LOVELADIES, NJ — In recent, local news, one of the community’s most upstanding citizens was forced to endure an event beyond his ability to reckon with. An event that has left him so traumatized that he may never recover and which will certainly color his views of the world in a shroud of darkness and grasping desperation for all the days of his life. That event? An alcohol-free child’s birthday party.
Rodney Coppersheets, who runs the local newspaper printery (and is thus at the tail end of a career-field which is sure to shortly disappear into obscurity the same way that running a livery or leechery did. Until hipsters, obviously.) attended the tragic festivity on Saturday. “I had spent the morning drinking beers and watching old cartoons on YouTube, so I really felt like I deserved an afternoon off to relax and recuperate. Instead I had to go to the birthday for this one-year old kid that had never done a single favor for me in its life. What a jerk.”
Rodney explained that he had an upbeat attitude about the party while driving to it… or while being driven to it. He says that his girlfriend actually drove him while he took a nap, waking occasionally to express his complaints about how much work he was being forced to do on a Saturday. He was looking forward, he claims, to the ice cream and the cake- which, as an adult, he only got to eat whenever the hell he felt like it (which, judging by his waist, was often)- and to the many, many afternoon beers and cocktails with which he planned to fortify his festive mood.
It was only on arriving at the even that he realized the horror show that he was in for. “No open bar.” Rodney still tears up when he thinks about it. “I looked everywhere. I thought maybe it was under the pile of gaudily-wrapped boxes so I threw them all out of the way. Nothing. I made everyone get up so I could look under the tables. Nothing. I cornered the mother of this selfish child and asked her at least a thousand times when the bar was going to open up and she just kept saying things like, ‘There isn’t going to be a bar,’ and ‘Please just let me get back to my child!’. The nerve of her, right?”
Faced with the existential dread of having to spend a Saturday afternoon in a less-than-completely-blitzed state, Rodney was forced to take extreme measures. “When I eventually realized that nobody was going to be providing me with free booze and that everyone was more concerned with the child than with helping me fight off the shakes, I knew what I had to do. So I stole the mother’s purse and used the money to buy a six-pack at a nearby liquor store.” It should be noted here that when Rodney says “six-pack” he is referring to the six bottles of vodka that he purchased. And also to the three grams of cocaine that he bartered away the mother’s purse for.
“It got me through the day,” Rodney says. “But I think I might have PTSD from the whole thing. I’m trying to convince my medical insurance to cover medical marijuana and Prozac so that I can get over it.”