(... and the crickets chirped...)
With all the bling flashing they headed down to the bar. Bananny passed out the remaining trinkets to the bar and restaurant staff and K-Dog whipped up the fastest round ever. Even though the bar was busy, for some reason their traditional prime real estate was open and they moved right in. Somehow it had all Fallen together, they’d all been Caught in the right place with the right people at exactly the right time. All checked in at their little corner of the heavens. So they were all in place when the ball dropped. And, baby, they took that ball and crushed it…
In the midst of toasts and hugs and kisses they heard the Boom-Crackle of fireworks going off. The entire bar emptied out onto the dining patios to look off toward the lighthouse. A large contingent of Italians, probably 20-30, had enjoyed their New Years Eve dining on the patio and were now up and milling about. A few more small fireworks went up as the bar turned the music up. Easily audible out near the cliffs now the dining patio turned into an impromptu dancehall as any number of couples snuggled up in New Years tangos.
After a dance or two some of the Italians started to depart and the crew decided another New Years shot was on the docket, something of a higher order than quickly assembled mélange of beers and mixed drinks pulled together for the Auld Lange Syne – which was played, it was reported, at exactly zero locations on the west end that night. After much discussion and the acceptance that Sketch would not be indulging – “I’m good but I ain’t doing no shot!” it was decided that it was the perfect time for a Flaming Bob Marley!
“You won’t throw up in your mouth if we do one, will you Sketch?” asked Bananny.
“No, I’m good,” shot back Lazarus and the group was off, back to home base to mess with K-Dog. The line-up of 7 Flaming Bob Marleys was a bit of a production and it captured the attention of the bar. Well, that and the goofshow Dr. Cousteau and Nick were putting on. Cousteau had decided to document the making of the Flaming Bob Marleys. Rather quickly he made the brilliant decision to have his Flaming Bob Marley straw be the narrator of his documentary. At least Nick thought it was brilliant because he quickly decided to have his Flaming Bob Marley straw jump in as a color commentator. They were, of course, speaking in loud, strange, funny voices as they tapped their straws in front of the camera shooting the ongoing preparation of the FBM’s.
“And now he’s going to layer the next round of alcohol,” said Cousteau in a ridiculous voice.
What?!? What?!? What is he doing?” asked Nicks silly straw.
“He’s making Flaming Bob Marleys!”
“Flaming Bob Marleys?!? Ahhhhhhh!! That is very dangerous!”
“Yes, very dangerous indeed. And we are going to drink them!”
“We are going to drink them?”
“Yes!”
“But they have flames!”
“Yes, they have flames. They are Flaming Bob Marleys! What would a Flaming Bob Marley be without the flames?”
“Uh, Bob Marleys?”
“Well, yes, technically you are correct. But they wouldn’t be nearly as dangerous if they weren’t flaming.”
“Yes, flaming and dangerous, ha ha ha!”
“Yes, dangerous!”
“I am Plastic Straw! I fear no flame!”
“Wait… Plastic? Plastic? I’m Plastic Straw too… and Flames?”
Plastic Straw Narrator and Plastic Straw Color Guy stop and turn tip to tip…
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
“AAhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!”
“AAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!”
This stupidity carried on to no short end. By the time the rasta colored shots were topped with overproof quite a large crowd had gathered to see if anyone would go up in smoke. The straws had made it pretty clear that someone would be destroyed in the inferno. The long line of shots were set ablaze and quickly consumed with great courage by the talking straws and the rest of the gang.
That is, all except for Boom Boom. As the Doctor and Nick slurped up the tiny bit of flame left in the bottom of their shot glasses they heard a danger squeal from directly next to them. As they sat up and looked to their left they had a front row seat for the rapidly spreading Flaming Bob Marley slick spreading out from Boom Boom’s shot glass. Fortunately, for the bar, K-Dog was well aware of the Sketchington's history. He knew that they were very territorial and had a long habit of trying to mark their turf. Just last year Sketch had left a permanent marking in his own Dadaist ritual just two seats away. K-Dog’s wet bar towel sat at the ready and quickly doused the wayward flames, but not before a slightly perceptible mark had been left. Sketch looked from his mark to Boom Boom’s and back again. He was already smiling outside but now he smiled a little more inside as he thought, “Yep, Sketchtown!”
