2004-05-14 - 2:16 p.m.
Someone asked me, what the hell is a Pencopal? I said, it�s what your dad screams when I�m fucking him.
After she punched me in the face and I kicked her in the neck while twisting her nipple, we called it even and nursed our wounds with Goldschlager while I told her The Story of Pencopal.
One Monday night, at a small private university in New Jersey in the late �90s, I walked into the campus pub. I was sad and lonely, most likely after a fight with the dickhead I was dating. My friend Driggles was the pub manager that night, and upon seeing my face she poured me a fresh, cold cider, because beer=piss and that�s just nasty. I sat down at the bar and contemplated the cider and shitstorm that was my life. But I never wallowed in misery for long when I was around Driggles, because she wasn�t having it. She�d drink, smoke, dance, talk, Prince, or James Brown it out of me. With a contagious smile on her face, she moonwalked over to the stereo and pressed play. Donna Summers� �Bad Girl� streamed out of the speakers. Once the funk hits you, happiness is around the corner. I downed my cider, banged the bar with my elbow to signal I was ready for another, and Driggles and I sang along to bad disco music that sounded so good. Tone deaf Driggles sang, �You can ring my beeeeell, ring my bell,� and soon I was shakin� it like a salt shaker.
After she finished her shift, we stayed at the pub drinking, and got everyone on the dance floor. What fun to see a bunch of drunken monkeys shaking their asses to the Humpty Dance. Because, well, it�s your chance to do the hump. The sticky, beer-drenched floor added to the ambiance of the evening. It was even better to see stumble drunks singing, �It�s time for the percolator, it�s time for the percolator,� and attempting to do the dance, which isn't even easy sober.
There was more drinking, more dancing, and I possibly helped instigate a fight or two before security kicked us out. We were leaving as the first strains of the last call song, �Come on Eileen,� began. Shit. We'd miss the "New York, New York," sing-a-long and line kicking dance. Toy cop fucks.
We went to relieve ourselves before the cross-campus hike. While we were in the stalls I said, �You�re so awesome. You�re my best friend.� Driggles replied, �You�re mine, too,� and we exited the stalls and collapsed into a hug that threatened to knock us over. Don�t get any ideas, no lesbian sex ensued. Driggles said the night was so awesome, we should find a souvenir. We looked around the bathroom for something to take, and though I kicked the sink a few times, the ugly fucker refused to budge. The paper towel holder was lame, and aside from that, there was nothing of note. A light bulb appeared over Driggles� head and she dragged me into the staff locker room, where the kitchen people get their mack on. The smell of friend foods and funk swept lingered in the air (and I don't mean Tower of Power style funk). We kept searching for our commemorative token, to no avail.
�What about thoshe lockers?� I slurred, and Driggles kicked a few of them to see if they�d open. I did too, as I was a secret fan of kicking things and causing damage to property while in a drunken state. Driggles pulled on the lock to see if it was open, and the lock fell off in her hand. I joined in the pillaging, and about five locks fell off. We jammed them in our purses and ran out of the building. Driggles and I compared our stolen booty as we walked back to the dorms.
�What doesh that shay,� I asked her, and she held it up to the light, trying to read while fighting the spins.
�It shashs Penco,� she slurred back, spraying a bit on account of the strong consonants.
She went back to her dorm, and I crept back into mine, because residents aren�t supposed to see their RAs obliterated. When she came to bring me some juice the next day, since I had a motherfucker of a hangover and her Irish genes had shielded her from one, she brought over a bunch of stickers. We decorated the Penco locks with stickers, and wore them on beaded necklaces whenever we needed the power of Penco. Luckily, we had enough lock parts to adopt a few more friends into our ranks. We called ourselves Pencopals, and I still consider her that, even though she�s moved to the desert.
So that, my friends, is what Pencopal means. It�s a shout out to my youth and friends who�ll always be in my heart.
Oh, and your dad. When I�m fucking him.
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