Your Humble Narrator– and impartial observer- spent some time in the outback last night, moving amont the herds of Homo Intoxicus. Although initially suspicious, they soon accepted me into their tribe for the revels. First thinking that it was a matter of a solemn religious or customary rite, I was deeply moved. Shortly therafter, however, I simply understood that they were so drunk they would talk to anyone, and simply could not determine who were and were not tribe members.

The evening started out auspiciously… Homo Intoxicus Mathematicus, who I named “Tommy”, was alreqady celebrating when I arrived. His teeth bared in a grimace of greeting, and the dance of welcome he performed signaled “I am SO happy to be SO drunk- and I’m not close to finished…” All through the evening, “Tommy” was a source of joy,- his nimble little monkey body showing his delight at the fermented ritual swill they were dowing mug after mug of.

With “Tommy” Was Homo Intoxiucs Slimus, or as the crew and I came to know him… “Mark” This rambunctious youngster alternated between bouts of joy and suspicion, challenging every available male to tets of manhood and tribal acceprtance. “Smash the car window with this bricK”, he seemed to say, “And you will be part of the Great Drunken Nation.” “Drink this beer… it won’yt make you suick. Diabetes is not THAT big a deal. Be a man.” “Hop on that motorcycle!” “Get a tattoo!” “Let’s start a fight!” “I get many blowjobs from the females of my species, more than anyone…and maybe one or two from the men of the tribe!” Soon I came to realize after meeting the Tribal Elder (Homo Intoxicus Klingonimus Grande Jefe El Queso, or “HNIC“) That these tests were not part of the Tribal Nation tradition, the young “Mark” just liked to see if he could get other tribemates to jump through hoops. Luckily, “Mark” was far too busy hitting on any females within eyeshot, practicing a dubious technique called “The Look” (which involves staring at their breasts and rubbing your chin, apparently) to pursue his manhood rites and terretorial displays any more agressively.

“Mark” was seen lurching out of the “House of Tribal Noise and Beer”into the night, without saying goodbye or acknowledging the tribe in any way… one must assume he was hoping to hunt females in less crowded surroundings. he has not been seen since… we wish him luck on walkabout.

Trouble within the tribe began with the Homo Intoxucus Intoxicus, (Or “Howler Drunkard“) known affectionately to the Wild Drunkard crew as “Drew”. Although initally friendly, if quite loud- his howlings and staking of terretory could be heard for many blocks- “Drew” quickly went spiralling out of control. His care and concern for the other tribemates, most notably “Mark” quickly was left by the wayside at the chance for more and more self indulgent and revolting displays, most notably “shots”. While “Tommy” and “HNIC” moderated their consumption of the ceremonial swill in oredr to remain conversive and able to appreciate the tribal dances and howling which the swill shaman (“Nick”) and his assistants were rendering to mark the occasion (which I learned was called “Friday“) – “Drew” was using both hands and all his available currency- as well as “Tommy’s”- to pick up the slack.

He soon became incoherent, and lurched about- the gods of these noble people of the Drunken Nation soon showed their disaproval of his activity by cursing him with the Heaves, known among the People as “EEeew… whats’s on your shirt?” A vist from a nearby tribe’s ambassador was missed wntirely, so the Ambassador (“Carlos”) wandered off to find a piece of young boy ass… possibly following the drunken spoor of “Mark”… this is unconfirmed. I set about seeking council and wisdom with the “HNIC”, and i will never forget his words. However, I am not telling any of them to the likes of you- go on your own damn safari.

“HNIC” and I set about wrangling the drunken, tottering, hostile and revolting “Drew”, with the aid of “Tommy”, “Woody” and my crew, most notably Lynna. While I have sent Lynna in to wrestle crocadiles and net caribou, I have never seen fear on her face- until now. When faced with “Drew, cursed of the gods”, she paled, and swore to have nothing to do with the Unclean One, invoking the native curse of the People: “Oh, god, can you SMELL him? I think I’m gonna puke!” Lynna has traveled among the People of the Drunken Nation before, but never had we to interact so personally with such a wretched, funsucking and time wasting specimen.

Three hours of ceremonial joy were wasted propping the reeking and soiled “Drew” in a corner… three hours of what could have been a very entertaining evening. One can only hope that the gots have savaged “Drew”, and that his tribe will decend upon him with sticks and rocks, showing their displeasure at his uncontrolled and impious overindulgance in the Sacred Brew of the Drunken Nation. I myself dragged him through the subways to a place of rest…

There may have been some remorse in “Drew” for his sins against the tribe, however- he insisted upon being sacrificed to the Devoring Matriarch Goddess, Lori- a form of suicide I could not let even this pathetic wretch of a primate suffer. So instead, I dropped him off, sodden in his own vomit and reeking of ceremonial swill on the doorstep of a brazilian stripper who puts up with this shit.

Cuz he was not coming in MY house this shitfaced, that’s fer damn sure.

Brought to you by mutual of Omaha- who you can count on when the going’s rough.
By Modena, who sound even better than last time
And by beer, which can do some pretty interesting things to your friends.

Foo