tooooniiiight.
© 1996 Jamie Zawinski <jwz@jwz.org>

I was at a party, leaning against the refrigerator (since, as with all parties, nearly everyone ended up in the kitchen.) There was some sort of power struggle at the CD player in the other room, as the Frank Sinatra song which had been playing was cut off prematurely, and was replaced with the ennui-laden stylings of Depeche Mode's classic Black Celebration album.

let's have a black celebration black celebration tonight

There were several people sitting around a table directly across the room from me, and at the end of each line in the song, each person lifted their glass and took a large sip.

to celebrate the fact that we've seen the back of another black day

A blue-haired girl leaned over towards one of them, and a brief exchange of words occurred. She stood tall, her eyes grew wide, and she let out a shriek as she bolted from the room, hands over her ears.

I laughed aloud, and shook my head.

``What was that all about?''

The question came from a tall, skinny fellow who was now standing next to me. He was wearing a flouncy white shirt, eyeliner, and a puzzled expression.

``Well, they're playing the Depeche Mode drinking game,'' I explained.

``The whaaat??''

``The Depeche Mode drinking game. You play Black Celebration, and take a drink any time you hear the words Black, Tonight, Time, or Question.'' I watched him consider the implications. ``It's not a game for a light drinker,'' I added, nodding.

``But why did it upset her so?''

``Well...'' I began. Should I be telling him this? Oh, why not, it was really funny.

A few months ago, I had some friends over, and the girl in question had a bit too much to drink. Actually, she had drunk enough rum to drown a pirate. And she had reached that point, the point at which your body begins to tell you in no uncertain terms that you have stepped over the line. She started turning green.

``I think it's time for you to go visit the bathroom,'' I suggested.

``I'm not going to throw up,'' she countered. ``I hate throwing up. I'm not going to do it.''

I suggested that I was pretty sure that she was going to be throwing up, one way or another, and it was probably best to do it sooner rather than later. I pointed out that she had already had too much, and her stomach was still full of alcohol that she hadn't yet metabolized, and it was only going to be worse if she didn't get rid of it.

She was very, very unhappy, but I led her to the bathroom. I turned on the light; she moaned. Ok, in the dark then. We sat down on the floor, and did my duty by holding her head and telling her that everything was going to be ok. Fortunately for her, she was still drunk enough that she wasn't really feeling much pain.

She vomited a few times, and I stroked her hair and told her stories to take her mind off of the unpleasant situation. She wasn't quite done, and we waited. We had been in there for a while, and eventually someone in the other room turned off the television and put on music. Depeche Mode.

I want to take you in my arms forgetting all I couldn't do today

She began softly singing along with the music as it floated by.

black celebration

``...celebraaaaation,'' she whispered. ``Blaaack celeb...''

Then her arms tensed up, her back arched, she lifted herself slightly, and... ``HURRRRRRRRKKKK!!'' came the geyser. This was the big one.

``...tooooniiiiight,'' she finished, and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

So of course, for weeks we taunted her by occasionally coming up to her and saying ``tooooniiiiight -- HUUURRRKKK!!'' when she least expected it. It became a running joke, though not one that, after a while, was well appreciated.

The tall fellow laughed. Our conversation turned to other things, and eventually we drifted apart. Some time later, the blue-haired girl appeared in front of me. Her forehead was furrowed, and her lips twisted off to one side. She was not looking the least bit happy. She said, ``Someone I've never met before just came up to me and said, `I know a story about you!' Do you have to tell everyone about that?''

``Heh heh,'' I chuckled nervously. Oops, I thought. Now she's mad. ``Well, you saw what they were doing, they were playing the game! The subject just... came up. So to speak.'' She tilted her head and sighed. She wasn't buying this. ``I'm sorry, ok? I mean, it's not like I put it on my web page or anything!''