The Daily Dump

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Friday, July 1

A Blast from the Past, Vol. II

Since I’ve already checked out for the holiday weekend, here’s the second installment of “Blast from the Past.” Herewith, a classic tale of what happens during your college years. I just hope the statute of limitations has expired.
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The most absurd night in history. And by absurd, I mean bizarre. And by bizarre I mean illegal.

I don't know where to begin or end, sort of like reading an excerpt from James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake. But the sequence of events isn't so important as the quality of the criminal activity.

The characters:
Me
Jon
John (dies after act one)
Briana (dies of embarrassment in the first scene)
Paul
Jeff (the gorilla) . . . That's not a nickname.

We leave Triad after a fundraiser (read: offsite Fordham talent show) where John and I share a scotch of a different sort – the free kind you bring with you in your flask that you drink out of cups of ice garnered at the bar through this perversion of the system: “I’ll have a beer. Oh, can you get me a glass of water? Sure. Oh, I think Brianna wants one too? Sure. Can we use this ice here? Sure, but don't leave the scoop in the bin. It's a health code violation. Oh? Yeah.” (Listen, I said it was absurd...) That's right before the hot waitress brought her dog in. (And that's not sexual innuendo either.)

We round up the posse before leaving the joint. Our express purpose is “To have an adventure.”
“Hey, where are you guys going?”
“On an adventure. Want to come?”
“Sure.”

Jeff has a gorilla suit on (it was a fancy event, he had to wear a suit.) We have some mini bottles of liquor with us. We've stolen a cup or two. We need ice. The obvious solution: we'll go to a bodega and someone will bring a bag of ice to the counter under the guile of making a purchase. Jeff will then enter the bodega in the gorilla costume, ask for bananas, then take the ice off the counter and run. The person purchasing the ice will then act confused. “What just happened?” “A gorilla stole your ice.” We leave, confused, and fill up our glasses around the corner.

I won't go into the greatest of detail or I will be typing for the remainder of the day. But in total an estimated 7 bodegas were burgled by a gorilla last night. 40's, six packs, snacks (later on, when we got hungry) and the scenes became more elaborate: religious ceremonies worshiping the banana in the middle of the bodega, dances, violent, almost kata-like incantations for bananas; stumbling into bars and sitting down at the bar, asking for a shot of 99 bananas; trying to mate with attractive girls on the street; laying down in front of people walking down the sidewalk; swinging from trees; going into crowded restaurants asking for a table.

Later on in the night as the group dwindled to four and we became drunk and disillusioned, though highly polished in our routine, the pinnacle of the night finally happened: we went into a bodega, I put a six pack on the counter, fumbled for my id, the gorilla comes in, puts two bananas on the counter, pretends to faint slightly (this was genius) and pushes one of the bananas off the other side of the counter. The clerk bends down to pick it up and as he does, the gorilla makes a clean getaway. I stand confused. The Mexican workers are baffled. I stumble outside hands up in the air, I-can't-believe-a-gorilla-just-stole-my-beer style, when a citizen points: “He went this way!”

Suddenly, this citizen is race walking down the side street in pursuit of the gorilla. I half-heartedly oblige: “You saw him? Are you sure it was him?” (Ss though he might be mistaken....) We both run around the next corner, to the avenue, and the man, 20 feet in front of me, finds the gorilla trying to hide under a car. “Come on out, I see you there,” he says. “Come on, I know you're the gorilla that took the beer.”

“I don't have the beer,” the gorilla grunts. “I dropped it back there.”
I act mad, like a man would act if a gorilla stole his beer. “Well where? Could you be a little more specific?”
“Back there.”
“Well you show me where!”
“No, you go find it.”
“You stole it, you show me where you left it.”
“Fine, I’ll fucking show you.”

I walk back around the corner with Clark Kent in front of me, and find the beer underneath a tree. The gorilla has taken off like a furry fart in the wind. We don't bother to follow. The guy asks, “You going to bring that back?”

“Yeah, I guess I will.” We begin laughing, starting small then growing into a bellow, both of us stunned at the confrontation we just had. “Can you believe what just happened?” I ask him, laughing hysterically. He is bending over in laughter now. “Unbelievable. Un-fucking-bel......”

I take off in the opposite direction, full speed, beer in hand, Joe-citizen left, baffled.

I find the gorilla around the corner. We try to find the other two, but they're long gone, forced to cooler temperatures as the situation got hot. We resolve ourselves to ourselves and head home . . . Leaving the beer on some corner somewhere for some homeless man's delight.

unbelievable,
Dan

Reply, from Jon

The moral of the story is that you can do anything with a gorilla suit...anything!

1. At one point in the night we climbed the stairs to smoke filled pool hall comprised of the toughest black men in the city. They see the gawky white kids and start to snicker. Then they see the gorilla and start to giggle like little girls.

2. Every victim of the deli robberies couldn't help but smile. Yes, they were being robbed but I guess it just hurts less when its a psychopath with a banana and not a psychopath with a gun.

3. Have you ever danced with a group of random Puerto Ricans on the street (not counting the Puerto Rican day parade, Scott)? Me neither or at least not until I hung out with the gorilla.

4. The thing is, gorillas aren't afraid of cabs but cabs are terribly frightened of gorillas. When the gorilla would throw himself on the hoods of moving cabs the gorilla would laugh beating his chest in orgasmic joy. The cabbie would freeze, terrified that the gorilla mistook his cab for a giant banana.

5. Come to think of it the only person who wanted to stop our fun was the white man. Every one else just laughed or yelled a couple profanities in various tongues. Our various ethnic friends knew it was sham, but the white man was scared that the gorilla just might be real. He was probably worried he didn't have enough time to dominate another ethnicity. Especially one that was so powerful with all his dance moves, fancy talk with the ladies and reckless abandonment of reason. I think this entails great sociological implications that may require more extensive research.

Could we get away with same stunts if we were a different animal?

Does anyone have a giraffe suit?

Adventure,
Jon

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