Schmooze

Apple juice permeation of what would have otherwise been considered a cordial affair has shed a new light on the rather pretentious category of social gatherings as we’ve come to understand it (ever since the bungled bungalow endeavor of ought-three).

This particular fiasco began when an advocate for fresh fruit juices invited himself to the festivities, taking every possible opportunity to schmooze with the big names in booze. He slipped past security under the guise of a schnapps magnate named Sir Wilfred von Königstupp and promptly began pushing his non-fermented agenda on the room to decidedly mixed results. The drambuie set found his spiel appalling, whereas the cointreau folks were rather intrigued. Grand marnier was unavailable for comment.

Needless to say, our buddy Wilfred (whose real name will be protected for arbitrary reasons) got the old heave-ho once the Jaegers found out what was going on. His famous charisma at least allowed him to get a couple stream of consciousness quips out there, if only to confound the preppy old money set. Most notable was his impromptu list of “lost arts”, which included (among other things): stadium hopping, hamburger flipping, turkey trotting, limburger tossing, butter mashing, charity giving, the pompadour, and original origami.

Stream 8

Half a heifer to the man who can provide the whereabouts of the golden sombrero.
Not talking?
Okay then, a quarter heifer to the man who can muster the courage to admit his pigheadedness.
Not confessing?
Okay then, an eighth of a heifer to the man who can swim to the bottom of this lake and retrieve the gumball machine I carelessly tossed in a bout of sugar rage.
Not swimming?
Okay then, a sixteenth of a heifer to the man who can stand on one leg for more than five minutes without breathing.
Not balancing?
Okay then, a thirty-second of a heifer to the man who can shave his armpit hair and refuse to scratch the area until it’s fully grown again.
Not daring?
Okay then, a sixty-fourth of a heifer to the man who can tell me where the closest diner might be.
Not helping?
Okay then, I’ll keep the heifer and you all can go to hell.

Not going?