Drunk of the Week
Before we went to see the latest Star Wars installment last Sunday, we held our own geek convention at Benny's Restaurant (301 East Seventh Avenue). For those unfortunate people forced to overhear our conversation, which degenerated into fisticuffs every two seconds, there's probably little doubt that most of us played Dungeons & Dragons, carried inhalers and may still have Star Wars Underoos and/or bedsheets. All but one of our group could recite the vast majority of the movies' dialogue, and we heaped scorn on the Latin Representative, who didn't understand how deftly Dr. Etiquette slid the classic line "Don't make me destroy you!" into the discussion.
We came to several conclusions that day. First, the Institute of Drinking Studies must recognize the worth of the Ewoks. Not only do the Ewoks kick the Empire all over the fourth moon of Endor, but these little furballs party like rock stars most of their time on screen, showing a complete lack of inhibition. At one point in Return of the Jedi, one of the Ewoks is seen passionately humping Han Solo's leg. We commend him and his aggressive dating tactics, which are consistently emulated by both the Head of Drinking Regrets and the Head of Pathologic Drinking. And the entire Institute has adopted this new motto: "Party like an Ewok."
Second, regarding those who did not see Star Wars as a kid -- an event that ranked second only to puberty as a milestone (or even higher than puberty, for the guys who dress as characters when they go to see the latest chapter and wait in line for five months, causing their employment to be terminated) -- we wondered how they could ever learn the difference between good and evil. To put it bluntly, if you haven't mastered the Force, how can you develop your brain sufficiently to know that drinking gin, having beer followed by liquor or drunk-dialing old girlfriends leads to the Dark Side?
For about a pitcher's worth of Benny's perfect margaritas, we were upset that we knew more about Star Wars than we did, say, about our jobs or our families. Fortunately, our misplaced priorities were quickly righted by another pitcher, and we realized that it was far more important to know that it was not the "fourth moon" of Endor but actually the "forest moon" than it was to know our supervisor's name. (Those of you who caught my earlier mistake can join us in our quest to fill our heads with trivia that will do you no good outside a circle of guys.) And our deep thinking was not limited to Star Wars; we also debated things like which actress was the hottest Catwoman. (The answer, of course, is Julie Newmar.)
Finally, we decided that any home-improvement technology should include an Astromech R2 unit like R2-D2. As any of you who are residents of this galaxy know, R2 pulls every character's behind out of the fire in each movie, and in the last one carts drinks around for Jabba's cronies. We have little doubt that we could program our R2 unit to open a fridge and pour a Guinness into a frosted mug. We wouldn't even need C-3PO to translate, because our baseline communications are highly primitive and little more than beeps and chirps.
Benny's does not have an R2 unit, but our waiter was the next coolest thing: a young Wookiee named Chuy, no doubt a relative of Chewbacca. Although he didn't understand the source of our hilarity, he enjoyed our intoxicated Wookiee calls. As he kept slinging pitchers of margaritas our way, we became more and more Wookiee-like, until we could have been taken for natives of Kashyyyk.
When you go to Benny's -- and everyone in Denver does -- you may be lucky enough to get Chuy as your waiter. You will certainly enjoy the margaritas, which help keep the discussion going as you determine who knows the most irrelevant facts -- and thus is clearly the best-endowed guy in your group. Party like an Ewok, man!
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