TGSNT, Part 5.
It's often said that, in times of great mortal peril, your life will flash before your eyes. Oddly, that didn't happen. Granted, it would have looked like a Showtime After Dark presentation at that point, but even some mindless adult entertainment would have been preferable to the mystic vision I experienced.
I saw myself, blind (I could not locate my glasses, and blind is the only apt term for my myopic status), buck naked but for a pair of underwear (which were on backwards, at least in my nightmarish combat dream), fighting off the baseball players on Jen's front lawn.
(I'll give you a minute to stop laughing...although I must assure you that the idea was not humorous at the time. Now? Now it's funny, even to me.)
Salvation came hot on the heels of jeopardy. No sooner was the knob turning than I heard my dear friend and fellow reprobate Steinmetz, a Willy Wonka lookalike with too much luck with the ladies (in my humble but hypercompetitive estimation), urging the ballplayers to hit the fridge instead of the bedroom. According to his exhortations, there was a virgin batch of brew to be had. This excited the monobrows like a freshman next to an open locker, and they made off for the kitchen like a summer stock adaptation of Quest For Fire.
After we gathered our scattered clothing and confirmed our forsaken dignity yet again, D and I snuck downstairs, taking great care to be seen separately lest I have to demonstrate my ninja fighting techniques, albeit clothed and bespectacled, against a sea of foes.
I sought out Steinmetz, my brother, my Horatio, my St. Francis of the Sissies, and thanked him for my continued existence.
"I don't know if you should thank me. After all, it was your beer."
More later.