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You can can count on accountants

I woke up to find my tongue swollen to twice its normal size. The sheets on my bed were on the floor. My breath was raspy, I was sweating like a dog, and my vision was blurry. Was I dying? No. Instead, I have visions of the cougars from the previous night, haunting my dreams and causing me to wake up in a cold stark terror.

And I realized that I will never be rid of them; indeed, they had one of my business cards!! At the time, it was the best that I could do when they were hounding my for my phone number. Oh why, oh why, didn't I have Patty Wigmore's number on the tip of my tongue, since he apparently loves older women anyways?

Now, crack of dawn this wasn't. The way that I figure it, if God wanted us to see sunrises, he would have made them later in the day. I shrugged off the vestiges of my nightmare long enough to throw on some sweats and drag my ass down to the street to relive my "Rocky" fantasy. I must have run for a hour or so and every single step was laborious and torturous. There is nothing harder to do in the world than work out the day after a heavy boozing episode. But if there are going to be pictures of my naked ass floating around on the internet, then a guys gotta do what a guys gotta do! I got back and walked through my door to find the phone ringing.

It was Kunal, mi Mexicano Amigo.

I had 5 minutes before him and Houle were picking me up. Amazingly, and I don't think that I'll ever know exactly how, I made it with time to spare. We headed over to Houle's where we proceeded to start to drink TWO FLATS OF BEER. I cracked open that first can of Kokanee and felt a slow shudder well up from the core of my being. It was uncontrollable, much like the first time you eat liver or when you sleep with a 47 year old woman named Barb (eh Jody?). But what else could I do? After all, Terrorists had taken control of my stomach and were demanding beer as the ransom.

We relived the escapades of the past 24 hours and noticed that Patty was lying conspicuosly silent on the floor. Patty had to play hockey that night, and was beginning the mental preperation necessary in order to uncage the rage on his men's team opponents later that evening. Well, if there is ANYTHING that goes hand-in-hand with drinking, it's amatuer hockey. So we tell Patty that we'll be there with bells on.

And were we ever.

We even made signs! On one side, it read "Patty -- DO TIT". The other side read "YOU CAN CAN COUNT ON ACCOUNTANTS - I'M DRUNK". Yes, I realize what an idiot it made me look like. And okay...so maybe my so-called arts and crafts skills aren't up to the level of Corinna but at least I tried! We had rye and coke and we had beer and, most of all, we had enthusiasm.

At this point, some of the people not accustomed to our little group need a lesson in history. Our floor in residence had a men's hockey team. Now, in every other situation with every other team, nobody (and I do mean nobody) would go and watch the games -- except that our floor did. And being that this was university hockey, and that we were dinks, we used to cat call the other players, refs, and fans.

That tradition, long dormant, can back with such a vengenance that you'd be hard pressed to say that it was ever missing in the first place. Now, to be fair, we mostly just cut down Wigmore. Indeed, at one point in particular, I shouted, "Wigmore...your sister is HOT", just before they dropped the puck for a faceoff. But that's not to say that the other players from the other team didn't get a verbal bitch-slapping. Wow did we ever give them grief...

The problem was that there WERE a few fans of the other team at the rink sitting next to us. It didn't take us long -- and by us, I mean me, since I am the loudest out of our friends -- to piss off the other fans. This one dude, who had to be 50 if he was a day, came "this close" to throwing punches. In one lucid moment, he yelled out, "Hey you drunk assholes, you're drunk and being assholes!!!!".

I was like, uh....yeah?! Do they give out awards for pointing out the obvious?

Now that I had a new target to concentrate on, I proceeded to ask the dude if HE was the reason the Canadian Hockey Association had to put out those "It's Just a Game" commercials. Luckily for me, Jon Houle pulled me back from the edge, reminding me that it just wasn't worth it. Uh...worth what? I was so drunk that by that time I was already forgetting what had made me mad in the first place.

Too soon, the game was over and Patty's team lost 4 - 3. After Chad and Robin finished having sex in the men's bathroom, which may or may have actually happened, we left the arena ahead of the angry mob that would soon be after us with torches and pitchforks.

Lucky for us, the Union Hall is right beside the arena where the game was being played, and just as we were leaving a pub-crawl bus pulled up. COUNT IT! We snuck onto the bus (naturally) but couldn't blend into the crowd which demanded to see our wristbands (necessary for the pub crawl) . All I could think of were two things.

1. SHUT THE FUCK UP! Honestly, who cares that we technically weren't supposed to be on the bus? There was extra space and we were friends with the bus driver. Well, at least, we would be when we tipped her at the end of the ride.

2. Ga-ga-ga-goo. (Think Kokanee commercial here). The "leader of the pub crawl" was this chick that was wearing a bra that was beyond push up. I shit you not that her boobs were levitating! Too bad Moose and/or Jody weren't there, to give me the courage necessary to ask her "If I flip a coin, what do you reckon my chances are of getting head?" Of course, I did NOT say this...if I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, then I'd be dead by now or in a coma.

Once we got dropped off at the Iron Horse, we went our seperate ways. Houle, Scabs, and I went to Hoolio's Barrio for some macho nacho's and a Bulldog (think tequila margerita with a corona stuck upside down in it). I got a cab to Houles and then walked home to sleep for 13 straight hours.

Ugh...tomorrow's Monday. What an absolute waste of 1/7th of your life...

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 6:21 p.m.