The Saving of The Niles

THUD!!! Was the sound that I heard, as I awoke from a sober sleep. I groaned miserably at the realization that being sober, this was the best I would feel all day. Normally a hangover reminds me that the day improves as it goes on. This was just depressing. The loud noise above me was accompanied by noises that sounded like someone drunkingly and drinkingly beating the ever living fuck out of someone and taking said someone’s shit. Could it be? I tried not to get my hopes up, as I’ve been disappointed before… like when I heard the song Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer and it said “You know Dasher and Dancer and etc., etc.” and then gets to the part where it says “but do you recall, the most famous reindeer of all?” Which is extremely stupid to say the least, because if you even have to ask someone who knows about all the other reindeer whether or not they “recall” the “most famous reindeer” then that reindeer really wouldn’t be the most famous one would it? I mean, if my recollection of Rudolph is even in question but it’s assumed that I know all the other ones, then wouldn’t Rudolph be the least famous reindeer of all? Bitterly disappointing and I’m still scarred because of it… but in spite of my cautionary self, I became hopeful anyway at the sound of Bon Jovi’s “Have a Nice Day” being played triumphantly for approximately seven seconds before being abruptly turned off, subsequently followed by the gruff and drunken statement “Damn The Jovi!” At that point I knew it had to be true. The Boss had come to save me from my sobriety… and I suppose my imprisonment as well.
Just as my hopes were as high as an old man’s pants, The Boss emerged through the door of the hull (still weird to call it a hull and not a haf) wearing an old style captain’s hat and holding a bottle of 14 yr Oban in one hand and a waffle iron in the other. Quickly, The Boss threw me the bottle and I guzzled it drinkingly, becoming intoxicated as I watched The Boss take a drink out of the waffle iron, which was somehow plugged in by a very, very long extension cord.
“Ow!” yelped The Boss. Then he pointed the waffle iron to the sky (or the ceiling of the hull/haf by which we were in) and exclaimed loudly “Damn The Jovi!” I wept at the magnificence of this perfectly executed exclaim. I told him he never gives himself enough credit for his exclaiming ability, to which we both exclaimed in unison and Air-Guitared the theme to Happy Days, but not the hull song, rather just the haf of it that included the big ending with the twice-uttered “Happy Days.” It was joyous, and a crew member who happened to hear this iconic dual-exclaim died by shear magnification of awesomeness. The Boss let me out of my imprisonment, which in hind sight was actually just a waist-high fence that I probably could’ve jumped over had I not been so debilitatingly sober and we hurried up to gaze out upon the ocean, as we sometimes are known to do. The Boss, shaking his head and muttering hateful sayings about The Jovi, haf-listened to my tale of the single malt known only as Glengodly.
“We’ll get that scotch.” The Boss said ominously.
“And we’ll get that The Jovi too.” I replied, not quite as ominously as The Boss, but still fairly ominous in my own right. We continued to gaze out over the ocean, drinkingly of course.

nex ut sobriety!!!

Beeeeep – beeeep – beeeep, etc etc.

My damned pager was going off. It’s been beeping for over an hour, but in my drunken state I didn’t care to look at it. I just kept asking myself and the rest of the bar – a place known as Richey’s – why I still had a pager in the year of our lord 2008.

“Answer me you drunk bastards! What am I, a drug-dealer from 1994?” I shouted drunkingly.

“Shut your mouth The Boss!” Screamed Jef.

“You shut up one F Jef!” I exclaimed and suddenly realized how well a certain drunken fellow by the name of The Niles exclaims. Meanwhile Jef was in the corner crying and saying over and over how his parents didn’t love him enough to give him two f’s on his name.

“The Niles!” I shouted (realizing that my exclaims could never, ever, in a million years come close to The Niles’ exclaiming prowess) and realized why I had the pager.

“The S.O.S. signal.” I downed my 15 year Glenlivet French Oak Reserve, promptly ordered a second, downed that one, and took a bottle for the road.

I ran drunkingly outside and after falling down twice and then thrice; I grabbed the pager off my belt and pointed it to the sky. Within seconds I was still standing in the same spot. It was then that I realized that the pager didn’t have any teleportation technology. I decided to do things the old fashioned way. I ran towards the local docks, remembering that the Blue Man Group was in town.

I soon found myself in a yacht heading towards the Atlantic, and then remembering that our High-Seas endeavors usually find us in and around or sometimes near Papua New Guinea; I turned a hard left in the Blue Man Group’s yacht (the yacht that I took from them, along with some other shit, after beating them mercilessly for an hour and taking said “shit” from them – shit such as the yacht, with bar that I had to re-stock with only single malt scotch the likes of which would never be seen again.) and made my way towards that place where I was rescued by The Niles only years earlier, that place with the cannibalistic bastards, near the islands full of Beach People with rare sexually transmitted diseases and who smoke cheap cigarettes.

After a journey of seemingly only hours, yet that was in reality weeks, I found myself nearing the place where the S.O.S. signal was coming from. I could see a ship, and make out its name – the S.S. Glen – in the distance. I drunkingly made my way towards it, being careful to make as much noise as possible. I began shouting, “The Niles! The Niles!”, over and over again. I turned on the radio and blasted Bon Jovi until I realized that I hated The Jovi, and turned it off. By this time, a man whose name just had to be Glen with only one N came to the side of the ship and attempted to thwart my very drunk efforts of docking to the S.S. Glen. I leaped from the hull of my ship and while in mid-leap thought how weird it is that the hull is not called a haf since it only embodies half of a boat. In any event, I landed with much surprise on Glen and beat the ever-living fuck out of him and took his shit, which was a set of keys to where I now knew The Niles was being held captive, somewhere in the vast depths of the hull (weird) of the mighty S.S. Glen.

-The Boss

And it Begins...

...and it's very dark in here as you can surely tell the difference between darkness and light. I mean really, who doesn't know the difference anyway? What kind of silly bastard can't see whether or not it's dark or light where they are? Seriously, even when you have your eyes shut you can tell that there's some kind of light going on, otherwise we wouldn't have to have it dark in order to fall asleep. Now I'm kind of sleepy... maybe I can catch some shut-eye, or partially closed-eye or something similar. Yawn... but wait! I need help. I've been lost away at sea for perhaps days or weeks or hours or even some other measurement of time not yet discovered. Ever since the last embarkment toward Papua New Guinea with The Boss and the many other characters that we know and love so much, I've been searching for more, for purpose, and above all... for scotch. You see, since that fateful voyage, The Boss has left me of my Jacky D. ways and I've gone straight for the single malt scotch. Drinkingly I found myself aboard the S.S. Glen, thinking this would be the first step toward finding the ever-elusive 1,000 year aged single malt, named simply... Glengodly. Alas it was only a ruse however, as when I awoke from my drunken stupor, I found myself sitting next to some dude named Glen. I could think of only one thing to say to him.
"Dude, what's with only one "n" on your name? That's pretty fuckin' weird."
"It was my father's name." the "One 'N'ed Glen replied, stupidly.
"I've no way to understand your stupidity." I responded drunkingly, looking to be drinkingly, failing and being very disappointed.
Then, just as I was about to exclaim, as we know I'm prone to do, the bastard had me arrested on board and placed in the very dark (darkness explained (but not exclaimed) earlier in this entry) hull of the ship, which is odd that it would be referred to as a hull and not a haf, since it doesn't encompass the entirety of the ship.
I was angry (and still hung over) at the interruption prior to my exclaim, so I exclaimed loudly like I just didn't care "You can't stop my exclaim!" and it was amazing. Those arresting me paused noticeably as if to silently say to eachother "should we applaud?" And they nodded in unison and gave me an ovation for my still-incredible exclaiming ability. After a brief bow, a shoutout to the one they call The Boss, I was bound again and brought to the hull, from which I write this begging for help... help in the form of assistance, freedom, and of course, scotch. Please save me from certain death and most importantly, my sobriety...

The Niles