Gibraltar: A Crabby Follow-Up

For those of you faithful chuckblog readers who are expecting more of Charles’ (and he will be referred to as Charles)* vast wisdom and zany reflections on life, I’d just like to get this warning out of the way:

 Though chuckblog officially ushers in a new era today by introducing it’s first guest blogger, me: Crab, I can assure those of you worried about adapting to new content or different rhetoric that you will essentially be getting the same old Charles-esque material. You know what I’m talking about. That same bizzare fixation with urine and nudity. Yea, we’ve crossed a few streams in our day. The same compulsion to drink staggering amounts of malted energy drinks. Somebody has to keep Sparks in business. And of course, I’m always willing to to speak freely regarding Charles’ innate ability to repulse the ladies.

And so you might be asking yourself, well, so what? Why read what this asshole, Crab, has to say when I can get nearly identical ideas from trustworthy and comforting Charles? I’ll tell you why. Because, you the readers of chuckblog, while rightly satisfied with the low-brow humor and sophmoric rants that occur here, need a dissenting opinion. If the first amendment to The Constitution was intended to reign in anyone, it was almost certainly dickheads like Charles. And, since I’ve personally been the focal point of much of his slander on this blog, I gladly accept the onus of providing that dissent.

Having gotten that out of the way, I would like to be clear what an avid fan I am of both chuckblog and www.scottbrundage.com.

So, when I was summoned to post here on chuckblog it was a bit like being asked by The Beatles to perform on stage with them at Ed Sullivan. Only substituting The Beatles with a tiny, degenerate, tattooed smartass. And Ed Sullivan Theatre with an asinine blogspot viewed by 15 of Charles’ closest friends, all of whom are also degenerate smartasses.

Naturally, I pounced at the opportunity.

And now for a more honest Gibraltar anecdote.

Having been one of the 3 registered and legal(barely) tenants in the penthouse corner apartment in the building at 2305 18th St. NW Washington, DC, now know as The Gibraltar(and as the namesake for Charles’ flask), I can confirm that Charles’ depiction of the residence is completely spot on. Indeed, I could start my own blog dedicated solely to the startling number of different places where urine was discharged there. One of which, would be in Charles’ mouth. I could also start another blog devoted to deviant, Colonial American, sexual fantasies that were prevalent in one of the rooms. But, I wouldn’t do that using this forum. Because I have too much dignity.

But sadly, perhaps my most vivid and lasting memory of our time at The Gibraltar came on one of our last nights living there. It was late August as I recall, and with no AC, swelteringly hot. We were in the process of moving out of the place. Naturally, Charles was in attendence to provide moral encouragement and comedic relief. Daddy, sometimes known as George, had rented a steam-vac from Safeway, so that we might attempt to recoup at least some of a security deposit for an apartment that we had methodically destroyed over the course of two-plus years. We had moved all furniture into other rooms so as to clean the dirtiest carpet I have ever seen: our living room floor. As the night wore on, we drank, steam-vaced, moved furniture, and competed in a Gibraltar original: Total Muscle Failure.

Total Muscle Failure, henceforth TMF, was an activity whereby the participant lifted two, twenty pound dumbells over their head as many times as they could until they collapsed in exhaustion. And if you think it sounds ridiculous when you read about it, I can assure  you that being a part of it is even more absurd. My memory is hazy when it comes to the origins of TMF, but it was a regular occurence in The Gibraltar, and one that seemed normal while it was taking place. I mean honestly, who doesn’t like to drink and lift weights until they vomit?

With all the movement and the steaming and boozing going on, the apartment got hotter and hotter, and at one point, many of us found ourselves congregated in one of the bedrooms near a window to cool off. As I emerged from the bedroom to get another beer, I walked through the kitchen and peered into the living room. What could I have seen, you ask? Nothing but Charles buck naked except for his ridiculous old-school Reeboks, dripping with sweat, beer in one hand, pushing the steam-vac with the other. I stood silent and stunned. I motioned back through the kitchen for someone, anyone! to come look at this amazing spectacle before he realized we were watching!

No one came. And guess what? They didn’t need to. He went on like that for the rest of the night, completely unabashed and unapolegetic, for everyone to see. With windows wide open and music blaring, so that not just us, but all of Adams Morgan could get a glimpse of the Nude, Sweaty, Carpet-Cleaner of 18th St.

I’d like to thank Chuckblog for the opportunity of a lifetime. No, not getting the chance to post here, but the chance to go out on a date with Tiff. You can still make that happen, right Charles?

*I only surround myself with the classiest of the classy. And though the founder of this site calls himself Chuck, it should be noted that it is not his given name. Not even close. In fact, he has been known by many monikers. Including, but not limited to; Chaz, Charlie, Chuckles, and even Shithead by those who know and love him most. He has and always will be Charles to me. It makes him seem so regal.