What the fuck is in a Martell?
For some reason, the bartender gave us our jug of vodka red bull for free. Not only was it free, it was strong. So strong that I wound up with Jerry at some Thai disco putting my arms around some DJ telling him that his set "Changed my life."
So strong that I didn't realize that said DJ, in the spirit of the moment, emptied out the contents off his bottle of brandy into my mug of beer. So strong that I didn't realize what I ingested until it was emptied out on the pavement 6 feet from the bouncer half an hour later.
My night was laid out in front of me. A mess of beige, semi-digested mush wading in a pool of Brandy, Vodka, Tiger beer and that tiny splash of red bull.
"Dude, is there a reason why my vomit tastes like Brandy?"
Which was when I bumped into my old boss.
When he hinted at some vague form of a job offer, I told him that "Actually, I'm kinda into baking right now. It's my new thing."
Which I was. That part was definitely true. But I had no reason for telling him that. Other than the fact that that Bartender from god knows how many hours ago decided to pour us a jug of Vodka-nothing cause she thought Jerry was cute.
1.5 Litres of Vodka-vodka with a dash of red bull.
"Don't sell out man."
"Baking's not selling out"
"No, I mean don't go into advertising."
"Advertising, since when did I say I wanted to go into advertising?"
"You just did."
"I did?"
"Yeah dude"
"I guess I did."
"Don't sell out!"
My head was an electron and It was orbiting around the nucleus of my vomit-covered shoes.
"This is my friend so-and-so"
I shook the man's hand, looked him in the eye and said, "Hey man, how's it going."
But what I wanted to say was, "What's a 35 year old looking man like you, doing with a $400 dollar trucker cap like that?"
My old Boss then introduced me to a couple more orbiting electrons, mister expensive looking shirt and mister awesome-hair.
I asked them,
"So what are you guys all doing at a sleazy place like this?"
And they answered, " etcetera etcetera bullshit bullshit"
And then I replied, "Bullshit bullshit bullshit?"
and then they replied, "Bullshit bullshit, more frivolous bullshit."
"Awesome, I'll see you all in side"
"Cya man"
"Right"
Hip and happening. Hip happening at a place where you pay $50 for a garland of flowers to put around some chick with shorts two sizes smaller than her ass.
I understand the concept of strip clubs. But Thai discos are things that still boggle me.
Line up 4 singer chicks , 2 singer dudes, a guy playing air guitar, a guy on drums and a dude behind a console - get them to play old Canto songs and get patrons to put flowers around their necks for $50 a garland.
Then there is the Brandy and beer. The DJ, and my good friend who dragged me there in the first place.
All I wanted to do, was to get properly drunk. Not sordidly drunk- properly drunk. Get properly drunk and body slam to Skrillex. Was that too much to ask?
Why the hell must someone pour Brandy into my beer.
bullshit, bullshit, etcetera.
Goddamn Brandy. Seriously.