The Morning After
Turn that damn light off! Can’t a girl get some beauty sleep?
Put the notebook away and do something useful like fill my coffee cup.
OK, Chapter one, paragraph one, it was a dark and stormy night, I would call it weather only a rubber duck could enjoy and I was enjoying the night out but it took over seven hours of watered down Fenway suds before the Red Sox lost then the free drinks started stacking in front of me and I learned how to drink boilermakers out of a straw then a shot rang out as shots are wont to do and everyone hit the floor sounding like a bag of seedless watermelons thrown off a Dorchester Triple Decker since I think we landed up downstairs at Down Under and they hadn’t mopped up yet and the wet splat of large garden fruit was the last thing I remember before I woke up rubber side up in your lobster tank and I never ever want to hear someone cackle “bottoms up” again and no, you cannot see my new tattoo.
Got all of that? Got any leads on Homie? And not any Homie, my Homie. I heard of your idea of tying some fresh herring around my neck and tossing me in the harbor which I think totally sucks. What kind of girl do you take me for? OK, scratch that. Oh, my achin’ beak – any good Cinco de Mayo parties tonight – hair of the Rubber Dog and all – who made this coffee – hit me again – thanks bro.