My work-day ended around 6pm that night, and I should add that it was a very successful day of solving GI issues both major & minor in the hospital. As I left the hospital, I simultaneously received all the messages I'd missed that day (damn T-mobile works for shit in the hospital), and was stoked to find that Jazzman, DP, and Smikey wanted to hang out later that night. Smikey had just arranged to move-in with DP & Jazzman that day, as he was starting a new job in Atlanta and Jazzman had a great room for him to rent in his house - this makes my life much easier, so I'm obviously stoked. After having a carby meal with the crew at Everybody's Pizza in the Emory Village, Smikey & I left Jazzman & DP to go grab a few drinks. Where else would we go this fine Tuesday night but Moe's & Joe's in the Virginia Highlands for $3.25 pitchers of PBR (why the extra $.25? damn recession).
Hanging out at Moe's & Joe's reminds me of better days - Days when I was a balling calling student, with my whole career ahead of me, a ton of friends at the bar who all knew me, and a number of cute girls to hook up with at my disposal. But those Elysian days are over now, and on this night it was just me with my loosened tie, and Smikey with his standard "don't give a shit" ensemble. Me & Smikey proceed to bro-down, and catch up with each other. Professional lives first (I fill him in on my upcoming job interviews & impending career settlement - he relates his incredible new position as VP of a very cool new division with a film & music production company). As the PBR flows, and the conversation moves into talk of women, a few of Smikey's acquaintances join the conversation. The thesis is "who's the bigger dick" to women. As I throw out my stories of breaking up with women on Valentine's Day & after they paid for dinner, and Smikey discusses his recent transatlantic booty-call that resulted in him abusing a premeditated hook-up by staying at a different girl's place the 2nd half of his trip (because the first hook-up wanted to cuddle too much), we realize that as much as we love women, there are obvious reasons that we're still single.
By the time we're 3 pitchers down at Moe's & Joe's (which is plenty for us, considering I'm a renewed light-weight & Smikey literally only weighs 81 lbs), we belligerently decide that the unattractive college girls at this bar aren't worth looking at, and that the GT v Iowa bowl game officially sucks. We bail and transfer our drinking habit across the street to an empty Fontaine's, which is a far classier establishment (if only for the fact that they serve liquor as well as beer). Smikey & I move on to Jack & cokes, which he's paying for with an Amex gift card he got for Channukah, and being the only people in the bar, the conversation turns to good ol' times & better future times. In the midst of Smikey & my buddy movie moment, the once-empty bar suddenly turns into a Caucasian filled nightmare of middies (*women who score as a 4-6 out of 10 on the hotness scale) and douche-bags. Curious as to where these knuckleheads have come from, Smikey & I approach 2 of the cuter girls and find out that the "Passion 2010" christian conference has just ended in Atlanta, and these particular christian college students were ready for a fucking drink.
Now, it's a well-known fact that I personally love to screw with Christians, especially young college Christians from the South, because of these three facts: 1) They are all below a 70 on the IQ chart. 2) They will blindly recite the bible, praise "his" glory in public, and attempt to proselytize me upon learning that I'm not Christian, and 3) They don't know shit about the real world, other religions, or the fact that they are the biggest hypocrites in the world. That's why, for the rest of the night, I enlist Smikey as my wingman in fucking with these unattractive Passion kids.
Our first target is the land-beast of a woman sitting next to us at a bar, who orders a shot of bacardi limon with a corona back, so that she can pour the bacardi into the corona to create what I can only describe as a Corona bitch drink. Her method of mixing the drinks is visually hilarious, as she turns to Smikey & Me, throws the bottle of bitch up with her lips firmly wrapped around the opening, and then blows bubbles into the bottle with her head back. Clearly aroused by the situation, I start yelling "yes, stroke the shaft...mind the boys baby...don't stop til I tap you on the head!" The christ-loving girl, who has probably never given head in her pathetic life, has no idea what I'm talking about, and completes her bottle-service by saying "you guys want one?" Smikey & I are dying laughing.
After that tragically disfigured-by-genetics woman and her 2 coyote-ugly friends leaves us because they don't understand why we can't stop laughing, Smikey & I turn our attention back to our drinks, and decide to drunk text random members of The Crew who we decided should ditch their lives & wives in order to have beers with us in Atlanta. One friend, Goulet (who lives in Boston with his fiancee NoBlow), texts back "take shots of Jameson right now, on me!" In our easily agreeable state, Smikey & I obey, and move to the next circle of drunk-hell: Belligerent.
It's at this point that we are joined at the bar by 5 already drunk christ-holes, still rocking their Passion wrist bands, who all order Rolling Rock beers and start beating on the bar chanting what I interpret as jesus cheers. Intrigued by their camaraderie and obvious stupidity (Rolling Rocks, seriously?), Smikey & I engage the nearest brother-in-christ, and find out where they're from. "Well, I'm from Arizona State, and these guys are from West Virginia. Woooooooo!" After some sarcastic comments about how much hot ass he must get at ASU, and how he would slay bitches here in Atlanta, the guy decides he's too drunk to appreciate sarcasm, and buys Smikey & I more shots. 3 more, to be precise. I, angered by his stupidity, decide to berate him & his dumb friends more. After the third shot, one of the Arizona Genius' Atlanta friends pukes directly back onto the bar in front of him, and I decide he will be my target. Smikey, upon seeing the puke, goes into the bathroom and vomits all over the stall (*remember this, because it will come back up later).
After Smikey returns from the bathroom, I launch my assault:
Me: "So what the hell just happened their, Chief? Is this your first time drinking?"
A-hole: "No man, but I think I'm hypoglycemic. I'm a type I diabetic."
Me: "Well then what the fuck are you doing here drinking? Alcohol is clearly contra-indicated with your medical condition. You need to stop drinking, and go home & pray for god to cure you."
A-hole (upset that a heathen like me has just told him how to pray): "what the hell man, you don't know nothing 'bout meeee!"
Me (with a jack & coke in hand): "Are you kidding me, I know everything about you. You grew up in Georgia, have gone to church every wednesday & sunday of your life and asked god why he gave you this horrible disease - and you probably think it's to test your soul and your dedication to "his light." But then you went to college, discovered tits & beer, and now you drink & try to touch all the christian boobies you can on Saturday night so that you can wake up and pray for forgiveness on Sunday morning. All the while, you never mention to your pediatrician that you drink alcohol, because you're too ignorant about your disease to know that alcohol screws up your blood sugar."
A-hole (visibly shaking, out of anger or hypoglycemia, I'm not sure): "Who the hell do you think you are to tell me who I am?"
Me: "I'm a fucking doctor. What medical school did you go to?"
A-hole: "Oh, good for yeeew!"
Me: "Thank you, but I didn't go to medical school for your approval. I went so that I would know my elbow from my asshole when it came to medical issues. You should look into it."
A-hole: "Fuck you maaan, you don't know nothing 'bout my diabetus! (he's swaying now, and his eyes aren't focusing on me). All I got to do is take my in'silin, and I'm good toooo go!"
Me: "how many years of medical school did you say you went to? Listen bubba, if you don't get your shit together and start living right, you're gonna die by the time your 50. I mean, if you're not gonna take care of your kidneys, go ahead and hand them over. There are a million people out there who deserve them more than you."
Smikey (who's been watching this interaction and cracking up): "It's science bro...you can't argue with science!"
A-hole, to Smikey: "who are you, mini-me?"
Me: "What, are you losing your eyes to diabetic retinopathy already? He doesn't look anything like me!"
A-hole: "Man, fuck yeew guys!"
So the diabetic A-hole storms off with his buddies to the Fontaine's patio, and me and Smikey crack-up laughing at the pathetic fool. At this point a few cute girls show up and are listening to our conversation, and Smikey quickly engages the cutest one in conversation as I chat up her interestingly elvish looking friend. The Elf looks like she has pectus excavatum, but this pokes her b-cup boobs out more from her white tank-top, so I'm into it. God, I love drunk-goggles. As the Elf, me, Smikey, and cute-friend start flirting and taking pictures of each other, I whisper to Smikey "I want to bang an elf, Smikey. I want her to be the Lord of my Cock-Ring."
15 minutes of bar-flirting go by, when A-hole & the jesus-bunch come stumbling back through the bar from the Patio. They are all clearly rookies at drinking, and it is incredibly obvious that they need to get the hell out of this bar. As A-hole passes by me standing by a booth with the Elf, I receive the shock of my night...the mother-fucking diabetic sucker-punches me to the left side of my face! Now, it should be noted here that I have never in my life been punched, let alone in a bar while drunk...so, I am clearly shocked and fall back into the booth as this type-I falls on top of me swinging. Luckily I have long-ass orangutan arms, and am able to hold his fat-ass off of me while he swings wildly at the table next to me.
The scene must have been insane, because immediately Smikey throws down our coats he was holding (we were actually about to move on, upon realizing that the Elf & her cute friend loved Jesus more than cock), and bulldogs the diabetic A-hole back, screaming at him to get the fuck off of me. I spring up, see that Smikey's got this under control, and start shouting "You punch like a fucking diabetic!" and "You need to eat a fucking cookie, bitch!" The Drunk christians quckly hustle diabetic A-hole out of the bar, and the bar clears out just as suddenly as it filled up earlier. I guess Christians do stick together after all. Bitches.
Anyway, with the adrenaline pumping furiously in our veins, Smikey turns to me to make sure I'm ok. I'm too fucking shocked & excited to feel any pain, and tell him "fuck yeah I'm ok...you think some fucking diabetic can take ME out?!?" As we're standing by the bar, I call for the bartender to get us some waters (as I spring into RA mode, and realize that if we end up having to talk to cops, we'd better sober up quick. I also fix my tie to look more presentable). The bartender (a middie herself, I might add), hustles over to us with waters and asks "oh my god, are you ok? What the hell just happened?"
At this point, I start to realize the hilarity of the situation that just unfolded - that I just got jacked in the face by a diabetic drunk guy who just got done attending a Christian Conference. AND, that he was mad at me because I, in a very fucked-up-way, was trying to improve his health with an extremely hypocritical tirade against alcohol. Of course, what I say to the bartender is this: "Yeah, I don't know. One minute me and my jewish buddy here were talking to these Christians, and the next thing I know they jump us, hit me, and then ran away!"
Smikey, picking up on my bullshit, and being as intelligent in situations like this as I am, yells "YEAH MAN, it was bullshit...AND, that same guy puked all over the bathroom too!"
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Post-Script:
The day after all this went down, I woke up and decided to exact my revenge on the diabetic A-hole by shaming him on his Christian Conferences website. So, that's when I wrote my cleaned up version of the tale on the "Passion 2010" blog, cracking up laughing because I was sooo full of shit. 30 minutes later, I went back to check if anybody had responded, and I was infuriated to find out that the moderator had removed my post! In an act of sheer genius, I IM'd Smikey (who I had previously sent a copy of the blog post to, just to have somebody to share my retarded comedy), and Smikey quickly e-mailed me back a copy of my original blog entry. I then went and re-posted the story with a harsh preface that ensured that the story would stay up this time. You can see the re-post here, under my Christian Blog pseudonym "Atlanta Doc." Enjoy, and pay attention to the ridiculous replies I received. These people are morons.
Post-Post-Script:
Two days after the punch, I woke up with a fucking shiner under my left eye, and some scab formations on my left temple. The scabs could be covered with my hair, but my shiner looked absurd, and I had to go to the hospital, that day with it. More fucked up - I had a job interview in Knoxville the next day! After going through my options (make-up? Glasses? a matching black eye on the other side?), I settled on changing the story of the black eye to an ill-timed racquetball injury. At the interview, nobody brought up my mildly obvious shiner, but I instead addressed it with a few of my interviewers. The only notable moments were 1) when the program coordinator took a picture of me, and I Mariah Carey'd it by turning to my good side; 2) when the program director kept rubbing under his left eye, hoping that I'd do the same and remove what he hoped was schmutz; and 3) when I told the racquetball lie to the other girl interviewing that day, and she said "oooh, I was wondering what that was!" Fuck. My. Life.
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