11 August, 2009

Yeah, I know I'm late.


Left: 1/2 Irish. Right: Northern Irish.
It's what happens when you start drinking with a bunch of Protestants from about 2000 to 0100. Remember Roly-poly? Turns out the guy is named Aidan. Last night we got piss drunk on Pabst and Milwaukee's Best (he likes Milwaukee's Best) and I vaguely recall him hugging me and telling another Norn Arrish cat that he found his "brrudda". The other Norn Arrish cat would be this cat named Gordon whose been around a whole bunch of blocks a whole bunch of times, telling me about his time in Palestine and the fifteen year old suicide bombers he knew and the psychology behind riot mentality that you can find in Norn Arlen. Of course, when you start breaking out the heady discussion at one in the morning, I'm struggling with my beer, and the Landlady is giving me the impression that my presence is cockblocking her... I just completely lost my concentration. I haven't been hungover in a long time.
There was a female in the crew, but I forgot her name. That's OK, though, because I think she forgot mine, too. So we're even.

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