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My mind's telling me no... But my body...my body, is telling me yeah!

The following story that I am about to relay will be useless to you unless you understand what I did leading into last night. Briefly -- got hammered at a bowling alley on the Friday night (only one out of my group to do so, btw). Then I woke up at a god awful hour to help Cori's friends move houses for 3+ hours (read: heavy lifting for this "office guy") and then spent 1 hour in the blazing sun practicing slow pitch.

So I'm picking out mags for my car. You know...shiny wheels that are ridiculously priced? I go to the Kal Tire to price 'em out and have to wait in line behind this young kid -- all of 20, I'd guess -- who adamantly declared that he wanted spinners. For his 1986 Dodge Ares, no doubt. Now...you know me...I don't judge people. (Er...much, at least....er, who the fuck am I kidding?)

The kid was a loser.

From the tips of his ratty Nike airwalks that were so "in style" when I was so "in highschool" all the way up his L.A. Lakers jersey - with ridiculously ornamental chain and pendant -- up to the beak of his hat that hanged sideways off of his head. It was at that moment that I realize -- I can NEVER buy spinners for anything I ever drive for as long as I live. Once I have a little bit of an idea of how much my bank balance will be set back -- ...guess Cori won't be getting that one karat ring she's had her eye on...ZING!! -- I rush home to email my compadres to let them help me pick out which wheels I should purchase.

I breathlessly await their reply's like a 35 year old women waits for the results of her invetro fertilization tests.

It is during this interlude that I learn that we are going to be drinking that night. At Patty's. Stat. Now...Cori's gone to Hot Randi's (TM) stagette and I have the house to myself. I have to remain sober as I'm her DD. Evil Banchu is coming up next week and wants to drink everyday, and I have that one-week course coming up that requires me to have all my homework done ahead of time. I'm tired as all hell and both my arms and my back are real sore. I should just stay home.

I'll be there in 5 minutes...

Along the way I pick up Chad and Robin from the condo. It is a mess...you know, like a hurricane blew threw it due to all the packing that's going on. One of Chad's sex toys -- a plastic (and disturbingly realistic) cock shaped water gun -- makes it into the car along with us. After we blow that popsicle stand, we run out to Val's to pick her up. By this time, it's fairly dark outside so naturally I have my neon on. I roll up to the door...invite myself in...and shoot the shit with Val's bro who was suitably impressed with the neon purple glow emanating from the underbelly of my car. I bite my lip so as to not yell out "BAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMM" like they do in the pop tarts commercial.

(BTW...I can't find those damn commericals on the 'net ANYWHERE).

I make the second biggest mistake of my life and try to get to Patty's by staying on Whyte Ave. We move slower than the old people with walkers in the Supermarket. But at least I'm getting a lot of stares at the car...and then I realize it's only because Chad has the cock water gun pointing out through the sunroof. I thank whatever god it is that watches over me that Val had AT LEAST met Chad just two days before... I mean, I love Chad and all...but to see him playing with a plastic cock and giggling wildly like a little school girl is a little much, even for me.

Robin and Val threaten to stand up through the sunroof and flash passer bys.
Uh...ladies..."threatening" to show boobs really isn't all that threatening to me...

Finally we DO get to mi amigo's place and the horde start drinking with reckless abandon. We are watching the smash BBC hit "the Office", look at a little Play Boar (for those that don't know...think Play Boy...with Pigs...and no, I'm NOT lying)...you know, the usual. In no time at all Crystal and Cory Bergeron show up. Patty discovers that Willie Nelson is going to be playing Saskatoon. Are the two incidents related by coincidence? I think not... After Patty drops $136 boners on a pair of tickets -- he doesn't have anyone to go with him yet -- he decides to play a few choice Willie Nelson songs on the stereo. Within seconds, Crystal begins to complain and beak about the song selection. I point this out ONLY 'cause it will be relevant later on.

Somehow we get on the topic of the various street vendors on Whyte Ave. Cory listens in awe to the tales of "Push-Up Man", "Stompey", and others. Cory then announces how much he'd like to see said persons. I point this out ONLY 'cause it will be relevant later on. (Hello...hello...hello. Is there an echo in here...here...here...???)

Eventually, we decide that although the Ave. is packed, we should go anyways. We all pile into two vehicles and roll out. First stop is Hudson's Canadian Taphouse and we are NOT going to get in.

While we are trying to figure out what to do next...guess who should arrive but PUSH UP MAN!!!! We pay him...uh...$5 to do 30 one-armed pushups and the dude does them on the spot! As he is counting them off, this chick in a really short jean skirt bends over, hikes the skirt even higher, and emulates the up and down motion of a particularly kinky sex position in the same rhythm as Push Up Man is doing his feat of strength. Naturally, it was awesome (uh...the girl in the skirt, that is).

We have little to no appetite to wait in the line-up at Hudson's, so we walk down the Ave.

1. We pass this dude strumming a guitar wearing a Darth Vader Mask. I have an urge to whimper, "Father...???"

2. We pass by this crazy person asking us for our pocket change so that he can buy a pair of fake breasts, since that was the only way anyone was going to respect him. Patty yelled back that his dog didn't need 'em....

3. We wait in line to get into the Black Dog where Patty throws a hellacious "hip check" on this girl celebrating her birthday. But it was a bit too hard and she would up getting a cigarette burn mark on her pants. Patty felt real bad...so, to make up for it, she made him kiss the burn. Patty bends down and this chick takes his head and jams it into her legs...rubs his face around a bit... DAMN this chick knew what she wanted for her birthday! I think that Patty got rug burn on his top lip!

But Patty...really...first you yell at a homeless person and then you hip check a girl on her birthday?!?! Did I ever mention what an ass that Patty is?

Black Dog blew ass so we get on truckin'. Somehow, someone convinced the group to head to the One * VAL!!! *. Along they way, who should we run into at the Army and Navy? STOMPEY!!!! Sweet sassy molassey -- all of Cory Bergeron's dreams are coming true! Stompey stomps us a tune as he plays his guitar but eventually we get to the One.

The One is surprisingly packed. Shots and more rounds of booze are purchased. Houle lights up a fat cigar...oh my...Party Dave "a.k.a. DUFFMAN" really wants to come out... To make matters worse, Val and I are a drinking team ... and as we all know, there is no I in TEAM, but there IS in DRINKING!

So, not unlike a 16-year old teenager who's got blue balls, I have to relieve myself of the immediate situation facing me. I go for long walks around the club, amazed at how invisible a sober person can be in a night club full of drunken asses. Even my own friends barely notice I'm gone -- my shrink calls it "abandonment" -- but I do get to see some interesting sights and scenes, namely all the girls at the One who are now forced to wear corsets.

Sob...Val...why did you quit?

I hook back up with the group which had split into two groups. On the one hand, you had Patty, Val, and Houle literally joined at the hip at the bar drinking shots hand over fist. On the other hand, you have Chadwick et al drinking booze hand over fist, eying up the dance floor. At that exact moment, there is a chick dancing on the speakers. And Chad gets an idea.

You see...there are two types of girls that should dance that those that should NOT. Lets just say that Shamu the Whale was in the latter category. Chad's idea is to go dance with her. He wants me to come. As in, dance with her on the speaker. Do I hear my new theme song? My mind is telling me no...but my body, my body is telling me yeah!

Thank Jeebus I was stone cold sober or else I would have made the BIGGEST mistake of my life.

But we did want to dance...so there we were, 5 dudes and Robin dancing. Sigh...nothing like the good ol' times! Finally the three amigo's (Jon, Patty, Val) decide to join us, at which point Val informs me that she requested my song. That's right..."Call on Me" by Eric Prydz.

I tell her that she is crazy if she thinks that I'm going to ring the demon bell without being drunk. But when the song starts, well, lets just say that my mind was telling me no...but my body, my body was telling me YEAH! Thankfully, I was able to resist.

Shortly thereafter a gang fight (!) breaks out not more than 2 feet away from my body. Patty yells out to me to get the fuck outta there -- did I ever mention what a great guy that Patty is? -- and we explode out of the club into the cool night air quicker than the first orgasm of the day on a gang-bang porno set.

As we walk home, Kunal and Crystal get a ticket for starting to cross a crosswalk when the flashing hand is going. Even though we ALL know that they NEVER lip off to ANYONE ( * end heavy sarcasm * ), they both get a ticket. I wonder if beaking to the cops had anything to do with it? Kunal...you should have just offered to suck his cock. I've heard that it works like a charm each and every time.

Timing things PERFECTLY, my tipsy wife calls and we shove 5 bodies into my car. How...I'll never know. Hot Randi (TM) sticks her head into my car. I know that she knows who I am...hell, even says my name...but I'm not sure a lot of the conversation was registering. God, I've been there on my own stag...!!!

Wow...I've gotta wrap this up here. If only my stamina in bed was a great as my stamina for sitting at a comp. typing out these blog entries for an hour straight?

We go back to Patty's 'cause Cori and Val still wanna par-tay. People seem to crash (secretly, I'm cheering like a Roman watching a lion maul a slave in the Coliseum)...and I start the process of driving people home 'cause I'm tired! Well...the night air must have given the little group their tenth wind...because next thing I know we are partying at my house. The logic being that this way, I can drink too.

Only problem is that I've been up for nearly 24 hours and would just be starting to drink...whereas I'm convinced that Cori/Val/Houle will pass out any second. Luckily, I do manage to convince them that I should drive them home and that its NOT an imposistion. Geez...you tell people that you'll be their DD for a night and they don't believe you!

We get back and Cori announces that she isn't tired -- DING DONG, ga ga ga goo, hubba hubba -- instead of what I'm thinking, however, she asks for a massage (damn....). Within 20 minutes of me starting, she's passed out sleeping. Yes...my hands ARE that good.

You'll have to ask me for a demonstration some time. Unless you're a guy...'cause that would be gay. But ladies...give me a call...

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 4:59 p.m.