O'Malley

Peter (my brother) and I were at a family wedding this past summer.  (Our parents were there too; I don't wish to imply they were not.  However, this story doesn't concern them.)

There was a giant fluffy white with black patches dog named O'Malley.  

People weren't supposed to bring their dogs cause at a prairie wedding, I guess that would have been everyone.  O'Malley was certainly a guest of honour, then.

Peter and I drank lots of beer and lots of scotch (respectively) which were purchased in an exchange of pre-purchased 50/50 style raffle-ticket style buy-in-the-dollar-store style drink tickets, which were sold in strips of 5s 10s and 20s, one ticket a drink.  Made the whole escapade of drinking rather game-like.  Play money, play drink.  Investment and return.  (And more drunk, the greater the appreciation in value seemed to be.  Amazing system.)

We soon got bored of the trampled grass dance floor situation and so spent much of the evening on the move.  Like in the popular science fiction series Dune, the strategy for navigating this family event was similar to that of avoiding sandworms.  Irregular, yet constant movement.  Minimal awkardness.  (Or according to the Dune simile, not dying.)

O'Malley the dog had the same strategy, and fortune favoured our journeys that evening; our paths crossed many times, affording me the increasingly enjoyable opportunity to shout,

"OHHHHHHHH, 

MALLEY?!"

into the night.

---

I saw the northern lights for the first time that weekend. 

Sustained psychosis.

PS- How was I unaware that David Lynch directed the Dune movie?  It is purportedly awful.  Are we thinking of the same things, here?  (Possibly not.  Like the 'Battles'/'The Battles' mixup of early-april psychosis related songs, and other instances of me being culturally confused.)  

Oh well, continuing in the vein of psychotic people, David Lynch is an appropriate candidate. Media to follow.