|The Story||The Authors|
|Thusly braced with a healthy Kentucky glow the group began the arduous
trek back up the cliff face utilizing the back stairs (cleverly concealed
behind an enormous stack of old Tiger Beats in Davey Jones'
spare storage shed)stopping periodically for more refreshment. By
the time they had reached Old Boar's cave all were pretty looped.|
"Ah do decleh tha theesh is the finesh time Ah's haid since las' Duhby Tahm." Old Boar stated before passing out.
When consciousness reclaimed Roger he found himself already far
far away from the Old Boar's lair. He was also very very hungover.
It felt like the inside of his skull had been lined with sandpaper
and even the act of blinking(once he'd pried his eyelids free from
the crust) was enough to cause the quivering jelly like mass of his
brain tissue to chafe against it. His mouth tasted like he'd been
licking the pot in which they make stamp glue and his entire left
leg was asleep from where he'd lain strewn in the dust of the cavern
floor. With as little effort as he could exert he tried to remember
how he'd come to be here.
Hands trembling with a case of the dreaded hangovericum tremens,
stomach churning with the whirly nose of the bourbon, and even the
little interior voice of his conscience (which was then in the process
of writing "I Will Never Drink Again" seventeen thousand times on
the endless blackboard of Roger's guilt) had to admit that hair-o'-the-dawg
was the only way he brought the thermos to his lips but stopped,
suddenly remembering a song: |
Coincidentally, however, his off-key rendition of the old standard
was cut short at exactly the same point where Steve Martin's rendition
of it was cut short in The Jerk for it was at that moment
that Anita stormed into the cave, tripped over the snoring, pungent
heap comprised of the bodies of Boar, the Cat in the Hat (whose dreams,
even, transpired solely in AABB rhyme schemes), and Things One and
Two, and hurtled toward Roger. He caught her; he lost the bourbon
in the process, it's true, but he did catch her; "Roger?" she gasped,
astonished, catching her first whiff of the distillery he'd become;
he watched the last of the spilled bourbon dribbling away into a
crack in the cave floor; he sniffled; he tried to bring her face
into focus through his hangover, but failed blearily, closed his
eyes, and heaved a sigh.
|But still, he tried to listen. She spoke of lost love; a transgression in New York, that started as a simple kiss, then turned passionate, heated, from like, to lust, to love! Was he hearing correctly? The marriage was off? She was leaving him, never to return? What a cruel day this had turned out to be. Where did that bourbon go? Maybe there was a small sip left on the cave floor. He searched . . . in vain.|