Oh God! Help Me!

"There should be a help button for life. Oh wait, maybe it is Jesus", Gurn Blanstein, 1998.

This is a tale that started late on cold snowy night in December. I went into work (I work the night shift at a school for bad girls) and a couple of the writers for Lowbrow and the editor ("El Hombre") went to a local beer severing place. I was not happy about going to work. The simple fact that I had to work instead of drinking some fine ale was enough, but I also had not slept at all that day. You see, I had also worked at my other job that day. That leaves very little time to sleep. To add to my bad mood was that I had to work with a lady that frowns upon sleeping at work. Can you imagine, someone not wanting to sleep at night and get paid for it? Like, get on the same page here retard.

When I dragged my sorry butt to work everyone was surprised to see me. "What the hell are you doing here" was all I heard. It turned out that we had way too many people and that I could go home. I said that I was tired, had not slept and really turned on the water works. I wined like a little girl looking for her dolly. "Shut up bitch!" I always say. So I turn my tired sorry butt around and drove as fast as I could to Bushwakkers. A very fine pub and eatery.

By the time I arrived, my colleges where a few pints ahead of me. By God I tried as hard as I could to catch up. While I was at work, the editor, El Hombre, was telling another writer at Lowbrow about how mad he was at me for not reading the web site. I tried to explain to him earlier that I sometimes do not have Internet access at work and that it was the last two weeks that I missed. "Bah", he said. By the time I arrived he was fuming and exploded in my face about this and that. I turned to him and said, "Well if there was something funny on the site maybe I would read it!" That did not have the calming effect that I was looking for. For some reason this made El Hombre a little more upset. So a screaming match began until Sweet Lou said, "What is wrong with you two? Can't you see that you are in love!" I stopped, looked at El Hombre and he had the same confused look on his face as I did. We sat down, had a sip of beer and did not speak. Sweet Lou broke the silence; "You two are real idiots." The only thing I could say was, "True that, Sweet Lou… True that."

I arrived at about 12:30am and last call was at 1:30am, so I had my work cut out for me. We all ordered pint after pint of very high-test (8 and 9%) Xmas mead and beer. This is where things go wrong. At last call, the bartender brings a pitcher of the 9% beer. Normally we would be happy, but we each already had a pint in front of us, now a full pitcher and a 20-min time limit to finish.

"What the hell was wrong with the bartender?" I asked.

"Yeah, there is no way in hell we can finish this in time" said El Hombre.

"Are you two crazy? We at least have to try. When do bums like us get free beer? It would be an insult to us and the Bar guy if we did not even try," Sweet Lou said with a tear in his eye.

Finish it we did, and with only a few threats from the waitresses. They wanted to kick ours asses for staying so late. We left the pub and headed home and finished off the night with a few glasses of port. This seemed like a good idea at the time. I found out later that El Hombre made some pukey in his mouth before he went to bed. Poor bastard. After the second or third glass of port, Sweet Lou went home and I finally made it to bed.