He smelt of Garlic: An Introspective Look Back Over A Working Boy's Year In The World

An Doof Ass played a large role in my first year as a white collar super employee. We were flatmates, but more than this we were drinking buddies. His drunkenness is well documented here, but what is less well known is he got roaring ass drunk at 3 p.m. at a X-mas party and called me at my respectable job to tell he he was "drunk as motherfucker" and was going home to retire for the evening (on this occasion his drunk ass was neither robbed nor pummeled). Upon returning home, I found him passed out on the couch. He smelt horribly of garlic, beer, wine, and Hennessey. He refused to clean himself up or vacate the couch. There were empty Old Milwaukee cans strewn about the apartment.

When we first moved into our flat an Doof Ass had one request. He asked that I keep an eye on his drinking so that he would not become accustomed to the either the hag, the foggy memory maker, or the creature. I agreed; however, within a day, I recanted my statement and for that I feel partially responsible for his present state.

On one occasion, we punched one another in the face. As we were exiting a Northside bar early one Saturday morning under the influence of spirits, we yelled at a young couple walking down the street. We called them Wicker Park Monsters and then, almost immediately, began swinging at one another. We were arguing over whether a Baptist or an Episcopal had more right to the front passanger seat. I am proud to say I landed a righteous blow, unfortunately so did he. We then both sat in the back. An Doof Ass claimed this a victory for Episcopalian good sense and compromise. During my devotional that night, I prayed for God to forigve my compromising "heart" and vowed to "stand firm in the faith" in the future.

We were commrades in arms. We learned Friday’s at the office were easy and no one did any work. We learned Monday’s were recovery day and no one did any work. We learned that Tuesday's at the Skylark Dan and Derek both worked, and we could waste a couple of hours enduring Derek’s barbs and tales of conquered women while accepting Dan’s complimentary Pabst drafts. We even learned to smoke less when watching t.v.

p.s. Adam Wood is an douche.