Jobby job, and its always the horse felching jobby job that initates the scheduled sinkhole Saturday. Jobby job pleaded with me to pull a double shift. Company server wide password change, reporting platform migration to the next generation interface, two rollouts to the production environment, giant tape rotation, and the regular weekend maintenance and subsequent troubleshooting that occurs with that. I don't give a dry hump if ya didn't understand a syllable of that. I ain't expalaining it. Just note that the list of duties is a rhino rectum load of slavery to be done. Curse my ingrained work ethic. Like to scrape it away with a straight razor.

The two day prior knowledge of my extended misery requiring an early rise Saturday, did not deter me from heeding the siren call from Valrie the transcendent bartender of lovely lust embodified.

I'm one of those beneficial to mankind drunks. A happy drunk. A drunk that, on the extreme rarest of occasions, when he sucks the tit of liquor till he loses all inhibitions and erases all memory of actions performed in that state, has no fear of embarrassment. The actions, as stated before, are always a benefit to humanity.

So, earlier in the week I was an apparent superhero. Valerie wouldn't believe that I honestly spaced whatever it is I did, and was extremely coy with dispensing details. From what I've sussed, I think I kept a slobbering idiot from molesting uninterested chicks, had a decent time in the backroom with someone who needed a good squealin, and corrected the insufficient funds of Valerie's drawer along with tipping as if I wasn't money dorked. Woke up with a message drawn into my palm in ballpoint saying "spanky, you rock star, come in friday.". Now I have an extensive credit at Doc Holliday's. A booze filled bauble presented to the preordained crimson prince of Stoli, as the sanguine moon beams on a modest one bedroom apartment in Alphabet City.

Tanked and grumpy Saturday morning I saved even more useless livelihoods flailing away on the keyboards as the drummer in the galley announces; ramming speed! Cranium held together with duct tape.

Allowed to leave somewhat early. Early enough that the normal necessity to scramble to my weekly midnight show was alleviated. Deposited my bag, and tore off my clothes that stank of work. Studied my bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror. Headed out the door to improv it up.

Backstory of a troublesome week is an arduent task that I have zero desire in recanting now. Utilise your imagination and picture a week full of drama, vanishing sleep, stupid jobs, and the juggling of chicks. It built up to Saturday. I fully allowed the spirit of spanky the grouchy asshole to control my every thought and action.

The show was shit. Completely disappointing. Two people on the team were hammered. Might find it amusing for me to chastise someone for being mind altered but, I have never pounced a stage when on something, its just bullshit. So, irration number one. Should point the arrow at my own chest. I was in no shape to listen and be a good scene partner. I wanted to start a bar fight. So I sucked. My homie Lou had scenes with me, and all I fed him was shit. So, double irritation, revolving around myself, number two. Arrrrrrgh, the producer guy. He initiates the most horrible of retarded ideas and inserts himself in places that, are not only not funny, but completely misguided and spew fuck juice everywhere. I wanted to break his toes. Irritation three. Plus it just seemed that everyone, including the audience, was swimming in a slurry of disinterest. It was just ugly. Irritated. Me no likey.

Wound up getting stinky at a bar where a fuse was blown. Crowd mostly dispersed. Creepy candlelit. Irish lass who wanted to match me drink for drink. Maive, damn pleasing name. Especially when she said it with her Irish brogue. Some bar on Orchard. Drank till the gates came down. I am so cool.