So last night was fun times. I recently joined a Tuesday night dart league simply for something to do on tuesday nights. Much like my bowling league, this is really just a drinking league. You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think drinking while doing either is a wise decision. You can do a lot of damage with a bowling ball and three darts. I'm not talking about these silly "soft tip" darts, I'm talking heavy as shit, sharpened before each game steel tips. I mean, really, someone get's drunk and angry in either "sport" and shit can go bad quick. Anyhow, on a side note, my dart league is a travelling league. This is actually kinda rad cuz we get to schlep around to other bars I wouldn't necessarily go to for no other reason than I didn't know they were there. Last night were in Royal Oak. This matters not, it was the trip out to the Oak that made me happy. As many of you know, I love pirates. Tis true matey. But the only thing I love as much as pirates are spies. On the way out I saw a spy shop. This made me very happy. Just as I was announcing my happiness... ANOTHER SPY STORE! I was like a kid in a titty bar. I was too excited to speak and had too many ideas to be coherent. I had decided that we needed to go to the spy stores, get all the equipment we need (including rope) and break into a consulate just because we could. I had but one mandate, I was to be the one to crawl through the ventilation ducts no matter how better suited the other three were for the job. let's just say I was with three very skinny people ranging in height from 5'2"-6'. It was then pointed out that the only way I'm making it through the vents is with about 30lbs of grease and being poked with a sharp stick. Bastards, using logic and spacial relations and physics and shit. It was then suggested we break into the spy shop, which I shot down since, well you need the spy gear to circumvent the spy shop's spy shit. Of course I stated my desire to be a pirate spy, or spy pirate, whichever sounded better. I was told this is not a viable career. I explained the only reason they thought so was because no one has ever heard of it, because in order to be a pirate spy, you have to be the best at both. And one had never been caught. But they exist my friends. They exist.
Anyhow, the moral of this whole story (Chud, there is no way to derive a moral from this) is that when you return to your home bar and have a "few" more beers, and some shots with the owner and win a couple of games people start to do stupid shit. For example, throwing darts at people's feet. While this is generally accepted practice during a dart game you are usually aiming away from the foot. She was aiming AT feet. No big deal. Then... it happened. In my defense, I had 9 darts and the previous 8 were beautifully grouped and just close enough to make you make you wince. then, I threw the 9th dart.
Woops. Guess I should've stopped at 8.