Jimi came over again on Saturday. Sonja was just on her way out to take care of a few errands. I did not have to ask her to get us some more beer while she was out.
We watched the Derby on television. Jimi had already placed an across the board bet on Mucho Macho Man, who finished third, making him a small profit. My choice finished well, taking the fifth place share of the $2,000,000 race. I hope he stays in North America to run like he really can in the Belmont a month from now.
We were out of beer shortly after the race was done and decided we were not up to the challenge my whisky bar was tempting us with. We left a note for Sonja and drove to the pub just in time to watch game five of the Canucks/Pussies series.
We ordered ourselves each a pitcher and had just poured ourselves our first glass when the Pussies scored the opening goal. We cheered like motherfucking America did when they learned everybody's least favourite Hindoo had got his brains blown out last week. The rest of the pub's patrons gave us their look what the fucking cat dragged in look.
Soon enough the Canucks had stormed back. Two more pitchers arrived without our asking for them. Our waitress told us, "Somebody, I can't tell you who, is paying for the rest of your beer tonight. They figure it'll be easier to kick your ass in the parking lot later if the Canucks lose that way." We looked around the bar to see if we could identify the generous asshole. We could not.
We drank up.
Soon enough the Pussies scored to tie it, then potted another to take the lead. That was when the other pub patrons rose as one and gave us the finger with both hands. We cheered like drunk Jews cheering the liberation of Holland in a concentration camp.
Sonja arrived just after the Pussies had taken a two goal lead. We were really beginning to sense our impending doom by then. We felt like two particularly snotty punkrockers at a Pink Floyd show in 1976: ready, willing and able to take a good sound East End stoner of a beating. Canuck fans, as is well documented, are the sorest motherfucking losers on Earth. "I thought you two might be in trouble," she said as we made our way out the kitchen exit.
Leaving Jimi's car in the parking lot ("I hope the cocksuckers burn it," wished Jimi.), Sonja took us out for dinner. All the waitresses were wearing Canuck colours. A small television blared in a crowded corner. The Canucks scored but it was too fucking little, too fucking late. Those waitresses would have looked real good in Nashville Pussies colours.
When we got home we watched a video of the AOD concert we saw on a farm last summer. Two hours long, it was one of the best rock shows ever presented on Earth. The singer, before singing Stompin' Tom Connors' hockey anthem, wished aloud how he would like to see the Canucks win the Stanley Cup just once in his lifetime. Jimi laughed and said, "And I'd like to get blown just once by Christie Clark."
We did not feel too good in the morning until after we had both vomited and had a couple beers. Carlsbergs. We were fucked right up in no time.
How was your weekend?