This one is a long one, but entertaining. It happened in 2001 and was posted on my previous website (Which has since disappeared thanks to a crappy server that couldnt do anything right!!) Anyway, enjoy!!!
Now, this actually started on a Saturday afternoon, but ended Sunday morning, so I figure this could be a drunk on Sunday story.
Vegas, ca. 2001: Its Saturday around 2pm, and we've just left Circus Circus. Have you ever been there? I have mixed feelings on the place. First off, it's like a second rate casino in the middle of babylon. But damn if that clown out front doesn't really pressure you into going in. He looks happy and jubilant, but there is no question that he is forcefully directing you to game at the Circus Circus Casino.
Well, we really couldn't keep ourselves from going in and gambling. Hell, you're in Vegas, what else is there? I could have spent the new millennium in Vegas, and had someone asked how it was, my response would have been something like "man, I had a hard 16 and the dealer dealt me a 5, it was incredible."
There were three of us. Somehow the 20 people that had shown up for our friend's bachelor party just werent around at this point. I'm sure we could have found them on some table somewhere. Hell we just drove up from Texas to crash the party, and the third in our particular party had flown in from San Francisco for the gig.
Anyway, we had some drinks while playing blackjack, which I believe we were all up. Interesting comment by the Pit Boss, "Man, I never put more than 10.00 gas in my car. If gas was 10.00/gallon, I'd have to keep stopping to put in another gallon." I dont know why, but that comment has been stuck in my head for a year. Anyway, I digress.
Have you ever checked out the big Circus tent, The Adventuredome, in Circus Circus? Dude, it's like an amusement park. This was my first time visiting Circus Circus in Vegas (Even though I had been to Vegas at least 20 times before, I never wanted to lower myself to that place). I had been to Reno where some kind blackjack dealer gave us the low down on the ranches in the area, but Ive never seen anything like this. As Ice Cube would say "I was getting overwhelmed by Bebe's kids."
After winning some deformed coffee mug at some contest, and enjoying a good hot dog, I had to get the hell out of that place, so we took the glasses our drinks were in (which I could serve you out of if you humbled me with your presence at my pad) and took off.
Down to the Bellagio, for no real apparent reason. But what we discovered was the backdoor to Vegas. You know how they give you free drinks when you gaming, which sometimes can come to about 20.00/drink if you're not careful? Well, we hit the Sportsbook in the Bellagio for some gambling on the ponies.
First off, if you go at the right time, you're one of only a handful of people there. Secondly, the Bellagio has the hottest waitress' in the world, I'm convinced of that fact, and they're in plenty, which is even better.
So, what you can do is sit there and bet a couple dollars on the ponies here and there over the course of say 5 hours, and get free drinks all the while you're there. So you get loaded at very little or no cash expense to yourself.
Well, we sat there for a good while getting loaded. One waitress would come by every 10 minutes, and I must say I still talk about that girl with fond admiration and as a level of beauty which I compare others too. God Bless her mother and father for bringing her into this world. Of course, it could have been the drinking, but I'm sticking with my original story.
Another waitress would come by every 10 minutes, but staggered between the other girls stops. Now, my buddy Brent and I could not help but to get a drink every time she stopped by. Hell, why wouldn't you? It's free (for the most part). I'll never forget seeing his eyes when he realized that we could get shots for free from them. It was as if he was seeing for the first time. It was beautiful to be there for that moment.
After tying a really good one on (Im sure my speech was slurring badly at this point) I met up with a friend of mine at the poker tables. He's an old buddy of mine from my band days back in Texas, and I know anytime I'm in Vegas, he'll be at the Bellagio Poker Room. It's a given.
We drank some more as we played some blackjack. The local native friend of mine had gotten drilled for about a grand in 20 minutes, so he left in a hurry and we bid adieu. However, I was doing okay on my table, and we were having more and more drinks.
This is where I found out that Hasim Rachman had knocked out Lennox Lewis down in South Africa to take the heavyweight title, at 15-1 odds no doubt. Damn I was an idiot for not taking the gamble on that one, but who would really?
So we get drunker. I like to think that there should be a term called Vegas Drunk. Because drinking in Vegas is like drinking nowhere else in the world. You don't know you're drunk, can't tell what time it is, how drunk you are, how dumb you are. I mean, Vegas really knows what theyre doing to shadow your senses to your own stupidity. But damn, I love it so.
We leave the Bellagio drunk as a skunk and head over to Paris Casino across the road. Along the way, one of us comes up with the brilliant plan: "I think it's time to bet big." Now, saying this to some drunken gamers is an easy way to test the limits of your pocketbook quickly. I think it's about 9pm now, and we're stumbling across the road.
Going into the Paris Casino through Bally's Walking Escalator one will become hypnotized...you sit there on this escalator going into the casino as a soothing voice says out speakers "close your eyes, listen to my voice. Today you're going to win like you've never won before."
I don't know why we didn't bet at Bally's because I know that guy was right, but we went to Paris, which is adjoining Bally's. By the way, did you know that if you ever want to see anything in the world, you can find it in Vegas? I saw the Eiffel Tower there, and now I have no reason to travel across the Atlantic.
So we "bet big" at Paris. "Betting big" is a relative term, but to us that meant about 100.00 hands in blackjack. After about 20 minutes I was down about 800.00 and pretty pissed off. Time to hit the craps table.
But before the craps table, I had to take care of some business in the world-class bathrooms there. I recommend the Paris Casino for all your toilet needs while you're in Vegas.
However, as a drunk might do, I walked out of the bathroom and through the casino with toilet paper on my shoes, trailing me as I walked around. The only reason I could finally figure out what everyone is looking at was my friend's laughing so hard at me. They usually don't laugh that hard, so a quick perusal of my person found the problem. Hell, it was pretty funny for me.
Well, I called some girl a whore at the craps table. I think that was rock bottom for me that evening. She didn't deserve it, and I apologized, but the French inspired Paris Casino had the manners and pissy attitude of the French, and I was getting drilled left and right. I wasn't sure how I was going to pay for the ride home to be honest.
On our way back to the MGM Grand, where I had room on the floor of a room reserved for the bachelor party, we decided to do shots at every bar we could find. Now, in Vegas there are a lot of bars. I remember dancing to some crap at some casino somewhere at some point.
We stopped at every place and did Tequila and Jaggermeister everywhere. Not a good combo. We had no idea what time it was, where we were, or what was really going on. I do remember the Monte Carlo. I swear to this day that a Steve Martin look-alike was working behind the bar, but my companions disagreed with me on that one. When I asked him about it, he said that he never heard that before. I'm sticking to my story though.
This Steve Martin look alike advised us that if we wanted to locate some women that we'd probably want to go to this brewery in the Monte Carlo Casino, so off we went. My buddy Brent and I went in, showed our ID's and went on in. Both of us commented on how hard they had carded us, but went in and ordered three Alabama Slammers.
Waiting for our buddy Matt to come on in got tiresome, so we offered his shot to one of the girl's that were milling around us. Conversing with the girls, they asked where our other friend was. We nonchalantly, half joking but half serious, said, "oh, he's probably being detained by the cops, or in jail, but we're not really sure."
A couple minutes later Matt showed up, pissed as all can be, talking about how the cops detained him at the door. I can not do justice to his anger at that particular moment, so I won't try, but he went on to explain what happened: They took my ID and claimed it wasn't me, and then waved some cops over. They had be backed up to a wall, and 4 cops surrounded me. they kept questioning me about when I graduated (then proceeded to say I couldn't graduate that year) and all about everything. Man I was so pissed. I thought about trying to break my way out, but I didn't.
I wish I could do justice to the pleasure the story gave me at the time, but I cannot. I hardly remember all of it.
We went on down the street making our way to the MGM. Somehow, a group of about 4 guys were really enamored with us, and said that they wanted to buy us drinks down at Mandalay Bay. I'm always down for free drinks, but there was also a Fatburger along the way. So, I ran across the street and saw my life flash in front of my eyes as a car came flying around the corner. Dude, I had to jump out of they way of that car, and had I not jumped, I'm sure an extended stay in a Las Vegas hospital would have been in order.
But I got my fatburger and rootbeerfloat, ate it on the curb on the strip and headed back down to the MGM where the other guys were. Found them on the tables, gambled a bit and then to the bar again.
It was about 4-5am at this point, and we went into some argument about the fight (Lewis rachman). At this point I thought about trying to pick up one of the nice ladies sitting at the bar to go back to my room with me, but the thought of where (there were 10 people staying in the hotel room) to take care of business evaded my capabilities at that point.
Of course, I can't even be sure if they would have gone, and a slap could have happened with any kind try...I don't know how all that works anyway.
So I went to sleep on the floor of the hotel room. Woke up the next morning, made a lot of my money back the hour before we left, Brent and I got in my pickup and made the long drive back to Texas after dropping Phil off at the Airport.
Vegas, I love you!
Showing posts with label Drinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drinking. Show all posts
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Vidor, Texas and 4 Drunk Guys
Another blast from the past here. All of my friends down in Texas will know what I am talking about. This was originally posted on my now-defunct website in Sept. of 1998.
In college we had a saying: Don’t fuck with Willie. We said it almost as often as we “Texas Fight” on Saturdays for football and basketball games.
Willie was a big, beef-eating kind of a fuy. His skin was blacker than night and he had a death wish throughout most of our college lives. There was many a weekend when Jimmy, Jason, Willy and I would head out and immediately be up to no good.
One long weekend, we were visiting friends in Beaumont, Texas. Now Beaumont is Cajun country, almost on the border with Louisiana. The night of “the keg incident” we’d gone across the border to Hebert’s Grocery (again, for you yanks, it’s pronounced A-BEAR’S). Back in the back of the tiny store was a window with a guy on the other side making underage boys like ourselves very happy (We were all Freshman or Sophomores in College). This was the place all the kids from Texas and Louisiana within 30 miles would go for beer and wine. Four mega sized beers later we peeled out and headed back to Texas. Kelly and Willie were in Kelly’s latest loaner Mustang and Jason and I were in Jason’s piece of shit pick up that could rattle the paint off a house.
Alcohol does things to a man. Mostly make him stupid. And stupid is as stupid does, that night. Willie decided he wanted to go to the Taco Bell. But not the nearest one, no, no, he wanted the one in Vidor.
Oh, hell no. “You’re fucked up, man. We ain’t going to Vidor.”
“I’m hungry!”
“For a noose?”
I remember looking at Jason and he smiled and shrugged. “The boy wants to go to Vidor, let’s go.”
Shit. It was a fucking bad idea. Vidor is where the Klan is. And I don’t just mean a group of Klansmen residing in the city, I mean the whole god forsaken city. I am not joking. Vidor is the racist city in the world. The Klan headquarters is there. Even the police are world famous for their racism. Fucking Montel Williams did a whole show on the racism in Vidor, which only advertised to the rest of the haters out there that there was a safe haven for them right there in East Texas. Hell, the Klan posts a fucking sign at the Wal-Mart announcing meetings so nobody misses one.
We pulled up in the Taco Bell and Jason opened his glove box. “Put these on. Keep your mouth shut.” He gave me two cheap men’s rings. I put one on each hand. Jason had relatives in Vidor. He didn’t share their views, but it gave him insight on how to handle the mentality.
We were the only ones inside when we ordered, but halfway through the meal, because Willie insisted on eating in the dining room, we had visitors. Three white boys pulled into the parking lot driving a pick up with a keg in the bed. They came inside and immediately set eyes on Willie. That motherfucker I swear nibbled his taco from that point on. “Eat, bitch.”
“Man, my belly is hurtin.’”
Jason balled up his paper and glanced at Willie, then me, then Kelly. He held up three fingers, then four.
Outnumbering them didn’t matter one bit when the cops would arrest every damn one of us. No cop in his right mind would believe we just stopped in for something to eat. Blacks don’t just stop in Vidor. I don’t care if they’re diabetic and chancing a coma if they don’t get some fucking OJ in the next two minutes, they don’t stop in Vidor. Sidebar here -- I remember going to the Sugar Bowl in 1994 or 95. We were piled into a car that was being driven by our friend Tyrone, a Track and Field star at UT. We were beyond empty and needed gas, he refused to stop for gas in Vidor. This was a big athletic dude and he wouldn’t even set foot in that town. We ran out of gas turning off at an exit about 6 miles past vidor. He stayed in the car as my friend Drew and I had to walk to the gas station. He felt we were still too close to Vidor for him to venture out walking. Crazy shit! And it’s like that to this day.
Anyway, back to the story. We got up to leave just as the Vidorians’ order was ready. Willie swore he didn’t move first, but it happened so fast I couldn’t tell. One minute we were almost home free, the next we were ripping one skinny white boy after another off of Willie while he tore into the biggest one who’d been eyeballing him the hardest. The wiry son of a bitch I got stuck with kept drilling me in the chest until I finally got a knee into his gut. All I can remember thinking is “Oh, Jesus, not the face, don’t hit me in the face!” I could hide the bruising on my body, but a busted lip and black eye would generate a whole new shit storm with my parents, who were coming down to visit me in two days.
The one guy Jason was pounding had lost his nerve and ran to the other end of the dining room which freed both him and me up to get between Willie and the fucking moose he was brawling with. The cashier told us she called the cops, which was not good news for us no matter who started it. It took all three of us to drag Willie out of there.
Once we got outside Jason, Kelly and I all ran for our rides, but Willie took a detour.
“What the fuck are you doing? Come on!”
Willie had jumped into the back of the white boys’ truck and was pushing the keg out to the end of the bed. Then he jumped down, slid the keg off onto his back and walked it one agonizingly slow step at a time to Jason’s pick up. We dropped the tailgate and he set the keg down, shoved it back and lifted the gate.
“Souvenir.”
Jason called him a name not even I would repeat, but it was the first time I’d ever heard Willie laugh. I mean laugh hard. When we got out of there and hopped back onto the highway I told Jason. “I’m fucking glad he’s on our side.”
Jason looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Can you tell my pants are wet?”
Reflection: As I look back on this, I am sad to say that Vidor is still a messed-up place. I have some friends from there and I will say that not everyone in that town is a racist, but there seems to be a higher than normal percentage. CNN and several other news shows have done recent stories on the town. Here are the links to a couple:
CNN Story -- http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/12/08/oppenheim.sundown.town/index.html
http://www.tmcnet.com/usubmit/2006/12/13/2167699.htm
http://www.rtis.com/reg/bcs/pol/touchstone/april99/vidor.html
It is crazy to think that places like this still exist in this day and age.
In college we had a saying: Don’t fuck with Willie. We said it almost as often as we “Texas Fight” on Saturdays for football and basketball games.
Willie was a big, beef-eating kind of a fuy. His skin was blacker than night and he had a death wish throughout most of our college lives. There was many a weekend when Jimmy, Jason, Willy and I would head out and immediately be up to no good.
One long weekend, we were visiting friends in Beaumont, Texas. Now Beaumont is Cajun country, almost on the border with Louisiana. The night of “the keg incident” we’d gone across the border to Hebert’s Grocery (again, for you yanks, it’s pronounced A-BEAR’S). Back in the back of the tiny store was a window with a guy on the other side making underage boys like ourselves very happy (We were all Freshman or Sophomores in College). This was the place all the kids from Texas and Louisiana within 30 miles would go for beer and wine. Four mega sized beers later we peeled out and headed back to Texas. Kelly and Willie were in Kelly’s latest loaner Mustang and Jason and I were in Jason’s piece of shit pick up that could rattle the paint off a house.
Alcohol does things to a man. Mostly make him stupid. And stupid is as stupid does, that night. Willie decided he wanted to go to the Taco Bell. But not the nearest one, no, no, he wanted the one in Vidor.
Oh, hell no. “You’re fucked up, man. We ain’t going to Vidor.”
“I’m hungry!”
“For a noose?”
I remember looking at Jason and he smiled and shrugged. “The boy wants to go to Vidor, let’s go.”
Shit. It was a fucking bad idea. Vidor is where the Klan is. And I don’t just mean a group of Klansmen residing in the city, I mean the whole god forsaken city. I am not joking. Vidor is the racist city in the world. The Klan headquarters is there. Even the police are world famous for their racism. Fucking Montel Williams did a whole show on the racism in Vidor, which only advertised to the rest of the haters out there that there was a safe haven for them right there in East Texas. Hell, the Klan posts a fucking sign at the Wal-Mart announcing meetings so nobody misses one.
We pulled up in the Taco Bell and Jason opened his glove box. “Put these on. Keep your mouth shut.” He gave me two cheap men’s rings. I put one on each hand. Jason had relatives in Vidor. He didn’t share their views, but it gave him insight on how to handle the mentality.
We were the only ones inside when we ordered, but halfway through the meal, because Willie insisted on eating in the dining room, we had visitors. Three white boys pulled into the parking lot driving a pick up with a keg in the bed. They came inside and immediately set eyes on Willie. That motherfucker I swear nibbled his taco from that point on. “Eat, bitch.”
“Man, my belly is hurtin.’”
Jason balled up his paper and glanced at Willie, then me, then Kelly. He held up three fingers, then four.
Outnumbering them didn’t matter one bit when the cops would arrest every damn one of us. No cop in his right mind would believe we just stopped in for something to eat. Blacks don’t just stop in Vidor. I don’t care if they’re diabetic and chancing a coma if they don’t get some fucking OJ in the next two minutes, they don’t stop in Vidor. Sidebar here -- I remember going to the Sugar Bowl in 1994 or 95. We were piled into a car that was being driven by our friend Tyrone, a Track and Field star at UT. We were beyond empty and needed gas, he refused to stop for gas in Vidor. This was a big athletic dude and he wouldn’t even set foot in that town. We ran out of gas turning off at an exit about 6 miles past vidor. He stayed in the car as my friend Drew and I had to walk to the gas station. He felt we were still too close to Vidor for him to venture out walking. Crazy shit! And it’s like that to this day.
Anyway, back to the story. We got up to leave just as the Vidorians’ order was ready. Willie swore he didn’t move first, but it happened so fast I couldn’t tell. One minute we were almost home free, the next we were ripping one skinny white boy after another off of Willie while he tore into the biggest one who’d been eyeballing him the hardest. The wiry son of a bitch I got stuck with kept drilling me in the chest until I finally got a knee into his gut. All I can remember thinking is “Oh, Jesus, not the face, don’t hit me in the face!” I could hide the bruising on my body, but a busted lip and black eye would generate a whole new shit storm with my parents, who were coming down to visit me in two days.
The one guy Jason was pounding had lost his nerve and ran to the other end of the dining room which freed both him and me up to get between Willie and the fucking moose he was brawling with. The cashier told us she called the cops, which was not good news for us no matter who started it. It took all three of us to drag Willie out of there.
Once we got outside Jason, Kelly and I all ran for our rides, but Willie took a detour.
“What the fuck are you doing? Come on!”
Willie had jumped into the back of the white boys’ truck and was pushing the keg out to the end of the bed. Then he jumped down, slid the keg off onto his back and walked it one agonizingly slow step at a time to Jason’s pick up. We dropped the tailgate and he set the keg down, shoved it back and lifted the gate.
“Souvenir.”
Jason called him a name not even I would repeat, but it was the first time I’d ever heard Willie laugh. I mean laugh hard. When we got out of there and hopped back onto the highway I told Jason. “I’m fucking glad he’s on our side.”
Jason looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Can you tell my pants are wet?”
Reflection: As I look back on this, I am sad to say that Vidor is still a messed-up place. I have some friends from there and I will say that not everyone in that town is a racist, but there seems to be a higher than normal percentage. CNN and several other news shows have done recent stories on the town. Here are the links to a couple:
CNN Story -- http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/12/08/oppenheim.sundown.town/index.html
http://www.tmcnet.com/usubmit/2006/12/13/2167699.htm
http://www.rtis.com/reg/bcs/pol/touchstone/april99/vidor.html
It is crazy to think that places like this still exist in this day and age.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
The Broken Hand
Well we were partying it up at the bar, and needless to say I was pretty blasted and apparentely I punched a chair and then tried to karate chop a pool table....later on in the evening I somehow went home. I have no idea how. I wake up in the morning with my hand just throbbing and feeling rather like it is shattered!! I look at my hand only to find a sock over my hand with a clenched fist and duct tape wrapped up to my elbow as a make shift cast!! Don't remember doing this, but it gets better! So I get up to go to the can and find my clothes all over the floor on the way to the washroom and in the hallway there is a bag of pitas! Where the hell do you get a bag of pita bread at 3 in the morning!! So I decide to go to the hospital and have my hand looked at. I get dressed and head out to my car. It isnt out there. I lived in an apartment complex so I start walking all over the parking lot to find the car, but no luck. I say screw it and I take the bus to the hospital. People are staring at me since I have a sock with duct tape on me and I look like death!!! I finally make it to the hospital and my hand is broken in two places. I call my friends to pick me up and we go back to the place of the party and find my car. A fun night that I don't remember!
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Good ol' Drunk College Sex
This story happened my soph. year at UT. Sept. 1990
There's nothing special about this story except that...IT WAS ONE OF THE LUCKIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE. I do consider myself something of a ladies man. I am not ashamed to admit it. A week ago I was drunk and there were about six drunk girls at my friend Robert's pad. There was this fine blond girl with a nice rack and a blue mini-skirt who I later found out was named Marina and was one of the pom-pom girls for the UT basketball team. JACKPOT!!
Rob told me to go for it and I started trying to make my plan of attack. A girl this hot has been hit on everyway possible. I had to come up with something new. I went to the kitchen to take a couple shots a fucking miracle happened. I walked in and the girl was crying her ass off. Okay, I know, not what you call a Christmas miracle or anything, but I knew this was my chance to play up the nice friendly gentleman card.
I asked her what was wrong and she told me that her boyfriend was fucking some other girl so they broke up a week ago. Being kinda drunk I guess she just broke down so I invited her to take a couple shots with me. We took a shot of JD and vodka and I told her she could hang out in my room until she felt better. She took my advice and I told her I would check on her in like 10 minutes.
When I went in to check on her she was on my computer watching some porn of a blond chick giving a bj that I was jerking it to earlier. What a fucking moron. I left that shit on my queue in Winamp. I ran over, apologized, and reached over to shut it off, but this fine ass drunk girl just turned to me and said "I can do that way better than that."
I bet that she couldn't and after a bit of coaxing she was sucking my cock while I had a bottle of Jim Beam in my hand. Rob knocked on the door in the middle of it to see that we were okay and I yelled that we were sleeping. Then this girl started going wild and asked me to fuck her "as hard as I could." I happily obliged and had some of the best sex I have ever had in my entire young life. The next morning I woke up at around noon and she was gone. I haven't talked to her since, but drunk ass college sex is exactly why I came to school. God damn I need to get laid more.
There's nothing special about this story except that...IT WAS ONE OF THE LUCKIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE. I do consider myself something of a ladies man. I am not ashamed to admit it. A week ago I was drunk and there were about six drunk girls at my friend Robert's pad. There was this fine blond girl with a nice rack and a blue mini-skirt who I later found out was named Marina and was one of the pom-pom girls for the UT basketball team. JACKPOT!!
Rob told me to go for it and I started trying to make my plan of attack. A girl this hot has been hit on everyway possible. I had to come up with something new. I went to the kitchen to take a couple shots a fucking miracle happened. I walked in and the girl was crying her ass off. Okay, I know, not what you call a Christmas miracle or anything, but I knew this was my chance to play up the nice friendly gentleman card.
I asked her what was wrong and she told me that her boyfriend was fucking some other girl so they broke up a week ago. Being kinda drunk I guess she just broke down so I invited her to take a couple shots with me. We took a shot of JD and vodka and I told her she could hang out in my room until she felt better. She took my advice and I told her I would check on her in like 10 minutes.
When I went in to check on her she was on my computer watching some porn of a blond chick giving a bj that I was jerking it to earlier. What a fucking moron. I left that shit on my queue in Winamp. I ran over, apologized, and reached over to shut it off, but this fine ass drunk girl just turned to me and said "I can do that way better than that."
I bet that she couldn't and after a bit of coaxing she was sucking my cock while I had a bottle of Jim Beam in my hand. Rob knocked on the door in the middle of it to see that we were okay and I yelled that we were sleeping. Then this girl started going wild and asked me to fuck her "as hard as I could." I happily obliged and had some of the best sex I have ever had in my entire young life. The next morning I woke up at around noon and she was gone. I haven't talked to her since, but drunk ass college sex is exactly why I came to school. God damn I need to get laid more.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Courtyard Pool Orgy
This one happened on West Campus in September 1991.Austin, TX
There is a student apartment complex in West Campus called Orange Tree, right by frat row. I was over at a buddy of mine's house drinking with a bunch of people, and we just opened the door so people could go in and out to smoke. In stumble these three trashed sorority pledges (their house is right next door). One's hot, one's cute, the other one looked cute with beer goggles. Talk about easy pickins! My buddy Brett was already talking closely with the hot one, leaving the other two.
About 8-10 drinks later, cute and beer goggles start talking about how much they like to kiss each other. I say jokingly "I'd pay a dollar to see that," to which I got an unexpected "sure!" in reply. At this point I'm pondering how I can best take advantage of these sorostitutes, and quickly add that I'll throw in another buck if I can join in, and they went along with that too. I gave them 2 bucks and started making out with both of them at the same time. At this point many of my friends were pleasantly surprised (and impressed) at this turn of events.
Now, we are all drunk off our asses and I see the girls are getting super horny!! I make my move and I convinced them to get in the pool, at the time inhabited only by one lone couple we didn't know. I was with the two girls and start to finger bang both of them while Brett makes out with the third one. My one friend didn't have one, so I pushed one away and gave her to him. Before you know it, I'm screwing the one I have left, my two friends are with theirs, and the couple in the pool are going at it. This pool is in the dead center of the courtyard, everyone's front doors face it. So as 2:30 rolled around people who were getting home from 6th Street, started walking by and cheering on the orgy in the pool. After the pool orgy, we all parted ways. I took my girl back to my place and we screwed till about 6 am.
I woke up the next morning and remembered the pool event, but I was shocked to find the girl in the apartment. I didnt even remember her name, so I rummaged through her purse that was in the living room and found her drivers license (I didnt want to look like a bad guy). Glad I did. She woke up and had no clue where she was, though she did remember the pool. I dont think she knew my name either and she seemed a little embarrassed cause I kept calling her by her name and she would just call me baby or some other generic name. We took a shower together and screwed again, then I took her home. Best $2 I ever spent, period.
There is a student apartment complex in West Campus called Orange Tree, right by frat row. I was over at a buddy of mine's house drinking with a bunch of people, and we just opened the door so people could go in and out to smoke. In stumble these three trashed sorority pledges (their house is right next door). One's hot, one's cute, the other one looked cute with beer goggles. Talk about easy pickins! My buddy Brett was already talking closely with the hot one, leaving the other two.
About 8-10 drinks later, cute and beer goggles start talking about how much they like to kiss each other. I say jokingly "I'd pay a dollar to see that," to which I got an unexpected "sure!" in reply. At this point I'm pondering how I can best take advantage of these sorostitutes, and quickly add that I'll throw in another buck if I can join in, and they went along with that too. I gave them 2 bucks and started making out with both of them at the same time. At this point many of my friends were pleasantly surprised (and impressed) at this turn of events.
Now, we are all drunk off our asses and I see the girls are getting super horny!! I make my move and I convinced them to get in the pool, at the time inhabited only by one lone couple we didn't know. I was with the two girls and start to finger bang both of them while Brett makes out with the third one. My one friend didn't have one, so I pushed one away and gave her to him. Before you know it, I'm screwing the one I have left, my two friends are with theirs, and the couple in the pool are going at it. This pool is in the dead center of the courtyard, everyone's front doors face it. So as 2:30 rolled around people who were getting home from 6th Street, started walking by and cheering on the orgy in the pool. After the pool orgy, we all parted ways. I took my girl back to my place and we screwed till about 6 am.
I woke up the next morning and remembered the pool event, but I was shocked to find the girl in the apartment. I didnt even remember her name, so I rummaged through her purse that was in the living room and found her drivers license (I didnt want to look like a bad guy). Glad I did. She woke up and had no clue where she was, though she did remember the pool. I dont think she knew my name either and she seemed a little embarrassed cause I kept calling her by her name and she would just call me baby or some other generic name. We took a shower together and screwed again, then I took her home. Best $2 I ever spent, period.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Screw Jello Shots. Bring me some Gummy Bears!!
I went to a few parties last weekend in Austin. It was pretty much the typical college party scene. It really hasn't changed much since I graduated. But I did discover something new. On Friday night, I was at a party that had gummy bears and other stuff . I found out Jello shots are starting to fade away. "Jello shots are fun, but it's a process to make them AND another process to eat them. They get all messy, leave your hands sticky, and they are just a paini in the ass" I was told by some young party goer. So that is how I discovered an alternative to those slippery, fruity drunk-makers. Gummy candy soaked in vodka, or everclear.
This party had gummy worms soaked in vodka. Then, they brought out some gummy bears soaked in everclear. Those little guys pack a serious alcohol punch but they're sweet and easy going down.
Saturday morning, we found some gummy bears at the house we were staying at. So I decided to give it whirl myself. I filled up a plastic container with enough vodka to submerge them. Then I just let it sit for about 10 hours. The bears went from small and hard to bloated and gushy is no time. They soaked up all the liquid nicely so nothing was wasted. They were perfect to take to the football game. No alcohol allowed, but they would never make us trash gummy bears. We filled up a few bags full of them and it worked. We were the hit of our section!! They are so addicting. People at the game were getting buzzed off of nothing but gummy bears.
These things make a great party starter. I highly recommend bringing booze soaked gummies to the next party you attend. And anytime you need to sneak some booze in somewhere, like a football game, movie theater, a boring college course on a Friday afternoon, bring some of these. They are guaranteed to get you started.
This party had gummy worms soaked in vodka. Then, they brought out some gummy bears soaked in everclear. Those little guys pack a serious alcohol punch but they're sweet and easy going down.
Saturday morning, we found some gummy bears at the house we were staying at. So I decided to give it whirl myself. I filled up a plastic container with enough vodka to submerge them. Then I just let it sit for about 10 hours. The bears went from small and hard to bloated and gushy is no time. They soaked up all the liquid nicely so nothing was wasted. They were perfect to take to the football game. No alcohol allowed, but they would never make us trash gummy bears. We filled up a few bags full of them and it worked. We were the hit of our section!! They are so addicting. People at the game were getting buzzed off of nothing but gummy bears.
These things make a great party starter. I highly recommend bringing booze soaked gummies to the next party you attend. And anytime you need to sneak some booze in somewhere, like a football game, movie theater, a boring college course on a Friday afternoon, bring some of these. They are guaranteed to get you started.
Beer Goggles
This was somebody from one of the parties this weekend (At least I think so. My buddy E sent it with our Austin Pics).
Anyway, I need a pair of those. I MEAN THE GLASSES!!!!
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Girls Kissing Girls
Earlier today, I posted something about the new phenomenon about girls getting drunk and then takin pictures of themselves dry humping other girls. In it, I mention another phenomenon sweeping the web. Pictures of chicks kissing each other.
I remember back in the day, when the only place you could see two chicks kissing was a porno tape? Now it's happening everywhere, having made the quantum leap from my twisted fantasies to the next booth over at the TGI Fridays.
Look outside your window. Chicks are kissing. In the bars, the dance clubs, the shopping malls, the casinos, the pancake house. MySpace is filled with chicks kissing other chicks. This is a world in which chicks will grab other chicks and kiss them square on the mouth. And, here's the thing: many of them are not gay. I would venture most of them are straight or bi. Which means they are still on the market for all of us guys!!!!
These are magical, magical times for people who like watching women kiss. And I am one of those people. So I am extremely giddy in this new age of girls kissing each other.
Why do they do it? I'm not sure, but I'm certain the response it provokes is a factor. This stuff works like kryptonite, bringing grown men to their knees, forcing them to remove their wallets, keep the rounds of drinks coming, and stretch out their hands while exclaiming to the heavens, "Fuck, god almighty, thank you for girls who kiss other girls."
The only exception is when the women in liplock are over the age of 78. This is simply disturbing. (I was unfortunate enough to see this firsthand when two older ladies were walking in Valley Junction. I think they thought no one was looking.) But hot, young, vibrant chicks kissing? Man, that's the stuff. And by "the stuff," I mean, "thing I want to see happening as much as humanly possible." Keep it coming, ladies, and, as always, the next round's on me. I mean it!!! If I see any of you ladies out at a bar, just come on over, kiss your friend, and I will by you both a round of drinks!!!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Jenga Drinking Game
I had a surprise Birthday party Friday night. We sat around and drank huge amounts of alcohol and played drinking games. We played some of the basics; quarters, three man, kings, etc.
One of my buddies found Jenga at the house. He enlightened us to a wonderful drinking game. It was an instant hit. Some of you may have encountered this before, others prepare to be enlightened. I think everyone fell in love with this game. We asked the name of the game and he had no idea. So we just call it "Drinking Jenga."
It starts with a regular old wooden Jenga set, same old boring pull-and-stack action. Take a marker, and on the underside of each piece write a drinking rule, the kind of stuff you'd find in Kings or Circle of Death or whatever your particular group of friends calls the game. "Drink two," "Guys drink," "Make a rule," "Person to right drinks three," etc.
From there it's pretty self-explanatory: pull a Jenga piece, execute the rule, place it back on top, move to the next person. Whoever knocks over the tower has to perform some kind of drinking feat, whether it's shotgunning a beer, doing a nasty shot - be creative.
It's a nice change from the same old dice and card games, and as you can imagine, the pulling/stacking action gets a little more interesting as the drinks start flowing. My favorite rule so far, which I will definitely be adding to my list of Kings/Jenga/etc. rules, is the "five-minute power hour." For the uninformed, during a power hour the participants drink a shot of beer every minute for an hour - the five minute version being, well, is five minutes long.
ENJOY!!!!
One of my buddies found Jenga at the house. He enlightened us to a wonderful drinking game. It was an instant hit. Some of you may have encountered this before, others prepare to be enlightened. I think everyone fell in love with this game. We asked the name of the game and he had no idea. So we just call it "Drinking Jenga."
It starts with a regular old wooden Jenga set, same old boring pull-and-stack action. Take a marker, and on the underside of each piece write a drinking rule, the kind of stuff you'd find in Kings or Circle of Death or whatever your particular group of friends calls the game. "Drink two," "Guys drink," "Make a rule," "Person to right drinks three," etc.
From there it's pretty self-explanatory: pull a Jenga piece, execute the rule, place it back on top, move to the next person. Whoever knocks over the tower has to perform some kind of drinking feat, whether it's shotgunning a beer, doing a nasty shot - be creative.
It's a nice change from the same old dice and card games, and as you can imagine, the pulling/stacking action gets a little more interesting as the drinks start flowing. My favorite rule so far, which I will definitely be adding to my list of Kings/Jenga/etc. rules, is the "five-minute power hour." For the uninformed, during a power hour the participants drink a shot of beer every minute for an hour - the five minute version being, well, is five minutes long.
ENJOY!!!!
Friday, July 28, 2006
Alcohol Quotes
Here are some famous quotes concerning one of my favorite topics: DRINKING
Sometimes I reflect back on all the beer I have consumed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, "It is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver."
- by Jack Handy
I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.
- Frank Sinatra
The problem with some people is that when they aren't drunk, they're sober.
- William Butler Yeats
An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools
- Ernest Hemingway
Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.
- Ernest Hemingway
Time is never wasted when you're wasted all the time.
- Catherine Zandonella
Reality is an illusion that occurs due to lack of alcohol.
- Anonymous
Drinking provides a beautiful excuse to pursue the one activity that truly gives me pleasure, hooking up with fat, hairy girls.
- Ross Levy
A woman drove me to drink and I didn't even have the decency to thank her.
- W.C. Fields
What contemptible scoundrel has stolen the cork to my lunch?
- Tee Mans
When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading.
- Henny Youngman
Life is a waste of time, time is a waste of life, so get wasted all of the time and have the time of your life.
- Michelle Mastrolacasa
I'd rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy.
- Tom Waits
24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?
- Stephen Wright
When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin. When we commit no sin, we go to heaven. Sooooo, let's all get drunk and go to heaven!
- Brian O'Rourke
You can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline. It helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer.
- Frank Zappa
Always remember that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me.
- Winston Churchill
Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.
- Benjamin Franklin
If you ever reach total enlightenment while drinking beer, I bet it makes beer shoot out your nose.
- Jack Handy
Sometimes I reflect back on all the beer I have consumed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, "It is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver."
- by Jack Handy
I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.
- Frank Sinatra
The problem with some people is that when they aren't drunk, they're sober.
- William Butler Yeats
An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools
- Ernest Hemingway
Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.
- Ernest Hemingway
Time is never wasted when you're wasted all the time.
- Catherine Zandonella
Reality is an illusion that occurs due to lack of alcohol.
- Anonymous
Drinking provides a beautiful excuse to pursue the one activity that truly gives me pleasure, hooking up with fat, hairy girls.
- Ross Levy
A woman drove me to drink and I didn't even have the decency to thank her.
- W.C. Fields
What contemptible scoundrel has stolen the cork to my lunch?
- Tee Mans
When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading.
- Henny Youngman
Life is a waste of time, time is a waste of life, so get wasted all of the time and have the time of your life.
- Michelle Mastrolacasa
I'd rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy.
- Tom Waits
24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?
- Stephen Wright
When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin. When we commit no sin, we go to heaven. Sooooo, let's all get drunk and go to heaven!
- Brian O'Rourke
You can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline. It helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer.
- Frank Zappa
Always remember that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me.
- Winston Churchill
Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.
- Benjamin Franklin
If you ever reach total enlightenment while drinking beer, I bet it makes beer shoot out your nose.
- Jack Handy
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Slippening Bowels
Here is my submission for a Drunk on a Sunday. I'm kind of proud of this story because it almost landed me in jail and I am ashamed for the same reason.
One Sunday, in March (1996), I decided to go on a BarCrawl. I think everyone has done one of these, or at least heard about them. It's when you get a bunch of people together, get a map of every bar in town, pick a starting point and try to have a beer at every bar. I did this once in Washington DC and I think that I made it to 18 bars. Like I said, "I think" because I really don't remember the last 4-5 but I had them checked off on my map This time though, I went on a bar crawl by myself. I thought that it would be a great way to check out the bars of downtown Denver. I was there visiting my buddy from College. Paul was a doctor working at one of the hospitals in Denver. He had just called and said he was going to be at work all night and probably most of Monday and I should make myself at home and chill. I kind of felt like sampling the local culture and decided to head out.
I started at Old Chicago. I know, it's a franchise place that I detest, but
it was a bar crawl and I had to start somewhere. No one was in the place so I chatted with the bartender. I bought the first beer, then he asked me if I wanted to
play that game where you have to pull wooden blocks from the stack without knocking the stack over. The name of the game slips me right now, but the deal was, if the bartender lost, he would buy me and this guy sitting next to me the next round. I don't remember what I would have had to do if I lost because it didn't happen. I stayed there for 3 beers before I realized that I was on a crawl and had to get moving. I asked the bartender where the next closest bar was. He said "next door." Off I went.
The bar next door was an Irish bar called N'awlins. There were 5 people in the joint. It was around 2:30 in the afternoon. I don't know what you drink in Irish bars, but I drink Guinness. Guinness is the good stuff, too. I think at this point things began to get sketchy, and this was only the second bar.
I'm straining my brain right now but I know that I then walked to this bar next to Coors field. This time I had a brew in some sports bar. This place was huge and totally empty. I had my own personal bartender who seemed happy just to have somebody to talk to. I bought one brew and he gave me the second at no charge. At this point I had had 6 pints, one Guinness. I was definitely feeling fine.
I left that place and walked to this place called Dicks. They have them in Chicago. It's a place where the employees are purposefully rude, thus the name "Dicks." It's their niche I guess. My bartender was a woman who didn't seem to be all that rude but she did come off as a bitch. She seemed like she was having such an unhappy time working that she brought me down, and I was drinking!!!!! I drank two more beers and cruised. I know that you are only supposed to drink one beer at a bar but what can I say? I was drunk and my feet were starting to get blisters from all the walking.
After this bar I walked about 4 blocks to Herbs. Voss and LL know what Herbs is all about. It's a bar that is totally painted blue inside, but tastefully done. There isn't a single TV in the place. The two bartenders are absolutely gorgeous. At this point I knew that I had $20 in my pocket and I had to save something for a cab ride home. I ordered a Stoli martini with a lemon twist.
This was a huge mistake.
The owner of the bar was there, I've rapped with him before as he was the neighbor of Paul. I told him and Mallory (hot bartender and don't use the "where's skippy" joke on her, she's heard it) all about my exploits and how drunk I was. All I remember is that I drank that martini and became really drunk. Also, I didn't eat anything all day either. So I'm sitting on this barstool drunk as hell, got people sitting around me that I'm rapping with and this very urgent need to fart come over me like nothing that's ever hit me before. I was in so much pain that I had to release it immediately. As drunk as I was, there was no way that I would have made it to the bathroom without falling down.
So I sat on the barstool and farted one. It was quiet. I hoped that nobody noticed. But as I sat there, I realized that it wasn't just gas that I released. At first I thought that it was just a little poo-poo, nothing to worry about, that shit has happened to me before. But this time I could tell that I dropped a load. I guess the greasy Chili from the night before was coming back to haunt me. I played it off, hoping that nobody noticed, but then this terrible smell overtook me. There was no way that everybody in the place was not going to notice. I knew I had to get out of there fast so I threw down my last $20 and bolted out the door. I didn't have time to wait for change.
Now please understand, in Denver, the days of March are normally very sunny and warm, but at night, after the sun drops behind the mountains, it gets pretty damn cold. It's definitely over a mile to Paul's place but less than two, so I took off on foot. I made it about 6 blocks before I decided that I had to get a cab because it was just too damn cold. I flagged one down and hopped in. I was thinking about the crap in my pants and totally forgot that I spent all of my money. Honesty is a principle in my life so I explained the situation to the cabby (that I was out of money, not that I had shit in my pants) and he agreed to take me to an ATM by my house.
I walked into this 7-11 and tried to use my bankcard in the ATM. I was really drunk and I could not get it to work at all. I had no idea what I was doing. I walked out to the cabby and told him that I didn't have any money. At this point two police officers who were also at the 7-11 surrounded me. They asked me for my id and asked what the problem was. I tried to explain but got nowhere. All that's going through my head is that I have crapped my pants and am going to jail over a $5.00 cab fare and why in the hell did I go on a bar crawl by myself in the first place??? I told the officers that I would try again on the bank machine. I probably could have run at this point but they had my ID so it would not have mattered. I went back into 7-11, back to the machine and gave it one last try. It took every bit of concentration that I had to remember my code and read the screen. Karma came back and took care of me because somehow I was able to get out $20.
I walked out and paid the cabby, even gave him a ten for his trouble. The cops told me to head straight home, not a problem when you have a load of crap in your drawers.
One Sunday, in March (1996), I decided to go on a BarCrawl. I think everyone has done one of these, or at least heard about them. It's when you get a bunch of people together, get a map of every bar in town, pick a starting point and try to have a beer at every bar. I did this once in Washington DC and I think that I made it to 18 bars. Like I said, "I think" because I really don't remember the last 4-5 but I had them checked off on my map This time though, I went on a bar crawl by myself. I thought that it would be a great way to check out the bars of downtown Denver. I was there visiting my buddy from College. Paul was a doctor working at one of the hospitals in Denver. He had just called and said he was going to be at work all night and probably most of Monday and I should make myself at home and chill. I kind of felt like sampling the local culture and decided to head out.
I started at Old Chicago. I know, it's a franchise place that I detest, but
it was a bar crawl and I had to start somewhere. No one was in the place so I chatted with the bartender. I bought the first beer, then he asked me if I wanted to
play that game where you have to pull wooden blocks from the stack without knocking the stack over. The name of the game slips me right now, but the deal was, if the bartender lost, he would buy me and this guy sitting next to me the next round. I don't remember what I would have had to do if I lost because it didn't happen. I stayed there for 3 beers before I realized that I was on a crawl and had to get moving. I asked the bartender where the next closest bar was. He said "next door." Off I went.
The bar next door was an Irish bar called N'awlins. There were 5 people in the joint. It was around 2:30 in the afternoon. I don't know what you drink in Irish bars, but I drink Guinness. Guinness is the good stuff, too. I think at this point things began to get sketchy, and this was only the second bar.
I'm straining my brain right now but I know that I then walked to this bar next to Coors field. This time I had a brew in some sports bar. This place was huge and totally empty. I had my own personal bartender who seemed happy just to have somebody to talk to. I bought one brew and he gave me the second at no charge. At this point I had had 6 pints, one Guinness. I was definitely feeling fine.
I left that place and walked to this place called Dicks. They have them in Chicago. It's a place where the employees are purposefully rude, thus the name "Dicks." It's their niche I guess. My bartender was a woman who didn't seem to be all that rude but she did come off as a bitch. She seemed like she was having such an unhappy time working that she brought me down, and I was drinking!!!!! I drank two more beers and cruised. I know that you are only supposed to drink one beer at a bar but what can I say? I was drunk and my feet were starting to get blisters from all the walking.
After this bar I walked about 4 blocks to Herbs. Voss and LL know what Herbs is all about. It's a bar that is totally painted blue inside, but tastefully done. There isn't a single TV in the place. The two bartenders are absolutely gorgeous. At this point I knew that I had $20 in my pocket and I had to save something for a cab ride home. I ordered a Stoli martini with a lemon twist.
This was a huge mistake.
The owner of the bar was there, I've rapped with him before as he was the neighbor of Paul. I told him and Mallory (hot bartender and don't use the "where's skippy" joke on her, she's heard it) all about my exploits and how drunk I was. All I remember is that I drank that martini and became really drunk. Also, I didn't eat anything all day either. So I'm sitting on this barstool drunk as hell, got people sitting around me that I'm rapping with and this very urgent need to fart come over me like nothing that's ever hit me before. I was in so much pain that I had to release it immediately. As drunk as I was, there was no way that I would have made it to the bathroom without falling down.
So I sat on the barstool and farted one. It was quiet. I hoped that nobody noticed. But as I sat there, I realized that it wasn't just gas that I released. At first I thought that it was just a little poo-poo, nothing to worry about, that shit has happened to me before. But this time I could tell that I dropped a load. I guess the greasy Chili from the night before was coming back to haunt me. I played it off, hoping that nobody noticed, but then this terrible smell overtook me. There was no way that everybody in the place was not going to notice. I knew I had to get out of there fast so I threw down my last $20 and bolted out the door. I didn't have time to wait for change.
Now please understand, in Denver, the days of March are normally very sunny and warm, but at night, after the sun drops behind the mountains, it gets pretty damn cold. It's definitely over a mile to Paul's place but less than two, so I took off on foot. I made it about 6 blocks before I decided that I had to get a cab because it was just too damn cold. I flagged one down and hopped in. I was thinking about the crap in my pants and totally forgot that I spent all of my money. Honesty is a principle in my life so I explained the situation to the cabby (that I was out of money, not that I had shit in my pants) and he agreed to take me to an ATM by my house.
I walked into this 7-11 and tried to use my bankcard in the ATM. I was really drunk and I could not get it to work at all. I had no idea what I was doing. I walked out to the cabby and told him that I didn't have any money. At this point two police officers who were also at the 7-11 surrounded me. They asked me for my id and asked what the problem was. I tried to explain but got nowhere. All that's going through my head is that I have crapped my pants and am going to jail over a $5.00 cab fare and why in the hell did I go on a bar crawl by myself in the first place??? I told the officers that I would try again on the bank machine. I probably could have run at this point but they had my ID so it would not have mattered. I went back into 7-11, back to the machine and gave it one last try. It took every bit of concentration that I had to remember my code and read the screen. Karma came back and took care of me because somehow I was able to get out $20.
I walked out and paid the cabby, even gave him a ten for his trouble. The cops told me to head straight home, not a problem when you have a load of crap in your drawers.
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