#518: STARCAT KICKS A FIREPIT
If you recall, I met some people at the Fiery One's birthday celebration, two of whom were M (the woman at the bottom of the post after this link) and N. We either get along fabulously or are always fabulously drunk when we meet up, but either way, they invited us to a Backyard Pissup™ if we should be in Cosmopolis over the August long weekend. The Fiery One and I did indeed take a trip up to Cosmopolis for the long weekend and availed ourselves of their hospitality on Sunday night.
They told me to bring along whomever I wanted, so I brought along Batty and Starcat, both of whom are normally fairly well-behaved at parties. And they were, at the beginning. Well, Batty was well-behaved throughout the evening; it turned out that it was Starcat that everyone had to be worried about.
I suppose that it was partly my fault for letting him drink some of my high class Screech on top of the multiple kinds of wine he was already consuming. He started walking through the dark back half of the yard and into the alley, returning with bundles of both natural sticks and wooden boards. He was vague about where he was finding it all. Oh, there was some a ways down that way, you know, he'd say with a loose wave of his hand, as though to shoo away the tedious details of his wood gathering, but we had heard too many resounding cracks and bangs to believe most of the wood we were burning was anything but technically legal.
It was probably about one in the morning when Starcat decided that an extra long piece of two-by-four with white paint bubbling in the flames needed to be broken down for a better fit inside the cinderblock fireplace. Fuelled with peach wine, Screech, and a neolithic instinct to tend that fire but good, he raised one booted foot and kicked at the plank in order to snap it. It did not snap.
Instead, he managed to PUT HIS FOOT THROUGH THE BACK WALL OF THE FIREPLACE.
At one point M planted herself in front of me and admonished You brought him to this party! to which I shot back You asked me to bring him! We thought this was hilarious.
Surprisingly, none of our displays of shock and awe made him feel terribly spectacular. Here, on the right, you can see him sitting in a dejected state, likely suffering the self-inflicted psychological torment of the Forty Lashes of Personal Suckitude:
I have obviously made friends with crazy people. FANTASTIC. And I mean that without even a hint of sarcasm. Crazy people are the crème de la crème, especially the nice crazy people who will have me and my kind back a second time.