I’m getting too old to be drinking with rock bands!

Generally speaking, the proposition was as simple as it was confusing: Can I drop by and get you hammered tomorrow if I bring plenty of Belgian beer and a guy named Bo? That is the exact wording of the text message that Dunkel sent me on Thursday and given the fucked up nature of the question, the only real response I could come up with was: Do you know the proper spelling of wood-fired oven? If so, then yes!

And with that, it was settled.. “The band and I will be rehearsing from 4-7 PM, you should drop by our rehearsal space after work.. And bring beer!” – “I can’t be there till 4:30,” I replied, “but I will bring beer!” – “Cool,” quoth the Dunkel, “dinner and beers at your place afterwards!” – Why thank you, I thought, going over his demands in my head. The fell on a Thursday afternoon at work after which I had to go directly to Emelie’s for dinner, fun with the gang and a much needed haircut. After said activities and a bit of lounging about and watching TV, I just might make it home at 10 PM that evening, at which time I had to make my home, which was in an absolutely sorry state, somewhat presentable to Dunkel, his new-found band mate Bo and his girlfriend, Marianne, who had now also announced her appearance Friday.. All this before passing out from exhaustion in due time to give me at least the illusion of a good night’s sleep before getting up Friday morning at 6.15 AM..

This all sounded like a bit of a mouthful after an entire day at work and, quite honestly, after a day at work and a cozy night with the gang, it was, indeed, a bit of a mouthful.. But I somehow managed to get everything done – and do a few loads a laundry – before passing out at shortly past midnight.

Friday at work was a real drag.. Not only because the weather was all nice-like and I would really rather be stuck in the sun drinking beer with the gang, but also because I really didn’t have much of anything to do.. Which, I guess, with my recent itinerary, I should be happy about, but it just sorta felt.. Not right.. Anyways, when the clock finally struck 3:30 PM, I grabbed the six-pack of beer for the band that I’d been saving in the office fridge, bid the office goodbye, jumped on a long yellow /(magic?) bus home and set out to join the band at their rehearsal studio in Kolding.

I arrived at around 4:30-ish and started banging on the front door to be let in, screaming a plethora of loud profanities, thinking the band was probably too busy getting their rock on to notice me. My senseless banging was answered by Dunkel’s girlfriend, Marianne who let me in, hugged me, looked me up and down, stared in confusion at my new office attire of expensive jeans and shirts, fancy shoes and new glasses and mumbled something along the lines of “Fuck me, you look good!” – “Yeah,” I said in reference to my distinct lack of stereotype rock n roll clothing, “I’m not sure the band will agree..” ..

And right I was.. As we barged through the sound-proof double doors of the studio, Under, ex-rythm guitarist cum bass player, was too busy fiddling with something to even acknowledge my entry on the scene. Dunkel, still primarily used to seeing me with long hair and some sort of 80’s metal or 70’s rock band shirt stared at me a little puzzled and Bo, new drummer of the band and last member of the new lineup, whom I had by the way never seen before, stared at my IT professional outfit in a sorta puzzled, sorta apprehensive, sorta questioning kinda way.. Ah yes, the stereotypes of metal.. Anyways, being a long time member of the scene, I knew what to do, I reached into my bag, pulled out a cold six pack and threw one beer to each member of the band, I then pulled off my Hugo Boss shirt, reached into my back, pulled out a Five Finger Death Punch tour tee, pointed at Bo and yelled “FUCKING PLAY SOME PANTERA!! NOW!!!!!” .. At which he nodded in approval in an “you’re okay, kid” kinda way and kicked into Walk.. Jamming ensued and I was evidently accepted by the pack.

What followed was a three hour rehearsal/jamming session interrupted by a break and some mindless, stupid chit-chatter at the hands of five silly metal-heads. Seeing the band in this new incarnation was kinda fun even if they were still getting into the habit of playing together. Dunkel has taken over on vocals from their former lead singer which was, well, hard to say anything about, really, as the PA in the studio was about as shitty as they come. Under went from playing guitar to playing bass which he seemed decent enough at.. And Kris, the old drummer, obviously got the boot in favor of Bo who seems young (ten years younger than me, it turns out), dedicated, fast and roaring to go.. He actually played pretty stupidly fast at times, dragging the entire band into overdrive, which is always a good thing.

After a fun session and some utterly silly and stupid comments and feedback from yours truly, we (we being Dunkel, Marianne, Bo and myself) headed off to my place to unload a large amount of luggage and an even larger amount of various alcoholic beverages, ranging from Newcastle Brown Ale over German Pilsners to Belgian Trappist brews, whisky and two bottles of Jäger.. Y’know, just to be on the safe side. We then wobbled on over to the local supermarket and started arguing over what to have for dinner. We settled for pork tenderloin in cream sauce on the condition, posed by someone who shall remain nameless (*cough* Marianne *cough*), that a 1:1 ratio of cocktail wieners to tenderloin be added to the mix.. Oh well, 900 grams of tenderloin and 900 grams of sausages it was, add to that the pint of heavy cream that Bo showed up with from the dairy section and the 300 grams of bacon I had left in the fridge and we just about had a meal fit for kings. Dunkel and Marianne grabbed a couple of bags of potato chips and some M&M’s for dessert, y’know, just in case anybody were still alive after the cholesterol-laden dinner.

We then trotted back to my place and each busied ourselves in our own little ways for about an hour: Dunkel showered, Marianne complained about her sore feet, I cooked dinner and Bo set out browsing my music collection from A-Z, going either YAY or NAY at each single artist he encountered.. All of us, of course, consumed alcohol in one way or another, we hadn’t come for the dancing after all..

After about an hour of cooking dinner and getting sloshed, we ate.. There’s probably a lot ot be said about the nutritional value of pork and sausages fried in bacon fat and smothered in heavy cream and served over rice with a side of beer.. But umm.. Let’s just stick to the fact that it tasted fucking GOOD! Which, I do believe, is the exact wording of the unanimous verdict brought forth by the tasting jury. After such a pork-ish onslaught, everybody were feeling pretty well stuffed, so I went and got everybody a shot of Jäger to help their digestion.. Which, from a view of trying to improve digestion was a pretty smart idea, but, bearing into mind the six or so odd beers already consumed by everybody involved, was actually a pretty stupid idea.. At any rate, things seemed to head downhill from there.. FAST!

More beers hit the table, as did a deck of cards and another round of shots, Bo claimed control of the playlist and the volume settings of my stereo (which proved a pretty bad idea), I brought out a bottle of Russian Standard Vodka and started mixing drinks for Marianne and Dunkel became the all-out instigator of all plans bad and hurtful to his fellow human beings.. Fast forward about an hour and we were dead-locked in Dunkel’s newest drinking game creation: Fast-paced Crazy Eights which he from the beginning in classic Dunkel fashion had described as “a game which won’t get you very drunk very quickly.” Voice levels were up considerably, mainly owing to Bo blasting Lamb of God about as loud as the stereo would go (and mine goes to 11!), and things had pretty much descended into madness:

Despite the music being up so loud, the windows were open because I had tried to minimize the effort needed to get new cold beers for our drinking game and in doing so had stuck two six packs in the cold early summer breeze outside the living room window. Since they were going down so fast no one had really bothered to close the window. Also, we boys had nearly killed our first bottle of Jäger and Marianne, not to be outdone, had polished off almost a quarter of a bottle of Russian Standard on account of her (despite her better judgement) insisting that I mix her drinks because it made her feel all lady-like/drunk. There was some Pernod or Pastis downing going on, too, I believe, but the details allude me for the time being.

This went on for a good little (and by that I mean long) while until eventually the new guy, Bo, had to admit defeat and spew his guts.. Which, despite the nuisance it must have posed to the neighbors, made me pretty happy that the window was still open.. And then things sorta quieted down a little, from what I remember of it anyways.. See, the thing is, nobody remembers too well after a few six packs and a third of a bottle of Jäger. What I do remember, though, is that the music got turned down considerably (for a while, at least) and that a break was had on the hard stuff. I also sorta remember making my bed with clean sheets and stuff so that Marianne would have a place to crash after she got tired of listening to our nonsense at around 3 AM. I also remember having a very strong desire to turn in myself, and relating this wish to Dunkel.. I also (vaguely!) remember Dunkel telling me something along the lines of: “Aww, come on guy, stay for another drink and Cash’s “I Walk The Line”, Manowar’s “Warriors of the World” and one other song.. What I certainly don’t remember is staying onboard for nearly another hour with Dunkel and Bo, downing another bottle of Jäger and doing all sorts of weird things. I also have absolutely no idea about when I got to bed (and by bed I mean the floor of my bedroom as the bed was taken up by Dunkel and Marianne) nor why I woke up a couple of hours later in my boxers wondering “Where the hell have my clothes gone?”.. Or, for that matter, why Dunkel and Bo were also stirring awake at the very same time asking themselves the very same question..

Dunkel eventually found his clothes in the hallway while mine were in the living room, Bo’s in return was in the bedroom with no one really having much an indication as to why this was the case, though I’d be lying if I said that this was the first time something like this happened.. I didn’t really much feel like wondering about it anyway.. Honestly, though, I didn’t really feel like much that morning.. I barely felt like living.. “Oh boy,” I told myself as the hangovers started rolling over me, I’m gonna be regretting last night for a while.. And, true to my word, I did. While Bo, Dunkel and Marianne spent time slowly regaining their composure (blessed art the young!), I curled up in a fetal position on the floor, moaning and wincing. As they gathered their stuff and left, I moved on to the couch where I turned on the TV and then passed out and slept till 4 in the afternoon. I got up, went shopping for a bit to eat, then had to lay down again on account of not feeling too well. I ate dinner at around 7 PM, much against my better judgement, then got queasy again and had to fight to hold it down until I fell asleep again at around 8.. I was in and out of consciousness until around 1 AM where I tried to watch some form of documentary but had to give up and crawl to bed.. I remember waking at 5:30 AM and still feeling hung over only to go back to bed and wake up at 8 AM Sunday morning, feeling somewhat ready to face the world.. Which I did by going out on an extended three hour hike to get the rest of the toxins out of my blood. It worked, somewhat, but it was only at around noon when Tina texted me to ask how ye olde body was doing (probably on account of not having heard from me since I declared Friday that I was off to get wasted) that I could honestly say that I was feeling well again.. Finally!

Geeze..

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