Vomit in a glass, please

This past weekend, Canada started its annual seal hunt. Thousands of baby seals will be killed for their white fur. There have even been reports of seals being skinned alive and many celebreties, including Paul McCartney, have spoken out against the cruelties of the hunt. The baby seals are either shot by rifle, which isn’t preferred since it leaves a gaping hole in the skin, or beaten to death with clubs. So naturally, I went clubbing.

I had originally intended to go out solo once again but as I was getting eady I get a call from a friend of mine, who shall remain anonomous to protect the innocent. He reported that he was sitting in a hot tub drinking beer and asked if I was going out. We agreed to meet up later at Royal Night.

An hour or so later I am at the club and meet the chick I have been talking to for the past three or so weekends. We chat for a while until I get a call from my friend, who is now standing in line outside. Once again the line grew quite long (some reports indicated that it was a half hour long) so the trend reported previously seems to be correct.

I walk to the windows and see my friend and two other people I know, who from now on shall be called Mickan and Robbe. My friend comments that my boobs look big through the window and makes some strange tongue movements as he strokes his own chest. Then he notices the chick standing behind me (the one I had been talking to) and tells me to go hit on her. A few minutes later they are inside.

My friend seems to be in a tip-top party mood. Mickan tells us that they have been drinking tequila shots but since they didn’t have any lemon they used chili instead. We head out on the dance floor. After a while my friend disappears. Robbe comments that he can see him over on the other end of the dance floor dancing with some chick. ”Allright, way to go” I think and so I leave him alone as not to spoil his groove.

Skip ahead a few hours. I haven’t seen my friends in a long time. Me and the same chick are hanging out, chatting and drinking cola. Or rather, *I* am drinking cola. She says she can’t stand the stuff :O Anyway, after a while I see Mickan and so I ask her if she’s seen my friend.

”That’s the thing”, she says, ”he’s sitting over there in a chair, passed out...well, he’s not completely passed out because he makes some noises when you poke him”. As it is my duty as a friend to take care of him I head over there to check on his condition. When I get there Robbe says that we probably should get the guy outside because my friend is saying he needs to throw up. We discuss what the best approach would be and graba an arm each. As we lift him out of the chair it is like squeezing a ketchup bottle a bit too hard as the meals of the day make a re-run all over the floor and on his own pants. Luckily it missed my shoes.

Robbe sees a large glass and holds it under my friend’s mouth for a while. The glass gets half full (or half empty if you are a pessimist...I wonder if that analogy applies to these situations...and which is which...). We try to get him to walk but his legs seem to have lost all their strength. He is like the Terminator at the end of the movie where his legs have fallen off and he is dragging himself with his arms accross the floor...but without the killer instinct and metal body..and having the use of ones arms.

Anyway, we manage to get him outside. The door guy thanks us because he doesn’t have to take care of it. We try to get our friend to sit down but he falls over and throws up a bit again, this time it’s yellow. ”Inside it was more pink” I think to myself. Once again I thank my lucky star that it missed my shoes. Hey, they were very expensive! And are my favourites right now!

At this junction I would like to point out that there was still a line outside. Some of the crowd thought it was quite humorous and asked my friend if he wanted a beer at which my friend responded with a line of profanities. Anyway, after a while my friend manages to sit up straight and after a few more minutes he is up and about again and asks if we are going back in or what. We reply that he probably won’t get in anymore tonight. My friend frowns a bit and asks in what condition he was in when he walked outside. I tell him that he didn’t actually walk out. ”Ooh, that’s pretty bad” he replies and continues over to a guy selling hot dogs nearby (which are quite tasty I might add) while proclaiming in a loud voice that he is hungry and wants food.

As he orders a large hot dog with everything on I tell the guy to wait a bit until we find out if my friend has money to pay for it. ”I don’t know”, my friend laughs and digs through his pockets. He comes up with a handfull of change and says ”well, it’s *pretty* close...I see 70 cents here”. I count the money and it is actually 1.10 Euro but still nowhere near enough as the dogs are 3 bucks a piece.

We stand around talking while we wait for the taxi that Robbe has phoned for so my friend will get home. My friend explains that it isn’t his fault that he got sick. It was Robbe who had given him beer and stuff. It was supposed to be a quiet evening for my friend but noooo, Robbe wanted otherwise..Then my friend notices two chicks coming out and shouts ”it’s HER fault...she was so hot I threw up”...The ladies don’t take any notice. A taxi stops by the curb and I go back inside.

The bright side is that I doubt that anyone in line actually saw who we dragged out. His face was facing downwards the whole time and by the time he was active again everyone had gotten inside already. The bouncer has probably seen this kind of stuff all the time. The chick I was talking to commented that she thought my friend seemed ”nice”...but a bit drunk. No harm no faul as they say.

The only person who got a crappy deal was the guy cleaning the floor...and the person cleaning the tables. Mickan had seen her pick up the glass filled with vomit and her reaction as it slowly dawned on her exactly *what* was in the glass.

Oh well, this week we do it all again.