In a seemingly never ending pursuit of becoming even more of a local tool stereotype, I went out for hard shells last night.

I was going to boor you by telling you how I had met up with my friends, about one of whom had just visited his gravely ill father in the hospital and had told his old man how “if his prick wasn’t so damn tiny, that catheter would have hurt so bad”, but I won’t. I was going to write this long explanation about how if you knew if father and his father’s sense of humor, you’d understand that not only was that an entirely appropriate thing to say to him, it was actually touching to hear, but I won’t.

I was really going to boor you with the story of the crab house, and how the crab at Bill’s Terrace Inn, were the sweetest, heaviest most satisfying 48’s I’ve ever eaten, but I won’t.

I was going tell you how irritated we were afterwards because we made the mistake of going to a bar in Canton (fucking Canton), and the fucking Cantonese with their stupid fucking baseball caps, and how that frat boy drop out bartender asked me if I wanted another beer, and referred to me as “bro” in that stupid goddamn frat boy way where the “o” almost sounds like an “a” way, and how we all laughed at that and started to call everyone around us “bro” in that stupid g-d damn frat boy way where the “o” almost sounds like an “a” way, but I won’t.

I was going to tell you about the ride home, where thankfully I was a passenger because I was cranked at this point, and how one of my friends was expressing his doubts about staying in Baltimore, partially because we were driving down Orleans Street, passing block after block where the street lights have been smashed so as not to disturb the drug dealing. And how this friend had just been told by a coworker how nice it was in Portland, where the public transportation is free, and they keep the city clean, and how I was drunk enough to slur out a ridiculous pro Baltimore diatribe where actually said things like “f-f-fuck Pooortland! Those New England transplant populated west coast fucks! You’re Baltimorean, this is home. You don’t need clean streets, you know how to eat crabs without a f-f-f-ucking mallet. This is your home,” and how they laughed at that. And how he went on to complain about how he had read in the Times about how everyone in Manhattan was into this new Tea House craze, and lamented on how we didn’t have Tea Houses in Baltimore. And how I responded with, “Tea Houses?! What the fuck are you taking about ...Tea Houses? What the fuck do you want Tea Houses for? Tea Houses are for pretentious NYU phony god damn snotty fuck wad grad students. I don’t want to hear another g-d damn word about anymore fucking Tea Houses!” And how I got an even bigger laugh on that one. And how, in retrospect, I think I’m pretty lucid and rational when I’m drunk, but I won’t.