"Do you want a hug?"

I really showed T-bag and Mattingly my true colors this weekend.
The full spectrum of snuggly brown to ragin' red! Booze'll do that to ya.
Since the whole scene replays in my mind much like dial-up Internet, so I'll describe some of the more amusing snippets... in no particular order with some details missing.

The band "Sugar Pop Lolli-Dopes" or something campy and crappy name like that, was comprised of several members, none of which I can recall, except for the lead/backup singer who was clad in a cinched up tank, miniskirt and furry boots (resembling the cottony version of Zena Warrior Princess. ) If you ask me, she was nothing more than a glorified microphone stand.
Joan Jett you ask? Oh, you better believe "I Love Rock and Roll" was her opening number.
Mattingly and I, who fancy ourselves decent vocalists, critiqued her performance down to the very last hair toss....
"Nice Set," I said to the bouncy microphone stand when we were in the bathroom.
Just call me Catty McCattersons.

Somehow, I ended up back at our neighborhood cabana bar.
When Mattingly and I walked in, we were the only two people in the bar, next to the bartender who was washing bottles, and the bouncer, who was eating hot wings like it was his job.
The good thing about this was that both the men's and women's bathrooms were open (singles stalls, yo!)
Um, fellas? What's the deal with those pink stink-disks? I can't believe urine actually smells worse than those things.

5 mins. later - 50 people are in the bar, Wh-what?

Later, T-bag and I dancing cheek-to-cheek to a Stevie Wonder joint, with our butts pushed out behind us like old folks.... we thought this was HI-larious.

Some jolly, drunk, gap-toothed Velcro-inclined lad renamed the Irish Car Bomb for T-bag after demonstrating his gulping abilities. Holding a cashed ICB -shot glass nested in a pint glass- high above his head this guy proclaims:
"When you hear this sound (rattling the glasses - clankity, clank, clank, clank) you know you just had a T-bag!"

Last call.... large Latino fellow (We'll call him Jose Cuervo here) tells everyone to get the hells out!
T-bag: "Jose Cuervo, I know who you are. You're the baddest M.F'er in the city."
JC: (in a 'I'm about to kill someone tone') "Who's calling me by my government name?"
T-bag : "Gulp..... It's me, T-bag, you know, from little league baseball?"
Jose drops to his knees with glee and greets T-bag with kisses.
Whew. Rumble averted.

Final scene of the night includes some sort of an afterbar party at our apartment... someone gets tossed through a wall (this may be a bit of an exaggeration) and Flee looses her mind.
Mattingly: "Do you want a hug?"
Flee: "No. What I want is for all of you to get the *effinhymer* out of my house."

Close Scene.

______
You'll be happy to know this final tantrum only brought us closer. Our heads were pounding the next day, but it's hard to say if it was from the booze or the laughing fit we had recounting the "final scene."