"Alrigh Lads, We Nee'a Talk"

<--Deokjeokdo. defn. A small Korean island near Incheon. Well known for its inaccessibility, fishing industry, minbaks (small "motels" where you sleep on the floor) and attractiveness to loudmouthed drunkards.

I had all of last week off and so for the second of the bookending weekends me and some buddies decided to head over to Deokjeokdo for soju soaked good times. We got that, sorta.

Friday night was Canada Buddy's last night open for business at its old location, and all shots of liquor were discounted. I decided to celebrate by trying one of each, including the mythical Bacardi 151, and long story short I didn't last very long.

I also woke up Saturday with a hangover the size of Montana. So the ferry ride over wasn't much fun.

But by the time we got there I was more or less in the spirit of things and the day/night went according to plan. Drinks were had, games were played, people were met, bonfires on the beach were lit, etc etc. There were incidents, there always are, but nothing extraordinary.

Having lost the other two (lightweight) members of our party around 3 or 4 Dave and I staggered back to our minbak and collapsed beside them. They were awoken, still drunk, and eventually we forsook slumber in lieu of bombastic conversation.

Earlier in the day Bryce (who, let it be said, in a bombast competition would probably place well) had brought up the movie Dumb & Dumber and specifically some moment in it when someone screams "Gaaaaaaaary!!" funnily. He'd been doing it all night. I guess you had to be there. Anyway, a few hours before the cock was set to crow he'd been screaming it over and over again in our room, and we'd matched him with inadequate interpretations and general mirth and whatnot.

So when I slipped open the door to our room and stood just outside to smoke a cigarette, and when the conversation continued unmuffled, a neighboring door did the same and from it emerged a very blonde, very British, very pissed off young lady who stomped over to me, thrust her wiry finger in my face and accused me and my cohorts of keeping the whole place awake all night (justly, I might add). I countered with the ineffective "c'mon, we're just trying to have a good time," which she volleyed back to me by way of some sort of cockney defamation, which was immediately seized upon by the Mississippian Bryce as indecipherable and idiotic. The confrontation was then escalated by the insertion of curse words and of Chloe, a sizable Irish lass I'd once before pleasantly greeted and conversed with but who can apparently go from zero to cunt pretty fast. Anyway, there was shouting and whatnot but we backed down and went back inside.

But it wasn't over yet.

At this point I would hasten to remind the reader that I was drunk, and thus not fully accountable for what happened next.

We continued our conversation in our room, at first quietly discussing the problems we had with Chloe in specific, and then less quietly discussing the problems we had with her country in general. We knew she was sitting right outside, well within earshot, and it must be said provoking her wasn't far from our minds. Or should I say: mine. Anyway, some things I recall saying, a bit too loudly:

"Fuck all you potato eatin micks."
"Fuck Bono and his stupid fucking glasses."
"Fuck that snake scaring motherfucking St. Patrick."

And so on. At the time, it was hilarious. It became less funny when our door slid open.

Chloe it seemed, despite being no belle of the ball, was not traveling alone, and into our tiny room walked four or five husky Irishmen. "Alrigh Lads, We Nee'a Talk," said the ringleader. "Oh, fuck," thought I. "Let's step outsi'a," he said. And so we did.

To quote Martin Short: "here's where the story gets weak." There was no fighting. There wasn't even any pushing. Hell, we hardly argued. In fact, instead of bludgeoning each other, we sat down at the courtyard table and finished off a bottle of tequila. I daresay we even became friends, well...at least polite acquaintances.

Eventually everyone staggered off to sleep (except for me, what can I say, I have the stamina of an ox) and I took this picture. Jodie, the ringleader and first into our room can be seen slumped over in his chair, passed out on Jose Cuervo.


All in all, not a bad night.