I agree with
thugbot. These online tests are out of control. My family crowded around me on Christmas and forced me to take the "Are you a man?" test. I failed miserably. I guess the next step is to check with my insurance company to see if they will cover the gender transformation operation. Consider this an open letter to the web publishing community. The testing must end. For those of you seeking personal validation, feel free to post these slatch diagnoses on your site.
Due to a spell of bad luck, I have served as designated driver for the past two months. During that time, I have seen some shit that would blow your mind. One of the positive things that has come out of this bout with sobriety is the realization that it's quite a bit easier to write the drinking story of the week when you have a clear recollection of the event. For instance, there was that night with all the street signs...
It was the beginning of December. We left the bar around 1:30AM. As usual, my passengers were far beyond drunk and I was trying to control them. After several back seat fist fights and 3 time-outs. I got them home, fairly certain that the night was over.
I got home, crawled into bed. The drunks said something about heading out to get some fresh air. I told them that I didn't care what they did, as long as they stayed the hell away from motor vehicles and my bedroom.
What seemed like hours later, there was a knock on my bedroom door. I could hear giggling. It sounded like little kids pulling the flaming bag of dog doo trick. I opened the door. I wasn't wearing my glasses, but I could make out two things:
- The floor was covered with shiny objects.
- Dave was shivering and wet.
I told them to fuck themselves, slammed my door and went back to bed.
6:30 came around. I rolled out of bed, having forgotten the whole late night incident (or having passed it off as a bad dream). I walked out of my room and stopped dead in my tracks. I walked back into my room, told myself to calm down, composed myself and walked out again. Still there.
The entire living room was covered with street signs. COVERED. Every square inch of the room. Street signs. The reflected glare of the rising sun was enough to blind you. Most of the street signs were the intersection type, two signs perpendicular to each other. They were sticking up in the air like those wooden structures you see in the Normandy invasion footage. It was awful.
Later, they told me that Dave was wet from jumping in the lake behind our house. He was naked. It was December. It was well below freezing. He claims that it wasn't that cold, the only thing that shocked him was the fact that the water was brackish (that means salty for those of you who don't live on the coast). Eye witnesses claim that he flailed around in the lake, screaming "Oh God!!! All I can taste is salt!!!" for a good five minutes.
