The Tales of Lush Gordon
A serial by Finnegan Schall…tune in next week for…oh. Wait. Read this week's first. Ok. Go.

As those of you who already know me are aware, I never tell a lie. The following is the gods' honest truth. The other day (a few years ago) I was competing in an international drinking contest being held at Oktoberfest in Munich, against the finest alcoholics modern Russia had to offer. My teammate Ike Hill and I were outnumbered ten to one. So we had the advantage. You see, the average drinker of the world is used to drinking just one or two kinds of booze. The French drink wine, the Irish drink whiskey and beer and the Russians drink vodka. However, the average American drinker is trained in a wide variety of alcohols. I, for example, have trained in wine, beer, port, whisky, vodka, tequila, beer, Jagermiester, whisky and Irish whiskey. So if you can make the other team change liquor, you'll beat them every time.
Ike and I had managed to switch the format to Irish Whisky and beer and we had them on the ropes. Suddenly, one of the russkies, a fellow named Tootightsky, started to make conversation (I assumed in an attempt to stall).
"So what do you do in America?" he says in a thick accent.
Running my cover story through my head I reply, "I'm an environmental scientist." It's just obscure enough that no one really knows what it means, and just boring enough that no one really cares. Usually.
"So you are a CIA spy," is his startling reply.
Chuckling in an attempt to sound relaxed, I state "No, no, just a scientist."
"Everybody knows that all American scientists are CIA spies."
"I'm not a spy really," I claim, sounding a little forced at this point.
"But if you were a CIA spy, would you not say the same thing?"
Even though we are winning, I'm still drunk enough at this stage that the convoluted logic involved in this idea gives me pause. Suddenly, drunkenly thinking that reverse logic will save me, I burst forth with, "All right then I am a CIA spy!"
I realize I may not be as clever as I thought when he stands up at that point and rattles on for several moments to his countrymen in Russian then points to me and says, "CIA spy."
There follows a long moment of silence as the entire table of drunks stare at me. Finally, with nothing else to do I shrug, raise my glass and say,"Nazdarovia."
This is Russian for "Cheers," which is English for "sounds good let's get drunk". After another thoughtful silence, everyone suddenly cheers at once and the drinking recommences.
Thinking to myself that I had somehow cleverly dodged that bullet, I relax and Ike and I finish winning the drinking competition.
I was surprised when several hours later, while stumbling (employing my best guess) toward the general direction of the hotel, the same Russian, Tootightsky, weaves his way toward me in the dark, throws his arm over my shoulder and mumbles thickly, "You know Mr. CIA spy, I could tell you things. Terrible terrible things."
"Like what?"
"I know of a operation run by former KGB right here in Munich"
"No shit?"
As a spy you are trained with very clever retorts in these situations.
"Yes, is true, I am shitting not. They tell me they sell weapons of former USSR. They also tell me maybe CIA wants to buy so terrorist does not buy."
"OK my red brother, take me to them, maybe I know some people."
In retrospect this was not one of my wisest decisions.
We were so excited by our new-found friendship, we went into the next bar and picked up some vodka and two frauliens. From there we made our way to several more bars getting drunker as we went. Just about the time I had decided Tootightsky was full of shit we entered yet another bar but this time I noticed him make a secret signal to the bartender involving a soft shoe two-step and sticking his pinkie up his left nostril.

TO BE CONTINUED. Next month. Or whenever ol' Fin gets out of prison, or else becomes the library master's bitch so he can use the old Underwood to pluck out the next chapter.

- www.KCDrinker.com - 2004 ©

Finnegan Schall  has great hair. He is perhaps most famous as Rasputin’s decadent love child, with a day job as a mad scientist (while not crazy per se, his antagonistic feelings toward farm animals is considered by some to be deviant). He works a promising night time career in the male stripping industry, and is currently negotiating a lucrative stripping contract with Paris Hilton’s lawyers. His drinking credentials include: Out drinking the Russian, German, Irish, and Australian teams at the International Tag Team Drinking Championship (with the help of Ike Hill). Most famous quote: “Hey that’s my shoe, it’s full of booze, and what’s your name lover?”