Every year, the unwashed masses converge in midtown Atlanta to gyrate, pay too much for bottled water, wave their boobs around, and watch a bunch of concerts. It’s called “Music Midtown”. This year it rained, but I could still hear LL cool J from my apartment, and saw video of three teenage girls crying because someone threw mud on them and they ruined their new spaghetti strap tops that they were so eagerly planning on waving in the air so that maybe the guy from Hootie and the Blowhards would see their breast nubs and liberate them of their virginity. That was hilarious. I wanted to go so the Ladyfriend and I could watch people, but at $45 a ticket, we decided to go to a party on Saturday night in midtown and watch from the safety of a second floor balcony as folks went to and from the venue. It was worth it. Before we left, we took a picture that I wouldn’t normally post here, but it is a good picture of the two of us. That’s my utility sweater vest that I wear to parties because it is fire and tidal wave proof, holds 2 gallons of beer in a hidden bladder, and contains special girl repellant pheromones. You need those when you are a frigging force of nature. I also wore the Bass ale hat I got at a promotion a couple of years ago. The “B” fell off after I picked at the threads for two hours, and now it is more of a label for the wearer.

We all thought the party was going to be one of those wall to wall packed house events, so Skank Sinatra, Ladyfriend, Devonne (ladyfriend’s friend), and I called a cab. For some reason I always act like a dick when I’m in a cab, and this was no exception. We opened the sliding door to get out (it was a van-cab), and the driver decided to go down the street a little further before dropping us off. The door was still open, and when he stopped, it slammed shut and I started screaming “AAAAAAAAGHHHHH!!! MY LEG!!! MY LEG IS GONE!!! HOLY SHIT!!! THE BLOOD!!! SO MUCH BLOOD!!!”

And so on. I was glad the ride was over, because the cabbie looked like he wanted to have a little Jihad right there in the van.

The night started out pretty wrong. Not very many people there, a few of us are standing out on the back patio, overlooking the sidewalk fifteen feet below. I’m drinking keg beer out of my “Born to Read” sippy cup. Because I am, in fact born for no other purpose than to read.

Then this guy who is sitting safely out of view of the sidewalk decides that now is a good time to casually flick one’s cigarette off the balcony. It had a little more forward momentum than required, and sailed past the fence, over the sidewalk, spinning lazily down…

At this exact moment, a lady comes walking up the sidewalk, pushing a baby stroller. Swear to god. I see the cigarette land right in the stroller and am faced with a bit of a dilemma- do I tell the lady that her baby is on fire and blow any chance I had at anonymity and innocence in the matter, or do I just sit and hope the cigarette was out and will just be an unpleasant surprise to the mother when she gets home? I don’t know how long I would have pondered this, because in less than a second the baby made the decision for me by screaming, thus eliminating any hope I may have had that the whole thing would end without incident. He was wrapped in blankets and stuff, and the cig landed next to him, so I didn’t react as I would have if it had landed in his eye or something. If that had happened, I would have run home crying. I just looked down and saw her holding him and stuff, and figured she had it handled. I also figured that there were thirty seven balconies from which that cigarette could have come, so I wouldn’t have to bust this guy for throwing it. Maybe she wouldn’t know where it came from. Certainly not the guy in the dashing sweater vest and the hat that says “ass” on it, right? Wrong. She starts yelling “Excuse me! SIR?!?” to which I reply “muh?”, while glaring at the guy who threw it and who now knows what happened. Like a big man, he stays seated, and starts dialing his phone to avoid the situation completely. The lady throws the cigarette toward us, and looks at me as if I just threw a lit cigarette in a baby stroller. I’m all “What’s up?” like an idiot who doesn’t know what the hell to do. She says “your cigarette just landed on my child!”

I say “it wasn’t mine. I don’t smoke. I was born-to-read, as you can see on my cup. (touching each word as I said it) If it was mine, I’d be apologizing.” (glaring again at mister phone call babykiller). Lucky for us, she didn’t have a gun or anything. I probably handled that all wrong, but talk about something you didn’t forsee. I guess I should have pointed the guy out, but he was so drunk I was afraid of what he might have said.

So the party goes. A little later Skank Sinatra and I decided to use some of our patented moves on the ladies, just to stay current. Skank started by finding a guitar and telling everyone with a vagina that he was in a band. He then started playing and the Ladyfriend and her friend were the first two victims of his musical prowess. He says Devonne (the girl behind him in the picture) is probably reacting that way because sometimes he rocks so hard that he squeezes out a fart, and the Ladyfriend is just afraid that if she looks directly at him she will be blinded by the pure rock and roll.

Then we joined forces- we started chatting it up with Devonne and this other broad…making with the funny, charming rapport we are renowned for

And then went directly into making out with them so hard they vaporized. That happens sometimes.

I quickly turned my affections toward the Ladyfriend, who obviously loved it.

And Skank totally suaved out this girl named Roxanne. It is shown in motion because I have never seen this move executed so perfectly. Or creepily. She does look happier in the second frame, though. If executed in exactly this manner, you will get 22% more laid, and she will be 34% more naked, according to Skank.

I noticed something about taking pictures of drunk people. They tend to think that “smile” means, “whatever you do, make sure when I push this button, your tongue is sticking out. If you don’t, you have to go home.” Check out this series. No one was told to stick out their tongue. They just did it. This is the guy who tried to kill the baby earlier in the evening. His tongue must taste bad because he doesn’t want to keep it in his mouth. Also notice that Devonne looks really comfortable and not the least bit weirded out by this guy.

This is the same guy and his wife. She seems to have the same tongue problem.

And lastly the Ladyfriend is assailed by Roxanne’s lickin’ strip. I had this one enlarged and framed. Prints are available for $10. I accept PayPal.

Soon enough, as usual, Skank made me laugh until I thought I would squirt. Some drunk 19 year old chick comes staggering across the street, almost gets hit by a limo (and flips the limo off for not seeing her there), and asks us for a beer. We asked her for her I.D., she told us to fuck off, we asked her to do a pole dance, she told us to fuck off, I asked her why she kept telling us to fuck off, and she told me to fuck off. Then Skank elbows through the crowd in the way only a 5’4” Italian guy can elbow through a crowd. He says “I got this one. Watch and learn.” I know better than to question the negotiating skills of Skank Sinatra, so I watched and learned.

Skank- So, what do you want?

Drunk Chick- Gimme a beer!

S- No.

DC- Just one beer?

S- Let me see your funbags.

DC- Fuck you, I’m not showing you my breasts.

S- Okay, show us one breast and we’ll give you a domestic in a cup. Both gets you a bottled import. (looks back at the rest of us and says “see, you have to negotiate with the ladies.”)

DC-*waves middle finger at us and stumbles off*

I thought the one breast thing was a stroke of genius.

The next victim was an angry young guy who was all hopped up on purple sparklefritz or whatever. Maybe just drunk, but not fully in control of his person. He walked up and immediately started humping the fence without our having to say “hey, come here and hump this fence”. He asked us for a beer, I asked him to show me one breast and immediately realized the futility of recycling a joke. Then I started to throw him my cup, but I didn’t think he was as “Born to Read” as I was, so I held on to it. He called us “corporate shitbags” and flipped us off about a thousand times, mooned us at least twice, and even showed us his balls after the Ladyfriend yelled “I WANNA SEE SOME SWEATY BALLS!” He was across the street, so he could have been showing us a shaved hamster he had in his pocket, for all I know.

I finally decided that he had earned a beer, so I dropped one down to him, and he caught it, surprisingly enough. Then the bastard takes three swallows and throws the bottle up the street as hard as he can, narrowly missing a minivan. No one was hurt except the beer. Here’s a picture of our new friend-

We went back to my pad at about 1 a.m., But the party was far from over. About 20 minutes from over, to be exact. See, I have these two sirens on top of my entertainment center, and they have a magical power. When you turn them on, you have no choice but to dance. Take a look at this, if you dare. Skank and I are busting a friggin’ move, because there was a move to be busted. One of the ladies is even pointing at us because we are so sexy.

Now for the really scary part. There was no music playing. Just the lights. We tremble to think what kind of mojo would have been released if a funky beat had been playing. With power comes responsibility, and Skank and I try to keep each other in check.

The morals of this story-

Sippy cups are going to be the next big thing people use to express themselves.

Don’t throw your cigarettes at babies. It pisses off their mothers.

One breast will get you Miller Lite, but both will get you Hoegaarden.

Only people with special powers can vaporize women with a kiss.

If you must do drugs, don’t throw your beer.

If you ever see Skank and I dancing around with no music, you are in the right place.

Trackback URI |