Mental Health

Just past 2.30 in the morning at my friend's place in Calgary.  Everyone else in the place is 'asleep'.  I've had a wonderful evening of dinner and drinking with a few of my closest friends, finally capped off with several hours of absolutely horrible karaoke on the home stereo system here.  James should be verboten from ever touching a microphone, but he's the most enthusiastic of the lot of us.  If only enthusiasm could somehow compensate for a complete and utter lack of talent.  Alas, it cannot.

It's very important for us menfolk to gather together at odd times and act, well, odd.  A certain release that just has to take place.  Quite often at the cost of derision by significant others.  Well, so be it.

There were only five of us that gathered here tonight, and I am reminded of a different night when there was a larger gathering planned a couple years ago.  In preparation for the impending conglomeration of testosterone, alcohol and juvenile glee that was to meet at the focal point that is this same friend's house in Calgary in which I now sit, I sat down in front of my computer and composed a rather ludicrous poem that I sent out to the attendees via Email to whet our already voracious appetites for comraderie and tomfoolery.  I choose to share it again here for no other reason than because I can.

(Please keep in mind that it's not terribly tasteful.  And that's OK.)

MENTAL HEALTH EVE

'Twas Mental Health Eve, when all through the West,
We guys were on eggshells, strung out and stressed.
Drew will bring absinthe for three bucks a shot -
By the end of the weekend, our blood will not clot.

The menfolk are nestled at work and at home,
With visions of hot chicks lubed up with some foam.
And Todd wearing glasses, and Jeff without slacks,
Had just settled down to heat up the wax.

When in the backyard there arose such a clatter,
Todd sprang from his seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew really fast,
Peeked out through the blinds, and reeled - aghast.

The moon on the breasts of the hot chick outside,
Made Toddy's pants shrink and Jeff run to hide.
When what to their ogling eyes should appear,
But C-Bitty dressed up like a hot little queer.

With a crew of his friends so stumbling drunk,
That Jeff breathed a sigh and Todd's pants unshrunk.
More random than crap shots the revelers came,
And Todd spanked 'em and had to remind 'em their names:

"You're Hot James, you're Witka, you're Atkar and Gavin!
Hey Kurtis, that's Jacek on top of the oven!
From Glenny, to Ronny, did Neil pour rye?
If you're going to the shitter, don't step on A. Bly."

As dry heaves that before the white porcelain bus,
Clench up your guts and make your mouth taste like puss,
So curled on the floor lay James like a cripple,
After sneaking up on the Toke and touching his nipple.

And then, after midnight, Todd heard on his roof,
The off-key singing of some dumb, drunken goof.
And before he could rescue his obnoxious bud,
Down the shingles came Gavin, he fell with a 'thud'.

He was dressed in a boa, with a beer in each hand,
And he groaned a whole lot while trying to stand;
A bundle of empties was tied to his back,
And he looked rather blissful as Ron stroked his sack.

His eyes were glazed over!  his pupils dilated!
His nose was all rosy, his ego inflated!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in an "O",
And Ron backed away as he puked in the snow.

"Bring It On" was being watched by Atkar and Glen,
While the rest of the guys turned on TSN.
Drew was just grateful to not change a nappy,
And chased his green fairies in a state of pure happy.

Jacek was pouting and calling Todd lame,
Since no one could ever pronounce his last name.
So Witka and Kurtis and Andy and Toke
Held his head in the can and gave him a soak.

The very next day with the sun due to rise,
Kurtis awoke with Andy's hand 'twixt his thighs.
And Chris was found curled in a little snow hut;
And James needed help pulling stuff from his butt.

We all jumped in our cars after breaking our fast,
With smiling faces from having a blast.
But we heard Todd exclaim ere we drove from his house:
"IT WAS MENTAL HEALTH, BOYS!  YOU CAN'T TELL YER SPOUSE!"

This past evening was absolutely nothing like that, but it's nice to get away and let loose a little every now and again.  I was struck by a somewhat surreal moment of self-awareness when the five of us were in a bar after dinner and I found myself debating the relative whiny-ness of Luke Skywalker in Star Wars versus Obi-Wan Kenobi in The Phantom Menace.

No matter where I am, I'll always be just a geek at heart.