This week, the Screecher is loaded!

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I’m madder than the celibate teetotaler whose car breaks down in front of a brothel in Vegas over the fact that I missed the best part of my daughter’s surprise 40th birthday party for three reasons — I forgot to ride in on my trusty steed Tornado, and I had five or six too many margaritas!

Look, you all know the ol’Screecher can throw them back with the best of them thanks to the fact that instead of mother’s milk, I was weened on a mixture of Sambuca and wine that my sainted mom knew would make me something much more than skin and bones.

So you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that my gut has built up quite a tolerance for the hard stuff — pushing it through me like a fat guy down a water slide, and forcing me to make a few too many trips to the terlit whenever I choose to imbibe.

Well for some strange reason, all bets were off last Tuesday night at the party of the century when I was offered the option of sangria (which, as I told you before, is just fruited-down wine) and what can only be called the “Mexican Devil” because of the ways it always seems to repossess me (which is what happens whenever I drink tequila!).

F’rinstance, I remember the time I traveled with the wife to South Padre Island in Texas and swam up to a bar in the middle of the pool, which is great for me because it takes so much weight off my legs, which act like pile drivers on my feet every time I have enough energy to take a step! I saw this funny-looking Slurpy machine behind the bar and ask the lifeguard-bartender “Is that cherry-flavored, or ‘Coke’-flavored?”

He said “Why don’t you just have a glass or 12 and see for yourself.” So I did — but I told him to skip the salt because I was watching my cholesterol. Folks, I don’t know what they put in those Slurpies, but I’ll tell you this: I got a heck of a lot more than a brain freeze!

Fact of the matter is I didn’t know that you can’t drink and swim, I sank to the bottom of the deep end the second I fell off my stool, and it took three bartender-lifeguards to get me out of the pool and back into my room without drowning! I tell ya, It’s a good think I’m weightless underwater!

That night I had some of the worst dreams of my life starring my lovely wife Sharon screaming at me in languages no was has ever heard thenceforward.

So you think I would have learned by lesson. But no. I chose the margarita — and once again paid the price.

The worst part about it was I chose to leave Tornado in the stable, forcing me to try to find my way home under my own power — and that of five other partygoers.

Lost in all this was my trusty steed, who was tied up at home after my latest mishap with Access-A-Ride, one in which my training with the Canadian Moose Mounties finally paid dividends. It was just after my latest successful tango class at Seth Low Intermediate School, and I was once again outside waiting for my ride to pick me up as it started to drizzle. Then, as oftentimes happens, it started to pour. So I was soaking wet when my van pulled up, loaded me in, and buckled me down as if I was sitting in the electric chair (or as I like to call it, the hot seat). Everything was going fine until I get to my destination, and we realized when she strapped me in, she really strapped me in.

You probably heard me screaming at the driver all for the 20 minutes she was trying to disconnect me.

About 19 minutes in I realized that the only way I was getting you if this predicament was to use the training I received during my proud service in the Great White North back in the 1950s.

It was there that I was taught the art of the use of a David Bowie knife, and I still carry the one I earned back then on my person at all times until this day — just to be safe.

Still, the driver didn’t know this, and was completely scared to death the second I pulled it out! But I just said to her “You know what to do” as I handed her the knife, and she proceeded to cut me loose!

Free at last, I rolled upstairs just in time for Entenmann’s and coffee with Sharon. What a night!

To my wonderful daughter, Happy 40th! Sorry I missed the party, and even sorrier I embarrassed myself and Sharon!

Screech at you next week!

Read Carmine's screech every Saturday on E-mail him at
Updated 11:48 am, January 16, 2019
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