Luke Grown Up

There isn’t much of a story here - it’s real short. Last night I went out with Richards, Ash, and Lauren. We were with Ange, Michael (her boyfriend), and their friend Matt, but we got separated, and it ended up just being the original four of us. So we’re uptown and Lauren is passing out in the corner. She needs to leave. I volunteer to go with her so that she doesn’t get in trouble. We end up going back to her apartment, making Mickeroni and Cheese (Mickey Mouse pasta) and watching That 70’s Show. All is quiet for a little bit.

Then in comes a big group of people sans Richards, who had gone home. Shortly after they all arrive, in my drunken haze I notice that there is a really nice beer mug sitting on the table. I ask where it came from, because it is really nice. I realize that they had gone to the Moan And Dove and had stolen it. I shake my head. Not that upset though, more just as a show.

Then this guy Trevor starts trying to rationalize the theft using marketing as an excuse - he’s trying to tell me that they want people to steal the glasses, because it’s free advertising.

Let me say something about this guy. Last night, immediately after he finished spouting this bullshit, I ran back here and made a note to myself so I wouldn’t forget what to say about him (though who could really forget). My actual note begins “Trevor - Beer asshole”. So that’s what he is, and it’s fitting.

So he’s sitting there bestowing the value of stealing mugs and glasses from bars with his parted hair and his maroon sweater and his slurred speech. He’s being incredibly condescending, so much so that I am getting uncomfortable. That’s when I notice the black fleece vest he is wearing over his sweater with the words “Ducks Unlimited” embroidered on the breast, accompanied by an embroidered pair of ducks. He immediately loses all credibility. I start glaring at him skeptically and not paying attention to what he says, stifling my laughter so I don’t laugh in his face. I simply nod when he makes eye contact.

When I finally leave for good, I settle into my room and crank the volume on my receiver and jam out while playing Gitaroo Man. I’m having a great time. Then I hear a knock at my door. I assume it’s an ALA, because it’s really late and I’m being incredibly loud. I look through the peephole and I can’t tell who it is. I open the door, and there’s Beer Asshole in the flesh. Apparently someone had told him to come to me to get a cigarette. First, I don’t have any cigarettes - only cloves. I assume someone said I had cigarettes. Nonetheless, I’m not ready to surrender one of my cloves to a guy that tries to put himself up on a pedestal with his faux wisdom, much less to a guy wearing a ridiculous vest while doing so. Hell, I wouldn’t even give one to any stranger wearing such an article. I pretend to look for them and after a minute of fake search, I tell him I lost them. He leaves and I go back to my game. I am annoyed.

And my stitches are healing up nicely. I thought I had ripped them out several times last night because I kept using my left hand like an asshole, but it turns out I was fine. They really look sweet though.

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