No Matter How Old We Are -- Boys Will Be Boys (Weasil Triumphs In The 'End')

19 June 2011

Story #419

R. Linda:

I apologise ahead of reading this to all who may be sensitive to bare butts and fart jokes, BUT we are talking two drunken Scotsmen and I be not responsible for their behaviour such as it was. I only recorded the facts. Yup. ;-(

I told you Weasil was threatening to stop by and see me. Because of the recent trips, I never got to catch you up on his visit, so here it goes.

Oi! Where to begin? I don't know exactly, but at the beginning, it would be as good a place as any. SO a week ago (or was it more? Seems like yesterday), I be minding me own business, nose in me newspaper, in me very own kitchen, all by me lonesome when this great booming voice flew me to the ceiling. Out of nowhere stood Rabby Kincaid, and worse, his cohort in crime, the Weasil. The same Rabby Kincaid who gave me, me first shot of Laphroaig and almost put me in a brain coma as a result.

I had got me morning coffee in me hand, me newspaper spread nicely on me kitchen table before the shouting started. I had adjusted me paper and was sipping me java while perusing an article on Weinergate. I was content I was. That was until the unexpected voice sounded behind me and I flipped out of me chair, covered in hot joe and wet newsprint. Ee-yah. Just like that. The voice had said,  "Duz yer moothar knaw whutt yer dooin?"

After that explosion of unexpectedness and finding meself on the ground, a wee bit embarrassed, me Mam would not be happy me reading about another man's 'weiner', and feeling like I got caught doing something terrible, I recognised Robby and thought of all people, why is he HERE? I picked meself up because he wasn't helping, and shook his hand in a half-hearted, drippy welcome as Weasil came forward from behind Rabby's ample body. That skinny Weasil looking all weasely and laughing at me misfortune.

"Hyur be, Gobriel?" Rabby asked, not at all interested in me well-being.

"I be well. So Rabby (I pronounced his name like a Scot I did), how are you fairin', man?"

"Wull enuff." He smiled.

"Weasil," I acknowledged to a wave from the lad who was busy pouring two more cups of me precious joe, never mind the dripping mess on the floor. "So, wot brungs ya ta me?" I asked, hoping nothing had.

"Oh, we wouz passin' by an' Weaz suggested we zhow un up tae sea ouw yer aar."

"Well . . ." I said as I dabbed at me wet shirt with a paper towel. Oi, so much for me day of reading me paper on me off day off. We sat down to catch up. "So wot ya bean up ta?" I asked, still wondering why they were at me abode.

"Wull Gabe, I got boooted oout a me job an I'm loouken fer an' oare," Rabby said, cradling the cup in both hands.

"Ya did? Wow." I said, not knowing what to say to that, except I did want to get up and dance around and sing, "What comes around, goes around," but I didn't. You have to understand Rabby be a bully, and from what I heard about him, I was surprised he had a job to begin with. So that he lost it did not come as any big surprise.

"I wuz hoopin' tae take ma mind oofin it ya knaw, so when Chris 'ere suggested we stoop by an sea ya, I knoo tha be just wot I wuz needin'."

Oh boy.

"Well," I said with a shrug, wondering when I got to be the Go-to Guy and WHY. Strangely, the overly chatty Weasil wasn't saying a word, and this silence was becoming unbearable. Only later did I realise Weasil had reached his limits! I know, crazy, huh? But he'd had two days of Rabby and was at the end of his rope.

"Hell Gabe, ya goot zumthin stronga then caffee?" Rabby asked.

I got up and got the scotch and three glasses. Yes, it was 10 a.m. and I was about to start drinking. I poured the amber liquid, and we raised our glasses and took a healthy slug. I left the open bottle on the table. I knew it would be gone and probably wouldn't be the only bottle drunk. Oi. As you can imagine, this drinking got well out of hand. Not only did we polish off three bottles of scotch, but the other two had started on the tequila and then found an old 100-proof Jamaican rum as the pièce de résistance. Oh my God, me head aches to think about it.

The conversation, if you could call it such, turned to women, and well, I was happy it was Friday, and Tonya and the kiddos were not at home. This would never have happened if Tonya had been home, but since she wasn't, the conversation went forward.

"I juoost doon't git ma waife," Weasil started it, "she haz bin tryin' tae change me since she morried me."

"Ya gotta tell 'er she cannae change a man less ee's in nappies!" Rabby expounded.

"Huh?" The inebriated Weasil asked, his body swaying in the chair, his eyes red, his mouth slackly hanging open -- wasn't pretty.

"Nevah let yer mind wanda, it's too wee tae be out aloone all on it's loonesom." Rabby laughed at Weasil, who took exception to being told he had a small wandering mind.

I was looking at both of them (me being the least sodden of the three), with me brows in a straight line across me numb forehead, trying to keep up with the so-called conversation.

"Huh? Wot?" Weasil said as I started laughing. I couldn't help it, it was the look on Weasil's face, he was being bested, but he wasn't sure if he was, but he thought so. For me, two Scottish dudes, drunk and arguing, was a rarity, so I was tuned in.

"I doon't wanna faight wi' ya Weasil, but yer nevah iver shoolda goot morried." Rabby shook his head, then took a slug of the rum. "Ya wanna knaw the definition o' a bachelor?" Rabby asked, not waiting for an answer, "A man who missed the opportunity tae mak sum ooman missserable."

"Nah ha, thatz the definition of a morried man being made miserable by a ooman!" Weasil countered, finger in the air to make his point. "Luv iz blind BUT morriage iz a real eye opener!"

Uh oh, I thought. Here we go.

"Yeah, an' when ya wee darlin' wants a committed mon I say tae tell 'er tae look fur 'em in a mental hospital!" Rabby shouted, laughing so loud me ears hurt.

"Aar ye sayin' Ima mental deficient?" Weasil challenged.

Ooh, I thought, I don't think Rabby was thinking that, but I've always thought that, but I kept me pie-hole shut, I did.

As you can well imagine, this got them into a wee bit of a tiff, it did. I thought they'd start slapping at each other, you know, the limp wrist slapping. I sat there slugging down coffee shots, hoping they wouldn't notice I was filling me shot glass from the coffee pot, not the liquor bottle. They didn't notice. This shouting match had taken on a life of its own and went on for a few minutes with Weasil sort of defending his woman, and Rabby the "bachelor for life" ripping her apart. Finally, I interrupted them with some stupid thing I can't remember what I said about me own apple-cheeked Mam and Da.

"Mi old mootha hadda way tae git ma faatha tae do sumthin he didn't wanna doo, she's tell 'em he whuz too ould tae doo it an' of course that goot 'em tae doo it," Rabby said. "Oomen! Ya cannae troost yer own mootha!"

But Weasil wasn't buying in, he was back at Rabby and now calling attention to the fact that Rabby had a fat arse.

"Are ya both crazy? You're arguing over stupid stuff!" I shouted over the din.

Oi! I got up and left them to drink themselves into oblivion while I went out into the fresh air of me backyard. I sat on me porch steps and rang up the wife to warn her what was occupying her house.

"Well, can't you sober them up and get them out of there before I come home? I don't want our children exposed to those two any more than it is humanly possible," Tonya said.

"I can't in all good faith put them behind the wheel of Weasil's souped-up Mustang to go out and make roadkill."

"Gabe, you never should have offered them the liquor."

OH, so now it was me fault? She knew that if I didn't, Weasil knew where it was and well . . .

"Tonya, I'll do me best," I said, trying to avoid an all-out war with the wife.

I hung up and sighed. I took a last swig of cold coffee and then went back in. Weasil was passed out cold, his head on the table, his chin propping his face up, his arms hanging straight down, and the rest of him leaning forward to put all his weight on his neck and chin. Somehow, I thought that looked painful, but he wasn't feeling a thing. Rabby was stretched back in his chair, head thrown back, mouth wide open, snoring, his arms straight down, with legs stretched out straight. Oi! What to do? I stood there for a minute and started cleaning up the mess, thinking the noise would wake them. No, no such luck. I began to brew a fresh pot of joe in the hopes that once they awoke, I'd ply them with fresh coffee and sober them up.

I sat down, waited, and sighed, and waited. Weas was the first to open his eyes and blink.

"Ya might want to get your chin off the table before your neck gets really stiff," I suggested.

He blinked at me, "Wot?"

Oh God, I thought, he's just too gone. But then he started to move, albeit a bit slow and stiff, but he had himself upright in the chair. Painfully, he began to get himself up and, holding onto the table, shut his eyes as I knew the room must be doing a dizzying spin.

"Don't shake your head whatever ya do," I said, seeing that coming.

"OK," he croaked, opening one eye then the other.

I poured him a large cup of joe and guided him outside, thinking the fresh air might help. I was going to sit him on one of the porch chairs, but he spied me hammock and pointed to it, saying, "Dere, we iz goin' dere." And with the cup of joe in one hand and me other around Weasil's back, I guided him to the hammock when the thought struck me, that if the breeze swayed him in the hammie, he'd probably be sick. I started to say this to him in warning because I didn't want him in me precious hammie. But he wanted the hammock, and that's where I deposited him.

I helped get his legs up and in, and as he adjusted himself so he was semi upright to take the cup, I felt like a nurse's aide helping an invalid. He looked very comfy in me hammie, which made me unhappy. I wanted him out and had this evil, fleeting idea of dumping him, but I didn't. Instead, I left him for the other drunk. I had four hours to sober them up before Tonya and the kiddos got home. So much for me quiet, day to meself, day off. Wasn't happening.

I found Rabby awake, looking around with a scowl on his face wondering aloud, "Ware the fook am I?" When he saw me, it all returned to him with a "Oh yeah."

Oi! I poured him the coffee as he asked, "Ware's tha booze at Gobriel?"

"You drank it, Rabby; it's all gone," I said, putting the cup in front of him.

"Whutt's 'zis? Caffee? I doon't wan noo caffee. 'Ere," he said, fishing for some bills he slid at me, "goo git sum scootch an' whatt iver ye wans yersel."

"Uh, no, I think drinkee time be over," I said, pouring meself some coffee, secretly happy I wasn't doing his bidding.

He looked at the coffee disdainfully; I almost felt like the guilty host.

"Hey, I have some leftover lamb, how about a lamb sannie?" I offered to get his mind off the hard stuff and maybe fill his ample belly.

"Mooton? Ye goot cold mooton doo ye? I cannae refuse sich as that! Ye goot grahvy?" His eyes were alight with gusto, so I got some bread, sliced the cold lamb, heated the gravy, and made up a sannie for Weasil and meself as Rabby made himself one hell of a huge sannie. I took the one for Weasil out to him and found him snoozing in the hammie, the breeze gently rocking him and was about to put the sannie down on the table next to him when he piped up like he was half dead, "Plaise doon't leave daty dere or I'll be sick fer sure."

OK, so I took it away and went back in. I needn't have worried about wasting it, because Rabby let into it when I told him where Weasil was and that Weasil didn't want to partake of anything solid.

"Wull, wooldn't wan' tae waste goood mooton smooutered in grahvy. Only thin missin' woold be a bahtata."

"No, no tatties left," I sighed, wishing I were anywhere but where I was. I was subject to an hour of fart jokes and farts. Yes, Rabby was having himself a good time stinking up me kitchen. He ate most of the lamb off the bone, had rummaged around me fridge for whatever looked good to him, and feasted while I watched. I didn't care at that time, me own brain was slowly recovering from intoxication, but as the hours got closer to me wife coming home, and me brain sobered, I did start to care that the leftovers we were going to have were gone! Me arse was toast, but Rabby was much more sober (not completely) than he had been. At one point, he told me he was using me restroom. I went in to check the toilet roll was adequate, and as he came in he farted, closing the door holding it so I couldn't open it to get out. What a kid! I was very unhappy, so I went to the window, breathed, and physically shoved him out of me way. I headed for the back door and the fresh air. When will these two grow up? I wondered.

Weasil, I noticed, had drunk the coffee and was sleepily smoking a ciggie.

"You okay over there?" I asked.

He nodded, took a drag and let the cigarette arm drift to the ground as he closed his eyes, fighting off what I knew was one hell of a hangover.

Rabby came bounding out and instantly spied Weasil lying in me hammock seemingly asleep. Rubbing his hands together in glee, he put one finger to his lips at me in silence and then quietly crept over to Weasil. A still slightly drunk Rabby decided to moon the Weasil. Rabby was slow on this as he quietly undid his belt and positioned his fat arse in Weasil's face. Then softly giggling he unzipped his jeans and moved his ample butt up close and personal to the Weasil's head as he slid them down.  Because he was laughing and Weasil was wide awake, the Weasil was onto what Rabby had planned. Rabby's drunken idea was to moon AND fart in Weasil's face but Weasil was quick and put the unlit end of his ciggie in Rabby's butt hole. Well, I can tell ya Rabby won't be sitting down for at least a week.

Never in me life had I seen such a Scotsman run around, pants around his ankles, with a lighted cigarette up his arse as Rabby. He pranced around trying to reach it around his ample behind, but couldn't. Weasil had slung his legs over the hammock and was doubled over in laughter, "Take a care dere Rabby yer will blow yersel up if ya fart," Weasil said wracked with laughter. I will admit it was pretty funny, especially when Weasil shouted to Rabby to "Drop an' roll, datty be da onlee way yer gonner git it out cuz I aint touchin yer big fat arse." And he did! He sat straight down and rolled the ciggie out burning his arsehole all at the same time. I almost felt bad for him, but Weasil remedied the situation by getting the hose and telling Rabby to get up as he hosed his smoking butt off. I dunno, and you wonder WHY I dread these Weasil visits. Well, this be why.

Gabe

Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved