Cultural exchanges comes to a drunken end.

I have been holding out on you reader(s?)

I hit a drunken minefield from you all summer, one that just recently was cleared.

I did not mention the Sicilian.

This summer, Bourbon Samurai went to New Hampshire to do some plays (more on that later). So he needed a sub letter for his room. The last time he did this, he found a very cool ex-professional golfer from Florida. This time, Bourbon went in a different direction.

The Sicilian hails from where you think he hails. He is a grad student of sorts, a sociologist studying the internet. This means his job is to screw around online. He is actually a very nice guy, and while his English is spotty it is very serviceable. It was his lifestyle and his entourage that was the concern.

The entourage was his brother, Shirtless Fredo, or S.F. who came to New York for a month, and ended up spending the whole month on our couch (The Sicilian springs the news of this visit on me a week into his sublet, the first night I hang out with him). Being his first time in the big city, S.F. wanted to take in the town. Take in the town is still code for get shit-housed every night of the week.

The best way I have found explaining the two was that for two months, I lived with two monkeys addicted to crystal meth. At first, they are cute and friendly. Then they become comical and weird. Then you look around and see that they have laid waste to your home with their antics. But you can never get angry at the monkeys, cause what are they gonna do, they are monkeys who need meth. So Hubris and I just laughed, ceded the living room, and waited for September.

The Saga of the Sicilian came to a close last Thursday. It was the last night he was staying with us, and for all his craziness, he was still a good guy, so Hubris and I wanted to send him off in style. So we pre-party with some Whiskey, a bottle of white wine, and some Coronas. After that ran out, we wandered over to the beer garden. As we walked over we realized that The Sicilian had been drinking before we got home, and that he was ripshit. When we get to the garden, he tells Hubris that he wants a woman tonight. Hubris, who is alittle lit but not drunk at all, decides to wingman him. Three attempts were made.

Attempt 1: A couple of girls sit down next to us. Hubris tries to introduce The Sicilian to the girls. At this point in his drunkenness, The Sicilian is having a hard time with English. Hubris keeps trying to set him up, but The Sicilian can only mutter, raking his ravaged brain for The Queen’s English. The girls flee as soon as they can.

Attempt 2: We get mobile. 4 attractive girls are sitting by themselves nearby. Hubris walks over to them and introduces The Sicilian. The girls’ expressions range from intrigued to annoyed. By now, the Sicilian has hit the hilarious stage of drunkenness, and is basically giggling to himself, speaking in half English. It looks like Hubris and I have brought a crazy man we kidnapped from a homeless shelter out for a beer. After making some attempts to talk to the girls, we admit defeat, and look for someone else.

Attempt 3: We start walking around, trying to find someone else, when The Sicilian stopped and asked a girl for a light. She was attractive, and was sitting with her huskier friend by themselves. Bullseye. We come over and explain our friend, and how it’s his last night in America and so on. The attractive one is into it; the huskier one is going along, as is her curse. All seems well, until a switch gets hit in the Sicilian’s brain. He goes crazy drunk in ways I have never seen. His muttering is louder and stranger. He starts shouting obscenities declaring Hubris “This guy, is the fucking shit guy” over and over. He gets alittle too grabby with the one girl, and then starts making pac-man motions with his hands, loudly yarping as he does it. I was so entranced; I couldn’t even wingman and hit on the fat girl. I also had to occasionally restrain him from groping the other girl, which kept me busy too. Oddly enough, all this pushed the other girl to Hubris, who looked quiet charming next to the lunatic on the other side of her. I eventually declare The Sicilian to drunk to function, so we take him back to our place, where he boots and falls asleep in a chair while Hubris and I drank Hieneken and watched Ghost Rider.

I will miss him, in his own special way.