This past weekend my friends and I celebrated Halloween. There was punch equipped with dry ice and grain alcohol, a fire, a cauldron, an excess of sweet sugary deserts, and way too much whiskey.
It’s the whiskey that I blame. The punch was way too weak to be responsible for the behavior, and the sugar only pushes one so far. The Lord was running about, there were lesbians everywhere and someone invited a very stupid couple. The Lord was on edge because the stupid ones went on and on about recycling, there was way too much yard to cover in urine, the Buddha was getting more attention than he, and I was refusing to sit down for very long. And on top of everything else, I had his, that’s the lord’s, doll. Dressed as a catholic priest, with a doll hanging very close to my crotch, as if to say that the catholic I was representing wasn’t very nice to children, I drank my whiskey.
The provocative nature of the costume amused everyone but disturbed some so much as to get me slapped (accidentally?) in the balls. In fairness the doll was struck, then my balls hanging low on the other side of the doll… got offended. God (the vengeful one) had up until that moment taken the night off. It took time for the pain to travel up my leg, to my spine, and finally to my brain, who had some questions and had to send a reply, and await clarification. Upon receipt of the reply, the whiskey thankfully impaired the content of the message but after further review the message was definitely one involving pain. During the process God spoke to me and said, “She hit you in the balls, something must be done but you should be measured in how you deal with her, she is your good friend’s lady friend after all… pour your drink on her.” And then God closed his eyes, hoping for the best. Bastard.
The words of the divine sounded like logic, and I desperately needed some logic, preoccupied trying to figure out how the thing had happened and why I wasn’t on the ground, I acted. The whiskey I am told was very cold and managed to soak her entirely. My friend reacted as best as he could, I think. While I was mixing* a new whiskey drink my friend appeared by my side.
Father Fuck Toy (angry / confused): “You poured your drink all over my girl!”
Saint Garion: “She punched me in the balls.”
As far as I was concerned that explained everything, and I was ready to return to drinking. I remember he poured his beer on me, but I don’t remember precisely how much of it there was, I didn’t dry off and went to bed dry so there couldn’t have been very much of it. She however had to change clothes, and left me feeling very guilty about the whole thing. I did find her and apologized, but in the end I knew that God had gotten the better of me, because he was insulted by the costume, I couldn’t find and buy a boy doll for it before the party.