WWLA Shout-Outs and The Piss Drunk Piss

Monday, March 21, 2005

Back from Wizard World LA and I have a ton of emails to get to and I will get back to all of you but first I must sleep, the Red Eye Flight is only a good idea when you are not sitting next to an obese women that let’s out sighs of boredom every five minutes. I’m working on zero sleep and I smell like a camel’s ass. But I had a great time, thanks to everyone who stopped by and checked us out and bought copies of Elk’s Run and Western Tales of Terror (we even got one in Jos Whedon’s hands!). I also want to give props to Ape Entertainment and SSS Comics, the two tables that flanked ours and a major fuck you to Lion’s Gate Films who was across from us. Nothing wrong with your movies (I actually love your guys' stuff) and your booth babe was HOT but I can’t get that death metal version of Superstar out of my head because you guys played it every five minutes. And not the whole song, just the memorable “Don’t you remember you told me you loved me baby” clip. I also want to give thanks to everyone who signed at our booth including Steve Niles, Dan Wickline, Todd Livingston and Marco Magallanes. Tomorrow I’ll throw up some pictures from the show, including one of Marco sitting on Todd’s lap.

Early on in this blog I told some of my drunken stories. By no means are those the only ones I have, and some of the ones I saved, well, they’re pretty special.

One night, back in college, a bunch of my buddies and I are out drinking. This is the second half of my Junior Year, an extremely drunken, post-21 where we probably spent 5 nights a week drinking heavy (7 nights a week during finals). On one such night out we were at P.J. Kilroys, the dirtiest bar in all of Boston, situated near Fenway Park. Kilroys’ was our favorite dive, it was within stumbling distance of all my friends’ places, had 9 dollar pitchers of Killians, three tables with no stools, a juke-box that played Metallica before midnight and Johnny Cash after midnight, a horribly out of date Megatouch machine, a torn-up pool table, a dart board that couldn’t hold onto the darts that hit it and a pin-ball machine that ate your quarters. It was the kind of place you went to if you wanted to drink with no distractions; you can go in, hit it hard and fast and puke on the floor.

So we were there, drunk, when I excuse myself from the bar to go take a piss, probably with a combination of stumbling, cursing and grabbing somebody’s ass (Junior year = single year and I was quite the ladies man). I get to the bathroom and somebody must have been shitting out dead animals because the place reeks so bad that the guy on the bowl actually apologizes when he hears the door open. When you’re drunk, you’re determined to complete your goal, so I hot-boxed myself in the bathroom with the ass-of-death and unzipped.

Nothing. I might have been thrown off my game because of the shitter but I was forced to Jedi Mind Piss, a technique that is extremely difficult to pull off when drunk. But I go through the motions, the easy breathing, the thoughts of running water, the straight ahead, blank stare. But like I said, when you’re drunk it’s hard to concentrate and when you’re drunk and in a Zen-like trance you notice things, like boogars, and I had a rather large one.

I rip it out as the stream starts and try to flick it off my finger several times. The persistent bastard just won’t budge, it clings to my finger as if its very boogar-essence depends on it. Now, were I sober, I would have either wiped on the wall (provided it wasn’t one of those weird, inexplicitly wet bathroom walls) or waited until I was done pissing and grabbed some toilet paper.

But I was drunk off my ass.

And my GREAT idea, the most logical thing I was able to think up, was to PISS the boogar off of my finger. Without a second thought I implement my plan and begin to piss all over my hand, probably hitting every square inch of it except the area where the boogar resided. And to make matters worse, the stream is splashing off of my hand and going all over my pants, shirt…everything within splash distance.

I finally stop pissing and go to wash my hands, as if at this point it even fucking matters. I walk out of the bathroom, clothes soaked with piss, stinky hand and, for all I know, still with a boogar on my finger. I sit at my bar stool take a drink of my beer, turn to my friends and told them, “Aye – I’m gonna go after this, I just pissed all over myself.”

I don’t think I will ever live that line down.

A quick story that goes great with this but doesn't involve me has to do with my friend Max's sister, Sylka (which I probably spelled wrong). She was driving home a bit intoxicated when her cigarette fell from her mouth and onto her crotch. Not knowing what to do, she began spitting on the cigarette, tying to extinguish it. By the time she got home her crotch was drenched with her own spit and the cigarette burned a hole in her seat.

Read a book, fanboy: Jesus of Nazareth - King of the Jews - College Prof of mine wrote it, great book. Started rereading it last week.

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posted by Jason at 4 Comments


4 Comments

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dear God this is awesome.

11:40 AM  
Blogger Jason Copland said...

Fuckin' hilarious, man!

1:37 PM  
Blogger Chris Fabulous said...

Haven't laughed that hard in a long while, my man. Good times.

CF

2:55 PM  
Blogger Jason said...

Thanks guys, looking over this posting I have to admit that even I'm impressed and I generally hate myself. I wrote it at 6AM in an airport in Detroit while waiting for my connecting flight from LA, hungover, tired as fuck and mildly delirious.

Maybe we're better writers when we're not actually trying to be good writers, we're just trying to write?

I'm going to experiment with writing in a variety of torture devices and uncomfortable situations (as if "torture device" is a comfortable sitauation), I'll let you know how it works out.

6:21 PM  

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