Story time! Goat antics, day 2

Okay you jokers – sorry it’s late. But it is still technically day 2, so there.

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“GLUBBPPLLTTHHHHPTPTTTTT!” Irk woke up face down in his kitchen, having inhaled a fair bit of water from the pool of water that was there. It was morning, and he felt wickedly hung over, though he didn’t remember having an excessive amount to drink last night. He certainly didn’t remember retiring for the evening face down in water on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t remember having this awful headache.

What did happen last night? Irk remembered leaving work in a terrible mood and stopping by his usual haunt for a couple of pops on his way home, but no one he knew had stopped in for happy hour so he didn’t stay long. Certainly it wasn’t enough to give him his level of hangover. Why was he in such a bad mood again?

Irk flopped on the couch in the living room and nursed his sore head. Oh, that’s right – just before leaving work he’d gotten into a terrible argument with Glen over the phone. The Bag of Stuff that he’d ordered from Woohoo had arrived that afternoon, and Glen had opened it and claimed the best items before he got home, and then had the nerve to call and brag about his winnings! A couple pens, a leak frog, a pair of socks, some weird USB stickman thing – Glen had even claimed the now-rare bags of Texas Air to use for new pillows. But it wasn’t the stolen items that upset him; they were really just trinkets – probably someone else’s random returns – and had very little value. He was mostly upset that he’d missed out on the thrill of opening the box and finding out for himself what he’d received. (Though really, what the heck was Glen going to do with socks?)

And he’d really let him have it over the phone when he called. He’d said some things that were probably a little out of line and a lot mean, and after cooling off at the pub, he had planned to apologize to Glen when he got home. But he didn’t actually remember getting home, and he didn’t remember …. GLEN! Where was he?!

Bits of the previous night started to rush back into his head. Irk jumped up and almost fell headlong over the coffee table, rushing to the kitchen. He looked around the room as last night’s events came back to him. A glance at the fridge and a sudden sensation of rage when he saw the bracket, at the puddle on the ground, and at the shattered door.

And then he saw the one single red thread again, trailing across the room towards the open door. Did he do something he didn’t remember? Was he in such a violent rage when he arrived home that be broke down his own door and attacked his buddy? It seemed unlikely – he never came in this door and he was pretty sure that even in whatever altered mental state he was in, he wouldn’t have destroyed the door himself.

As Irk continued to look around the room and wrack his still-foggy brain for any small flashes of what may have happened, he absentmindedly grabbed a mop and started cleaning up the mess of water that had streamed in the open door.
“I suppose this floor needed cleaning anyway,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

He mopped and thought as hard as his little Irk-brain would think. The pub. That’s where things started to get fuzzy, he was pretty sure of that. Irk clearly remembered the phone call, leaving the office, and ordering his drink, but things get progressively more confused after that.

BRRRRRRING!

The phone rang loudly, startling Irk quite badly. He jumped and knocked over the mop bucket in the process, depositing all the freshly mopped water back onto the floor. Sigh. Irk stepped around the water and answered the phone.

“Hello?” he said into the phone, as was customary.

“Irk? Man, were you ever messed up when you left here last night!” It was @tinamarie1974, the bartender at the pub. They’d known each other for a long while, which was mostly the reason he favored that particular establishment as it meant he typically only paid for every other drink.

“Tina? What happened? Why didn’t you cut me off? I don’t even remember leaving there!”

“You only had two beers, buddy – you’re becoming quite the lightweight. I didn’t see you leave, but you left your wallet and car keys on the bar; that’s why I’m calling. How’d you get home without your car, anyway? It’s still parked outside.”

How did he …. Irk ran to the front window and looked out into the driveway. Sure enough, his car wasn’t there.

Irk collapsed back onto the sofa, slamming his knee into the coffee table in the process. He rubbed his still-aching head and his newly-aching knee, utterly perplexed. What had happened last night, and how did he get home? And where the heck was Glen??