Don't You People Have Any Decency?

Fucking Kirksville. Just when I think I’m grown and my days of having out-of-contol Alumni Weekends, the Ville lures me in with it’s siren song of mediocre amenities, cheap-as-hell beer, and sheer walkability.

It started innocently enough. This year I made the switch to Saturday night only. We were going to get up Saturday, drive straight to the game, have a brief respite at the local Days Inn (incidentally, one of the most unpleasant lodging experiences of my life, fucking cold showers, a smoking room when I asked for non-smoking, and the room not ready at check-in time. And a manager that deflected every single complaint.) and cocktails with friends. Plans got more complicated when I got a Friday-night drunk dial from my boo Redding. Several of the football guys were going to be in town.

“Shit just got meatier,” said Chris, who hasn’t even seen me at even close to my greatest meatiness.

We rolled into town listening to the new Bright Eyes, Cassadega, and I was late to the game, we lost, I’m old, no big. Then, the lovely Molly, Abby, and Darly Jo (three generations of Adams women) took us out for some Mexican food, where we shared good times watching the cutest almost-three-year-old in my life. She knows sign language.

There was more drinking, more old soccer friends, a dude climbing a tree, some PBR, same-old-same-old. Here comes trouble: two hour free beer at the Dukum, courtesy of the Crotches. Tie. One. On.




These were highly intellectual conversations.




This is the story of my friendship with JJ.






This is what Mike and I look like during a happy reunion.






This encompasses the entire night.

Highlights include:
• Walking all over Kirksville. Just getting ready for Earth Day.
• One of our friends (who shall remain nameless) getting arrested by the KPD (complete with requisite porn stache), who decided that it was time for some police brutality at last call. Fucking dicks. Some shit doesn’t change. Hey, don’t worry about the dude that is stone cold dead in the bush right there, you better fucking break some guy’s arm for sitting on top of a car and not kissing your ass.
• Wolverine came! Great. Crotch and Wolverine, walking down the alleys of Kirksville, talking about god knows what, carrying a case of bottles, yelling about how much they hate cops. We are all adults.
• Molly going home at two-ish in a Royal Tenenbaum’s cab while Chris earnestly and unironically waved goodbye. Funniest shit of my life.
• Wolverine, part two: I woke up this morning to go the bathroom and stepped in a huge puddle of urine. Not like a few drops around the toilet bowl. Six ounces, at least, in the middle of the bathroom floor. Awesome. Pee on my foot.
• Got a fat Aloha from the Ell Train, who said, “I miss you guys, and I wish I was there, except I’m on a beach in Hawaii, so not really.” Tru.
• Wolverine, part three: who passes out, fully clothed, with french fries IN THEIR HANDS? My baby-daddy, that’s who! It’s cool, guy, let me get those McNuggets, too. Wouldn’t want you to wake up with a nugget in your crack.
• Big ups to Steph and Matt, who tried to get said friend out of drunk tank, to no avail. Trust me, they were our best hope.
• Wolverine, finale: thirty-two ounces of Gatorade, straight to the groin region, this morning, a brief thirty seconds after he realized that both his wallet and our camera were missing (both recovered, KARMA!).

So that’s what’s up. As Chris said as we rolled out of town, “It couldn’t have been better unless Curtis was there.” Truer words were never spoken. Don’t worry, Dirty, you were there in spirit, mostly in the alley on the way home.