It's nearly Impossible, highly improbable, but not hopeless.

So, I have really been shitting the bed on this blog lately, and I apologize. My hate mail has tripled in the past two weeks, people demanding their money back and some even offering me money if I just stop ejaculating this crap on the tits of the internet.

Well, I refuse to cease. I know i must sometimes fight through the shit to get to the toilet paper. So here goes.

Since nothing super awesome has happened recently, I have decided to regale you with a tale of yesteryear, when I was younger, dumber and equally handsome. This tale is set in the late 1990's, a time before the internet, cell phones, or that little ring contraceptive device that no one told me about, until I encountered it in the field (that's another story for later, when the kids go to bed).

I was 21, or 22, i can't remember. I do remember that Evan had was just about to turn 21 that day. tomorrow was his birthday, and he imbibed a heroic dose of tequila. His plan was to get drunk, then go to the bars after midnight (when he would be officially 21), thus starting off his 21 year in the tradition of many a date raped sorority girl.

So things are going according to planned, Evan is shitfaced, running around giving pool pointers to everyone in the Foundry, often times taking the stick from unimpressed patrons and shooting for them, to varying degrees of success. I lost sight of him, running into some people. At some point, like a mother at the mall who has finally looked up from the shoe display to find her bastard brat missing, I realize Evan is gone. I grab my buddy Chris and we head out to look for him.

He's not in the bathroom, not on the street, not at any of the bars around...fuck. Well I decide that I need another drink to bolster my spirits and resolve my courage for the search mission ahead. Chris and I head to the Pub, which is on one side of a sort of outdoor mall, lined on both sides with shops and restaurants and such. There's all kinds of grass and trees in the middle, along with really ugly modern art.

We round the corner, and on a whim I ask the people sitting on the patio outside of the Pub and Old Chicago's, "Hey has anyone seen a tall, skinny redheaded kid, whose super drunk?"

Everyone, on both patios, as if driven by a single will, points behind me. I turn and see Even, facedown in the grass, legs twisted at impossible angles, dead to the world.

Operation get Evan home commences. He is 120 lbs of dead weight, we can barely get him upright and maneuver him a couple feet before he falls onto the ground and insists, "I'll be fine right here."

One of these episodes happened in the middle of a crosswalk, there's Evan laying in the middle of the street, and there we are trying to get him up, but he is petulant and uncooperative.

We struggle and work and finally get him off the main area and we find ourselves in the closed tents of the Boulder Creek Festival, closed tight in the dark. The past hour has worked the piss to the top of my bladder and I call for a pit stop. It is at this point that I open a tent flap, open my fly and fill the "kettle" they cook popcorn in with rented alcohol (if you ever go to this Boulder Creek Festival, no popcorn from the kettle, no one could scrub away ALL the pee)

Chris, who is a big ass guy, says "fuck it" and throws even over his shoulders as if Evan is weightless. We get about 100 feel when Evan starts tweaking Chris's nuts in some sort of misguided, drunken retaliation for his help. Neither of us can loosen his grip, so Chris just starts ramming Evan's head into a light post. Both men, locked in a mortal stalemate fight with a rage born of desperation, but I manage to get them pried apart and we once again halt to rest.

Chris will no longer have any part of Evan's ball grabbing fury, and we are still about 1/2 mile from home. I convince Chris to grab Eva's legs (only minimal ball gripping potential) and I grab his shoulders and we walk. He fights us every step, insisting he's going to puke, we drop him, and he falls asleep. Eventually we ignore his pleas and trudge onward.

We get to the residential area and pitch him in the gutter and catch our breath. Chris and I are both very drunk ourselves, and we were bullshitting, there on the side walk, when we hear a voice from a nearby house, it is 4AM;

"Hey fuck you guys, shut the fuck up!"

I am in no mood to be ordered around at this point, so I yell back, "Fuck you, go back to bed."

the reply, "I would love to, but I can't sleep with you two yelling outside my window, fucking shut up!"

"You either come out here and shut me up, or fucking deal with it!" I yelled back,

"I'm coming out there to fucking shut you up, asshole!"

A few seconds later a pissed off dude appears in the doorway, takes one look at me and Chris and goes right back inside.

"i'm going to call the cops!"

"Go ahead and do that you pussy!" I yelled.

And ten minutes later two Lesbian Boulder Cops arrived.

to be continued....

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