Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates by Mike Stangle & Dave Stangle

Author:Mike Stangle & Dave Stangle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

Molly. Roofalin?

(Dave)

I just woke up. It’s 11 something a.m. on a Saturday. It’s the fall of 2012 in New York City. I’m immediately overcome with one of the few feelings I both hate and am consistently unable to avoid: waking up and having no idea what the FUCK happened the night prior, combined with not being able to find my phone to piece it together. The longer I have to wait for the forensics, the worse I assume I behaved. It happens here and there with me, mostly when I drink too much. Actually it only happens when I drink too much, but this time I mean I didn’t remember drinking that much at all. I also usually have a pretty reliable drunk fail-safe. The damage is never that bad, because once I get to that level, I pretty much have twenty minutes of being a raving lunatic, then go directly to bed in a compromising position. It’s like clockwork. Once in a while, I’ll grope a buddy’s girlfriend or puke somewhere public. But usually the feedback is along the lines of “Oh, you weren’t too bad. You were real fucked-up, yup, but didn’t do anything too bad.” Still, I have to be able to assess the potential of the previous night’s missteps by analyzing the forensics, and I can’t do that without my phone. I can’t find it anywhere, and I start to freak out. I barely trust myself when I’m sober.

My mind was racing as I realized how little I actually remembered. In fact, I didn’t remember any thing. Why were things so foggy? Put it together, Dave. I had to actually turn on the TV to see what time it was, since I couldn’t find my phone. Okay, let’s see, 11 something a.m. on a Saturday in the fall of 2012 in New York. That means I had a Button Hooker 1 flag football game in less than an hour. I decided to do a full sweep of the apartment for my phone before heading out for the game. As I declared my shoe-box-sized bedroom “clear” (aloud, like a SWAT team leader), I moved into the living room. I immediately noticed some weird colored shit on the floor. As I explored the apartment looking for my phone, all I could see was more weird colored shit. It was everywhere. Everywhere! I gave my eyes thirty seconds to focus and began investigating. Once I found my glasses, I picked some of it up and held it closer for examination. They were feathers. Very distinct feathers. Peacock feathers. It looked like someone ran over the NBC peacock with a lawn mower, in my living room. My first thought was that Matt Lauer was somehow involved as revenge for all those selfies we took on his phone. Then I remembered Matt Lauer is a sweetheart and revenge isn’t his game. My next thought was a bit more rational: was it part of a costume? They really didn’t feel fake, though. If this was part of a costume, it was very high-end.

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