Hush

Art Class Revisited

"I've already had four beers..."

-Matt Eckert

I'd like to start off by congratulating the Deadly Cobra Art King team on their recent victory over the Fosterfarmers, or whatever.
Way to go.
I'm sorry that I could not make the game, but I was seriously hung over from the night before.
Why hung over? Well, I'll tell you. I had planned on sleeping with this one girl, and she was all for it, so I just kept drinking and waiting for her to be ready to go. Nine beers later and she decides that she needs to help her friend get rid of some troglodyte bouncer. But, rest assured, I got her number....which I will never call.
Such is life? Right?
Right.
Upon waking I realized that in the condition I was in I would not have been able to tolerate an unwanted stranger in my bed anyway. This has happened many a time.
The most famous encounter was the huge Robin Quivers lookalike that I took home one fateful May evening in 2000. The Lord has no mercy for drunks after a certain number of drinks and I am no exception. The spectacle of waking up next to a beached whale after a night of ugly sex is something that no man should tolerate.
It took an hour to finally get her on her way because of a "pressing appointment" I had. That appointment being, a trip to the toilet with some ipecac.
But, I was smart. The large beef-pot asked for my number and I gave her the correct one. Why? You may ask? Well, one thing I know about heffers: they are quite defensive, and sure enough, she called for directions home within minutes. Now, if I had given her a phony number, I would have had King Kong Undies on my doorstep within minutes looking for blood.
On the bad side, I couldn't answer the phone for a few months, but Scott was good enough to tell the Zeppelin that I had moved out and joined the circus...which isn't too far from the truth, that circus being a cavalcade of Canadian fun.
But, that's another story.
My point is, one night stands on the other side of booze goggles is a bad idea for anyone.
Just ask all the women who have gone home with me.
Therefore, I was unable to play in the game, and that may have been a boon to the victorious team.
We'll let God decide.
But, back to Art class.
I had decided to get thick into beer before I went to class. My reasons being, I had the day off and soap operas are intolerable under any means of sobriety. Therefore, I had a good four before class.
My irresponsible sister did not attend class and all I can say is nuts to you.
You missed out on Armondos. But, we'll get to that later.
Class went pretty much on par and I found that the barley and the hops helped develop my art in ways that mere encouragement could not.
But, the shading, cross hatching and stippling still suck. Yes, I was made to draw more cubes, cones, and what-have-you again. I felt like a retard in a physics class as Adam, Corina, and Kristen produced pyramids that could almost be picked up with their stark, contrasting stipple crap.
Stippling – who needs it. Van Gogh didn't stipple shit. But, oh well.
Soon, we were made to draw teddy bears resting on their lazy asses among Italian restaurant backgrounds. This became too surreal for me and I quickly began drawing Ed Asner naked among aboriginal women.
The instructor commented "Very profound."
And maybe it was.
Who knows or cares, the point is that teddy bears have no place in my repertoire, no, we will leave them to the likes of Adam who is quite a dandy with the stuffed animals I hear.
Later, we left Art for beers and pizza.
Armondo's is a fine establishment, so much so that I felt odd ordering a domestic beer, but seeing as how I would HAVE TO PAY FOR KRISTEN AND CORINA, domestic was the only way to go.
Adam ordered some Mirrorball beer, while Corina got the wine that came in a stein. By the end of the night we had to walk her out on a leash. There's nothing good about a bad drunk on a wine binge.
Kristen decided to forgo booze as she had spent the weekend shitting herself in a Taco Bell in Whistler for NO GOOD REASON AT ALL.
Later I would pay the bill, drunk; leaving a 100 dollar tip that I just can't be expected to be good for.
On the way home Corina rear ended my car about nine times and Kristen was hit by a drunk driver and killed.
So much for Karma.
Oh well, Kristen lived a good life and was a good Christian.
Adam on the other hand can go to hell, he only let me mooch one piece of pizza and I saw the sting in his eye over just that.
But, Adam is a heathen and prays to Roman Gods of old, and Jesus never liked that.
Jesus was big on carpentry and donations to evangelists. Jesus said once that he'd kill Jerry Falwell if he didn't come up with a million dollars – or was that God, wait, same thing, right? Anyway, Jesus could be quite the gangster when money was involved, and so can Adam when it comes to his pizza.
So, remember, when you vote Republican, make sure you have the money for Jesus and the pizza for Adam, cuz Good Christ, they will both come down on you hard.
Well, Jesus anyway, Adam will just look annoyed.
But, I'm not making any sense again.
But, why should I?
It's April now, and April is a good month to not make sense. This is the month Cobain and Staley died, the month where pot is smoked in extreme quantities on a given day, hour, and minute, and damnit if it isn't the month of Hitler's birthday.
Hitler was a pot head. He lived off herbal remedies for the remainder of his moth-eaten life. He was known to roast bowls as he had anal sex with Hitler youth.
It's true, and Michael Jackson has picked up on this and will soon be annexing Poland. If you don't believe me, check out the news; Jackson has been meeting with congress to discuss AIDS relief.
Or so he has said.
But, we know better and the goose-stepping, moonwalking jack boots will soon be at our doors with no mercy for you, me, or Keith Anderson.
Keith knew how to handle Nazis and that goes without saying.
Keith earnestly took care of one Angel McCall on the KR website, as did Kelly, Weisberg and I – yes, all banned from the site for NO GOOD REASON AT ALL.
But, that's what Nazis do, they get mad when you take their pizza, strike down evangelists, and kick people off websites during the Mad, Mad, Mad Season that begins in April.


P.S. I apologize for the lack of posts, but my writing partner has been hospitalized for gingivitis and I have been stone drunk since Thursday.

Try not to remember the Alamo too hard,
Matthew Guza Eckert