MONDAY.
The Infamous day. Who here hasn't guffawed at a MONDAY Garfield comic in their early teens?
Have YOU ever had a case of the MONDAY's?
I have. Along with my fellows Russell, Aaron, Goebs, The Enemy, and our roommate at the time Jimi.
You'll find the others MONDAY recollections at the end of this blog, to read them skip ahead.
To read my recollection of MONDAY, proceed.
These recollections may differ, and although no longer can anyone can be certain of the events of this Glorious day, we are all very certain that it happened.
It was a couple of years ago, and I was pretty fresh into a new promotion at The Hub Group. The game 'Wake Up Matt Radowski' was already in fashion, and I was feeling like an old man compared to these whippersnappers who got drunk and woke up old men all night. I recall one specific time when I arose just before my alarm went off at 5:30, only to find two beautiful drunk girls at my door, sent not as a boon, but as a taunt from my compadres: "Look at all the fun you are missing." I joined them for a drinking game anyway, but I had coffee, and mentally prepared myself for work, while they chugged beers, and mentally de-prepared themselves for anything.
So the weekend prior to MONDAY I did nothing. Friday I was tired, and Saturday just didn't brew up to much, and Sunday I had some responsibilities with my family, so a very uneventful, sober, and somber weekend happened for one Matt Radowski. On the other side of the coin, I knew my bandmates had been setting it up and knocking it down, and had been having much fun at the expense of their bodies and the general well being of the community.
All day at work on MONDAY I could hear the voice inside of my head:
You are only old if you let yourself be old....don't let life pass you by... and I listened intently. The decision had been made. I would rush home from work a couple of hours early, procuring a bottle of Rum and a large Coke on the way, be drunk by 6, in bed by 9, and still be able to function as a normal human the next day.
And so the Rum drinking began. Now the usual (and proper) procedure for drinking Rum is in shots, chased with Coke, but the trick is to pour the next shot as soon as you down the last one. You do this so the shot stares back at you, reminds you of your impending doom, and speeds you toward that goal.
This was however not necessary on MONDAY, because upon entering the house I declared to Aaron that I want to get drunk, and he was down. So a friendly game of High/Low/Red/Black for Rum shots ensued. It was approximately this time when The Enemy arrived. In good sprits, but not for Rum. Pitchers of Keg Beer were acquired and were soon consumed. 3 jolly fellows merrily spending a late MONDAY afternoon together. Hooting and Whooping it up, having a gay old time. Soon even Jimi came down to join the fun.
You could understand then, how Russell's arrival home from work would cause quite a bit of excitement and merriment from this group of fellows, but you could not understand (and neither could we) how we raced outside and ripped him from his car, carrying him into the house, hooting, hollering, and (at least for me) punching Russell in the balls. It was not actually an angry punch, I remember being completely amazed by Russell's amazing ability to swoop his long arm over and grab a full beer glass off of an amplifier, drink some, and not spill a drip, all while being carried by 4 drunk hooligans into the Overhouse, it deserved a good punch in the balls.
Gosh things get hazy for the next couple of hours....I specifically remember Goebs showing up, Flaming Flying Paper Towel Rolls, The Drinking Game of Mushroom, The Brother's Johnson....I vaguely recall a burnt roof of my mouth, Malort, The Rolling Stones, Puking, Shelly and/or Shannon....I am completely uncertain whether the red stuff on the table and floor was pizza sauce or blood. Or Both.
So anyway, by now it was 9 o'clock. Proper Bar Time. The nearest pub to our house is The Instant Replay. It is the sort of bar I hate. Where old men go to die and mutter at strangers. The Kind of place that Russell hangs out at a lot. But first, and conveniently on the way, is the convenient store of Speedway. So we tramp off.
I was a speedway champion that day my friends. I remember proudly burnishing my Full box of Ritz and two bottles of Easy Cheese (American Dammit!) to the attendant and feeling like Rocky doing so. I may have felt that way because the guys were standing just outside, pounding on the windows and doors, and chanting either my name, Easy Cheese, or some awesome combination of both. I was now fully prepared for The Instant Replay, but even still, I was less prepared than some. The Enemy had grabbed our giant stuffed novelty dog (at least 4'2") and brought him along for the trip!!!
As you can imagine, The Owner of The Instant Replay does not take well to people of our lively nature. They prefer patrons who may tear in their beer, or may actually go completely comatose while inside the establishment. The Bartender, Anna, on the other hand, was able to mildly put up with us for a round (or two?). Anna, had just enough patience to serve us, just enough ghetto to punt us out, and just enough curiosity to follow us back to the house, but now I'm jumping ahead.
So after a brief but violent Easy Cheese fight which included many people that did not wish to be included in a brief but violent Easy Cheese fight, and the complete spilling of at least 2 full beers, AND the giant stuffed dog at the bar, AND Maximum volume at a fairly quiet establishment, we were asked to leave. I do not remember how forcefully or sternly we were asked this, or by whom, but I remember all of us leaving together and pretty quickly, and since I consider herding drunk people a task more difficult than golf, whoever did it, and however it was done, must have been effective and efficient. Perhaps it was the collective drunk and looney consciousness that had evolved between all the members of Monday at that point, telling us that our carnage there had been maxed to the potential of the law, and it was time to take this freakshow elsewhere.
But then, perhaps not, because approximately 12 feet from exiting the entrance of the establishment a hoarse cry went up from the gallery: "Instant Replay! Instant Replay!" and we proceeded to perform an instant replay at The Instant Replay, barraging the bar for another quick moment, only to find out they would now not serve rapscallions such as our MONDAY contained.
Dog in Hand, but Easy Cheese Cans consumed then destroyed in route, our now motley crew arrived back at the Overhouse. Slightly angered by the rejection of the Instant Replay, and perhaps even more by whatever he was drinking, The Enemy proceeded to tear out the Dog's Throat. Fortunately, it was a giant stuffed dog, so blood and guts and entrails did not go flying all over. Unfortunately, it was a giant stuffed dog so small little pebbles of white styrofoam did go flying everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I am talking find them randomly in your laundry 3 years later everywhere. I am talking a foot deep throughout the entire living room everywhere. I am talking this is the moment I decide my action in the night is done and I head to bed everywhere.
The timing actually worked out to be just about perfect for me. Though the hours had been long, packed, and eventful, the approximate time of the decapitation of our poor stuffed canine coincided with the approximate time I had wished to be counting my sheep, getting refreshed and ready for a responsible day of white collar data managing and processing ere the rise of the sun.
And so, still very drunk, and now half covered in small styrofoam pellets I retired to my downstairs bedroom, stripped to my boxers, and went to bed. I had STRESSED to the partners my plan of an early bedtime throughout the night, but by now I had counted on a very disturbed night of sleep. I was hoping to slip off unnoticed in the general drunken haze and the blinding snowy styrofoam.
I was not. After perhaps 20 minutes of spinning I heard the familiar chant strike up from outside my bedroom door: "Oh I Woke up Matt Radowski, with no way to hold his head..." and panicked. At the time my bedroom was set up in a configuration where I had a couple of feet between my giant dresser and the wall, and quickly I dashed to this safehaven. I heard my door slide open, the scoundrels entered mid chant. After flinging my covers aside and discovering my absence, they quickly rallied again: "He is hiding in the garage!", and zoomed off to spurn my rest wherever they thought I may lay.
Adrenaline now in my veins, and escape on my mind, I quickly recouped and dashed out my door into the laundry area, but not fast enough; the failed raid in the garage had quickly turned the crew back to a more proper search of my room, and they were now at the back door, not five feet away. Panic stricken, I grabbed the only weapon that was nearby - an open gallon of laundry detergent - and proceeded to pummel the first through the door - Jimi. The next combatant, The Enemy proved to be much more of a struggle, and our clash soon entered the living room, laundry detergent flying everywhere.
Now I don't know if you know this, I didn't until late MONDAY, but laundry detergent is the most slippery substance known to man. Our living room, already covered in 'snow', was now also covered in 'Ice'. At once the participants began ice skating, slipping this way and that, and falling all over the place. I sat in the middle of maelstrom, in my boxers, pondering the silent freeway (and the sanity and safety of myself and friends), with my brains hanging out. There is now a famous picture of me about in this exact pose, and if you have seen that, then you know what I mean by my 'brains'.
It was at this precise and most perfect moment, that Anna (from Instant Replay) and her friend Pam appear within the door. I want to say we were embarrassed, all of us half naked, completely wasted, covered in styrofoam and laundry detergent, sitting around what might be blood, burnt paper towel rolls, knocked over chairs, empty pitchers of beer, and the mutilated corpse of a stuffed dog, but we wern't. In proper drunk fashion we begin to chant "Anna! Anna!" and in the midst of our chant, her friend turns the corner, sees the mess that is us, and promptly slips
hard on the laundry detergent. I'm talking I just broke my arm hard. Luckily she didn't, because then all of us would have had to feel extremely bad for laughing so hard. By the end of our laughter they had left, probably at maximum speed, and most likely afraid for their lives. Somewhere around this time Russell returned the ball punch favor I gave him earlier.
I don't remember going to sleep. I don't know how much longer this went on for. I don't recall how the night ended. I'm not sure it ever has, perhaps it still goes on somewhere in some snow-globe on the mantle of the absurd. In fact, I hope so.
I certainly (with much more certainty than any of the 'facts' discussed above) hope so.
To Read Aaron's Recollection of Monday click here.To Read Russell's Recollection of Monday click here.To read composite of our MONDAY Recollecitions, visit the MONDAY page of teh Overwiki Here
