was centred in the tiny hamlet of Huntington and the den of iniquity that is Logan Josh's house. In order to celebrate his shuffling ungraciously another year towards the inevitability of death, Josh threw a 'party'. A 'party' in the loosest of possible descriptions. This was a homage to the Great Man, inasmuch that I am a little man, a little man. I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas...The few were called upon to share this rapturous performance of the epic film Apocalypse Now
. The dress code was 'full retard' and Josh did not disappoint. Mind you, every Saturday is only an excuse for him to 'Black Up' whilst drinking copious amounts of beer and squawking at the TV. This being his birthday party changed that outlook not one bit. There were just more people in his house this time.
They were gonna make me a Major for this, and I wasn't even in their fuckin' army anymore.
Moogdroog came along for the ride up the river and as the theme for dress up was the Vietnam war, decided to go as a victim of napalm bombing. Worried about the lack of taste in the costume choice, I told her 'this is Logan and Mrs Josh. They have NO taste!' Saturday morning was spent discussing the finer details of creating third degree burns with the ladies behind the counter of the Festival of Fun costume shop. Their advice was taken on board and we came up with a suitable look for Moogdroog;
We train young men to drop fire on people, but their commanders won't allow them to write "fuck" on their airplanes because it's obscene!
The party? I recall very little. I remember watching a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor and surviving. The bullshit piled up so fast in Huntington, you needed wings to stay above it. We were surrounded by Pagan idolatry, I used to think if I died in an evil place, then my soul wouldn't be able to make it to Heaven. But now? Fuck! I mean, I don't care where it goes, as long as it ain't there again. Only a mad man would construct a PBR in his front room. The horror, the horror.
Never get off the boat...
Friday was also a similar inebriated experience. I met up with Kirky and Posh Bastard from my stint in Tanzania. They had organised a drink together and had tried to keep it quiet from me, but I found out about it and decided to spoil their fucking fun. I did it in fine style by getting drunk and insulting both of them until they cried like babies, just like in East Africa. After stumbling about town for about an hour I found myself at Moogdroog's house whereupon I battered down the door and argued with her friends about absurd Great War myths
. Again, job well done.
WRONG!!
This week at work, Gevi and I have been encased in a metal panelled fence as we work out the sequences of Roman wells. It's like a breeding pen and we are the subjects of some great experiment to see what is produced when two people are locked up together in terrible conditions for long enough. As the ground workers pass us by we scream 'they don't feed us!' at them, then continue rutting like dogs. One day this dig will be over.
The horror, the horror...
