...When the encripted message of the Sambuca bottle was decoded, it read 'The Devil's Drink'!!
As the dense fog of the years sets down upon the memories of past experiences, I realize that the one story left
untold is that of Dr McGillicuddy and his ghostly meeting with the DEVIL!
It all started one fateful afternoon of a normal mid summer's day at the Tourist agency. An exciteable Cornboy
had just entered the front door of the Office. I knew by the glint in his eye that something was up, so I cautiously
placed the phone off the hook; making sure my boss, the crooked old bag (that's what I called her) didn't see me.
"Is yer' boss 'round?" Cornboy in an anxious voice whispered.
"Why how art thou Cornboy?"I said in overly confident voice so as not to arouse suspicion. Then I whispered,
"The crooked old bag is in the back. What's Hip? Are we doing anything decent this fine evening?"
"No, no nothing at all. Why do you ask?"
From that I knew something was up, so I gave him the you're cool look.
"Okay. We're campin'! Barf's in the car, d'ya need any..." Cornboy looks around, then whispers, "Christmas Presents?"
I knew exactly what he meant. Good Ol' Al-kee-hall! I looked down in shame cos' I'd hit it pretty hard the last time,
but he knew that wouldn't stop a Hipster, so I told him tonight was gonna be special and I'd have to pick it out myself.
But when I turned around again, with the lightning fast speed and agility of the Twilight Warrior he was, he had
dissappeared.
The next thing I knew I was walking into the Liqour Store with a big smile on my face ready to grab hold of a fine
spirit of some sort (little was I to know that I was to do just that). I went a'shopping. Every aisle seemed packed with all
sorts a goodies. The sweet nectar of Smirnoff, the lovely aroma of 'Aaargh Matey' Captain Morgan, and of course the
distinguished freezer full of exquisite imported beer. Aah, the imported beer. But my heart was set on sterner stuff. Indeed,
I found myself meandering over to the Liquer section. I gave penance to the ever present Peppermint Schnapps, turned my nose
up to some no name brand swill, I even pardonned a bottle of Napoleon's Brandy! But no. No they weren't good enough. I passed
all of those iddly piddly bottles and moved to the MAN'S section of Liquers.
There it stood in front of me its golden smile, its guilded glee. It was as cold as ice, its curvey stature, so much so that
I got down on my knees and bowed before its presence. Yes, right there in the aisle! I knew it must be mine! I grabbed the bottle off the shelf and embraced it in my arms. I proceeded to book my appointment with Dr. McGillicuddy's Peach Schnapps.
I started to walk towards the check out counter when suddenly a thought came to my head. From where this disjointed thought
originated I don't know, but it pervaded my subconscious until finally I could ignore it no more. I went back to the aisle with the
Liquers, past the Napoleon's Brandy, past the no name swill , and once more past the Peppermint schnapps. I knew not where my will
was taking me only that I should follow without argument. I found myself peering at a peculiarly innocent looking bottle of clear
white liquid. The label said "Sambuca". I remember Barf speaking quite adamently about its potency, but I couldn't recall his exact
words. I took it off the shelf and walked to the check out counter.
I guess I had been browsing a little too long or maybe it was because I stuttered when I asked what the total came to; either way I ended up showing her my identification and she eyed it suspiciously. Did I notice a hint of apprehension in her eye as she put the bottle into the bag? Did she know something I didn't? Was she privy to information unavailable to the comman man such as myself? Some knowledge only bestowed to those belonging to the cult of the Liquor Store, passed down from the great Liqour God? My imagination for sure.
The evening brought good fortune until I found myself hurtling down some backassed country road at about 100 mph in the dark of
the night. "Maybe I left this camping thing too late?", I said to myself. However, I didn't turn around, I just let my trusty Big Shit (the Chariot of Champions) carry me to my destination. When I arrived I cursed myself for forgetting my flashlight. There were no street lights, no overly bright moon to guide my way to the Hipster's personal Zanadune. I simply took off into the bush and let my feet guide the way whilst allowing my
arms and legs the luxury of getting cut to shit!
It didn't take long before the magic fluid of Dr. McGillicuddy hit my lips. Oh the sweet nectar tasted just fine! It also deadened the feeling of all the tree slashes on my legs and arms. As I approached the usual location of our campfests the bush seemed to become more dense and the already dim light of the moon had seemingly died out like an old candle. When I look back at it now it seems as if the forest was forewarning me, but at the time I foolishly thought of only the warmth of the campfire ahead and
Dr. McGillicuddy's sweet nectar on my breath.
It took no more than about fifteen minutes to reach the campsite but it seemed like Hours. I was welcomed by the warmest of
Hipster greetings, the traditional "HIPSTER!!" when the light of the campfire no longer blinded their view of the oncoming
stranger. I sat down on the nearest log and realized in an instant that I had, without a doubt, come incredibly late. Hipster Kev was already snuggling into his red-haired honey, 'Goober' was well, somber, Barf's conversation skills were a little short of
'hey' and 'yeah', and Cornboy was jumping around with the magic Cornhat! It was catch up time and I knew what I had to do. In a
short time the good ol' Doctor was out of medicine. The lovely Golden bottle lay beside the fire a hollow shell of its former self. There is a time in every Hipster's life when he says to himself, 'maybe I've had to much?', and then common sense kicks in.
I dug deep into my sack of goodies only to reveal the peculiar bottle of Sambuca. Suddenly I heard a high pitch, ear piercing scream!! It could have made the hair on an ostrich's neck stand on end! I turned only to see......
"Goob!" I shouted, "You startled me!"
"Sorry, just testing my vocal cords.",he replied.
I went back to my liquor. And proceeded to read the label, when a ghostly voice from accross the darkness whispered in a
barely audible tone...."Devil's Drink.". The words hung in the air like a stale fart. "Devil Drink" it whispered again. I ignored
it and twisted off the cap. "Devil's Drink" it whispered once more, and at this third ghostly warning I put the bottle down.
"Ha, Ha!" laughed Barf from across the fire.
"Bastard." I said in the most contemptuous voice I could muster, realizing the voice had been Barf all along.
I picked up the bottle and took a swig. Actually it was pretty good! No, wrong. It was frigging decent!
"Booyaka!!" I said to myself, "That's good shit!"
.....Time Lapse.....
I awoke in the morning feeling suprisingly perky! I even thought that I had picked the two best possible drinks ever to be
mixed together in one stomach for one evening! The down side of this wonderful story is that I got sooo drunk I pissed all over
our tent and no one would sleep in it except me because I was too drunk to notice! Apparently, I had left to go take a pee beside
a tree when one of the Hipster Vixens graciously moved me towards the tent.... and out it came.... and there I went!! Yes, it
frightens me that bladder control was never one of my attributes. But what is done is done. I am of the mind that certain demons
do possess the power to control the Sambuca drink. Whether or not that particular evening the demons of Hades pervaded my drink
or not remains a mystery. In any event I earned the name 'Urinator' because of this incredible event.
More than once since that peculiar summer night have I emersed myself in the evil fluid; dying to understand its secrets, its
magic, its potent power over one's actions and more than once have I found myself kneeling at its mercy, begging for some form of
nasty retribution.
Hipster Urinator
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