Tonight my vigilant eye found a slug that had been the victim of a violent crime. Some sicko had not only found the courage to touch this slimy little freak, but he had also chopped him in half! With what tool, I don’t know. Who does this?
Slugs are probably the most ridiculous, helpless creatures on Earth, and that being so they do not deserve to be violated in this manner.
As I was inspecting the victim I faintly hear, “HELLO!”
I say faintly because when I’m concentrating on something I’m slightly in another world and I don’t hear or notice much. This generally works out well for me because I’m very efficient at unintentionally ignoring most people so I don’t have to suffer the stress of being constantly annoyed. I feel bad for all the people who have to listen to me but don’t possess my talent.
I was brought out of my trance when I heard the HELLO person say, “Well FUUUUUUUUUHHHKKKKKK YOU THEN!!”
I blankly looked back and saw a rotund blonde Brit with an unhappy expression. I then realized she was speaking to me. What did she want me to say in response to this?
“I’m sorry, but I’d rather inspect a chopped up slug than even consider talking to you. Well, have a nice night. Or not. Just please never speak to me again.”
Considering that I’m the most pathetic person I know in terms of violence factor, I instead chose to look down and walk quickly back to my apartment.
I was having a perfectly rockin’ Saturday evening all by myself inspecting a murdered slug until this random person tried to ruin my fulfilling evening.
My above comment of what I wanted to say to her might seem mean, and while it is reflective of my general desire to never speak to people I don’t know, I’m not angry or mean when ordinary people try to make conversation. Sometimes I’m even pleased that someone else thought I was worth speaking to. Also, I’d never want to hurt a sober person’s feelings.
I simply have a thing about drunk people when I’m not drunk, and sometimes when I’m drunk. This girl was clearly drunk, so she immediately fell into the category of “I hate you and I don’t even know you.”
I don’t understand how most people I know think it’s HILARIOUS when others are drunk. Here’s the thing: they all act the same. Loud, stupid, and some more stupid. Sure, it’s fun when I’m also drunk, but it’s so un-special that listening to a re-run the next day, week, month, year and having to feign interest makes me feel sick. I hate how social protocol dictates that these stories are fun and you must smile. Maybe this is why I’m by myself on a Saturday night looking at slugs.
But anyway, I’m here now so let’s continue. I also don’t understand how people act interested and actively engage in conversations when their friends tell stories about their drunken escapades.
Wow, slap my face! You got drunk and did something stupid? You stayed out all night? Please, tell me more because the suspense is making me feel uncomfortable.
What happened after you drank the second fifth of vodka? Oh, you threw up and ended up passing out? Hm. That’s interesting because people don’t normally get sick after drinking too much. Have you considered seeing a doctor?
The only time I have ever been truly interested in a drunken escapades story was when I was 18. I went to my normal Saturday morning bowling league (did I mention I was really popular in high school? ) and my clearly hungover teammate immediately said: Don’t talk to me. I woke up on a roof.
That’s it. He didn’t tell me anything more, and I think that’s why it was so hilarious.
I should probably clarify a little. If I’m friends with someone I’ll be totally cool with the occasional drunk story as long as it’s short, something crazy actually happened, and it’s not told with the “OMG I’m so freakin awesome because I drink a lot of alcohol” attitude.
See, there you were thinking I was an intolerant a-hole and then I threw this bomb of tolerance in your face.
I’m also considerate, and seeing as how people clearly like drunk stories I’ll tell you one of my own.
One time, not at bandcamp but at Indiana State University, I got drunk and ate half a box of Cheez-its. Don’t give up now, this is where the story gets good.
I got so drunk that I threw up a little in the handicap bathroom toilet in my dorm. The only thing that flew into the toilet was a single orange Cheez-it that had miraculously survived mastication and subsequent contact with my stomach acids. It was whole, unscathed I tell you! If this isn’t proof of a miracle, I don’t know what is. I knew, even at that drunken moment, that this was virgin-mary-on-a-piece-of-toast special. PTL!