It is the pentacle of harmless alcoholism. His brain has focused on one constant solitary image he can’t erase. A beautiful, perfect, greasy, salty, crunchy fish sandwich.
But alas, while craving he is too drunk to drive.
Now obsessed, every 30 seconds the thought of sex has been replaced. And the rest of the night all conversations are interjected with,
Now obsessed, every 30 seconds the thought of sex has been replaced. And the rest of the night all conversations are interjected with,
“I could really go for a fish sandwich.”
But how does he get it. He fidgets with the keys in his pocket. Goes to the door and stares at his car. He knows if he makes a run for it his friends will be all over him. So this becomes a ritual for the next hour or so, fidgeting and starring, up and down, back and forth.
“I could really go for a fish sandwich.”
If it wasn't two in the morning he would just call his wife. But he is drunk, out too late and that is just not an option since she is home in bed asleep and thinks he is as well.
Eventually I get sick of his,
“I could really go for a fish sandwich.”
So I suggest that if he could really go for a fish sandwich, where there is no will power there is a way. In other words, have money will eat fish sandwich.
Fortunately for him, over the years I have developed a close relationship with one particular cab service. Well it is not an actual cab service. It is a husband and wife that drive people from place to place and take donations for the trip. So, it is wise to tip well if you want to see them again and quickly. Anyway, they know me well. So much so that on one particular occasion, I called them to bring a bag of ice to my house. We were in dire need and of course too intoxicated to drive.
So problem solved. That is if he is willing to pay 10 bucks to come get his money, 10 bucks to McDonald's and 10 bucks back to the house. He was. He had two for good measure and according to him they were the best things he had ever eaten.
Only in America could this kind of tragedy be averted. America truly is the land of opportunity and immediate gratification. I feel sorry for those late night drinkers all over the world.
I bet they are hungry.
4 comments:
I was wondering myself where one would get a GOOD fish sandwich at 2:00 AM. Ms. Paul would be sad that she lost out to a Clown. Too bad Moby Dick's drive thru isn't a late nighter. That would be the ticket.
Funny how our guard is let down when the alcohol creeps in. The food we eat is greasier, the chicks we fuck are fatter and the places we crash tend to be more uncomfortable.
I myself stumble across a sack of sliders with the hot pepper cheese. Match that up with a warm body, two flappy tits and you're in high cotton as they say . . . at least for the moment.
Funny how Clown and Moby Dick are tied into two of my other posts. Actually it isn't funny, it is just the alcohol thinking for me. I better watch out before I wake up stuck to some fat naked body by the thin sliver of a hamburger patty.
I usually take out a compass (the type with a really sharp point on one side and a pencil on the other... you may need assistance from a semi sober person when using the pointy side). Then I begin drawing radius' on a map around my location. The closest restaurant/grocery/dumpster within walking distance wins.
I'm not picky, if it has cheese on it I'll eat it. As for the ladies... I am of little use to them anyway after 4-6 beers.
Jason, I am and will always be impressed with your map collection. With that out of the way a question must be answered. Even after 4 to 6 beers, what if the woman has a can of cheese wiz, what then Jason, what then?
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