The Lion and the Lisp

The Lion and the Lisp

Some of the best moments in life are when you can turn to friend and say, “Remember that time when..." and spout off a story with crystalline cognizance. And even more so, the back and forth harmony reliving it as if it happened yesterday with vivid LSD-like perception. And then there are experiences so hazy even the silver lining around the cloud of bong smoke fades faster than the daybreak amnesia. Which brings me to this morning when that simple lisp from someone in the “coffee line” triggers an audio double take beckoning whiplash flashback. Their bitter attempt at enunciating the word “Somebody” reaches back 20 sum years into my subconscious mind but barely touches my chin to my shoulder. I wish I could say I remember that night fully, but I can remember only bits and pieces. So here’s my pathetic attempt to tell a story I can’t even remember, that probably is only funny to me and those in attendance, of a time where my lack of common sense barely trumped my adolescent hormones, and above all the realization that 20 sum years later my decisions just might not have been sound…
So there we were cruising on Broadway, or in laymen’s terms, driving 5-10 mph on the same road back and forth in the hopes of meeting girls. Cruising just sounds cooler. Now here’s where it begins to be unclear. I am pretty sure I was a passenger on this occasion, due to the level of imbibed jagermeister and “air pollution” that muddled this already foggy night. And more evidence to the fact is that I ended up in a limo, and I know I didn’t arrive in one. But we will get back to that. So like a pride of lions on the Serengeti (As in “a group of lions”, not to insinuate that we were “proud” of this night) we pursued the gazelle’s with all our hunting prowess. Our competence and ability proved daunting, or maybe the gazelles were just way to fast on this sultry landscape. Many chases that night ended in a dry mouth of dust (And yes that is also a back reference to the earlier “air pollution” metaphor; I’m just that good). Just as the night was proving to be a failure (Due to lines like “Are you looking for Mr. Right? or Mr. Right now? Because I can be either one), there was promise on the desert horizon. More like an already thinned and feeble herd of gazelles at an oasis (or a bachelorette party in a stretched limo). They all had their fair share of aquatic bliss (or alcohol) which we knew would slow down the chase. As we pursued without haste (and moral ambiguity), one gazelle stuck out as the weakest link with this one sentence, “Thumbody get me a thigarette”. No sweeter slurring words had been spoken, clearly insuring my choice of prey. This gazelle was clearly impaired and the lion in me said pounce. A lunge here, an escape there, a bolt here, a retreat there, until finally cornered (in the limo). Carnal instinct took over and the gazelle finally gave in to her fate. The entire herd assembled and was invited back to our undiscriminating den. To which the night faded into darkness and recollection from this point on would be a mix of speculation and purely random sparks of memory. The next morning when I awoke (to the 4th worst hangover I ever had, and by the way 1st, 2nd, and 3rd are great stories also) all the gazelles had fled, running I’m sure…
All this reminds me of a quote I once herd, oops I mean heard. I’m not sure who authored it, but it goes a little something like this.
“Every morning in Africa, a Gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a Lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest Gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn't matter whether you are a Lion or a Gazelle... when the sun comes up, you'd better be running.”
Postscript: About half way through the night and about ten “Thumbody get me a thigarette” comments later, I realized it wasn’t the alcohol causing the slur. It was actually a lisp.