Happened when I was bum rush tackled by Jav.

What? Christ, of course I'm gonna tell them the precursor tackle events, back up. Get to it then slacker, and quit confusing people with your "unique" thinly draped, prose inspired, freak writing hipster stylisations. Hey! Listen up you itchy twitchy goblin bastard, slink back to the mud hole from whence you hatched. Fucker.

Saturday night, Jav's miss meal cramps were pulling him towards the eateries of sweet sweet Lower East Side. Rang the digits and told me to meet him at Yaffa Cafe. Contacted me mid car service boogie on the Manhattan Bridge, as he forgot where he parked his car in Brooklyn. No motorist responsibility foreshadowing an extended evening of heavy firewater abuse.

Split a bottle of Reisling. Fine choice to go with Jav's and my salmon and sole dishes, respectively. Packed in tight like slaves piled in damp galleys, sailing across the Atlantic for purchase in the new world. Someone told me I should be thankful I don't live in Japan since the citizens just deal with living on top of each other. It's expected your space will abut sheer against the space of others in Tokyo, wherever you socialise. See, I would have thought it obvious, but I live on a different island altogether. Moot point bitch. Random punks rubbing up on my pockets tends to chap my ass. Anyway, I was slightly irked at having to slide rule our table back and forth everytime one of our dining neighbors, to either side of us, needed to take a leak. I do find it satisfyingly amusing that strangers forced in close proximity to my verbal mania, require playing off choking or spit takes after I've said something way off the script.

Decided to check out Anatomy, since the bailed on Thursday night had that locale as the initial drinking drop zone for the posse hang out. Fill the curiosity hole. Specs fogged up quick entering the sweaty heat. Slowly, as the frosty fog abated from my vision, I noticed plenty of eye candy about. Bridge and tunnel amateurs mostly. Two overpriced cocktails and we had enough.

Headed to the current default saloon. Saturday night meant Rainee, Erin and Christina were on point. Erin is a statuesque marvel. She was unpleased with my infrequent visits. These ladies are under some false assumption that I have continual night imbibing capabilities. If I had the padded wallet and the set of iron clad pipes necessary, a stool, embroidered with my name, would surely reside there.

Swam through gallons of vodka. Flirted recklessly. Danced, grinding against Rainee, twirling her around. Erin drew an abstract Snoopy on the back of my hand with a ball point pen. Snuggled with Christina a bit. Escaped before the gates crashed down.

Jav convinced me that a bodega provisions gathering event was needed. Did so on Houston. Hailed a taxi man. Haphazardly directing the driver through Da Planet's streets. Jav had us stop a few corners too soon. Hauled our lager and Pringles booty through blistering cold gales.

Immediately, Jav sails a bottle through the air, Presidente gushing under his couch. I ain't one for volunteer cleaning, and since Jav didn't seem to even acknowledge that he splashed his floor, I decided to let the pool evaporate of it's own accord. Hops on his Mac, destroys his optical mouse and dashes the keyboard to the floor. After beating a set of bongos, to command the zombies to arise, he proceeded to trash his own place.

First, a bamboo practice bushido blade was beset against numerous objects in his crib. After handing the weapon over so I could continue the rage, I hid it, and he discovers his hockey stick. I ducked at least five times to avoid a face slash. Hid the hockey stick as well. He overturns his ironing board, which housed the second open Presidente replacing the first spilt one. I decide to convince him to call me a car.

Jav decided it is time to crawl under the covers. Still, the number to rescue my heiny back to sweet sweet Manhattan, had been elusive. I tap him repeatedly with a half empty water bottle to get some answers. Primary defense against this assault was for him to launch his coffee table at me. Popcorn everywhere. His fragile glasses pinned underneath the Ikea furniture. Persistence held out. I begin the tapping again. He scrambles from his mattress, and leaps forward like a panther, both arms wrapped around my waist. We tangle on the floor for a bit, smashing an end table, disrupting electronics, and slamming my thigh into the radiator. I can't stop laughing. He gives me three erroneous car service numbers from his faltering liquor spiked memory. I end up calling resdidences at five in the morning.

Miraculously, I see a yellow pages. Also miraculously, I convice Jav to tell me the name of the company. He says "speak to them in Spanish". Sigh. Fortunately, the names of addresses are the same in Spanish as they are in vodka laced English. Five minutes promised to save me from the outer bourough. Five minutes was indeed all that was needed before I dove into the backseat.

Noticed a slight throbbing pain on my left leg, rubbing it as we traversed the Williamsburg Bridge. Feh, I decide it was nothing, and will probably clear up by the next morning.