A Penitent Man
Dear Christ. I’m never going to drink again. Let me say my apologies now to everybody who I pawed, in a blog sense, in the early hours of the morning. The comments I left on your blogs are my dribble on your collar, my sweaty armpit over your shoulder, my stinking garlic bread breath in your face. I feel so terribly bad about it. I can’t honestly remember how many blogs I visited, I seemed to go on for hours. Some of them I haven't even visited before. I just know there were a lot of them. I even dimly recall visiting 'The Wife in the North' but I’m not going to look. I don't want to know what I might have written. I have never been so drunk before in my life. My head is aching, my guts aren’t great, and I’m typing this with one finger, pressing so very gently on the keys. Anything more sends pain shooting through my eyeballs.
I’m thinking of deleting my two drunken posts from last night. They are an embarrassment. I might yet keep them, if only to remind myself how very understanding you have all been in your comments. I really am sorry. This won't happen again.
Gabby is not pleased. There’s a dried pile of Chinese noodles in the hall and the place stinks of soy sauce. The neighbour from the ground floor has already been up to see me. Somebody has vomited over his decking. I think it was me. You probably think it was me. Fortunately, he can’t prove it was me. The oddest thing is that Gabby came out of the bathroom this morning carrying a trombone. I don’t know where I got it, or who it belongs to. I’m going to leave the problem until tomorrow. For now, I’m going back to bed.
I'm so very sorry and so utterly ashamed of myself.
14 comments:
I have your thong (the red one). And don't worry, that was a cheap garter belt (I bought it at WalMart for Halloween one year), but it did look cute on you, at least before it ripped.
No, I won't show anyone the pictures.
The bruises on your left thigh are probably more ornamental than indications of actual damage.
I LOVED your "swirlinator" trick, baby.
Oh yeah. Happy Birthday.
Don't worry - be happy! Only wish I had a good suggestion for how to get rid of your hangover, Chip.
ah, it's been years since i've managed to get *that* drunk! what a marvellous time must have been had. if only we all had a person, sober, with a video camera for these occasions...
Even thonglateers have to let loose every once in a while, Chippy. I'll say it before, and I'll say it again. Happy Birthday.
Chip,
late for the party.
If only we had known!! As October 13th, Tetrapilotomos and I celebrated our birthday(s), too.
Thus, a little belated, but from the bottom of our hearts, the loveliest Irish blessing we can think of:
May the devil not catch you, before we shoot you. :)
In other words: Have a thongful year, full of joy and inspiration. Sláinte!
It's okay, Chip, i, uh, took care of the evidence after our night together. i'm not sure if you remember, it began when you turned up on my doorstep at 0400, screaming, "Help me with my enemies!"
Luckily i keep quite an array of gardening implements to hand.
Erin, thank god. Thought I'd lost it. That's my second most important thong. Could you send it to me? The bruises aren't as bad as they look. That goat sure had a kick.
Ronin, I'm not even sure my hangover has begun. I'm still feeling a little drunk.
Paul, yes but what if there are video cameras? That's the thing that now worries me as I try to work out what happened during the missing six hours.
MA, letting loose is what we do but letting things hang out for no reason is against all our professional ethics.
Sean, well many happy returns too. Did you know that we share our birthdays with Maggie Thatcher and Paul Simon? You should have come to Bangor. You might have stopped me getting into trouble with the trombone.
Elberry, was that really you? I didn't know. Do you happen to know who the trombone belongs to? I'm having trouble remembering a few vital facts.
i believe you said: "Saw that coggssucker Dale, broke his collarbone, stole his woman, took his trombone. Now who's boss? Chip, thass who. Pass me beer, whoze next on the list?"
Hey Chip, happy b-day and all that, thing is, I'm not your niece
xx
ElizaF
Elberry, I'm collecting evidence to go into a full report on the evening. Your eyewitness account differs in some details with the stories I've been told. It's now getting bigger than the JFK investigation.
Eliza, so sorry. Of course you're not my niece. I was very drunk last night so it was an easy mistake to make. I hope you'll forgive me.
There's nothing like a drunken love fest with one's pals. Farewell inhibitions, hello noodles.
Chip, I must admit initially your remark about having a thing for midgets struck me as a bit below the belt, but now it all makes sense. If only I'd known. I was only in Bristol, so a day trip to Bangor would have been easy to arrange. Granted, there would have been no obvious soundtrack, but then again the trombone proves providence provides. Sorry it's belated, but Happy Birthday none the less.
I can overlook it, Chip old boy, but Mrs Gruff won't have you in the house again.
It wasn't so much that you were sick over her prize aspidistra as that you were sick over it twice.
Ian, that's very good of you. Did I leave a comment about midgets? I really can't remember. I might have. Sounds like me. Have a fear of the little chaps. Since I was knee high to a midget. Thank you for you best wishes. You should have popped along. You might have been able to solve the mystery of the trombone.
William, that's my RAF training. Always hit a target twice, just to be sure. Still, I'm sure it was better than potash. Makes the leaves shine. With what, I'm not sure. Something Chinese, I'd imagine. But they will shine.
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