkin. Kinda painful, but kinda prideful. Guys, you know what I'm talkin' about.

Yesterday I spent much of the day cursing the Bears futile offense, praising the Bears phenomenal defense and special teams, and running into Tron and Magdog and Ari and Klint at DSW and Marshall's.

After my Second City class, a few of us went out for "a couple drinks" at Burton Place. One of the guys in my class -- we'll call him Australian Andrew because his name is Andrew and he's from Australia -- knows the bartender at Burton Place, which meant that there was a surprising and disturbing prevalence of complimentary tequila shots and discounted drinks. Both of us left the bar rather hastily in order to avoid puking all over the bar.

If any of you are into poker and laughing, check out Bluff the Donkey. It's kind of like The Onion, but focusing on poker personalities. Australian Andrew runs the site, and writes everything on it.

I've spent most of the day repeatedly transcribing the lyrics to "Escape" by Rupert Holmes and shooting at squirrels, elk, and cars from my window with a spear gun. I came to the conclusion that I'm going to start wearing more ascots.

Currently I'm watching Crocodile Dundee while challenging myself to a knife-showing contest and challenging that wiley croc that lives downstairs to a deathrolling contest. Later I might head downtown, probably around rush hour, and try to walk on people's heads at a crowded L stop.