November 14, 2006

Columns

Drunk of the Week

by Kelly O

Okay, not to get all crime-scene, CSI: Seattle... but WTF? I'm walking by the now-closed church at 16th Avenue East and East Denny Way, when I notice this strange arrangement. There's one empty beer bottle lying on its side, an empty wine bottle in a paper bag, and a single package of cheap turkey deli meat. There's also a PILE OF HAIR... not just any hair, but a fat bunch of wet dreadlocks. At first I thought it was a wig, but after having poked it with a stick, I can't say for sure.

Last week, I asked readers to send in THEIR OWN explanations for this crazy-ass still life. A bunch of them are below. You people are crack-ups!

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Wine before beer never fear, cheap meat and wine before beer.... The whore that bought these cheap ass items from 7-11 got so sick she dropped her snack-pack of rubber turkey and dry heaved a small wet spot at the base of the stairs. Attempting keep his ho clean, her pimp held her hair and gave a firm pat on the back to get it all out. Unfortunately he yanked too hard and ripped all her extensions out. So traumatized by the event she ran away to Alabama eventually starring in a movie with Borat. —Joshua L.

I should’ve never let that old dude borrow my hair. Really, that was a very bad decision. But when you’re leaving a Halloween party downtown to catch the bus and an elderly, emaciated, Asian homeless man asks to borrow your hair – how can a good person say “no?” I really shouldn’t have believed his excuse that he needed it to acquire food for his sick wife who was dying of corn-on-the-toe-itis. But why would someone make that up? His smile even warmed my soul when I saw him enter the grocery nearby, leaving quickly with a beer and a bottle of wine after the sound of gunshots rang through the crisp Fall air. What a nice man. But I really shouldn’t have let him borrow my hair – my roommate’s gonna be pissed. —Erin P.

The picture this week is clearly the work of a disillusioned Rastafarian. Having considered in a particularly existential moment the possibility that there is no Jah, this person promptly forsook his or her sacrament of marijuana for the more obliterating effects of alcohol and lunchmeat, cutting off his/her precious dreadlocks after getting completely shit-housed. —Tom W.

I think I know what happened. The Drunk of the Week column just jumped the shark. —Brian S.

This is not a Big Foot crime scene-these tracks belong to Josefeme. Jo, an old African American client, uses pavement as runway, and found animate or inanimate objects as high couture. The hair is a stolen weave of real or manufactured locks; the turkey is from food bank as she missed dinner; and the bottles, they belong to the winos Jo was trading "jewelry" with. There is no crime, just Jo's evening shedding of apparel. My 1st day of work she had on a shirt that said "I am a woman, motherfucker"; on my 2nd day she came through the cafeteria in full body 'Queen Tut' regalia made out of tin foil. Just a guess. —Social Worker in Belltown

The Case of the Hobo Wager.... She flashed me a bewitching yellowed smile and offered me a sip of her Mad Dog (orange flavor!). She scooted her lithe body closer and wrapped one of my dreds around her delicate, calloused finger. "I just love your hair" she said in a sultry whisper. Can I have it? "I...uh..." I stammered. "Pretty please?" She gazed up at me with puppy eyes. "But it's...my hair..." I feebly argued. She giggled. And that's when things began to go dark and I realized, all too late, that the prettiest girl in the squat had slipped me a damned roofie. —Jessica B.

A Drunk, Homophobic Oral Sex Solicitor’s Lament.... You left me stoned, sitting on sandpaper steps, dreadlock weave in hand, shuddering at the sight of your sack. The wine was meant to calm your nerves prior to turkey insertion, but served to temporarily cool my lust. You left me stoned, sitting on sandpaper steps, dreadlock weave in hand, shuddering at the sight of your sack. The wine was meant to calm your nerves prior to turkey insertion, but served to temporarily cool my lust. —William D.

Beaver shave night @ Deja Vu? —Terry P.

Hey Mon! Thems me stuffs! Don’t be pokin' round me stuffs!!! Ya bes' be walkin' easy.... —Matthew T.

I'm no Sherlock Holmes or anything, but in this little situation, I could only predict that the drunken hippie decided that dread locks were not in any sense "cool" and while chugging down the cheap wine and the beer he probably stole from his mother. He then would part with his hippie ways, with his razor blade he probably cut himself with the night before, sawing off his dread locks that probably took 5 years to grow, and eating a week old deli meat. —Dave D.

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?/16th and Denny/Nov. 12/2:05 am: Officer Renchowski reports: "I was called to break up a fight between two severely intoxicated males, but when I arrived neither individual was in sight. A witness, shaking and very drunk herself, provided the fuzzy details: a Rastafarian and Native American at a bus stop; the Rastafarian pulled out a small package of turkey and mumbled something about Thanksgiving and said 'thanks for the land, sucka.' The Native, in turn, pulled out a machete and quickly scalped the Rastafarian, said 'thanks for the hair, sucka,' and ran." —Larsdogg

I'm not sure where the beer bottle came from, but it all started with some honey mead and Manowar's "Into Glory Ride". Feeling the realities of the recent election and inspired by the song "Gates of Valhalla" - I grabbed some provisions and embarked on my journey from the shores of Madison Park to make my glorious return to church after a 3 year absence and repent for the sins of our country. When I discovered it was closed, I did what any God-fearing man would do - I ran like hell. —DJ Bradass

Isn't that your nasty old Rick James wig from last Halloween? I'm assuming it was you and you got it on with some really hot street person after a night of M-Mark.... I think you went back out on the streets to find it your camera you thought you lost, while wearing your Rick James wig and then started talking to this street person.... You felt bad got him a $2.50 cent 40oz and thought it would be only polite if you drank your $20 wine out of a paper bag, just so he would feel more comfortable. Then you really got it on and the wig just came off.... you should go look in your closet.... Just face it your days of Pita pockets attached to your ass are over, your frying bigger fish now. —Nicole C.

I put on my Bob Marley shirt and dreadlock wig and went to church. I picked up an empty bottle of wine wrapped in a paper bag to fit in. Got to the steps and sat down. Frat boys came by minutes later. They invited me back to their place to smoke a blunt. I said no, but they gave me a beer. Even though it tasted horrible I drank it. Not long after I gagged on that last sip the frat boys were back. This time with a few sexy yet underprivileged looking girls and asked me when the last time I got laid was. When I told then never, they beat me up. I woke up to a man urinating next to me and crawled home. Thank you for finding my wig. When can I come pick it up? —Steve B.

Went to church. The door is locked. Jesus had tight lips. Went home. Grabbed the last beer. put on my dreadlock wig hoping to find Jah. Got some wine. Went back to church. Maybe now Jesus will let me in. nope. The stairs. And went to hell. —stbar123

Jamaicans. Jamaicans new to the country mistakenly taking last Thursday for Thanksgiving in a fervor of assimilation take their few funds and do what they know Americans do on thanksgiving. Jamaicans bought the turkey package and bought the liquor and set off to experience their first authentic thanksgiving. Wandering through the streets of Capitol Hill in a drunken stupor in some fashion or another the come to find that they have in fact jumped the gun on their first ever thanksgiving and fall into woe. They feel stupid and ashamed and most importantly, a sting of failure at assimilation. They drink more and in a powerful symbolic gesture remove their dreadlocks, signaling their full commitment to America and assimilation. Good luck on Thursday Jamaicans. —Oliver L.