More cider last night. This time Irish. Magner's. Tall cans. One day someone will ask me, "Remember that summer when you drank cider just about every day?" To which I will answer, "No."
Last night, the party over, I picked up the cooler that is attached to me like an invalid's wheelchair from what had become a dark corner of my host's patio. That was when I felt like I had been stabbed. In the hand. I dropped the cooler, on my foot of course, and howled in pain.
I looked at my hand as did a couple other people whose willingness to make my pain even more unbearable with various squeezings and bendings reminded me why not that many people are cut out for first aid. "You've been bitten!" one of them concluded.
We looked on the ground for my assailant but could not find anything. I wanted to kill something in revenge. Anything. There was nothing on the ground we could see that wanted to fucking die. Some fanged thing was digesting my blood in the dark and there was nothing I could do about it. Waves of pain continued to shoot through my hand like I was being electrocuted.
That was when I realized a few people were looking at me like I might be some kind of a god damn pussy or something. I sucked it up, had Sonja bring the cooler to the car, after we inspected it with a flashlight for fanged night creatures and we drove home.
Had to use my left hand for driving, the right one was still very painful. About half way home the fanged creature's venom began to take hold of me. I began hallucinating. Hairy winged Anne Murrays flew through the darkness and across the face of the full moon. All the roadside trees were now festooned with giant scrambled alphabets. My speedometer read 260. I was watching myself die over and over again like it was something that happens every second of your life, which it probably would be, if the sky were truly full of bat-winged Anne Murrays.
This morning, as I drank coffee and made almond butter chocolate chip cookies, I thought about what happened. Jesus Fuck. I wanted to be bitten again by the fanged beast, whatever it was. I was hooked but I had no supply. I was screwed.
6 comments:
Jeez Mr. Beer.
I thought even you would have trouble with the 'hairy winged' part.
But, especially when it comes a flock of Anne Murrays, I suppose not.
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Holy Doodles Mr. Beer....Who knew you and Major Nelson had something in common.
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Found a link on your link to Larry Hagman that may interest a few
http://www.magictripmovie.com/
'Snakebite'.
That was what they used to called mixing the cider. Sometimes beer, but more accurtely lager.
Looks like you got bitten.
At some point - who remembers when, precisely ? - the authorities introduced a ban affecting local hostelries. This proved ridiculously ineffective, although they would not serve snakebite to the indians any more.
Deciding to test it, I walked up to the bar.
"Give my a lager," I said. "And a half of cider."
I swallowed some of the lager down as the bartender dug my change out of the till, and poured the cider in there until it magically became a full pint again.
Nobody said a damn thing. Job done.
On a different note, those newfangled Magner's bottles seriously piss me off. The same old Bulmer's in there, but at twice the price. Used to be, one could buy three litres of the shit for the price of just one of those 70cl efforts.
Make sure you tell us whatever the fuck that thing was. I might raise and sell them on the internet. You get 10%.
Nazz--
Fair enough.
But who knew that the guy behind Major Nelson and JR Ewing was actually pretty interesting.
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