ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
A French Quarter man laughed in the face of death last night after he decided to catch a green pony home from the pub, shunning the usual 40-minute march over Roma Hills and through Machattie Park back to his rented dog box on Rue de Branlette.
Paramedics and surgical teams at Royal Betoota Base Hospital refer to people like 31-year-old Darcy Sullivan as “organ donors” — people who decided to ride a bike without a helmet or when they’re extremely impaired with drugs and alcohol. In Darcy’s case, he’s an organ donor twice over.
“I actually decided to leave the pub because I stupidly took up a stranger’s offer to smoke some hoota in the carpark out the back of the pub,” he laughed.
Darcy has been working in the ad sales and marketing team here at The Advocate for nearly five years.
“After 10 pints watching the Swans and the Knights cut the fins off the Sharks, half a baseball bat of the Diamantina’s filthiest bikie hydroponic weed, and three hours of direct sunshine, I was about ready for dinner at home and a bit of rest. But home was a fair way away; I was up at the Nelson Depot Hotel in the Old City, so I had a fair walk home. That or two buses,
“Or a 12-minute odyssey on a green pony. I saw one just as I left the pub. It was beckoning me to take him home. I was pretty messed up, but 12 minutes is 12 minutes. But yeah, they cost as much as an Uber, so there’s that. But Ubers are crook. Not as crook as getting a cab; the cabbie noticing how blitzed you are, they get a ‘different’ card machine out of the console and swipe your card, you punch in your pin, and an hour later, the bank is calling to see why you pulled your entire net worth out of an ATM in Roma Hills,”
“So I took the pony home. I looked death in the face and said, ‘Not today, cowboy, not today.'”
More to come.
