The Silver Bullet and the Three Sad College Boys

As I arrived at the party, the night was young, and only a few had arrived. I snuck through the back door as to go unnoticed for as long as possible, but it is hard to blend in when there are only seven or eight people in the room. I was quickly spotted. "You're silver!" someone pointed out as if I were unaware. The hostess, Susan, then came into the room, and again, she pointed out that I was silver, as did everyone else that saw me that night. I was given names like Silver Guy, Silver Surfer, or Silver Bullet. Thank goodness no one called me Coors light.

I paint people's bodies as a hobby, and had been teasing Susan about painting her for about a month, and even asked her if I should bring my paints to her party. Although she has a beautiful canvas, and I could hardly resist I had gotten the impression that no painting would go on that night. So to show my resolve, I painted myself silver from the waist up. I cannot allow myself to be all talk. I have my honor to protect.

I broke open a bottle of dry raspberry mead, and served it to the hosts, and the other who were interested. It was something I had made myself, so almost everyone wanted to try it. The party was mellow, with nice folks, and calm music; relaxing. Several of my friends were party-hopping that night, and were headed over to another venue about midnight, which was about what time I wanted to go home as I had an early day the next morning. However when midnight rolled around, I felt the night was still young, and I was still too intoxicated to drive.

Feeling adventurous, I followed my friends to a party thrown by a group of gymnasts that shared a house. Never mind that I had to be somewhere by seven the next morning, there were things to do now. I put my shirt back on for the walk over as it was chilly; about 55 degrees I guess. We walked up the stairs into a crowded sunroom, and I removed my hat, and shirt, and walked in the living room. This place was packed shoulder to shoulder, with just enough room to breath. As I made my way toward the kitchen, I encountered several girls going the other way, and one of them said, "Oh, there IS a silver guy here". They had just come in from getting beers out the back door. Wow, news traveled fast.

Personally, I am not much for crowds, so I made my way out the back door. I was instantly greeted by several over-imbibed, obnoxious, college-attending narcissus types. The type that gravitates to whomever they think is cool, so they can claim they too are cool. Each one had a name they made up for themselves that had hand gestures associated with them. Each syllable of Rob Van-Dam was accentuated with an elbow high in the air and a thumbing action down towards the guy's chest. This was their ringleader. The other two followed him wherever he went. Next there was Saboo who held his right hand over his head, and twisted it to finally point upward. He was supposed to be the "cool" one. I think he was trying to give a Zen-like impression. He failed. He just seemed really drunk. Then there was the low guy on the totem pole. He not only was the last to present himself, but he also had to over-do his particular groups behaviors in order to gain their acceptance. The group's whipping dog. He claimed to be Justin Credible, where he lifted one leg and made an axing gesture toward his crotch. I have been told this is a rip off from WWF professional wrestling. They were trying to indoctrinate me in their views of which musicians are better than god, and wouldn't leave me alone until I had memorized each of their names in turn. I only escaped them by accepting a challenge to get the phone number of a woman that I was convinced is a lesbian.

Shortly after leaving their company, I saw a bright light from above. It was the host standing on the back porch aiming a video camera down at me. And again the question was asked, "Why silver?". So I explain about the earlier party with the hostess with the nice canvas, and how I can't allow myself to be all talk, and in the middle of this process, the three amigos return to be on camera with the silver guy. They quiz me on their names and I struggle to regurgitate them, as I really don't care. Once appeased, they leave. I turn back to the camera, and comment for posterity's sake, "Those three are really full of themselves."