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Ringing the DEMON BELL

Good looking guy; pretty hot woman. It does, on the surface at least, have all the elements of a great story. But the thing with a harlequin...and ladies, I'm looking at you here...is that story is the same in EACH story. As in, identical.

Girl meets guy
Girl is not interested in guy
Girl and guy seem to clash and could never get along
Girl can't stop thinking about guy
Girl and guy admit that they are actually crazy for each other
They live happily ever after.

Geez. What absolutely boring shit. I mean, woman KNOW that this pattern will be repeated time after time after time. So what do they see in these things anyway?? And that's when it hit me. There is no difference between her voracious appetite to consume fluffy literature that follows a predictable pattern than there is to these little narratives that I provide you with on a routine basis.

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If you ever get the chance when you are in New York, one of the things that you really must do is attend a Broadway Musical. Regrettably, however, getting to New York in and of itself is damn expensive, and good luck getting tickets to any of the more popular shows. Fortunately for us, the production groups will take their shows on the road to centers like Edmonton and Calgary.

When Broadway shows come to town, they quite often are held in the Jubilee Auditorium. In the past, the Jube has hosted some memorable shows, most notably Miss Saigon, The Phantom of the Opera, and Luke Cresswell's & Steve McNicholas' original production: Stomp. None of these shows are currently playing, but if you come over to my apartment right now, you'll find that a private viewing of Stomp is playing in the back of my skull.....

In case you couldn't tell, God I'm hung over.

And it's not my fault.

I was planning on taking it easy. Maybe go for a run, watch a movie, you know the usual. But instead I get this email announcing some promotions and position shifts within our department. It seems that everyone (except me) is getting promoted these days with more pay, etcetera. But I'm not bitter.

The thing about promotions is that you go out and celebrate that promotion. So the plan was changed to going to Cliff Clayvins for a few barley bevridges. EVERYONE was going. Well...everyone, that is, but me.

You see, I had to stay behind and work on draft legislation before I could leave work on Friday. So there I am, just me and my boss in the office working away into the night while all the rest of my work friends are at the bar. I had a serious case of "feeling sorry for myself" and it was only made worse when I'd get the phone calls in my cubicle of "you coming out yet" or "ha ha Dave...you're still at work...so phone up Holly and see if she wants to come out too".

Roman...what am I? Your work bitch? Wait. Don't answer that.

Finally I was able to pack up and leave and get to Cliffs. As I entered the room, I was greeted as I always am, with Cheers and Roars of Approval...for I am the people's champion. I picked a spot next to Sophie. I think I saw her visibly cringe in fear. Or was it wince in embarrassment...?? Now I've said it before but I'll say it again: Soph and I are tight. She knows stuff about me that most of my guy friends don't.

For example, she knows about the time when I was 5 years old in Drayton Valley. I was a little gaffer at the time but starting to gain some independence. Well, we were working in the yard and I had to take a piss but I sure as shit wasn't going to take a leak in front of my parents. So I moseyed to the front of our property, whipped 'er out, and let nature's course start. Now, as you know, once it starts it don't really stop. So imagine the sheer embarassment I had when the GOD DAMNED SCHOOL BUS -- full of children -- pulled up.

Yeah...so as I said, she knows a lot about me.

And I know a lot about her too. Maybe too much. In the WHOLE TIME I've ever known Sophie, I don't think I've ever made her blush. I'm not going to divulge my secrets here. After all, does Chloe Sullivan blab to the whole world that she knows about Clark Kent's strange but mysterious powers? Lets just say that I realized that FINALLY I had said something to her that made her feel awkward/embarassed when she said "I'm not telling you any more information" in an abrupt attempt to change the topic as quickly as possible.

Don't worry Soph, you're secret is safe with me.

Kinda like the way AIDS kills those infected with HIV, slowly but surely time was causing people to leave Cliff Clayvins. Soon there was just a handful of us hearty soldiers left. Or, more appropriately, the alcoholics. But eventually even we had to leave...not because we wanted to, but because we were going on to bigger and better things.

My dear old buddy old pal Jon Houle wanted us to come to Cook County, and Corinna need to change...so me, Cori, Vanessa, and Val went back to our apartment first before heading to the bar. **I'm going to skip the part where we had a wild orgy and fucked like bunnies. Mainly I'm skipping it because it didn't happen... But, whatever**

When we finally roll up to Cook County, Jon and Moose have already fisted each other. That is to say that they have more beer in their hands than they can realistically carry. (Geez...get your minds out of the gutter). We choose a prime spot right in front of the mechanical bull and watch all the wanna be hero's try to ride the damn thing.

Of note is that none of us tried to ride it... But how I wanted to! I've always be fascinated with the damn things since the time I was 3 years old and got my picture taken at the rodeo on a mechanical Black Angus bull.

When I wasn't watching the bull, I shook hands with most girls that walked by, introducing myself as "Hi, I'm Jon Maclean". This stopped once my wife caught on.

No matter... It turns out, however, that Houle was taking a diligent count of all the T-bars of the ladies that rode that bitch. And, since it would seem (amazingly enough) that some of you don't know what a T-bar is, let me demonstrate.

.

(Okay ladies...I know, I know... Where's the eye candy for you, right?) Fine. You're wish is my command:

But one does not go to Cook County just for mechanical bulls and thongs. No...we go to two-step. So I grab my wife and we cut a rug and then Val and Vanessa took that rug right out from under my feet. That's right. No matter how hard I tried, they did NOT WANT TO DANCE WITH ME. I cried for a little bit, but I think I"m going to be okay now. We quickly left the bar at that point because honestly, what was the point of living at that moment? (Okay...I lied...I'm NOT over the rejection).

As we leave the bar, we see Houle's mortal enemy. Global Sport's KEVIN KARIUS.

The next stop on our impromptu pub crawl was Hudson's Canadian Taphouse. This place was great. Not only was there no cover charge, and no coat check, but a good buddy of ours - Mike Gordon - was working security. Now, anytime you know someone working security you know it's going to me trouble, specially when Moose and I get onto the dance floor. As you all are painfully aware of by now, Steve and Doug Butabi (i.e. the characters in Night at the Roxbury) are better dancers that we are. And that's just sad but, in our defence, we just don't have the the dance moves in our repetoire that those guys do.

Well, except one. The DEMON BELL. (Or, as Cori just calls it, the Devil's Dangle).

That's right. Last night at Hudson's, Eric Prydz "Call on Me" was playing and Moose and I were ringing the demon bell with reckless abandon. How can I describe the this, ultimate dance move? Well, remember that tribute video that I sent around, where the dudes do that hip thrust move such that cock and balls slam back and forth, hence, Demon Bell.

We are SO COOL.

Fortunately either no one saw our dancing, or no one cared, because Moose and I actually attracted some female attention to dance with us. And so what if these girls were the ones we came with to the bar in the first place? Yes between the dancing and calling Patty and Sanchu to tell them how much we hated them, you could say that life was perfect.

Well, maybe not too perfect. Some dude in a yellow shirt that tried to get into our little dance group by "pretending" to be dancing by himself and then saddle up next to Cori and Val. When we do this move -- ala the Idaho girls last week -- it's cool. When other guys do it, it's retarded. Hmmmm...could it be that WE'RE retarded to??? Apparently this guy started to talk trash to Cori and Val about the dance stylings of Moose and I ... but little did he know that they were with us. He was dropped like a dirty shirt.

Other things of note at Hudson's were women dancing in belly shirts that shouldn't have been wearing belly shirts, if you know what I mean.

Yes...imagine the gall I have. I just describe the demon bell and then have the audacity to say who should be wearing what items. I am shallower than a puddle of water in a parking lot. *Shame*

We decide to leave Hudsons...and not a moment to soon because who, does it turn out, was stalking us? Global Sport's KEVIN KARIUS!!!!! Houle, when are you going to slay your mortal enemy once and for all??

We leave Hudsons to go to the One, so that Val and Vanessa can pick up their paycheques. Plus, they know people "on the inside" so that we'd get good service. Turns out that it wouldn't have been an issue, even if we didn't go with them, 'cause the club was about as empty as the vegetarian booth at the National BBQ convention. Seriously...it was weird. Thousands of square feet of night club all to ourselves which was pretty cool but where was everyone?

At some point in the night, I started giving massages. Funny story about massages. During my second year at University, I would give massages up and down the girls wing, and actually would convince girls that it would be a hell of a lot easier for me if they just took their shirts off. With that background info in mind, and hoping that Val is a good sport here, she "threatened" that if I didn't stop, SHE was going to take off HER shirt.

Uh. Val. Threats like that don't exactly get guys to stop whatever they're doing....

I wish I had more stories, but honestly by this time I'm so fucking drunk and it's 3:00am that I don't know if I have that much more to say. Cori and I call a cab while the rest of the yahoo's go back to SCAB'S place with off-sales. Apparently they continued drinking till 5:30 in the morning...

Just where the hell do these kids get the energy these days....

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 11:03 a.m. 1 comments

Our first post!

I am suddenly hit with a shocking revelation. Now, it might just be me, but our lives might just make one kick-ass porno. How many of you can HONESTLY try to deny that the much bally-hoo'd adventures of our rag-tag group of friends honestly couldn't form the script for a XXX porno video?

Sigh. Too bad our mishaps more often than not would be used to describe GAY PORN.

So. Was last night any different than the rest? I'll give one shiny nickel to the first person to respond with the correct answer. Here's a hint. The answer is no. (Really, could you expect anything less when Moose cock is hammered and Jody drinks a 40 of malt liquor)???

* * *

For those of you that couldn't/wouldn't/didn't want to come out last night, we had our annual "try to get Dave and Corinna evicted from their apartment" party. Normally our party's are all the rage because (a) Cori and I clean the apartment -- Jody often remarks how much he appreciates that fact -- and (b) food is served. Now usually we ask people to show up at a certain time (in this case 8:00) and invariably, people show up earlier. Since I was cognizant of these facts, I decided to plan ahead and be partially cut by the time my compadre's showed up which meant starting to drink even earlier.

The initial plan called for WAY more people to show up than actually did. Whether it be Mexico, Calgary, ... or hating us ... some of our friends did not show up or otherwise bailed on this. Fuck them...they're dead to me... Heck, even my dear old sister cancelled on me 15 minutes before everyone was to arrive.

Not only were Cori and I were trying to decide if we had a ragin' case of communicable herpes, (hence why no one wanted to come), but we were ALSO just about to head to Block Buster to rent "Bridget Jones' Diary" and blast the signature theme song All By Myself as loud as my speakers could handle. Why, you ask? Because there we were, drinking by ourselves -- I'm convinced we're alcoholics??? -- because it was 8:00 and no one had yet showed up!

But enough of my complaining because it would seem that Greg Gibeault, et al took a page out of P. Diddy's social handbook and rolled up on dubs fashionably late. In any event, can I really be mad where someone shows up to a party with MALT LIQUOR?!?!? If only we had dice so that we could have played a game or two of Cee-Lo... (Doss...when you get your ass up here, I expect you to bring to things. The first is head condoms for us all and the second is Cee-Lo rules straight from the streets of mutha-fuckin' Compton...errr, Philly).

So what can I say about drinking at my place?

Was the music LOUD? - yes.
Did I play any "white music"? - According to Patty, no.
Did we drink every single drop of alcohol? - Ugh. Yes.
Was Dave Mulyk a GOD AMONG MEN? - Undoubtedly.

Now I normally don't like to toot my own horn, but we seem to have a disturbing trend. A lot of my guy friends DO (miraculously?) have girl friends...but, for the most part, it is one huge sausage party whenever we get together. (See comment about gay porno). But this time was different. We don't need to get into the whole "Moose Cock Life Mates personnel ad" again (hey John...did you actually give them a call?) but to make a long story short, a girl that I work with ACTUALLY wanted to come out with us.

As in, I did't have to trick her or use chloroform or anything.

Not only that, but Val convinced her sister Vanessa to come (to the bar) meaning that I was single handly responsible for increasing the chick quotient by 2. (Or, as I like to call it, 66%). As of today, I think it's clear that Val/Vanessa will always be invited to every function we attend considering the fact that they didn't run away screaming from our evil shenanigans. (More on that later).

I'll fast forward through all of the sorrid details of drinking games, mullet wigs, cowboy hats, and Jody Blair's ass pressed against the window to my deck -- of which there ARE pictures. Sadly, however, there were no mussies. Maybe next time. We rolled up to the EMPTY bar (wtf?) and ordered round after round after round.

Moose and I lost at pool, as per usual.
I bought rounds of drinks for the girls, as per usual.
I heard the whistle from the imminent train of destiny, as per usual.

**Flashback**

I work with this guy Mark and he oftens states that he is "planning an intervention" for me so that I don't get slapped with a sexual harrassment suit at work. Heh, heh...he's just joking...right...?!?!?!? He always mentions that there is a line that one must maintain between my personal and my work life. He is worried that I repeatedly approach and cross that line. Well, if I cross the line at work, then I obliterated that mother fucker last night with Val. The TRUE test will be to see whether or not she wants to talk to me at work tomorrow.

**End Flashback**

Now...please, don't get me wrong. It's not like I tried to grope her or anything... As you all know, my prying hands only have "Bette Davis" eyes for Jody and Moose. So what in god's name did I do that will forever change the relationship Val and I have? What image did I sear into her minds' eye?

Well...for starters...there was me and Jody dry humping on the dance floor like a scene straight our of Deliverance. If that wasn't enough, how about me and Moose making a "Jill Sandwich", also on the dance floor? Still want more eh? Well, how about me shaking my ass like I was a Solid Gold dancer?

As I grow older and wiser, I have come to realize that we ALL are, sadly, like Ace and Gary, the ambigiously gay duo.

Val simply laughed and said she was having a great time. I think Val was clearly blitzed out of her mind. As the horrible memories of last night come flooding to the forefront as she reads this email, I fully expect to find out that she has either quit her job or put in for a transfer to another department...

Now it is true that we were the first ones on the dance floor. But we weren't the last. There were a TON of Hot (with a capital H) women at the bar last night that must have been impressed at our apparent lack of dance moves because they soon flocked to us like moths to a flame. (Of course, they weren't NEAR as hot as Jill, Sarah, Corinna, Vanessa, and Val ). In particular were six girls from Idaho. I don't know how Moose found this out but what I do remember is that my wife gave me permission to be Moose's wing man.

Uh-oh. Trouble.

Everyone left the dance floor except for me and John and the girls from Idaho. As usual John struck out because he didn't even try. He fucked off, leaving me to dance with these girls by myself. After using the Patrick Wigmore Hip Check (TM) once or twice, the next thing I knew this one blonde full on grabbed my ass and another one put her arm around my waist.

Was I in paradise? Well, yes. (Me and six chicks...come ON now)!

BUT ALSO NO!!! I was sweating like a rapist! Not only am I married but what the HELL do I know about being a wing man or, since Moose had fucked off, the "Ace Fighter Pilot"? You could say that I am a World War One vintage prop plane and these girls were expecting a Gulf War CF-18.

Not wanting to be "that guy", I politely excused myself from the group to find the safe confines of my friends. God I'm a loser...

There were other hot women in the bar as well and I DID have my camera. We were taking a ton of pictures and that got me into a Shit Storm of Shit of Shitactular Proportions. Sigh...here is the picture that got me into so much trouble.















That's right. THERE WAS NO FUCKING PICTURE. (Well, okay...there may have been a couple but I quickly deleted those...). How can I make a long story short... Let's see. There were these two sluts slutting it up on the dance floor. (Oh yeah...I have a LOT of respect for these douche bags). I was taking pictures of our posse and these bitches equated my camera flash with "Oh...they must be taking pictures of US".

Moose was approached by angry women. I was approached by angry woman. I was approached by boyfriends in the "HULK, SMASHHHHHHHH" frame of drunkenness.

Things got a little tight under the collar like the time we smashed through the snow fence in Camrose and appeared in their "community crime beat" section. I cycled through all the pictures to prove I had none. We got to the wedding photo's when I finally asked fuck-face if he had seen enough.

And I got a little pissed off. I mean, I'm married for god's sake. What do I want to do with pictures of random woman? Well...okay, so there MAY have been a few dozen times -- including my HONEYMOON (hi-oh) -- where I took pictures of random girls for my guy friends. But these people didn't know that! How DARE they question my virtuosity?

I was getting to the point where I either wanted to chew gum or kick ass. And I was out of gum....

What was the god damned issue with pictures? Were these girls underaged? No. Corinna would find out that these girls were strippers and that "I must have been taking their picture to sell on the internet for thousands of dollars".
Riiiiiiiight. Snort another line of coke you paranoid freak.

Never mind that at least one of these girls had a face that would make "a dog's breakfast" look attractive, but EVEN IF I was seriously trying to get a picture of you for the internet to sell, don't you think that you'd have to be NAKED FIRST?!?!? Jesus Christ, I think these girls were getting their nails done when God handed out brains. I wanted to slap their mothers for having such stupid children. Honestly...

Even Corinna wanted to "get into the ring" as it were and teach them a few lessons.

Fortunately saner heads prevailed and we went back to the dance floor. Bon Jovi was requested, and played, and me and Cori decided to leave thereafter because, really, how can you top Bon Jovi? As Cori and I got into the cab I felt bad because I was leaving Val and her sister to the leacherous men in the bar...meaning my friends.

But given that I haven't heard of any of them (yet) being changed with sexual harrassment, I would guess they got home alright...


Once again, if you didn't come out then you missed a great time. (This is, specifically, directed to Sophie...) Til the next time,

Dave

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 8:34 p.m. 0 comments