Bibo ergo sum… cave nil vino.

Posted: April 5, 2013 in Self-Deprecation
Tags: , , ,

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of dead languages, but that little tidbit has absolutely nothing to do with this entry.  The translation does, but… I’ll let you figure that for yourself.  This has to do with the impending “Wedding of the Apocalypse”– the day Cortana and I take a little stroll down a very important aisle.  I’ve dubbed it this way (much to her chagrin), because it’ll be the day Hell itself calls a snow day.  Not just that, but Ol’ Mephistopheles will be serving complimentary hot toddies.

Why yes, I have seen this band in concert...

I’ve given you enough to catch the joke here…

Oh yes, this little stroll– the untold harbinger of Ragnarok itself– is an occasion that I expected even less than my friends.  Theyre the ones who have berated me with various marriage jokes for years.  In my defense, if I had gone and taken a plunge– I would not have stumbled over Cortana.  I really don’t need to say much more about my *ahem* past errors in judgement.  I learned from my mistakes, and Cortana’s proof positive.  We all have our *ahem* lapses in the past– but at least I didn’t bet half of my shit that one of those errors was the one.  Even better– there aren’t any genetic hybrids comprised of myself and *ahem* the past running around to permanently tie me to them.

Tangent reality aside, let’s come back to the downright Bacchanal brouhaha that usually precedes a wedding– that’s right, I’m talking about the bachelor party.  Let’s size up the situation for just a wee second, shall we?  My liver, according to legend, is harder than Superman’s dick after raiding Pfizer’s warehouses.  Couple that with my storied Aura of Intoxication that causes those around me to get utterly lambasted and do dumb shit in copious quantities– and you’ve got the ingredients for icon-tier insanity.

Now to ice the cake: did I mention that we maniacs are doing this twice?

Get on my level.

All started by an errant Flaming Dr. Pepper….

I could have a cameo in this movie, considering that Hurricane Katrina was nothing but a coverup for the damage inflicted by the 2005 TKE conclave.  By all rights, I should have a cameo in this movie– but instead, we’re going to do damage improv style.  We’re not only going to do it once but twice.  It’s nothing short of a miracle that nobody has died in our presence– ever (let alone in memorable history.)  Interestingly enough, none of us have even been carted off to the hospital or jail during or after a night of licentious libations.

Anyone else smell an intentional jinx here?

But yes, nothing short of a double dose of drunken debauchery and distilled delirium will do for this crew.  The official party falls on a Sunday night– which coincides with Sullivan’s 2-for-1 wing night.  The place is usually a graveyard (because who drinks on a Sunday when there’s no football?) which guarantees that we have an entire bar for our very own private party.  Did I mention that this private party doesn’t come with a rental fee because of the epic use of creative scheduling?

Since most of the guys (myself included– Hells to the yes) have to work on Monday… a more rowdy version is slated for a Saturday in none other than our well-beaten stomping ground:  Edinboro.  We’re not alcoholics.  We’re professionals– which brings us back to the title of this entry.  See what I did there?

Start the shot tally, we old guys are gonna make this one for the record books.

Unplug.

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