When Kristal is handed the group picture, she begins to draw a white-haired man over the left ear of the giraffe. She adds wings, and the figure seems angelic. I take a second look and notice her character is also holding a smoking gun.
Pooka tries to persuade the artists that Irish car bombs — drinks that consist of Guinness, Bailey's, and about 10 seconds of chugging — are "good for the stomach."
Someone refers to the libation as "Irish Pepto," and then I ask Pooka where her name comes from.
"It comes from my role-playing days," she says.
"You mean your larping days?" someone in the group calls out.
"Larping?" I ask. "What's that?"
"Live-action role-playing," Pooka says as her face turns the same color as her hair. "In role-playing there's species of characters you can play. Pooka is like an Irish boogeyman, usually a black horse or a dog that befriends humans and then runs them into a thorn patch or stomps on your head. Her personality was just like mine."
The drawing comes around again. Pat Thai has drawn a flustered anime man in a blazer surrounded by psychedelic swirls. Above him a word balloon reads, "Oh my ..." He eyes a doodle of a head sprouting an erect, diseased-looking member and drooling over Pooka's buxom milk fountain.
The drawing is everything a good, tumultuous Saturday night should be: insane, alcohol-laden, and kinky.