26 May 2006

Mr. Cider N. Hockey

Talking on the phone with my old English school friend Luke, now a big player in his Croation logging community, got me to thinking about cider. Nothing wrong with a pint of good strong cider.

In London once I drank a few pints of cider that was somewhere around 20% alcohol. It was some sort of distilled scrumpy. It was like shooting morphine. If I had drank one more pint I would have overdosed. I was with a family and another exchange student - an American bird my age. The two of us just about fucked in the back seat during the drive home. She would have had to drink four pints to want to fuck me. When I phoned her later she would not have anything to do with me. You know you are not a lady's man when you cannot get into an American's pants.

Luke joined me the second time Eddie and the Hot Rods played the club we frequented. By this time the Rods were building quite a following. The place was packed and hotter than a backseat with a drunken Canadian boy and a not quite drunk American girl in a car's backseat. This was during my brief cider quaffing period. I poured back one cider after another to cool down.

Luke warned me, "You really ought to to take it easy with the cider Beer."

I agreed and bought us another round. Luke was and is great in the advice department. He was the one who warned me off of the guy in our school who went on to become an Alien Sex Fiend of some kind. "Watch out for that motherfucker Beer. He is queer as Prince Edward."

The Rods played a terrific rock show; one of the very best I ever saw. The band was playing so fast the singer could just barely keep up. The place got hotter and hotter but the cider was cold.

Luke called one of his Croatian relatives to pick us up after the show. I vomitted a long, wide flame down the one side of his car.

Fuck the cider, stick to the beer.

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