Dim memories of a weird night. Much booze. Have taken to Jack Daniels and rocks of late. Mix has sugar, sugar’s poison and besides, where do you think all those vicious hangovers are coming from? It’s not the booze, I can assure you that! Because all I had was various combinations of straight booze and though I had to make the bartender pull over so’s I could launch a mighty barf on the sidewalk in front of a group of total strangers, I feel it’s incumbent upon me to say, there is no splitting headache element to my hangover on this particular Sunday morning. Or afternoon. Just fuzzy memories. Maybe I should work for the government.
Because nobody seems to be able to recall, well, anything, right? Libby can’t recall meetings with the Vice freaking President, Gonzales can’t recall conversations with the President of the United States of America (which I find fascinating. Like, what else do you have going on that’s distracting you from conversations with the President? Must have some super ultra sweet kind of tail your tapping, hope it ain’t what Foley’s been into but at this phase would that surprise any of us? Or maybe it’s just because all the conversations are kinda the same? GWB quietly works away at his coloring book as Cheney tells you the real deal through blood-stained teeth as he bites the heads off of live, mewling kittens). I wasn’t there for that, I don’t know, I haven’t read the report yet, may not ever. Why not work for the government? I can forget with the best of them.
“Driver, pull this fucking thing over, STAT! Gonna barf, gonna barf, gonna barf barf BAAAARF!” Dr. Suess, eat your motherfucking heart out. And I remember that crew of strangers on the road, some horrified, some finding humor in the situation and me just trying not to get any on my fine coat or hotel slippers. They’re saying something to me, that random crew but it’s totally slo-moed and horror-movie twisted. I don’t respond. I have more pressing issues on my mind at the present. Like barfing. So it’s easy to see how one can be distracted around momentous events.
Is Gonzales a drinker? If he wasn’t before he is now, I can assure you of that. Screw it. It’s not like any of this wasn’t anticipated, right? Fella wrote all about the potential fallout of this mess when he camwe up with the idea and why not? It’s good to be prepared, even if you know you’re not going to be able to remember any of it two years from now or even tomorrow if needs be. And they be, Citizens, they be. Hey, can’t figure the Press is gonna lay down forever, right? Media’s been used like Saturday night Shirley and everybody knows it. Maybe media’s tired of that next-morning-walk-of-shame-no-make-up-wrinkled-clothes-Just-Been-Fucked-and-Still-Cummy-Hair. Everybody knows it’s perfectly okay to be a whore, but it’s not okay when everybody knows that you specifically are that whore. At least, that’s what I’m told, and the difference is crucial.
I remember being a kid and the nuns at St. Mary’s were heavy into Iran Contra, watching these important-looking and serious people ask all sorts of questions and nobody seeming to be able to remember much of anything. On a 12 inch black and white tv, with coathangers covered in foil for reception.
“Sister Francis,” I remember asking, “why don’t they leave that poor fellow alone?” Didn’t seem fair, fellow was obviously not very smart and they keep asking him about things he can’t remember. He was a soldier, I thought, maybe he’d injured his head in the War. When I asked sister Francis about it she took a big drag from her smoke, exhaled and said “you see all the medals on that guys jacket?” and she wrinkles her brow like Bruce Willis as she continues, “you don’t get that many medals if you’re the type ‘a guy that forgets stuff all the time.” When I asked her if the other guys, the guys asking him the questions were lying too was the first time she looked at me as anything other than a necessary burden. She saw it had my interest and the rest of the nuns couldn’t have been more surprised when I joined them for the rest of the afternoon and every afternoon subsequent during those investigations. That poor fellow was Ollie North and that was when I started turning things to my advantage at the orphanage, now that I think about it, was when I started watching politics.
All of which is a far cry from last night’s shenanigans. Apparently had they not seen my hotel slippers theyd’ve never found me under the pool table, fast asleep. I remember the lights coming on, somebody taking a picture and me being loaded into a car by the owner and the bartender and I remember those good folk I nearly barfed on not six minutes later. Did I actually barf on somebody? I just can’t fucking remember, man! Which means I just don’t fucking know! Right?
-iSenseChange
RandomMP3age:“The Chauffeur” by Duran Duran.
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