Best Night Ever: the Recap

Left Hook’s birthday night at Youpers!

We started at 9. There were various friends, and Lefty scarfed a whole thing of pad see yew, and it was lovely. But before long, things were reduced to inevitable essences: Lefty and Pistol and the Inspector, shoulder-to-shoulder at the far curve of the bar.

Pistol Whip to Bartender: Do people always tell you you look like David Berman?
Bartender [incredulous] to Pistol Whip: David Bowie???

Maybe you had to be there, but… HA!

Your comely Mirrors decided to have their pictures made, photobooth-style. But what will we do in them??? wondered we. Everything happens so fast once you put your money in.

(That’s what he said!)

Inspector Corset: Here, I’ll make storyboards.

She drew for some time, then fanned out four napkins.

#1 said BJ prep.

Left Hook: Prep? What?
Pistol Whip: What IS that?
Corset demonstrated.
Lefty: There is no way I’m doing that.
Pistol: Me neither.

#2 said Hark, a stag!

Lefty: Okay, that’s better.
We practiced: flat hand at forehead, expectant eyes, gasp. Pretty frickin cute.

#3 said BOO-HOO!

Pistol: I can definitely do that!

[What was #4???]

We went behind the curtain. That bulb kept flashing away, so we added a few:

Jazz hands!
Chokehold fuckface!
Mug shot!
Finger-down-throat!

Lefty to Bartender: I want something special for my birthday. A shot. Like a special milky birthday shot.
Bartender: Milky?
Lefty: Like dessert? [To Pistol] Remember that shot Rangy made us? That milky girly delicious dessert shot?
Pistol: Dude made you an extra-special milky delicious shot, that’s for sure. Hahahahaha. [Actually I didn’t say that. Shoulda!]
Pistol: That shit was caloric.
Lefty: I need calories.
Pistol: She does!
[Private note to Left Hook: SKINNY SPINNER BITCH.]
So Mr. B’tender made a shot, but it was clearish. It was the one where before you swallow it, you bite down on the sugar-encrusted lemon slice and it tastes like chocolate cake.
Pistol: That was amazing. That was magic! Are you magic?
He began to list the ingredients.
Pistol: God! STOP IT. I don’t want to know!
Lefty: I love a good directive.
Bartender: Yeah, it’s actually a top-secret recipe. It involves monks, thirteen-year-old boys-
Pistol: I like thirteen-year-old boys! Long as they got skateboards!
Bartender: If I shave my beard I look thirteen. And I have a skateboard.

New favorite bartender!!!

For other reasons, too. Like when I asked him for a glass of water, this is what he brought me:

That might be the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for me. And after I had finished all the fruit, he cut up an orange for us. Class act, yo.

Soon enough, it started with the dudes. Moths to the flame. Each by each, we batted them away. (Mixed metaphor, what what!) There were the cigarette goblins. The Spanish-speaker. The insufferable “sculptor.” The gropey lounge lizard.

Then there was this fucking prick.

Prick: Your friend’s hair is awesome.
Pistol: I know!
Prick: I mean your hair’s all right. Your hair’s nice and everything. Sorry.
Pistol: You don’t have to apologize. We have different hair. It would be weird if we had the same hair. She has amazing hair.
Prick: Sorry. I mean, she has better hair. Sorry.
Pistol: …

Then:
Prick [to Lefty]: Your hair is amazing. Your friends are nice-looking and everything, but their hair is… conservative.
Pistol: Well I’m a lawyer. So I’m really conservative.
Lefty: She works at a bank.
Pistol: I’m a lawyer at a bank.
Lefty: She’s an accountant at a law firm.
Pistol: What time is it? I have to get up early to go into the office.
Lefty: She wears nu-de hose. [The goddamn censors won’t let that word through.]
Prick: Wha?
Lefty and Pistol: NU-DE HOSE.
Pistol: And skirt suits.
Lefty: With pleats.
Pistol: Every day a different skirt suit.
Prick: …

It got late. We had to go.
Bartender: You girls made the night go much faster.
Pistol: Shucks!
Lefty: We think of that as our job.

Indeed.

by Pistol Whip | 29 March 2007 | MFABFF, OTOMG, narcissism | Comments