2 min read

BroLo goes low in LoDo.

BroLo is a friend of mine.  Yeah, we're friends but my God, who knew he would drink so much at lunch?

It all started with a conversation about God and Saint Francis.  I asked my (relatively) appropriate questions. He finished a margarita before we ordered lunch.

The waiter brought BroLo a second marguerita.  We toasted and began talking about Opus Dei.  Well, actually we were gossiping about a mutual friend, and Capuchin, who we think is in Opus Dei or will be soon.  (Hee, hee, secret order, stuff like that.)

I daintily ate chips and salsa while BroLo powered the second marguerita.  We started talking about sin.  It turns out that priest can't have sex because they cannot get married and we all know that no Catholic has sex before marriage. Uh huh.  He told me a joke about pork and sex, a rabbi and a priest.  It's hard to tell because he was already slurring his words.

The waiter brought BroLo his third marguerita with our lunch.  I had a chicken tostada and BroLo had flautas.   During lunch, BroLo discussed Joseph's saintly behavior.  We  talked about Mark McGuire (another Catholic who never had sex before marriage - uh huh) as BroLo pressured me to tell him everything I knew about Mark.  I shook my head and laughed.  I mean, if I'm going to roll over on MM it's going to be for some serious cash.

Then the waiter brought the BroLo's forth marguerita.   I tried to signal the waiter to cut BroLo off, but it turns out that our waiter was Catholic and knew BroLo.  Our conversation shifted to confession, renunciation, the body of Christ, and the cobblestoned streets of Rome.

That's when the waiter dropped BroLo's fifth marguerita.  In one fluid motion, he tossed it back, fell forward, and slipped under the table.

There in the middle of the restaurant, BroLo passed out.  And I was in the position of, once again, besmirching the reputation of a good Catholic boy.  (Once again I prove McGuire's mother right.? Damn.)

I managed to carry him to the car where he curled up against the door muttering something about Kansas, virginity, someone called Mary, and God knows what else.

Christ on the Cross!

I put on my most saintly smile and carried him up the stairs to the monostary.  He was leaned against me, tucked under my right arm, when the head of his order opened the door.  Poor guy.  He stepped back as if he was hit.  His face lit up with shock and horror.
I shrugged and passed Bro off to the brother.

That's my story.  And I'm sticking to it.