So I'm on a romantic date. The girl I'm with actually tells me she wants a relationship. ''You'd be a great boyfriend. You're hot and very charming.'' It was at this point I was starting to get very drunk. ''Bitch. What're you talking about? I'm not hot and charming. I'm a belligerent drunken psychopath.'' The idea of a relationship terrifies me. I hate the phonecalls.
I phone up Butcher and conspire with him to send me texts saying I have to go early. The girl has the audacity to ask to come to the party I'm supposedly going to with Ben. No. There's more chance of the fucking world ending tonight, than this girl coming to the party. I bid that dumb bitch adieu and meet Ben the Butcher at mine at 7:30.
It was in the comfort of my very own home that shit really started to spiral out of control. We drink a few cans of Fosters and half a bottle of Aftershock. Great. We leave. I don't remember how we left. The next four hours are literally lost.
I wake up in some strange bed. There's a woman standing over me. Disgusted. Apparently her and Butcher carried me in the fucking house. I'd passed out in the taxi. Puked the fuck up outside, and sweared at her a lot. I can't remember. My whole recollection of these hours is gone. Like Jason Bourne.
After a while. I go downstairs. There's a group of people there. The womans husband. He frowns at me with disdain. I go into my typical spiel. I start winning this group of fucking people I've never seen in my life over. They give me more beer and cigarettes. At first I drink slowly. With caution.
Gradually the group of people starts to decline. Eventually there's just me.
I open up a bottle of red-wine and meander up stairs. Butchers lying in bed with the blonde he's seeing. I tell them that I have permission from the owner of the house to drink whatever's in the fridge. Then I go into some kind of addled Bukowki routine. 'What would a man be without drink'? I ask philosophically. Then I go back downstairs. Drink more wine. Talk to myself.
The woman who I originally offended wakes me up in the passageway. She seems to have quite taken to me. She walks me up the stairs and puts me back in the bed I was lying in before.
I regain conciousness at 12:00. Butcher left the fucking house without me. Fucking douche. I go down stairs and talk to the woman I offended the night before and her daughter whose ostensibly Butchers new girlfriend. I regale them in my best Matthew McConaughey voice. I tell them that I can't remember anything. The Aftershock vanquished everything from my mind. We all laugh.
I get a taxi and come home.
I spend the afternoon trying to repiece my memories. Apparently between leaving my house and waking up in the strange bed. We went into town. Couldn't get in a single bar. He saved me from falling face flat into concrete. Stopped me being assaulted by a group of girls after I apparently wouldn't relinquish my drunken 'claw.' He informed me at some point he bought me a bottle of water and a sausage sandwich in a vain attempt to sober me up. Naturally, I don't have the vaguest memory of any of this.
Welcome to 2008.
-Michael
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