Algonquin Round Table(in absentia)

Eddie from Iron Maiden: 'Allo? This bleeding thing on? I flew ollieway from the UK for something called a round table from some tossin' bugger named Lord Von Lord and no one showed up at the airport.


Arrogant Bird: I'm Arrogant Bird. I also was told to appear here...to discuss alcohol for some reason. You almost shot me out of the sky, asshole.
Eddie: Actually, I think it was this cat. Literally speaking.

LaserCat: That's right bird, I'm a cat after all. Some sadistic prick must have invited both of us here at the same time. I've got no idea why...I don't drink booze. Now a catnip panel, that's the shit right there. Maybe this biker can get us up to speed. ::pauses to lick where nuts once were::

Cholla: Beats the piss out of me kitty. I'm looking for Philo Beddoe.

Eddie: He's not here, goddammit. In fact, no one's here. Place is a fucking desert like fucking Tatooine.

Arrogant Bird: Right, here's a note. Mentions something about drinking a shit ton over the next few days and leaving town.

Cholla: Good idea.

Eddie: Let's leave this place a war zone.

LaserCat: Hells yes, let's trash this dump.

Algonquin Round Table Mk V

Okay, fine. I get it. Thus far my attempts at sensible and reasoned discussion have met with failure, scorn, and threats of bodily harm. I don't know what I was expecting, what with the lowbrow and indeed, somewhat criminal mindsets of my past panelists. What does yours truly have in mind to correct this mess? Not a damn thing. Let's get started with this installment:

First panelist, you are up. I present to you all Lord Percy Lambourn...soused noble and gentlemen.LVL: Ah, Lord Lambourn I see you are with the admiral and Lady Lambourn.

Lord Lambourn: Er...ah...indeed. I really didn't expect her here today you know. She rarely takes to these events, but when she does she does. Hedge pissers and matters of "etti-quette" are more her fancy.

LVL: Her dessicated cleavage is certainly pronounced. I think I'll have some of that rum if you don't mind. Do all genteel ladies of your period have their goods out there all the time?

LL: Er...ah...yes, or rather no. Usually I am too far in my cups to notice her...er..ah...cups.

LVL: That's all rather confusing, sir. Next panelist also hails from the bygone days of Britannia: Post-Captain Jack Aubrey, MP, of HMS Surprise. Greetings Captain.

Captain Jack Aubrey: Well met sir, although I am curious why you would question me on matters of ship's rum and grog, rather than...oh, hold fast there! A Frenchman!

(fires pistol)

LVL: Sweet Jesus that was loud.

CJA: Fie, that's nothing compared to the broadside of 18-pounders on a ship-of-the-line. Now sir, can we make this quick? I'll miss my tide and then have to run like smoke and oakum. You don't mind if we run our sheets? Prime.

LL: Are you a member of Parliament sir? I don't recall seeing you, but it's a trifle. Speaking of, I once had a rum trifle...zzzzz

LVL: Gentlemen, allow me to please complete introducing the remaining panel members and then we can discuss all things.

CJA: You mean rum, don't you?

LVL: Among other things. We're not restricted to that you know...it is the 21st century at Drinking Knoxville.

LL: I've never been to the Americas.

LVL: Actually you have. You were shit-faced the entire time. Do you not remember killing every living thing in the jungle with Dr. Gilpin? You consumed a rare poison and metabolized it in seconds.
LVL: Any of this ring a bell?

LL: zzzzz

LVL: I never knew British lords slept so much. Let's add one more Englishmen to the group today folks, but one more acquainted with boozing in the modern era...ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for Motorhead's Lemmy:

Lemmy: Slag off. I'm just here for the drinks. I'll answer your piss-ant questions as soon as I get a fag from the cigarette machine.

LVL: Uh, not to contradict you Lemmy, but that's actually our last panel member...the Tycho Monolith from the groundbreaking novel 2001. Far as I know, it does not vend tobacco.

CJA: By Jove, what is that damn thing?

LL: zzzzzz

LM: So you're telling me I've got to get my own smokes? Bloody Hell what kind of chickenshit operation is this?

LVL: Well, our previous Round Tables have met with utter disaster. I thought we might want to bring in someone...er...something with a grander historical and celestial perspective on the subject.

LM: The fucking thing can't talk, you wanker. It's got no mouth. How can it drink?

LVL: I was drunk when I booked this installment.

CJA: You two blokes, help me run this carronade up so I can get a good shot at that Frog.


LVL: Captain, far be it from me to object to shooting up the French, but we did ask you to speak on the importance of alcohol in maintaining morale on a proper manowar.

CJA: Fine, for you landlubbers out there the Royal Navy has a fine tradition of rationing rum to able and ordinary seamen to keep morale high and maintain a fighting crew on the high seas. When a vessel of His Majesty leaves port, he cannot do so without barrel upon barrel of rum and grog. Tens of thousands of gallons are necessary to take a frigate halfway around the world. Apart from the necessary rationing to the men, without copious amounts of alcohol a fighting ship would soon fall apart. Hells bells sir, to say nothing of the medicinal needs we face. You try sawing off shattered limbs without opium and brandy. The entire basis of free trade on the high seas so essential to western society would not be possible with--all guns fire as she bears!


CJA: Take that Boney! Now where were we?

LVL: BEATS THE SHIT OUT OF ME. I CAN'T HEAR A GODDAMN THING. PERHAPS YOU COULD SPEAK ABOUT YOUR PRIVATE STORES. I'M TOLD THE CAPTAIN AND GUNROOM MAINTAINS A FINE TABLE.

CJA: Oh, that. Indeed. No captain worth his salt would dare leave port without his port! HA HA! Port, d'ya hear? My table is always set with a brisk claret or madeira. Observe:



LVL: Shots?!

CJA: You have it sir. No common grog with my officers. You've heard the term 'groggy' after all? It will suffice to keep scurvy at bay, but tastes like shit. Not the good shit either.

LM: To think that England of today owes its prosperity to thousands of shithoused sailors and their booze.

LVL: I see you've found some smokes, Lemmy.

LM: I took 'em off that passed out bloke right there.

LVL: Lord Lambourn, wake up sir. Can you add to Captain Aubrey's account of drunken English sea-power?

LL: Er...ah...I say, I've always been interested in the sea and what's in it. But Captain Aubrey is not the only one to encounter scoundrels in defense of mother England. Why only the other day I had to set this hardened rogue in her place:






LM: Looks like the little shit had it coming.

LVL: Um, do you have anything to add Tycho Monolith?

TM: (makes creepy noises)

LVL: Okay. Well...this is confusing. I didn't really think the Tycho Monolith's role through.

CJA: If someone would nudge his Lordship awake, I would really like to ask his opinion on my new heraldic device for my MP standards. And yours, future unwashed Englishman...

LM: What's the deal with the drunken sloth?

LVL: I was going to ask about the tortoise myself...but...er...ah, I'm being told the Tycho Monolith is now the Jovian Monolith. As if this day wasn't fucking weird enough.

LVL: Alright, Jovian Monolith, what far-reaching and universal truth can you give us?

JM:

LVL: Oh shit, not that fucking thirty minute acid trip bullshit again.

CJA: That doesn't address my question, at all.

LM: Looks like the light show from Hammersmith Odeon back in '84.

LL: (pukes)

LVL: Fuck this noise.

Algonquin Round Table Mk IV

Ladies and gentlemen, once again yours truly will make another abortive attempt to host a panel discussion on functional drinking from noted boozing icons. In the past, we have not been as successful as we would like...unsurprising in the conventional sense because most of the panelists are indeed, raging and complete drunks. So...lets all just take a big bite of this latest shit sandwich and be thankful there's a lot of bread. Today's guests include:

First, I give you a repeat DK guest: Little Enos Burdette.Lord Von Lord: Afternoon Mr. Burdette. Nice western-style leisure suit.

Little Enos Burdette: It matches my daddy's, dummy.

LVL: Indeed it does. Not sure though that's a positive point. Next, I would like to introduce Rick Gassko, school bus driver/pit boss and social climber.

LVL: Thanks for taking the time out of your bachelor party Rick. Say, are those crossbow bolts?

Rick Gassko: Well I wasn't sure about the first one, but the second time I was convinced. I expected a party with chicks and guns and fire trucks and hookers and drugs and booze, but I draw the line at crossbows.

LVL: At least it ran the pimp off. Next up, we have interstellar scourge and warlord of Mongo: Ming the Merciless.

::PALACE GATE FLIES OPEN::

Ming the Merciless: Greetings pitiful Earth fool. I'll be with you just as soon as I have dispatched this noxious washed-up Jets quarterback.

LVL: That doesn't look like Testeverde, or even that douche Favre. Wait...this is from the movie, right?

MTM: Silence mortal. Swordfighting is thirsty work.

LVL: Shit, who let this asshole in? (checks notes, blames Mackey) Well, finally we introduce the drunken billionaire and armaments genius Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man. Welcome Tony:

LVL: Wait, you're not Iron Man per se!

War Machine: Yeah, no shit. Tony couldn't make it today. Taking part in a hardly known blog authored by idiots was down on his list. You know, what with designing planet-smashing kinetic weapons in his private jet and so forth. Never fear, I have all the answers you need right here in this minigun.

LVL: Fuck. Well lets begin with you Mr. Burdette.

LEB: Fine, fire away dummy.

LVL: Describe the hardship of living on the wrong side of the Mississippi during the heyday of bootlegging. Just how difficult was it to smuggle Coors?


LEB: First you have to hire some prima donna assholes to haul it. I mean, look at this truck...a man who would paint his trailer like that would wear feathers to a preacher's funeral.

LVL: But, he got it there in time didn't he?

LEB: Snowman could have made better time if that sumbitch Bandit wasn't playing grabass with every relentless county sheriff out there.

LVL: Touche. Next, Rick. Your bachelor party in NYC was the stuff of legend. Rumor has it that you and your degenerates had a band, profligate drug supplies, and ample hookers and porn.

RG and degenerates: Now wait, that last statement was only partially true. We all know that vino is keeno, but did you actually see the porn in question? Usually I don't like my filth that clean.

LVL: What about the donkey show?


RG and degenerates: You mean the arts? How can this be offensive to anyone...even if they are painfully sober? Just call it the benefit of living prior to PETA and the ASPCA. Besides, the donkey had a real good time.

LVL: Didn't the donkey(which is phallic by the way) expire at your bachelor party? In a hotel suite at that?

RG and degenerates: The real crime was that the mule didn't get laid before it bought the farm. Get it? Farm?

LVL: Yes, I get it. Although in today's age, a dead donkey is even in a worse predicament. In case you haven't heard, necro-bestiality is the rage these days ( http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2009/04/nasty-fetish-champion-just-say-heck-no-to-necro.html )

RG and degenerates: Oh, we have got to party with them. Everyone in the bus fellas, we're crossing state lines!

LVL: Let the record reflect that I had nothing to do with that. Now, if we could...

MTM: Enough, you pitiful fool. Your screeching is offensive to my hangover.

LVL: Yeah, about that your excellency...I couldn't help but notice you are portrayed as drinking often.

and this...

LVL: How do you reconcile functional boozing with ruling a multi-planetary empire?

MTM: I have an impressive HR and legal department. You think I'm evil? I've not got shit on those cocksuckers. Besides, have you seen Mongo fashions? Not even those hags on Sex in the City would wear this mess. Of course I'm plowed all the time. Running this place sober is out of the question.

LVL: Well functional drinking is the theme here, Mr. Burdette, you have something to add?

LEB: Just that I like the cut of his jib. Do they make those outfits in 12-dwarf?

LVL: Dreadful. Positively dreadful. Do you have anything to add regarding Mr. Stark's whereabouts, War Machine?

WM: Simulations conclude that he is most likely either having: A deeply personal introspection like so-LVL: Hmmm...that doesn't sound very functional, in fact it's a bit well...morose and self-loathing.

WM: Have you ever tried to clean puke out of these armored suits?


LVL: Hmmm, is that some sort of seasonal green armor War Machine, for St. Patrick's day and all?

WM: Oh it's green alright...but it's not festive, I can tell you that. You have to spray that shit out of there with a fucking hose. Try doing that while supersonic at 30k feet.

LVL: I'll pass thanks. So basically, what each of you is telling me is that your success is completely independent of your profound boozing and not because of it?

RG and degenerates: Yep. I could of had the girl or the car.

LEB: Right.

MTM: Precisely.

WM: Tony built a suit of armor that can take out a main battle tank...you don't do that kind of thing if you can't handle your gin.

LVL: Well, this really didn't solve anything. Little Enos, can you spare a case of Coors?

LEB: I'd like to kick your ass, just once.

Algonquin Round Table Mk III

Greetings all,

In another attempt at serious discussions on the important drinking issues facing today's imbibers, yours truly has convened a crack association of panelists. And when I emphasize serious, important, and crack you know I mean it. So today's Round Table consists of from my left:

Noted slacker and Slavophobe Russ Ziskey:

Russell Ziskey: Glad to be here LVL. Things are certainly looking up for me. After all, this is America. You can go from teaching immigrants such fantastic Anglo phrases as "Son of bitch" and "Shit" to raping across Eastern Europe in a Winnebago.

LVL: Rapine you say? Curious, don't you mean pillage?

RZ: No.

LVL: Next panelist is temporally displaced warrior Kyle Reese:

LVL: Welcome Kyle, how is working for Tech-Com these...er...ah future days?

Kyle Reese: What the fuck do you think? Being chased by asshole robotic minions and only rotgut shine to drink in a radioactive future?

LVL: But there is booze you say?

KR: Well yes, but that's not the point...

LVL: Hey, it's not my fault Skynet wiped out all the IPA in a nuclear first strike. Next up, a nasty from the pasty, renowned writer and sedate bisexual Oscar Wilde:

Oscar Wilde: Why hello genteelmen. Can I offer you some of the Green Fairy while we converse? Perhaps some cocaine as well?

RZ: Are you coming on to me sir? Because I'm not homosexual, but I am willing to learn.

LVL: Careful Russ. That will get you discharged, right Kyle?

KR: Not in the future. We need all able men and women to fight off these sober fuckers.

OW: Oh my. Are these stolid android androgynes some sort of neo-prohibitionists? How patently absurd.

KR: Well, they are prohibitionists in the strict sense that they want all of us dead, yes.

OW: When I matriculated, we called such boors Tories!

LVL: I bet you did, Frenchy.

OW: I am Irish sir.

LVL: We all know God hates the Irish, I don't blame you for leaving. Finally, last panelist today filling in at the last minute, let's give a literally giant applause for cosmic scourge and demipower:

Galactus!

LVL: Greetings big man, how's the air up there? Can you tell us just how many pints or shots you can knock back...you know, what with your immense size and tolerance? Wouldn't that make for some expensive nights out in the Sagittarian arm of the galaxy?

Galactus: BEHOLD INSECT!





LVL: Well that might do it for this installment of the Round Table. My fucking ears are bleeding and I'm thirsty.

KR: Holy fuck! It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until its dead!

RZ: I was just supposed to guard the truck! Well I got the shit kicked out of me in Wisconsin once. Forget it!

OW: So...Mr. Galactus, doing anything tonight?

LVL: This isn't going well.

Algonquin Round Table Part Deux

Greetings all. Today I embark upon some needed discourse on boozing it up. I have assembled a crack team of both historical and fictitious personalities to offer perspective and opinion about the important drinking and social issues of our age.

Our panelists: Ike Turner, Animal Mother, Mick Mars, and Richard Dawson

LVL: Let's start with you Mr. Turner. What can you offer us from your often tumultous time with Tina Turner?

Ike Turner: I am the greatest lover who ever walked the Earth.

LVL: And what did you drink in those days to ease the anguish of such a relationship?

Ike Turner: Pimp hand, bitch!

LVL: Uhh, certainly Ike. Say...is Rick James available over there on the other side? No?

LVL: Okay then...we now turn to prominent Vietcong dispatcher Animal Mother.

LVL: Welcome.

AM: I'm gonna tear you a new asshole.

LVL: Charming, jarhead savant killer. Say, is that a VC over there?

AM: FUCK!

LVL: Impressive killpower and prejudice, sir. Now, let us introduce a man with no need of introduction Richard Fucking Dawson!

RD: 'allo 'allo! 'ellen 'ave you 'idden my 'atchet?? Cor! Blimey! Straight up from Sussex you lot arrrr! Let's play d' feud!

LVL: Sir, we aren't playing that game, and there are no women here for you to grope, despite your impressive gin/rum/scotch breath...which I might add defies all reason.

RD:ZZZZZZZZ

LVL: Shit. Fuck. Um...now, last panelist...slightly renown but utterly cool guitarist of Motley Crue, Mick Mars.

MM: Ten seconds to love!

LVL: Exciting, Mick. Been a big fan since Live Wire. Let's start with the rumors that Nikki injected all kinds of shit in his veins. Your take?

MM: If I want to do a concert with my ball bag hanging out, I can do it...I'm Mick Mars!!

LVL:Your rebuttal Ike Turner?

Ike Turner: Gots to keep the pimp hand strong.

LVL: What say you Animal Mother?

Animal Mother: If I'm going to get my balls shot off for a word, I want that word to be poontang.

(gestures with M-60, bungalow flies open)

Da Nang Hooker: Hey, you got girrfriend Vietnam? Me so horny. Me ruv you rong time. (conjecture, license)

LVL: Wonderful.

Ike Turner: Pimp hand, bitch!