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The Guide to Being a Fuck Stick

"The Hero Who Curls Always Gets the Girl" is a line that rings near and dear to my heart. Really, combining a sport where you throw rocks down ice and copious drinking and yelling is a recipe for disaster, and as such, it has always attracted the shitheads of society. Because of this, my friends and I were thrilled at the prospect of drinking at the Edmonton Brier Patch.

Now, I have been near death with SARS since last weekend's drinking binge until 5:30 AM. Maybe I caught something from one of the random girls who tongue-fucked my tonsils at Cook County, but it was pretty bad. By Friday, it had turned into a sinus cold where the only outlet for all the snot and puss were my eyeballs. Yes, I was a walking, talking, dripping snot-rag, but drinking was on my mind. Buying a case of Pil, I rolled over to Wigmore's at 6:30 PM, snotty-eye be damned. Keep my disease in mind, as it plays a major role in the climax of this little tale (tail?).

I was on my sixth beer when Houle, Muley, Robin, Chad, and Jody rolled in, an hour and a half late. I was actually pleased that I had been able to drink so much before their arrival, as it made their presence just that more palatable. It made the requisite "Moose is gay/Moose is an idiot/Moose is ugly/Moose is a huge douche/Moose should fuck himself more/Moose only deserves cougars/" talk a bit easier to take, as I could drift off into my booze induced fantasy world where such stains don't exist. Ahhh, beer-what can't you do?

In terms of partying, Paddy's place was fun, but it wasn't remarkable by our standards. The drinking games were brought out, a billion beers were slaughtered, the token female was offended but pretended she wasn't, and Jody and I acted overtly homosexual. A couple of munts here, a tag-team ass shot there- it was the same old stuff that I've come to expect and love from myself and my group of friends over the many years of doing our shit (indeed, the tag-team ass shot was pretty beautiful, and whoever are the owners of those amazing shitters should spread the picture around the world. It’s just that hot!) And after a ridiculous amount of beer that would have kept most people at home, we decided to LRT it over to the Northland's Sportex for the Brier Patch Beer Gardens.

The ride over on the train was fun, for several reasons. It was during the trip that I learned that Val and Vanessa thought that I had a cocaine addiction, because, as they apparently said, I was "twitchy and moved fast". Muley, bless his heart, didn't want to tell me, as he was worried it would hurt my feelings. Jon Houle, on the other hand, had the biggest shit-eating grin in the world when he told me, further solidifying his role as Captain Asshole in my heart. In regards to the whole cocaine addiction thing, it is appropriate that Muley would introduce two new friends into the group who would have this opinion. It's just a couple more nuggets added to the pile of shit that I like to call my friends.

Keeping with this theme, we were able to convince random people on the LRT that Houle was on the Canadian National Ski Team. By calling him down for failing to make the Olympics in 2002 for a simple mistake, we gave the entire story credibility. Our group has the asshole-friend routine down to a fine art, where it makes any tale believable and convincing. Yes, by the end of the ride, Houle was fake-angry with us for making fun of his failure, and we had about ten people seriously believing that Jon was a potential Olympian. Ohh, if they only knew...

We got to the Brier Patch, and I was beginning to sober up, so I made a bee-line to the beer gardens. I immediately buy two beers, and begin killing my body with alcohol again. Because I have lived in Edmonton for too many years, I soon ran into people I knew. A couple of members of my team that are going to Tanzania with me this summer found me. They were female, so the pickle-party soon rolled on dubs. Because we are all walking jackals, the women were soon surrounded by a herd of pissed-up drunk guys, all trying to get their attention at once. We scared them, and the Sunday afternoon meeting will be all the more fun now. Yes, yes, I love awkward situations.

Flash-forward to the dance floor, and Muley cons this one girl into talking to me for awhile. She was drunk and not attractive, so she was in my league. Ashley was her name, though it wouldn't really matter. Her hand on my ass was nice, but her telling me that she had a boyfriend wasn't too cool. Regardless, I decided to suck it up, as in the time that she went from groping my can to telling me about her boyfriend Clint (or Cunt, or Fuck Stick, or something along those lines), SCABS was moving in for the kill with her friend Pam. Jody, seeing what was going down, also takes a bullet for the team, and dances with another girl in the group who apparently thought that JDB was her cousin. Deliverance and dueling banjos came to mind as I watched poor Jables take one for a friend. I lose SCABS in the crowd of girls who had panty soup over Brad Johnner, and try to have a conversation with Ashley:

"So, do you like....stuff?" I ask, being as charming as ever.

"Yes...You know I have a boyfriend, right?" Ashley replied.

"Yes...What's the point? I was just asking if you liked stuff?" I said.

"Okay, well yeah! Yeah, I like stuff!" she said, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the cheek. As old as I get, I know that I will never, ever understand the logic of a woman.

While the younger members of the group, Jody, SCABS, and myself were fighting off attack from the Deliverance Girl, Ashley, and Pam, apparently the elder statesmen of the group, Jon Houle and Muley were causing a bit of shit on their own, further proving that people do not get better with age. After talking with Muley over email, this is the impression that I got of what went down:

Houle, with a boner for Emerson Drive, pushed his way to the front of the stage. In the process, he pissed off a gaggle of cougars, who were seriously considering tearing him a new one. To appease them, Muley apologized on behalf of the “Canadian Olympic Skiing Association”. They bought this load of horse shit, and immediately fell in love with Dave for being so nice in diffusing the situation. They were all over ol’ married Muley, to the point where he was getting a bit uncomfortable.

The concert ends at 12:30 AM, so instead of being responsible and calling it a night, the group rolls on over to the Stonehouse, with Ashley, her friend Pam, and the Deliverance Girl in tow. Again, the Stonehouse was busy with hot women, and again, Jody and I did all we could to impress them by dancing like homosexuals with each other. Strangely, they weren't impressed. Muley’s cougars, however, were impressed, as they continued their love affair with him outside the bar by insisting that he pose in a picture with them. As the flash was going off, one of the cougars on Muley’s lap said, and I shit you not, “I hope my husband doesn’t see this picture!”. Muley, you fucking home-wrecker!

Soon, we were all too drunk, and we finally realized that it was time to go home. SCABS was doing amazing with Pam at this point, so I thought that it would be good if Jody and I went back with him and the rest of the girls to run some shake-n-bake, cock-block style. We hop in this van cab, and the women started being belligerent to the foreigner who was playing the role as our cabbie for the evening. Maybe they aren't so bad after all...

The girls lived in HUB Mall. Those apartments are small, much too small for three pissed up guys. It is at this time that Jody and I pull out some of the Old Magic, circa 2002-2003. It was rather remarkable, as we were talking about bringing back the thunder earlier in the night. The topic of sex came up:

"I give rim jobs to my boyfriend all the time," Ashley said.

"Oh yeah? Do you ever get corn in your mouth?," Jody said.

"That's sick!" Ashley said.

"As for myself, I'm a terrible lay," I said for no apparent reason.

"That's not something that you should brag about," Ashley said.

"Giving rim jobs isn't something you should brag about," Jody said with an expressionless face.

The room went silent, save for me busting a nut laughing. "The guy in the red hoodie should go," Ashley said, referring to Jody.

"Fuck it, let's roll Moose," Jody said.

"You're right. My pink eye is acting up (it’s not pink eye, but it suited the moment). Ladies, it's been a pleasure. Hopefully, we can all do it again sometime. SCABS, enjoy your evening," I said as I walked out of their place. The last thing I heard coming from the apartment was "I kissed a guy on the cheek who has pink eye????!!!!".

Flawless victory.

Post-mortem:

SCABS never did end up screwing Pam, and he somehow lost his wallet. Jon Houle unfortunately survived the evening, and Muley ended up being liquored to all get out, and yet nothing bad happened. But of utmost importance, Jody and I regained our titles of being Douches Supremes. A simple night of curling and drinking provided so much.

Moose

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 2:40 p.m.