TSU: "Blues for the Wolf-Man"
by Greywolf the Wanderer

All righty then. Having heard that some folks have given up on asc, I decided it was time to strike despair into the hearts of my enemies by proving one more time that I am too fucking stubborn to quit, and too goddamned mean to kill. This's a TSU post. I hope it's funny, but if ya hate this, well, DUH -don't read the bastard, nies? Rating PG13 for cussing, and to cover my furry arse. Dat's it. Copyright on this is *mine*, all mine. It can be archived on asc and ascem, and on the TSU website that's still being constructed -- if ya want to put it somewhere else, ask me, hey? Some of ye will get a few good laughs; them as don't, well, mebbe they'll at least get a life. Fair use is made here of assorted TSU/ASCEM regulars, not to mention a couple of Trek characters what belongs to the almighty Paraborg. Get over it.

Summary: Greywolf has to deal with the Morning After the Night Before...

TSU: "Blues for the Wolf-Man"
[PG13, for cussin']

<The scene opens in the TSU Faculty Lounge. Professor Greywolf is slumped in the corner, in his favourite ratty old recliner, the one with all the duct tape and cigarette burns. He looks morose, and rather the worse for wear. He is holding a bag of ice to his head; after a moment you notice that he is sitting on what appears to be a transparent donut cushion, also filled with ice. An obscenely cheerful, nauseatingly bright yellow sticker proclaims this to be "Dr. Feelgood's Miraculous Morning-After Comfort Cushion (Pat. Pend.)"

The Wolf groans and shifts position slightly, wincing as he does so. In the background, you hear the opening bars of "Bad to the Bone", by George Thorogood and the Destroyers, start to play. The Wolf grimaces, drops his icebag, and puts his paws up over his bedraggled ears.>

GW: Dammit, *must* you make so fucking much *noise*? Some of us have hangovers here, you know!

Narrator: But this is your theme music, sir!

GW: *Fuck* theme music; this is *not* the time!

Narrator: <can be heard swallowing nervously> Uh... sure. Yeah, OK -- whatever you say, Mr. Wolf, sir! <makes throat-cutting gesture, and the music ends>

GW: <grudgingly> Yeah. that's better... I guess I won't kill ya, this time...

<The door opens, and Jungle Kitty slinks in, also looking rather shattered and fragile. She and the Wolf nod to one another. She inspects the coffee pot, wrinkles her nose in disgust, and sits down next to the Wolf, waving a joint under his noise. He brightens a little, and actually manages to look interested, not to mention slightly less deranged.>

JK: Smokko, Wolf-san? <lights the joint, hands it to him>

GW: <almost smiling now> Hai! Betcher arse, smokko, Kitty-san. Domo! <he takes a big hit, holds it. Lets it out. Sighs, relieved.> Ahh... Yeah. That helps!

JK: Rough day, huh?

GW: Rough *night*. Ooh, my achin' arse and head...

JK: <smiling, herself> I heard you had fun last night...

GW: <wincing again> So they tell me. Oogh... Ah, thanks. Yer a pal, Jungle Kitty. <takes another hit, passes it back again.> Fuckin' A, Kitty, tell ya what -- do yerself a favour. *Never* try ta out-drink Robin -- it canna be done! Talk about kidneys of steel -- oy vey is mir! JK: <also wincing, in rueful memory> Shit -- I'm surprised you even tried! What *happened?*

GW: Well, it's like this. Went to the beach last night. Turned out there was a party goin' on, just a little get-together, celebrating the end of Finals Week, you know? Hell, I figured, why not, it really was a helluva week. <takes another hit; pauses, to savour it.> Oh, god, that does help... So anyway, OK, we're at the beach, right? Well, jonk's leading a conga line, so I chug a coupla brewskis an' join that for a while. Pinch a few cute buns. Smoked some. Enjoyed a few nips outta Scotty's flask -- mmm, lemme tell ya, that boy carries some *fine* whisky! So far, so good, right?

Then I see Robin. She's sittin' at a table with Miles, Auntie Ruth, and Soph. They're all lookin' at this lead-crystal lab flask, that says "Danger: Extreme Biohazard" on it. Shotglasses all round. The stuff in the flask is green, glowing in the dark, and kinda smokin', just a bit. Well, I'm curious, so I mosey over an' ask...

JK: What was it?

GW: Ever hear of a drink called Honourable Suicide?

JK: <looking impressed> No...

GW: Me, either, till last night. Fuck, man, that is some *vicious* shit!

JK: What's in it?

GW: <winces again. Shakes head; regrets it> Oogh... Something called Midori -- some kinda melon liqueur, Robin said. Some vodka -- Stoli, of course. 110 proof ouzo -- from Greece, none a' that replicated shit. Lime juice, fresh. Sugar. White rum -- and some Bombay Sapphire gin. Woogh, shit-- I feel as sick as a fuckin' *dog*, this mornin'...

JK: <thinking that, well, technically speaking, he *is* a dog, of sorts -- but mercifully not saying it> Wow. Sounds pretty deadly, all right.

GW: It is, man. They pour ya these teensy weensy little shots. Tastes like candy, with just a bit of a kick. Sneaks up and fuckin' *bites* ya, after a while!

Anyhow, Auntie fades out pretty early on. Goes off lookin' for her wife, or failing that, to spy on Q and Picard fer a bit o' inspiration, like. Soph kinda falls forward into her empty glass, and starts to snore, after a bit. Like the dormouse, in "Alice in Wonderland", you know? Next Miles heads out, lookin' for Julian, hummin' "Ride of the Valkyries"...

So now it's just me an' Robin...

JK: <shakes head; can already tell where this is going...> So, ah, what happened next? GW: Near as I can remember, Robin clamps a lid on the flask-- it's still about half-full, you know? And she sez, "Come on, Wolfie, lets blow this taco stand and go find some real action." And, like a damn fool, I agree.

If she'd of tried to take a shuttle, I *think* I'd of refused-- fer damn sure neither of us was in *any* shape to fly just then! But I ain't *sure*. Right about then I was just noticin' that my nose and hands and feet was all kinda numb -- you know, the way they get, when you've got a real load on? Anyhow, we steps into the transporter, flask in hand, and off we go...

JK: <looks impressed> You let her run the controls, drunk like that?

GW: Had to, then, didn't I? *I* wuz too drunk to *see* the controls; couldn't even tell which one was which! Guess we're lucky we made it out at all, much less back again. Ol' Q -gotta say, the man does nice work...

JK: So, where'd you go?

GW: Fuck, I dunno, not really. We started out at Quark's, I'm pretty sure. I *think*. Robin played a couple rounds of Tongo; I just sat an' watched, and nursed some kanaar.

JK: <winces> Eewwww... I hate kanaar!

GW: So do I, when I ain't shitfaced. Stuff tastes like rancid phaser coolant... <he shudders, remembering> Well, let's see. I remember hangin' out at Munden's for a while, over in Cynosure. Got me a bar tab there -- courtesy, one dimensional nexus to another, you know? Damn good bar, that is. <scratches head, looks puzzled>

Say, Kitty -- you ever hear of a "Rick's Place"? Everybody dressed all retro, like, Old Earth style? Cause I swear, at one point I blinked, an' that's where we wuz at -- but shit, it's hard to say. By then I wuz seein' about three of everything, you know?

JK: <grinning, in sympathy> How'd you get home?

GW: Umm... I, ah, ain't ezackly sure... I, ah, woke up in Sickbay, and for a while I thought I wuz gonna die -- and then, I was afraid I wasn't going to, you know? All's I know is, Pulaski gave me her nasty alcohol antidote, and when I got done pukin' and shiverin', she just grins and sez I better thank Cousin Selek for droppin' me off, about 0530 or so. Sez she don't know why she bothers, an' chases me outta her Sickbay.

Found a stub in m'pocket, from Crazy Eddie's Last Chance Bail Bonds an' Hock Shop, on Rigel VII, an' I don't remember *nothin'* about *that*. Oh, yeah -- and I have a real sore arse -- fuckin' Pulaski left me like this, said I needed ta learn a lesson. <winces again; very cautiously shifts from one cheek to the other> I looks at her, an' sez, "Fuck me sideways, Doc -- this fuckin' *hurts*!"

An' she just grins, an' sez, "Well, as a matter of fact, Mr. Wolf -- someone already *did*..." <shifts ice bag to other side of his head> Ohh, fuck... It ain't even a good day t'die, man-- I'm too wasted to win a fight with the Gate Keeper today, fer shure... If I die today, I'll spend eternity cleaning toilets in the Black Fleet. Ah, shiiiit...

JK: <lights another doob, hands it over> Here, Wolf -- for medicinal purposes, man. You need it...

GW: No fuckin' lie!! <takes big hit, sags back into chair> Awww... fuck, man. I ain't *never* gonna git in a drinkin' match with Robin *ever* again... <he takes another hit. The bloodshot yellow eyes slowly close, and he begins to snore. JK smiles, takes the joint, which has gone out, and tucks it behind one of the Wolf's pointed grey ears>

JK: Sure, my friend, sure -- that's what you said the *last* time, too... <she quietly gets up and walks away, leaving the Wolf to try and sleep the worst of it off...>



-----/end/-----

Submitted for your approval
Greywolf the Wanderer