Martin and I went to see Valkyrie last night on 42nd Street. Afterwards we decided to pop into a nearby bar for one pint then head home. Well, the first pint didn't so much quench our thirst as whet it so we got another. 5 pints in Martin decides to switch to bourbon. We had to leave because all of a sudden someone kept ripping the smelliest farts in the world and would not stop. It wasn't either of us cause we went outside to get some air and went we came back the son of a bitch was still at it. It was unbelievable how prodigious this smelly gentleman was at laying these things down. We never got a break from it. Once I smelled it the first time it was never not invading my nose so we downed our drinks and left.
Martin still wanted to party so we caught a cab to the Emerald Inn. As soon as we entered the bartender skoots around from behind the bar and kicks Martin out. I don't know what Martin had done entering that made the guy wanna kick him out. Either he is really good at spotting drunks or he just hates Martins. We wound up at the Irish pub behind Papaya on 72nd street. I don't remember how many more we had but Martin was lapping me left and right. I think I drink pretty fast but this dude was smoking me.
Eventually we left and I caught the train home. I felt pretty wretched this morning but nothing I ain't used to. Martin didn't text me till late afternoon to say he had been so drunk he couldn't figure out how to get home, puked on two trains and eventually fell asleep in some park on a bench.
Morale of the story: Go see Valkyrie. It's fun as shit.
This post makes me want to come to New York so hard. Except for the part about seeing the movie.
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