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