Thursday, May 29, 2008

Plab Soap Opera Part 2: Plabnox’s Guide to Brooklyn - Memorial Day

by Hesta

ld last precisely two hours.

En route to S' hovel, Harriet took it upon himself to execute the ceremonial breaking of the Memorial Day bottle of wine on concrete. We left the spilled libation at the scene, outside a park in Williamsburg, and sallied forth toward our destination: Memorial Day Eve. A Cerberus-like moustache of a certain age guarded the entrance to S'. After we gained passage, we crossed the iron-gated threshold of S' mansion. Weenus had been cast in the role of butler, so she led our ascension up the staircase to the top, where S awaited the arrival of her retinue. Greetings were made, Stevie Nicks was turned on, Scattergories was quickly broken out, and rules were laid down by Thorn and me.

After 1.667 rounds, we abandoned Scat in order to discuss politics on S' fire escape-slash-balcony. The discourse involved sharing various techniques to overthrow the government or incite sedition. Views ranged from the placid—retreating to a Walden-like hovel—to the internecine—total assassination of the current cabinet. Auxiliary concerns included the current rampant discrimination against atheists.

Once the political festivities were complete, we moved the party into S' chamber, where she regaled us with her dulcet singing voice and dextrous guitar-playing. The program, keeping with the Stevie Nicks theme, included "Landslide," "Rhiannon," and "Gypsy." Harriet's least favorite piece was a rendition of the atonal Japanese "Sa Ku Ra" performed a capella by me and Weenus.
Above: The patron saint of our Memorial Day revelry.

At 1:30AM, we ruled in favor of taking our celebration to the streets and trekked to a neighborhood tavern. Despite our chill, we seated ourselves in an outdoor patio where the temperature registered at zero degrees Kelvin, and proceeded to order a round of ice waters. The tavern had unfurled a lavish, gratuitous barbecue immediately adjacent to us. Though we carped about our current state of hunger, our brains told us we only had room for tater tots. I asked the man tending the feast if there were tater tots on hand. He said there were, but we'd have to wait. Inside, I questioned the barkeep about the prospect of tater tots. He indicated that the odds were not in our favor by denying that the establishment ever had or would serve tater tots. When I redirected my inquisition to the feast-tender, he seemed oblivious to our conversation of five minutes past, for he claimed no knowledge of tater tots, past, present or future. We were in no mood to solve the tavern's tater tots riddle, so we summoned our last remnants of energy and swept past the edible, aromatic bounty. During our egress, we asked the barte

To be continued...

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