I was at a gloriously degenerate
party at my rather degenerate
friend's filthy flat. We were celebrating something - the fact that it was wednesday or whatever. At about 6 o'clock the flat had become rather full and the party spilled outside and onto the balcony. Some guy had brought his
dog at 2 as he lived close by and (somewhat foolishly) thought he'd go home and come back when the party had started. It had started about 11am, although I wasn't there so early as I don't seek to get up at such an uncivilised
hour.
Also there were two chicks who had had the poor judgement to buy a four litre
goon bag. After about a litre each they realised that drinking
goon was not such a great idea, but still wished to imbibe the alcohol, and for some inconceivable and intoxicated reason sought my advice on the matter. I was contetedly lying on the roof of a
station wagon, breathing in
Melbourne's summer sun with some other chick. My initial suggestion was that they shell out for a
slab of
redbacks. They replied that they couldn't possibly share a whole slab after so much wine. I doubted this, as I weighed 46 kg at the time and I doubt either of them weighed as little, had already had more to drink than either of them and felt quite able to happily intake at least that much over the course of the next eighteen hours, but nevertheless offered to have half the
slab if they paid for it. This suggestion was even less popular. I told them how to construct a still so that they could distill the goon and there'd be less of it for them to drink. It would have been pretty cool if they tried. Unfortunately they seemed to lack the
ambition and wanted something more practical. To stop them bothering me without being overtly unpleasant I suggested that they pour the goon in a large bowl and soak a
loaf of bread in it.
Wholemeal would of course be best - one must to look after oneself. Borrowing from a
Discworld novel I reasoned that it would practically be beer, what with the yeast, grain and alcohol involved. They left, as I expected they would.
My expectations did not go so far as to preclude experiencing surprise a few minutes later, at which time I witnessed the same pair, seated at the top of the four foot tall exterior stairwell, placing
7-Eleven's finest into a bowl of what was presumably the remaining contents of the
goon bag. They were considerate enough to come to me with a soaking wet slice, and following the consumption of aforementioned slice I too discovered that
bread soaked in goon tastes as horrible as you would expect. As none of us bore vast amounts of ill will to any one else at the party, we prevented any further human consumption and discarded the loaf onto the
concrete. According to his owner, the dog, a small and wiry
fox terrier, ate the lot in the twilight. The owner protests that he was unaware of it's
alcohol content and that we should have forewarned him. I had no idea he was going to feed a loaf of wet bread discarded on the ground to his dog, and still believe that this does not constitute serious negligence on my part. Nevertheless, the behaviour of the dog through the
evening was quite amusing.