"Here's to watching the sunrise…not because we got up early, but because we stayed up all god damn night." — 2008 Summer Motto
Prelude
Always bring a horn to a ram fight. It's a funny thing, being drunk for sixteen hours straight. See, usually when on a bender you sleep for some of it: drink all night, sleep, then wake up and keep going. But when you start before noon and continue at a solid state of intoxication until 6am, you come to terms with the booze and it doesn't affect you. You know you're drunk because you're slurring monosyllabic words and can't feel your lips, but you've been drunk for so long that none of the usual mental handicaps are present. Your mind is clear as sober, but the thoughts it conjures up are ones that only emerge when fully immersed in drunkenness.
You start to think objectively about all that weird shit that's usually gone by morning and replaced with, "The fuck was I thinking about last night?" The thoughts become clear and you can evaluate them just as you would a rational thought. You think, "I bet pancakes would have bigger penises than waffles" and then analyze the hypothesis with pie charts and detailed sketches. You think, "I bet a wardrobe can drink more than any other piece of furniture" and proceed to draw detailed diagrams. You're composed. You're balanced. You're logical. You're a completely functional drunk.
Why did SteveTom realize this? Why did he ponder this insight into psychological inebriation? Why did this rambling prelude flash into his head as he sat there typing on the front porch watching the sun rise with blood-shot eyes? Because he needed an explanation for why the fuck he and his friends thought it would be good idea to search for duck eggs in a field in Spokane, Washington…
The Charging Ram
It's 5:15am. Everyone is asleep except SteveTom, TheHamster, Jigglypuff, Doc, and Hambone. This crew of guys is exceptionally funny because Hambone is usually in bed by midnight to get proper sleep for his honors biology classes and Jigglypuff is usually on a mission to score weed before his dealer passes out. They too had been on the sixteen-hour bender. More notable comments:
Jigglypuff: Latitude…longitude…in the end it's all just part of the great aardvark.
Doc: Fish are fish, fish are fun, fun are fish.
Hambone: If you're perpetually drunk your liver just evolves and becomes immune to cirrhosis; it's called adaptation…or amyloidosis, I forget which one.
Doc: I would totally puke right now, but I'm not wearing enough orange.
TheHamster: Vegetables are communists.
A few weeks ago SteveTom and some friends went out to SteveTom's girlfriend's "house," which in Spokane, WA means "acres of farmland with a house somewhere near the middle of it." After playing drinking games and introducing his girlfriend's little brother to a whole new world of crude language, they decided to hunt for supposedly well-hidden duck eggs. Why? Because apparently after being drunk for so long you feel a need to prove your dominance over fowls.
SteveTom dreamed of simpler days when his genitals were not in serious risk of being made into pancake batter.SteveTom heard his girlfriend's mom say the duck eggs were hidden in the sheep's pasture. However, being a city boy, he had no idea that male sheep are referred to as "rams," and even a city boy knows what they do: they ram the fuck out of things.
"You three cover the grassier half, TheHamster and I will cover this one," SteveTom said. He cautiously climbed the rigid wire fence and dropped into the tall grass.
As SteveTom stood there in the sheep pasture, he came to realize how truly beautiful the east side of Washington really is. The first glow of sunrise was peering over the crimson hillside. Dew-covered fields glistened majestically in the early morning light. The sky was as clear as a recently-ejaculated mind, the grass as stimulating as a dominatrix's whip, the silhouette of the angry ram as prominent as…
"SteveTom, look," commanded TheHamster.
"You find them?"
"SteveTom, look."
"What?"
"SteveTom, look!"
"What!? Did you find the fucking eggs or…oh…I see…well then…"
SteveTom was standing no more than twenty feet from the ram, its head level with his groin.
It's at times like these SteveTom wished he had no testicles.
The others were clueless, rummaging around with their asses in the air trying to find the duck eggs. Duck eggs that now seemed so meaningless…
"I found them! Haha! Fuck you duck!" shouted Doc.
The Ram's head turned towards Doc and the others. They were oblivious. SteveTom and TheHamster exchanged worried looks, knowing their friends would be blindsided. Doc and Jigglypuff had their arms locked, dancing in circles and singing the University of Washington fight song. Hambone was preaching about not touching the duck eggs or else they'd have our human scent and apparently this is bad. They had not a care in the world.
The ram lowered its head.
"No!" SteveTom cried heroically as he charged at the ram to save his friends. Doc and Jigglypuff, hearing his battle cry, ran for the back fence in a vain attempt to climb over before the ram reached them. Hambone flattened himself against the ground in an even vainer attempt to disappear into the tall grass. TheHamster started humming the theme song from The Rock.
SteveTom closed his eyes and awaited the pain of crushed ribs, dreaming of simpler days when his genitals were not in serious risk of being made into pancake batter. He desperately tried not to piss himself.
Gathering all the courage and bravery he could muster, SteveTom dove to tackle their foe. His feet left the ground…
THUD.
They sat there in the early morning silence; dirt, blood and disgrace covering their faces.Grass is harder than it looks.
He spat dirt from his mouth and looked up at the ram, peacefully standing where it had been, chewing grass. Slowly it turned, and, as it walked away, farted.
TheHamster helped SteveTom to his feet, and together they watched Doc hold down the spiky fence as Jigglypuff dived over, issuing words of speedy encouragement so he could get over next. SteveTom opened his mouth to tell them they were fine.
"No," said TheHamster, "let them learn."
So they did, and in no less time than it would have taken the ram to read the latest installment of the Harry Potter series, they successfully made it over the fence with only several bleeding gashes. Hambone stoically held his position.
SteveTom and TheHamster climbed out of the pen. Hambone followed soon after, his entire front wet and muddy, and once Jigglypuff and Doc had walked around the entire pasture they joined them on the back deck, dirty and bleeding.
They sat there in the early morning silence; dirt, blood and disgrace covering their faces. SteveTom was picking clumps of earth from his hair. Jigglypuff and Doc were cleaning their wounds from the rusty fence. Hambone was working his wet, muddy shirt off his sticky torso. TheHamster was humming the theme song from The Rock.
The door behind them opened. Out walked: the ram.
Kidding.
SteveTom's girlfriend's mom, getting up for her morning run, stepped onto the back deck.
"Still awake?" she asked them.
"Unfortunately," SteveTom answered.
"What happened?"
TheHamster explained. She laughed.
"We haven't had rams for ages—all ewes and lambs on this farm!"
Moral: Remember that whole prelude thing about being able to think clearly after a sixteen-hour bender? Yeah—fuck that.
My wool coat brings all the boys to the yard,
I could teach you, but I'd have to charge.