I guess thats just the way of the jungle
2008-12-02, 1:06 p.m.

a friend in need is a friend indeed....but a friend with weed is better...

I suppose if I just start writing I can keep going. Kind of like what everyone does in this world. If I pretend to be able to write...and I just start writing, then I guess that makes me a writer. But man, faking it till you make it pisses me off. If I am what I pretend to be then oh well, fuck it, at least I am something. Nothing is worse than being nothing. All it takes to be nothing is to do nothing. So since I am just sitting here on a Tuesday afternoon staring at the wall, I suppose Ill be a writer. If you don't like what I write then you are a phony. Big fuckin' phony. You like that kind of pressure dont you?

When you are in the depths of an alcohol binge nothing will speak reason to your fists. They just go right a long swinging. They pretend to be on your side but don't let them fool you, your fists have their own agenda. One day I was chillin out with some cool cats and my fists decided it was time to get some shit done. Funny how they dont want to get shit done when Im sober...but thats another story. So here I am chillin with some cool cats, completely inebriated, we had just finished drinking a liter of complete madness followed by several trips to the keg. These were not just any normal dudes I was with, they had their own fists with their own agenda. I dont remember how many of them there were, but I remember how many it felt like there was- seven thousand. When your fists piss off seven thousand other fists, its time to get the fuck out of dodge. So yeah, funny story. One time I was at this party in Boulder. Faggy party at best. Same old Boulder story, Noel was drunker than a stock broker, attempting his very best to throw up all over a blatantly random chicks tits. Some dude in a pink shirt was giving stern looks in our direction, throwing lion glares through the fire. Then he started throwing his shoulder into everyone that walked by, some sort of domination thing small men do that I will never understand. Bad idea guy. There must have been five or six elephants there with me that would have loved to get on the same page with their fists if something started to pop off. I call them elephants not because of their size, but because man, they will stampede your ass. To top it off this lion cub was only like five foot seven at best. He may have had what looked like some ferocious beasts around him, but if I know one thing about Boulder its that most of those guys are a bunch of frat boy pussies. We send in drunk Noel as bait for the cub. The hair on everyones back shoots up, animal instinct takes over, everyone is ready for seven thousand fists to make their mark. Noel went from drunk to pick a fight drunk in the wink of an eye. Pick a fight drunk Noel could be dangerous, because I dont think he has ever really been in a fight. I wasn't worried though because an elephant that has never trampled before can still trample. Animal instinct. So anyways, Noel pushes up stairs, past the flamingos, I remember him telling one of them to "shut the fuck up you dumb slut", she cawed some nonsense bird talk back in his closed ear, and he continued the mission to find the lion cub. There he was...perched at the top of the stairwell. Noel wasted no time and slurred out the question "is thiii---is him?" The collective nod from me and others sent Noel into the fire. He attempted to nudge lion cub to get his fists attention. Turns out the lion cubs fists are pussies. Noel tried and tried and tried. He shoved, pushed, taunted. Nothing. Pussy. The hair laid down on our backs, it seemed like the way of the jungle was averted. That was right about the time shit hit the fan. This time I wouldn't need my fists. I went from drunk to pissed the fuck off drunk faster than Noel. My flamingo lady came up and had a hurt look on her face. Did someone hit her? IF that was the case it was time to summons the spirit of the earth all over some dude. She wouldn't tell me what happened because she knew my fists had a mind of their own. I found out what happened. It wasn't as serious as I had first thought but that didn't matter now, I was already in alert hunting mode. I learned some guy called her and her friends "stupid bitches" and then threw a beer box at my girls head. It all happened way too fast. Hair stood up. Fists clinched. I walked up to this baboon, he had his cell phone clinched to his ear, oblivious to my anger. I grabbed the beer box and without thinking (which is often the case with me) I threw it at his head to get his attention. I followed up by asking him " Who the FUCK do you think you are?" He was a baboon. I am a mother fucking fire breathing elephant. The crafty Boulder guy decided to look at me and then roll his eyes - effectively ignoring my anger. But that was when my fists decided to join the fight. They can't stand to see me being ignored. Did they punch? No. They are sometimes smarter than that. They are not the biggest fans of punching unsuspecting monkeys. It didn't require much thought on my part. The red cup filled with beer was already being grabbed by my left hand before I noticed what was going on. This was going to hurt the baboon. I knew it was. It was going to hurt worse than any punch would have. It was going to damage his pride. In the jungle, pride is sacred. I threw a hundred mile an hour fastball right square in his face. It sent beer everywhere. It was the point at the party when the DJ stops the music and everyone looks to see what was happening. It turns out the baboon wasn't a baboon at all. He was a silver-back gorilla. He stood up beating his chest with all the roar in the jungle. He ran up to me. I didnt even flinch. I was ready for his billy clubs to throw a punch. I was more than ready. He roar was mighty and almost scary. His sharp teeth ready to sink into its prey. Roaring. Drool almost like acid raindrops falling from the corners of his palate. Scary. The thing about these Boulder animals though is that they are nothing but a bunch of roaring pussies. I should have known the Gorilla had friends though. They were half trying to calm him down, half trying to join him in the fight. At this point the monkeys were making a huge racket, swinging from tree to tree. The flamingos were scared ... making their bird noises ... and began to hide behind the elephants who were stomping their feet and honking through their mighty trunks. All the lions and tigers and bears caught wind and made their way to all the commotion. They are either scavengers or they prey on the weak. There I was. He was mad. I was alert. Once again right as it hit the climax and all seventy thousand fists were ready to take off, my fire was extinguished. My girl grabbed me from the back (even the strongest elephants have a weakness) and pulled me out the front door. The wild animals gave chase. It was dark outside. It was cold outside. This is the perfect environment for the lions to make a kill. I was scared. I was being surrounded. Scavengers. Much to the chagrin of these Boulder cats a taxi cab pulled up. I was pulled into the cab and the door was shut. The cabbie peeled off. Behind us all the cold, unforgiving jungle animals stirred into a ruckus. So yeah. Thats the story of that one night. The end? Well I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't let you know that my girl and I went back and fucked like animals all night.

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