Jojo, bring me a beer!

Jojo Dynamite is my beer slave for life. If she is in the vicinity, I do not get myself a beer.

How did this happen? How did I subjugate this poor innocent lass? How shall I answer to the ACLU and Amnesty International? It’s simple. She did it to herself. Alcohol was involved.

It all goes back to a time, many years ago, when Jojo had quit the balmy climes of San Diego for a life in San Leandro, near Oakland, CA. There were several family members in the neighborhood, including one sister we will call Sally. Sally was prone to take “party naps”. When this would happen, the magic markers would come out, and hilarity was sure to ensue.

After a few parties, many of the markers were the worse for wear, and didn’t mark as magically as they once had. It was on one particularly crazy visit to the great white north that slavery happened. “Sally” was passed out, and out came the markers. We ran out of exposed skin on Sally, however, and by God the artistic muse was still unsated. Drawing upon one another ensued.

There was one marker, the blue marker, that was the king of all markers. The ink flowed free and rich from its fibrous tip, covering all it came in contact with. I, being the calm and sober soul that I am, took control of the blue marker. Hardly any time had passed when Jojo came crashing up to me: “Gimme the blue marker!”


“You have to give me the marker! I need the blue marker!”

“If I give this to you, you’ll just use it to draw on me.”

“No, I won’t! I swear! If I draw on you with it I’ll be your beer slave for life!”

At this point I knew already that I had a beer slave for life. The rest was just formality. I gave her the marker. Sure enough, not ten minutes later, Jojo says, “Hold out your arm. I’m going to draw a whale on you.”

“All right.”

The black marker was still doing pretty well and soon I had a whale on my forearm. As a finishing touch, Jojo drew in a pretty blue spout of water coming from the whale’s blowhole. “Jojo, you’re my beer slave for life,” I said.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!” cried Jojo, running in circles. “No! No! No!”

But, yes. She was, and is, my beer slave, until death do us part. In the old days she would try to talk her way out of it, but on this visit, it was she that reminded me of her beer slave status. The fact that she now lives in my old home town is an incredible coincidence, but one to be appreciated. So today, for the first time in a long, long, time, I said, “Jojo, bring me a beer.” And a sweet, sweet beer it was.

21 thoughts on “Jojo, bring me a beer!

  1. Hmmm, at 9:47 and 9:55 p.m., a certain someone was supposed to be in his room doing homework. Certain parental units might soon be confiscating the modem cable.

  2. What IS this? I tried to vote in the latest poll and was told I’d already voted and so could not vote again.

    Let me say most emphatically, I have NOT voted in this poll, and I am most indignant at being excluded from this most important survey. Let me also say that I’m not going to let on what my vote is, but that it’s not represented by current responses.

    That modem cable is now going to be under lock and key.

  3. There have been many a parties where the markers came out but one in particular was when my friend Jason passed out and we were ruthless not one inch was spared and then we put lipstick and nail polish on him the funny thing is he woke up long enough to use the bathroom but lucky was so drunk he didn’t relize til the next day what we did to him

  4. Ah, markerization of the flesh. Takes me back to the days of my youth, many a lad and lassie has felt the soft stroke of my sharpie. Back at the old fraternity (to us it was NEVER a “frat”*) we’d mark up the mark appropriately and let them sleep late, late the next day and ensure that the bathrooms were full or being cleaned when you woke them up just a little too late to do anything but run to class. Off they’d go with a pirate patch on one eye, “I’m a dumb fuck” on their forehead…. Good times.

    Jerry had told me the story of the beer slave for life before. What a thing to get for the man who has everything.

    *Frat? Do you call your mother your muh? Do you call your father your fuh? Would you call your country… anything but your country?

  5. Hey a new poll!

    Fosters – australian for budweiser is funny. There’s a theme here…

    St Paulis – German for budweiser

    Harp – Irish for budweiser

    Lowenbrau – German for Budweiser

    Heineken – Dutch for budweiser

    Budweiser – Czech for we shudda trademarked

    Coors – Coloradian for budweiser

    But I have to say, you are dissin your roots by omitting Schaeffers. How could you forget those lovely flavor crystals?

    and finally – Barton QT, maniac for budweiser

  6. Two things: Busweiser, the rice beer, tried to “buy” the trademark from the Czech Budvar, the beer Budweiser; and, thanks to government intervention, failed.

    Those who vote for American Micro have probably never had a Grambrinus! Gambrinus is the Czech Gambrinus.

    Hmmm…Gambrinus with flavor crystals..


  7. I did mess up when I left off Shaeffer. Oh, those late-night beer runs with $9.10 for two twelvers of Shaffier from the convenience store down the hill.

    Oh, the agony of running back up the hill in the quest for the first 3-minute beer run.

    Oh, the pain of the 3:40 run from hell where I tripped and bloodied my knee, then had to chase down a couple of runaway cans rolling back down the hill.

    Oh the concern when John nearly died after staggering up the hill, glancing off a car to remain upright, staggering though the door and ringing the party bell to end the run by throwing a twelve-pack at it. He then lay on the floor for some time until his heart started working correctly again.

    Oh, the joy and pride when Bob broke the 3 minute barrier.

    However, it was Buckhorn that had the flavor crystals.

  8. As a postscript to this article, My favorite beer of the evening was one where Jojo was across the room. I said “Jojo, bring me a beer” as I was leaning against the fridge.


  9. Ah, the Buckhorn Beer! I remember at Rice, a friend of ours had acquired 12 cases or it, and another friend (the legendary John Eubanks, whose memory lingered on campus for years after he left) challenged him to finish it all in five days. The rules were that he couldn’t throw it out, but he could share it.

    It was over this haul of Buckhorn that Pat and I first met. After the fridge was emptied, Eubanks threw it off the balcony. (Yes, Bob, that really did happen!)

  10. I met John Eubanks, too. (Which may say something about how long he was hanging around at Rice.) He struck me as someone whose mission in life was to imitate Bluto from Animal House (only he wasn’t nearly as funny as John Belushi). I’m not surprised in the least to hear that he threw appliances off of balconies.

  11. Dear, dear pees in planters, I don’t remember markers being out at that party, but then, I didn’t remember that photos were being taken. Much to my dismay, one of my co-workers identified me by one of them… Keep ’em under wraps Jer

  12. We should hasten to add that the fridge in question was a 1950s-vintage, full-size model, not the little cubes more frequently seen in dorm rooms nowadays.

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