Sunday morning was pretty much a repeat of the day before. Jil was one of the first ones to wake up after another all-night party where few people starting passing out until 4:00 a.m. She stepped gingerly over bodies lying on the stage, sprawled across tables, comatose in chairs or sofas, or spread-eagled on the floor. She couldn't help but detect a repulsive and odoriferous blended scent of alcohol, beer, wine, onions, and unwashed bodies. The stifling heat in the bar only served to further accentuate the stench, so Jil tried opening the side door only to find it barricaded with six feet of heavy snow pack. Finally, she managed to shove the door open just enough that she could stick her head outside and breathe some fresh cold air. She was wearing aqua pedalpushers and a dark turquoise sweater; her hair was in its traditional ponytail, the minimal make-up she was wearing was smudged lightly across her face. Doc came up behind her and whispered, "You think these guys are ever gonna' go home?" He grabbed a nearby snow shovel and started scooping a tunnel which allowed him to finally get outside and 'dig out' Neither snow, nor sleet, no hail or rain could keep Doc from his appointed rounds, Jil thought; "he's kinda like the postmen and taxicab drivers".
'Hot" Donna was the next one awake. "What are we gonna' do with all these drunks, Jil? We're runnin' outta booze! We blew through three kegs last night, the coolers are just about empty, and our liquor inventory is about depleted!" Jil listened with little concern; if there was nothing to drink, maybe some of these party-goers would brave the weather and start heading for home. "Don't you and Mike have to get back to Phil's pig farm?" she quizzed. "Do you really like working on a pig farm, Donna?" Donna peered over the top of her glasses, and responded, "Well, it's not much different than some of the pigs we've had to work with around here! Only difference is the pigs in Iowa have four feet and eventually become bacon. The pigs in Indiana might get fried, but they keep coming back!" The two couldn't keep from guffawing, which woke up Boo and Bobby and Bobby and Bruce. Hooter stood up as if he had just risen from the dead. Tom Chandler snorted and immediately headed for the head. Lovey and Jo and Michelle were the next to open their eyes. Ron was curled up in a fetal position trying to keep warm with a tablecloth he'd found in the storeroom. Phil was snoring (imagine that!) what sounded like a trumpeted version of "Purple Haze". Mike was sitting on a barstool, his head lowered on the bar, with a beer bottle clenched tightly between his lips as if he never wanted it to leave him alone again. His mustache was full of beer suds, someone had apparently doused his jet black hair with beer foam. Bob and Cher were cuddled up together on one of the comfortable sofas; Bob's right leg was perched over the back of the sofa making it look like it had been twisted off and hastily replaced - backwards. Janie was on the stage hugging a microphone. Dana had fallen into one of the drums on stage; had the drum been filled with water, it could have appeared she was in a small child's swimming pool with her hands and legs hanging over the sides. The drum wasn't filled with water, but there did appear to be a small pool of beer fermenting as Dana soaked in its suds.
By noon, everybody was up, though some were still not functioning all that well.
"Grab the mops, brooms and buckets, you guys!" commanded Jil. "We're gonna clean this place up!"
Without dissent, the O.U.T.R.A.G.E. volunteers became the clean-up crew. It's hard to work with a hangover.