Post #460913 by telescopes on Wed, Jun 10, 2009 9:41 PM

I thought it might be interesting to read fellow tiki drinkers war stories - you know the type of story - the one where you enter the Ti, have a drink... then another, and before you know it, you're sacked out Bill Maher's couch at his house wearing ladies underpants. Hmmm.... well, let's not start there.

I'll start with one of my many from the Ti....

Last year about this time, the Palm Springs Junta, decided to blow off some steam and hit the Ti on a Friday night. We got ourselves a driver, blazed down 10 and seated ourselves at the bar at 4:00. Michael, always the gentleman, served us our first drinks and as he always does offered us cigars from his own stash.

Before you knew it, San Diego Dan dialed our boss and hung up on her. Of course she promptly called back. The excuses fell out of the sky like a Tahitian rain storm in winter. After that came the prefunctory texting of everyone we know.

Two hours later and five drinks in we were ready to go to dinner. I knew I shouldn't have another, but Mr. Savage kept pushing everyone to order a Zombie. The Zombies tasted good, but I knew it was too late. I had been bitten.

We tipped Michael, paid our bill and flew off to Marix in West Hollywood for some Tex-Mex. Along the way we stopped at the lights long enough to yell out the windows the name of the infamous modern day anti-tiki missionary, Drab La Noeb (think Abner Hale), announcing to everyone along the way that the Earth was only 7000 years old and that Dinosaur bones weren't real (according to the Reverend La Noeb, they were actually planted by God to create the appearance of a much older earth). I vaguely remember a meth addict coming up to the window and asking if I was all right and offering to help me.

By the time we arrived at Marix I was zombified. Doing the Day of the Dead stroll, I managed to find a porch two houses down where I collapsed in a pool of my bodies own sweat. I was dying.

Meanwhile, the Palm Springs Junta merrily snapped photos with their camera phones and finally carried me to our table.

Vomiting throughout the meal, on my plate, my shoes, and onto the table, I recall looking up at the Junta as they merrily ate their meals. San Diego Dan, a saint really, took a towel and wiped up my vomit. I remember saying to him, "You're such a good friend." To my utter disgust, everyone else just ate like nothing was wrong.

Oddy, no one seemed to notice. The place was packed and there I was puking all over my plate, table and the floor. After I ate what I could, I stumbled to the bathroom and camped out. People were pounding on the door and when I opened it, a man in a dress seemed distress by the mess he found. Apparently we were at a Gay restaurant. A fact that seemed to bother and confuse Mr. Savage. Hmmmm.

I wasn't the only one zombiefied. Upon my return, San Diego Dan stood up and insisted that after paying the bill we all leave without paying a tip. I was horrified, but being a zombie, I complied. I still laugh when I think about the poor waiter who discovered the "tip" of puke we left. But you can't blame us, Zombies don't really have manners.

Off we went to Whiskey A Go, Go. Walking to the SUV, I lifted the tail gate and threw myself into the back. As it turns out, it was a cage. Trapped, I called my friend, Data, back in Palm Springs. All I got was his answering machine. In desperation, I left the following message, "Help, I'm trapped in a dog cage and I can't get out." I hung up. Two days later, I found out that his caller I.D. wasn't working. He got the message and assumed it was from his black sheep brother. Panicking, he began calling all of his family members for help.

Meanwhile, and four scalped tickets later, we stumbled into Whiskey. A satanic looking man wearing a bustier and with horns in his head announced we were in Hell. He kept saying over and over that, "We weren't supposed to play tonight, but you fans made it possible." By fans he meant vampires. Tom Petty, as it turns out, was right. They were everywhere. But what the hell, we were were zombies. What could they do to us... bite us? Yeh, right.

And slowly but surely, as images of Gene Simmons and other oddly dressed people walked by, my skin turned from green to brown again. I was human and I was hungry. Tired of the goat music, I walked up Sunset as the rest of the Junta drove. We met up a Mel's and there I had the best Steak and Eggs I can ever remember eating. I even ordered a chocolate shake for the drive home.

As we got back into the van, two in the morning, my thoughts returned to the Ti.

I can't wait to go back.

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

[ Edited by: telescopes 2009-06-11 09:07 ]

[ Edited by: telescopes 2009-06-11 11:46 ]

[ Edited by: telescopes 2009-06-25 18:37 ]