Piss Stream?
As I prepare to return to Chicago, some of the stories of my glory days there return. Stated previously, much of my time in the Windy City was a blur due to alcohol and drugs, so when the stories return, I have to write quickly lest they fade back into the mists of time (or the fog of my clouded memory)
Toward the end of my months there, we moved into the company headquarters building where there were a few apartments. (now if some of this sounds familiar, I may be repeating myself. It’s a habit I have earned by getting older. A sweet amnesia has made all experiences new. If you add the two stories together you may have a better grasp of what happened than I do myself. Then again, maybe this is my first time writing this here)
The ‘apartments’ really were old offices and a giant open bay that contained a few single beds and some ratty old furniture. Usually employees in transition lived there. Doing demolition work there are lots of jobs and lots of travel. Most of the employees were very ‘unstable’ people who didn’t have permanent addresses, just lived in a series of second rate motels that usually also rented by the hour (as likely as renting by the week) Nice crowd. Actually they weren’t a bad crowd, just not socially traditional types. Wow, that’s for sure.
So I was staying with Tommy (my brother) and Rabbit – also mentioned in the great Chicago Cubs playoffs story in these classy transitory digs. Here comes the biggest surprise of the story, we were sitting around drinking beer. OK, not so much of a surprise. We didn’t have a tv, well that’s not exactly true. There was a small, maybe 13″ b&w tv and rabbit ears that maybe picked up 4 channels (snowy) There was cable in those days, but not there. (A really sad story I may tell someday is that I was so messed up that I started listening to televangelists. Don’t worry, I recovered pretty quickly)
So getting back to the meandering plot, we were drinking and shooting the shit and we had two choices to make. First, it was the weekend, so no bosses were around, let’s start there. So here were the two choices. Go downstairs and use the men’s locker room urinals, or piss off the fire escape and aim for the junk yard dogs (who were remarkably quick and never got hit, except when we first started the game. after that they wised up) We opted for the latter. Oh, I forgot, there was another guy there, but I don’t remember his name, but he’s part of the story, so I’ll call him Larry. I actually knew a Larry in Chicago (actual name for once) but this wasn’t him. No, really it wasn’t. Larry was married and had no teeth (that has no bearing on this story either, but I thought I’d mention it.
So eventually we are sorta bonkers and Rabbit gets up to piss. He stands on the fire escape, dick in hand, preparing to whiz, and he passes out. Now you have to picture this (not in great detail, just generally. Detail is pretty much…ew) If he would have fallen forward it would have been ambulance, at least, or hearse, depending on the landing, but he falls backwards and has his johnson in his hand the whole way down, until he hits the carpet. Then his hand falls away, but he is on his back with his dick hanging out and we are all sorta drunk. Thinking, how can we fuck with this guy?
To be fair, if any of us would have fallen, he would have been first in line with a fucked up idea.
So we come up with this one. We let the junk yard dog in. Someone has the idea to spread peanut butter on his joint. Seems funny. Then the odg will lick it off, he’ll wake up and then be disoriented and then yelling what the fuck, then we all laugh and give him shit about it for a few weeks. We get into a discussion on who is gonna spread the peanut butter on his bisquit. No one wants the job, but Larry came up with the idea, and he is voted to do it. Like all good plans, you have to have the details thought out in advance. As stated numerous times here, we were a bit gooned up and hadn’t planned a damn thing. Into the cupboard goes Larry. No peanut butter. Plan is falling apart.
Rabbit is still passed out. Larry comes up with version 2. Hereafter called Plan B. Like all good transients, we have lots of odd items in the fridge (which has never been cleaned, probably ever) It has soy sauce packs, ketchup, packs, anything you can name that comes with fast food. So we are trying to figure out what would ‘work’ what a dog would lick, what’s easy to ‘apply’ –You know, all the fine details of this well thought out prank.
When suddenly we see the holy grail. Pats of butter. Not butter substitute, but real honest to goodness from cows, pats of butter. Dogs like butter, right? They are always licking their paws after they eat popcorn, right? Butter patties. Perfect. So now who is gonna apply the patties? We have a contest.
Throw the patty on the peepee. Whoever hits it, wins. Well, not technically wins, but has our life long admiration. No actually, there is no prize, admiration or anything else. Just the satisfaction of a job well done. Ok, not even that. It’s pretty rediculous actually, but we do it, and soon Rabbit has a couple patties close to his wiener, and one actually lands on it. I can’t take credit, I think Tommy threw it. But I could be wrong.
So it’s time to call in the dog. We drag him over to Rabbit. You know, drag him by the collar and then got his nose close to the butter patty. The good throw patty, you know. And he starts really going at it. That dog loves butter. He can’t get enough of the butter and is really making sure it gets every bit o’ butter. A real tongue lashing.
That’s what we expected. Then Rabbit would wake up, howl and carry on. But what happens? Nothing. The dog has no clue, no desire for butter, can’t figure out what the hell is going on. He walks away and then there is just poor Rabbit on the floor with the butter packets on him.
We all go back to drinking and promptly forget all about Rabbit and the butter. Sooner or later, maybe sunday morning, he wakes up and is like, what the fuck is up with the butter?, and we sorta explain it. he scratches his head and I think probably forgot about all of it by the end of the day.
Sometimes good ideas really work out, and there is a wonderful story to tell. The tears of joy as a well thought out present makes someone’s day. The heartfelt thanks as you shovel the old ladies driveway and never tell her about it, but you find cookies on your doorstep. Other times, the plan is ill concieved, stupid to start out, and spur of the moment, but you still always have the memory. Or at least until the fog settles again.
