\u201cThis is life in Washington, DC:\u00a0 Moo!\u00a0 I am a cow!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMoo!\u00a0 Cows live in DC!\u201d<\/p>\n
My old college buddy James was on the floor, under the table, screaming over the oppressive jukebox and pounding the underside of the table with his fist.\u00a0 I\u2019d long since taken my beer and cradled it to my chest.\u00a0 Across from me was a horrified Iraqi vet, and associate from my day job.\u00a0 I smiled apologetically.<\/p>\n
\u201cMoo!\u201d James continued from the sticky floor.<\/p>\n
\nMy veteran associate, David, was in town for the Inauguration of Jesus Hussein Christ, benevolent dictator and black man only according to Jim Crow laws.\u00a0 I was putting him up in my spare bedroom.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the other thing that lives in Washington, DC?\u201d James said.\u00a0 It took me awhile, perhaps half a pint, to realize that he had asked the question a few times.\u00a0 I bent down and looked at his shadowed face.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the other thing that lives in DC?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPigs!\u00a0 Oink!\u00a0 Oink!\u201d\u00a0 His head tilted back and hit the floor with a sickeningly wet thud.<\/p>\n
\u201cUm\u2026should we get a cab?\u201d David asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cCabs run Satan\u2019s meters!\u201d James screamed.<\/p>\n
I shrugged and flagged down a waitress.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut your friend is\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared blankly at David.<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, he\u2019s…kind of out of it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m in it, baby!\u00a0 I\u2019m far from out of it!\u00a0 I grew up in this sad, demented city!\u201d<\/p>\n
I ignored the disembodied voice and continued staring.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo we\u2019re staying?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
David sighed and, when the waitress came around, he gave in and ordered a gin and tonic.\u00a0 I asked for another Winterhook.\u00a0 I\u2019d spent the better part of a month finding a bar that served Winterhook, and I wasn\u2019t about to let James ruin it.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you ever fuck that Spanish maid?\u201d James asked.<\/p>\n
Still staring at David, I shook my head.\u00a0 \u201cWhich one?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt your apartment?\u00a0 With the flower print hat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u00a0 I\u2019m incapable of speaking coherently when a woman is around.\u201d<\/p>\n
David snapped his fingers as his gin and tonic arrived, \u201cThat\u2019s the little one, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNacho likes the little ones!\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe best thing about the little ones,\u201d James screamed.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere we go.\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that, when you slick their hair back in the shower \u2013 \u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cOh my god,\u201d David hissed, \u201cEveryone\u2019s listening!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014they look like ten year olds!\u201d<\/p>\n
The manager approached our table and asked us to leave, and I pointed a finger at David, \u201cNow we leave.\u00a0 There\u2019s a natural order to things.\u201d<\/p>\n
David and I pulled James from under the table, hefted him to his feet, and the three of us struggled out into the sunlight.\u00a0 Four in the afternoon, perhaps too early for such debauchery, but the times demanded drink.\u00a0 Forty-four shots was the joking plan the night before, and that had turned into 44 bars.\u00a0 All in honor of our Lord and Savior, Barack Obama.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are we up to?\u201d James slurred.<\/p>\n
\u201cTwelve.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwelve!\u201d\u00a0 James pulled away and stumbled into the turn lane of Wisconsin Avenue.\u00a0 \u201cZachary Taylor!\u00a0 Tippecanoe and Taylor, too!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTyler.\u201d\u00a0 I said, \u201cNumber ten.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing.\u00a0 Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cZachary Taylor!\u00a0 Died on the Fourth of July, 1850, after only two years as pres!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWoah.\u201d David muttered.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey say he was poisoned!\u00a0 Number 13!\u00a0 Um\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFillmore.\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
David looked at me, \u201cWoah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI paid 50 grand for my history degree.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMillard Fillmore!\u201d James screamed, dancing back onto the sidewalk as a Metrobus honked at him.\u00a0 \u201cThe best bar for Fillmore?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUm\u2026\u201d I stared at a redhead and her dog, \u201cKnow Nothing Party.\u00a0 Irish Times, Union Station.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the exact opposite of what the Know Nothing Party would want.\u201d\u00a0 James replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight.\u00a0 See?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n
We hopped the Metro, emerged in ten minutes at Union Station, and stumbled to the Irish Times, which is just about the worst bar in the area.\u00a0 In protest, the three of us ordered Stellas and James ordered an empty glass so he could \u2018share with his imaginary friend.\u2019\u00a0 Once it arrived, he upended a flask of scotch into the glass, and drank it like the world was about to end.\u00a0 The waiter asked us to leave.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck you.\u201d James said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook,\u201d the waiter replied, \u201cdon\u2019t make me get the manager.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGet him!\u201d<\/p>\n
The manager was a large black man, and we finished our drinks as he herded us towards the door and out onto the sidewalk.<\/p>\n
\u201cFourteen!\u201d James leered at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cPierce.\u201d<\/p>\n
James spun around, then looked up towards the setting sun.\u00a0 \u201cSomething on New Hampshire Avenue.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVery good!\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d David asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe only president from New Hampshire.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow in the hell do you two know this shit?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe weren\u2019t too cool for school.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBars on New Hampshire.\u201d James hissed.<\/p>\n
\u201cUm\u2026Any of a zillion places.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grabbed my hand, and I grabbed David\u2019s, and we made our way back to the Metro\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cThis is life in Washington, DC:\u00a0 Moo!\u00a0 I am a cow!\u201d \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cMoo!\u00a0 Cows live in DC!\u201d My old college buddy James was on the floor, under the table, screaming over the oppressive jukebox and pounding the underside of the …<\/p>\n