Funk Yachts, I’m On A Bus!

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Panda, Monkey, Ape

I’ll Tell Me Ma – Chieftains & Van Morrison


So it’s five in the morn. I think I’m outside Jack Black’s house. Maybe Zach Galifinakis’. I can’t remember. I’m drunk. I don’t know. I just keep knocking on the door and calling out

“Zach Black! Jack Galifinakis! Can we come in? Party still on?”

All I hear is

“No. We’re done, Irish.”

Fair enough. In next door we go. I’m with two Irish guys, Rob and Adam. Met them earlier in the night at a pub in West Hollywood called The Den. Our mutual friend Marey introduced us, being Irish and all. Two actors. Rob here visiting for work, Adam living here now. Up for a laugh. Well able to drink. Nice change in the WeHo. Usually a lot of posing, lightweights and small talk. Always tremendous fun. Ahem. Anyway, these funkers were as refreshing as putting on a brand new pair of socks. Boozing buddies on.

Somehow the three of us got the nicknames Panda (Rob), Monkey (Adam) and Ape (Magnificent Me). Anyway, we drank at The Den. Went back to a group to a party somewhere over the hill in the Valley. Maybe Studio City. Not too sure. More people at the party. Sitting outside. Singing. Laughing. Annoying the neighbours. Asked us to leave. So some stayed. And the three of us left. Panda’s neighbour was having a party. Wouldn’t mind if we crashed. So he believed. Crash on.

Jump in a taxi. Random girl in a baseball jersey who was at the bar and then the party asked to come with us. She lived by there. Fair enough. Get to Panda’s abode. Girl asks if she can come with us. We’re all drunk. Kind of annoying. Already told me she didn’t like me. Called me her arch-nemesis for some reason. Maybe she asked me

“Do you think I’m good looking? Tell me honestly.”

“Honestly? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“No. Because you don’t smile enough.”

Not sure if she heard the second part. But that might be why she said I was the Lex Luther to her Superman. Anyway, we’re outside Panda’s house. Nobody knows her. And nobody really wants to get to know her. So we tell her she better go home. She is shocked. Stunned. Sent packing. In hindsight, it was the wiser call. No party at Zach’s/Jack’s house. So we go into Panda’s abode. Listen to some music. Drink some tequila. Discuss the merits and flaws of the tequila worm. Realise this night is done. Sleep. Wake up. Wonder: Where the funk am I again?

So I get a glass of water. Stroll out of the house. Walk down a hill. And try to figure out how I’m going to get home. Phone a taxi. He asks me where I am. Not sure. No clue. Walking down a hill in Silverlake I think. Not enough info. Tell him I’ll phone him back when I know where I am. Very thirsty. About eleven in the morn. Five hours sleep. Dying. Sunlight. Scorching. Feels like I’m walking through a desert. Surrounded by Silverlake hipsters all on their way to brunch. Phone the taxi again. I’m outside a place called The Black Cat. He has a car nearby. How much back to West Hollywood. Almost fifty bones? Jesus. Chunk. As I sigh and let my head dip I realise a bus has pulled up right next to me. Santa Monica sign on the front. I think this bus is going past my abode. Hop on. It is. Hip hop hooray! Funk yachts. I’m on a bus!

Pay my dollar fifty. Sit down. Busy enough. Surrounded by old Mexican and Russian women. All chattering. Very loud. Head pound. Shh. Check my wallet for last night’s damage. Hmmm. Not too bad. Check my bank balance on my phone. Interesting. Try to do the math. Two old, wrinkled like prunes Russian women next to me keep distracting my addition. Seem to be having a heated debate. Sounds like Russian. But also Mexican. Russican? No clue. One sitting to my left. One to my right. Stuck in the middle of their gibber. Shouting in both of my ears. Both have kids with them who are now crying. This is nuts. Old women stand up. Start throwing handbags and fists. Jump to my feet. Separate them. Ref on. Looking at them both confused.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON, STOP FIGHTING.”

Works. They break free of my grasps on both sides. One sits down. The other rings the bell. Gets off the bus. Gives me and the other old women the finger. I wave her goodbye back. So that was nice. Twenty five minutes later and I jump off the bus myself at the bottom of my street. Back in WeHo. How bad. Not a shabby adventure. Laugh in the pub. Two parties. Ish. Scattered all over L.A. Broke up a bus fight. All in all, fun night. And, best part: The bus home was the only money I spent all night. Not too sure how. Say nothing. Dollar-fifty on!

Whiskey In The Jar – Thin Lizzy 


Farewell

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4 thoughts on “Funk Yachts, I’m On A Bus!

  1. Good to have the blogaruu back Mark!! Looks like Panda inherited the hair you cut off though!!!! Keep the updates coming.

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