What happened?

Well apparently, “going out to get drunk and play darts” means, get completely obliterated, stumble home only to be thrown into a random party, do shots of whiskey and somehow make it to bed.  Oh, and there is the matter of making an utter mess in the kitchen drunkenly trying to prepare some concoction involving pasta, sour cream, and red wine vinegar.  However, I am proud to say that I am still a ninja with a set of darts.


That fucking photographer was lucky to snap off that shot before I performed the legendary, “5 Quarts of Blood Technique” on him.  If performed correctly, your victim will lose 5 quarts of blood instantly.  I taught this technique to Eddie Murphy, and he made it famous in a jailhouse display of machismo in Trading Places.  The life of a ninja is a lonely one.  Savagely roaming the land, practicing skills needed for future acts of savagery.  Unfortunately the life of an Irish ninja is even lonelier.  I still boggle the minds of all I encounter who cannot fully grasp my secret code of ninja conduct.  But I digress. 

Sitting here in front of my computer, all I can do to fight the urge to go submerge myself in the tub for the next 5 hours is write.  So I have decided to follow the advice of a wise and rugged sage from Williamsburg, “all a hangover is, is your body craving more alcohol.”  So, I cracked the bottle of wine I got from work yesterday and began feeding the beast.  I guess I can call this research, seeing as any good 5 star server should know his wines inside and out. 

I am feeling like that sublime song from 40 oz to Freedom, “What Happened”.  What the fuck did happen?  I had all these great ideas of things to write to you, faithul readers, yet due to my drunken buffoonery they are gone, along with unquestionably a sizeable chunk of brain cells.  So I am left to ponder, how can I piece together the night?  Of course alcohol is a dirty mistress and some memories are gone for good, but you can still get a gist of the previous night’s occurrences. 


The easiest way to track your movements is to look at the list of people you called, and who called you.  Hopefully one of them will be able to tell you where you were, and what you were babbling about doing next.  Yes, drunk dialing is embarrassing and foolish, but the next morning it can help you get a grasp on things.  Most notably, who are your new arch nemeses, and what government agencies will soon be hunting you down. 


Your residence can be good visual evidence as to where you acquired those nagging aches and pains in your body that are not alcohol related.  See some intriguing nicks in the wall, which are ironically level with that bruise on your face?  Eureka!  One mystery solved.  Also, any trails of blood or vomit can account for your movements throughout your domicile.  Be a sleuth, have fun with it!  It’s like your own little game of CSI.  If you videotape it, I am sure they would be open to negotiating a permanent role on the show for you.  At least that’s what the security guards at CBS told me.  But those guys don’t know shit. 

It is a short list I know, but remember; we are trying to solve an almost unsolvable mystery.  It would probably be easier to solve the nagging conundrum of how long God’s toenails are.  I think they are at least an inch long, but this dickhead had the audacity to say to me when I asked him what he thought, “Sir, if you’re not going to order you need to step out of line.”  Some people just do not understand common courtesy.   

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