Swampbeast could not be reached for comment
Monday, March 12, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Shep Meets A Gay
This past weekend we all went to Wardlaw's ranch in Clifton to meet with his brother, Cody, and his friends from Dallas. The trip started out OK. We got there about 6:30 and started a brush fire so we could sit around and drink beer. A little while later Cody and his friends got there, and we went up to the house to meet them.
Soon after arriving at the house I was informed one of them was gay. Now I know it's 2007 and everyone is preaching tolerance and respect for these people, but I'm an old school guy and think they should be ashamed of themselves. I long for the days when they just stayed in California and gave themselves A.I.D.S. So here I am hanging out with a gay guy in my midst and starting to get drunk...I fear for my ass.
I couldn't believe they had brought a fag to a perfectly decent weekend getaway.
As the night progressed, I had gotten too drunk and decided to go find a bed. I went upstairs and found a nice bed and crashed. I woke up the next morning to find to my horror that the cock polishing, butt pirate had decided to bunk up with me. About the time I realized who he was, his leg reached over and touched mine. It was like I got shot out of a canon the speed I flew out of that bed. I was hungover and pissed off. I went downstairs and yelled at Cody. I also realized someone had drawn on me with a magic marker. The artist had decided on a penis and an inscription that read "little boy's penises here." I rolled my eyes and hopped in the shower.
Soon after arriving at the house I was informed one of them was gay. Now I know it's 2007 and everyone is preaching tolerance and respect for these people, but I'm an old school guy and think they should be ashamed of themselves. I long for the days when they just stayed in California and gave themselves A.I.D.S. So here I am hanging out with a gay guy in my midst and starting to get drunk...I fear for my ass.
I couldn't believe they had brought a fag to a perfectly decent weekend getaway.
As the night progressed, I had gotten too drunk and decided to go find a bed. I went upstairs and found a nice bed and crashed. I woke up the next morning to find to my horror that the cock polishing, butt pirate had decided to bunk up with me. About the time I realized who he was, his leg reached over and touched mine. It was like I got shot out of a canon the speed I flew out of that bed. I was hungover and pissed off. I went downstairs and yelled at Cody. I also realized someone had drawn on me with a magic marker. The artist had decided on a penis and an inscription that read "little boy's penises here." I rolled my eyes and hopped in the shower.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Legend Of The Swampbeast
For years cryptozoologists have been investigating a mysterious creature described as a drunk two-legged hominid with an affinity for whataburger. Many claim to have witnessed the creature known only as the Swampbeast. Eyewitness accounts say he is as mobile on land as he is in water, and will attack a boat unprovoked. Like Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster, the Swampbeast is the subject of much scientific controversy. Some claim he is some kind of missing-link neanderthal, others believe he is the cro-magnon man, while some contend he is simply a figment of over-stimulated collegiate mind.
One particular Swampbeast incident occurred on a ranch outside Clifton, Texas. A group of friends were out drinking on a pond. They had gone into the water to cool off and some had convened in a boat. About halfway across the pond, the men in the boat felt like they were being watched and smelled what they believed to be wet sulfur. All of a sudden they felt the boat rock. Trying to reestablish the boat's equilibrium, they saw the back of the Swampbeast as he dove deep for his final attempt at tipping the boat. Seconds later the boat sustained a lethal blow to the bow and took a titanic type spill. The men resurfaced to hear a faint laugh and a belch, the call of the Swampbeast.
Another incident happened while a group of friends were on a trip down to the Frio River in hopes of celebrating the 4th of July while floating down one of Texas' most beautiful natural landmarks. They had been floating for a few hours when they came to a rural part of the river. The entire trip had been littered with fellow river goers, but this part was completely empty. They thought they heard a belch, but wrote it off as a passing plane. Just then they began to smell the tale tell wet sulfur. The river began to gyrate and the smell became more potent. All of a sudden Woody was taken under the water and never seen again. Some claim he was not killed but once he resurfaced everyone was gone so he went to Mexico and is now known as Pasquale Benvinedes P.I. He is most famous for his single handed genocide of chihuahuas.
One particular Swampbeast incident occurred on a ranch outside Clifton, Texas. A group of friends were out drinking on a pond. They had gone into the water to cool off and some had convened in a boat. About halfway across the pond, the men in the boat felt like they were being watched and smelled what they believed to be wet sulfur. All of a sudden they felt the boat rock. Trying to reestablish the boat's equilibrium, they saw the back of the Swampbeast as he dove deep for his final attempt at tipping the boat. Seconds later the boat sustained a lethal blow to the bow and took a titanic type spill. The men resurfaced to hear a faint laugh and a belch, the call of the Swampbeast.
Another incident happened while a group of friends were on a trip down to the Frio River in hopes of celebrating the 4th of July while floating down one of Texas' most beautiful natural landmarks. They had been floating for a few hours when they came to a rural part of the river. The entire trip had been littered with fellow river goers, but this part was completely empty. They thought they heard a belch, but wrote it off as a passing plane. Just then they began to smell the tale tell wet sulfur. The river began to gyrate and the smell became more potent. All of a sudden Woody was taken under the water and never seen again. Some claim he was not killed but once he resurfaced everyone was gone so he went to Mexico and is now known as Pasquale Benvinedes P.I. He is most famous for his single handed genocide of chihuahuas.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
An Ode To Spring Break '06
With Spring Break approaching I thought I might do a little blog slide show to commemorate my last spring break.
Part 1: New Orleans
It was my birthday and we had stopped in N.O. for some of the local culture. I got drunk
I drank too much and passed out. My "friends" thought it would be funny to tip my bed over. I woke up with an ironing board in the bed with me.Part 2: Destin
We arrived in Destin Fl. and started drinking... I gave the finger a number of times.
We met a lot of pretty girls, I creeped this one out.Part 3: St. Patrick's Day
I also creeped this girl out. Drank many green beers.On the way home Lee pooped a green turd in a Louisianna Wendy's and made me look at it (no photo available.)
p.s.- I know I post in waves
The One Year Anniversary Post!
I just realized I've been blogging for a little over a year now. I went back into the archives and found it's the one year anniversary of 'Drunk Chicks Don't Like Me'. I decided, since it's one of my favorites, that I would do a re post for those who missed it.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Drunk Chicks Don't Like Me
While at Scruffy's this past Saturday I had a revelation. Amongst a haze of smoke and red bull induced mini-strokes, I realized drunk chicks don't enjoy my company. After coming home and pulling the trigger in Jake's yard (which I am still very much against, Edgar), I began to wonder why girls under the influence of alcohol seem so appalled by my presence.
When we were at Scruff's, Keene and I were standing at the bar talking to two girls who were obviously hammered. They seemed to think Keene was quite charming. I, on the other hand, could just as well have been the guy who killed their family dog. After I ordered up a round, I noticed one of them was looking a little ill. She had her head in her lap, and was rocking back and fourth. I felt concerned enough to ask her if she was alright. Instead of an audible response I've become familiar with over the years, all she could muster was a resounding middle finger right in my face. I wasn't trying to hit on her, I didn't touch her, and I certainly had no sadistic motives in mind. So what's the damn deal? All I was trying to do was help her drunk ass avoid the embarrassing public vomit.
This isn't the first time this has happened. Refer to "Shirtless Dub and the Wrongful Bitch-Slap." She was more than ready to slap the shit out of me. But when it came to light Wardlaw was the ass-grabber, she skipped her happy ass over there and gave him a Sonny's quality booty rub down.
What the hell? I wear cool clothes, I watch "I Love the 80's," I own 3 seasons of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," my hygiene is ok, my goatee is kickass. So why do drunk chicks hate me? I guess it's kind of like the same reason people don't like thunder. It won't do anything to you, unlike lightning, but it's pretty loud and will rattle your windows at night and wake you up. A trait I share.
I think from now on I'll just be a bastard. I will grab asses. I will hit on them. They can throw up in their hair all they like with their thong hanging out. And who will be there with a camera phone? Me bitch. ME!
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Drunk Chicks Don't Like Me
While at Scruffy's this past Saturday I had a revelation. Amongst a haze of smoke and red bull induced mini-strokes, I realized drunk chicks don't enjoy my company. After coming home and pulling the trigger in Jake's yard (which I am still very much against, Edgar), I began to wonder why girls under the influence of alcohol seem so appalled by my presence.
When we were at Scruff's, Keene and I were standing at the bar talking to two girls who were obviously hammered. They seemed to think Keene was quite charming. I, on the other hand, could just as well have been the guy who killed their family dog. After I ordered up a round, I noticed one of them was looking a little ill. She had her head in her lap, and was rocking back and fourth. I felt concerned enough to ask her if she was alright. Instead of an audible response I've become familiar with over the years, all she could muster was a resounding middle finger right in my face. I wasn't trying to hit on her, I didn't touch her, and I certainly had no sadistic motives in mind. So what's the damn deal? All I was trying to do was help her drunk ass avoid the embarrassing public vomit.
This isn't the first time this has happened. Refer to "Shirtless Dub and the Wrongful Bitch-Slap." She was more than ready to slap the shit out of me. But when it came to light Wardlaw was the ass-grabber, she skipped her happy ass over there and gave him a Sonny's quality booty rub down.
What the hell? I wear cool clothes, I watch "I Love the 80's," I own 3 seasons of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," my hygiene is ok, my goatee is kickass. So why do drunk chicks hate me? I guess it's kind of like the same reason people don't like thunder. It won't do anything to you, unlike lightning, but it's pretty loud and will rattle your windows at night and wake you up. A trait I share.
I think from now on I'll just be a bastard. I will grab asses. I will hit on them. They can throw up in their hair all they like with their thong hanging out. And who will be there with a camera phone? Me bitch. ME!
Shep Evades Arrest
Quite a few years ago I was attending a party on 10th street. At the time I was about 19 and was drinking illegally. This was back in the day when 10th street was the place to be, not the shit stain it is today. Anyway, I was having a great time drinking and bullshitting with other party goers when the police came by. It looked like a pile of roaches scattering after someone turned on a light.
I hauled ass back into the ally amongst 10 or 12 others. Everyone executed a scatter formation which is essentially protocol. I decided to head as far south as I could...which didn't end up being very far. As I came to a fence, I tried to hurdle it but caught the crotch of my jeans on a loose chain. When I fell shoulder first into the damp earth I heard my jeans rip. I laid there writhing in pain. Just then I saw a police car turn down the alley close to where I had attempted my hurdle. I thought fast and situated myself under a small shrub in an attempt to hide from my would be MIC.
The ally the cops were heading down was about 5 feet from my current hiding spot. I thought for sure I would be caught and considered getting up and running again. I held fast and hoped for the best. The car creeped down the ally with its spot light scanning the bushes and trees. As it got closer and closer I became more and more nervous. I saw the car passing my position, damn it was close, I could hear the police talking to one another. I laid as still as I ever have or possibly ever will. The spotlight passed over the tree I was hiding under, and the cops proceeded down the ally.
When I felt the coast was clear, I inched my way out from under the tree to see what had happened to my jeans. A large tear from just below my dangle to the middle of my shin was what I saw. It was a cold night and I felt the chill on my newly exposed leg. I crawled completely out and cautiously headed back to the house to see what the situation of the party was. Apparently I had run for no reason, because the party was in full swing. I asked someone what the cops did. He told me they drove off after they saw everyone run and didn't even hassle the folks who stayed back. He saw my jeans and had a good laugh.
I had no laugh, only a pair of torn jeans and a sore shoulder.
I hauled ass back into the ally amongst 10 or 12 others. Everyone executed a scatter formation which is essentially protocol. I decided to head as far south as I could...which didn't end up being very far. As I came to a fence, I tried to hurdle it but caught the crotch of my jeans on a loose chain. When I fell shoulder first into the damp earth I heard my jeans rip. I laid there writhing in pain. Just then I saw a police car turn down the alley close to where I had attempted my hurdle. I thought fast and situated myself under a small shrub in an attempt to hide from my would be MIC.
The ally the cops were heading down was about 5 feet from my current hiding spot. I thought for sure I would be caught and considered getting up and running again. I held fast and hoped for the best. The car creeped down the ally with its spot light scanning the bushes and trees. As it got closer and closer I became more and more nervous. I saw the car passing my position, damn it was close, I could hear the police talking to one another. I laid as still as I ever have or possibly ever will. The spotlight passed over the tree I was hiding under, and the cops proceeded down the ally.
When I felt the coast was clear, I inched my way out from under the tree to see what had happened to my jeans. A large tear from just below my dangle to the middle of my shin was what I saw. It was a cold night and I felt the chill on my newly exposed leg. I crawled completely out and cautiously headed back to the house to see what the situation of the party was. Apparently I had run for no reason, because the party was in full swing. I asked someone what the cops did. He told me they drove off after they saw everyone run and didn't even hassle the folks who stayed back. He saw my jeans and had a good laugh.
I had no laugh, only a pair of torn jeans and a sore shoulder.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Emily's Coming of Age (A.K.A.- T.J. and the Fat Chick)
A few weekends back, my sister Emily turned 21. She turned 21 only in terms of legal drinking. She has been moonlighting as a 25 year old for many years, and has enjoyed barhopping in College Station since she began going to A&M.
The weekend after she turned 21, she and her friends rented out a bar on the outskirts of campus near Northgate. Her previous birthday had been spent with me and my group of morally casual friends in Waco. Beer and jagerbombs flowed, bunt cake and cupcakes consumed, cigarettes burned, and an impromptu square dance was held in the den. Emily had such a good time, and because were family, she invited me down to her 21st.
I woke up Saturday morning and felt like run over dog shit. This was the morning after I had broke my Big O chug record (as mentioned below), and had to pull the trigger the previous night. I made my usual Saturday pilgrimage to Mazzio's to eat hangover curing pizza and a big salad. Afterwards, I started making calls and trying to round up Lee and Matt. We shoved off around 2 and headed for College Station.
I'd say 70% of Aggies are shit asses, which is pretty good because 90% of Baylor I would like to put in a potato sack and smack up against a barn. This being said, I usually feel the need to prove myself not in the usual stereotype of hair gel and use of the phrase "what up, bra?"
I knew one way to do this was to challenge people to beer chuggin contests.
We arrived at Emily's apartment to meet her and her boyfriend T.J. loading beers in an ice chest. Minutes later we were waist deep in a game of drinking hockey and jamming out some good tunes. T.J. and I won the first two games, but Matt and Lee rallied back. Beginning to get drunk, it was time to put the series away. It came down to T.J. needing to play one card that Lee didn't have. T.J. threw down his choice, a King of diamonds, the entire table looked at Lee to see if he had the final King and the win. His head sank and I knew we had won the series. It sounds pretty dramatic, but in my inebriated state it was pretty damn dramatic.
After a sound victory and Emily finishing her 3 hour preparation, we went to the Dixie Chicken (or "the Bird" as the Ags call it) to get some food and continue to drink. T.J. bought a load of beef jerky and a pitcher of beer. We sat down and waited for our order to come out. As we poured our beer, Lee told T.J. he should whip me in a chugging contest. T.J. shrugged and agreed to do it. I winked at him to let him know I was going to destroy him. I did. And several times afterwards. Our food arrived and we tore through it.
We left the Bird and headed for the Salty Dog to commence to party. By the time we got there, I was already blitzed. The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, except when T.J. was confronted by a fat chick. He had put the jerky he bought in his big pink jacket. He was dancing by himself when a big ol' gal came up behind him and started dancing behind him. He turned around to see this girl and immediately pulled out the jerky and waved it in her face. She stopped dancing and glared at him . Her slimmer sister saw and ran over there to bitch him out, we all got a good laugh out of it.
The weekend after she turned 21, she and her friends rented out a bar on the outskirts of campus near Northgate. Her previous birthday had been spent with me and my group of morally casual friends in Waco. Beer and jagerbombs flowed, bunt cake and cupcakes consumed, cigarettes burned, and an impromptu square dance was held in the den. Emily had such a good time, and because were family, she invited me down to her 21st.
I woke up Saturday morning and felt like run over dog shit. This was the morning after I had broke my Big O chug record (as mentioned below), and had to pull the trigger the previous night. I made my usual Saturday pilgrimage to Mazzio's to eat hangover curing pizza and a big salad. Afterwards, I started making calls and trying to round up Lee and Matt. We shoved off around 2 and headed for College Station.
I'd say 70% of Aggies are shit asses, which is pretty good because 90% of Baylor I would like to put in a potato sack and smack up against a barn. This being said, I usually feel the need to prove myself not in the usual stereotype of hair gel and use of the phrase "what up, bra?"
I knew one way to do this was to challenge people to beer chuggin contests.
We arrived at Emily's apartment to meet her and her boyfriend T.J. loading beers in an ice chest. Minutes later we were waist deep in a game of drinking hockey and jamming out some good tunes. T.J. and I won the first two games, but Matt and Lee rallied back. Beginning to get drunk, it was time to put the series away. It came down to T.J. needing to play one card that Lee didn't have. T.J. threw down his choice, a King of diamonds, the entire table looked at Lee to see if he had the final King and the win. His head sank and I knew we had won the series. It sounds pretty dramatic, but in my inebriated state it was pretty damn dramatic.
After a sound victory and Emily finishing her 3 hour preparation, we went to the Dixie Chicken (or "the Bird" as the Ags call it) to get some food and continue to drink. T.J. bought a load of beef jerky and a pitcher of beer. We sat down and waited for our order to come out. As we poured our beer, Lee told T.J. he should whip me in a chugging contest. T.J. shrugged and agreed to do it. I winked at him to let him know I was going to destroy him. I did. And several times afterwards. Our food arrived and we tore through it.
We left the Bird and headed for the Salty Dog to commence to party. By the time we got there, I was already blitzed. The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, except when T.J. was confronted by a fat chick. He had put the jerky he bought in his big pink jacket. He was dancing by himself when a big ol' gal came up behind him and started dancing behind him. He turned around to see this girl and immediately pulled out the jerky and waved it in her face. She stopped dancing and glared at him . Her slimmer sister saw and ran over there to bitch him out, we all got a good laugh out of it.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
The Spooning Incident
A few weeks ago we went to Scruffy's to shoot a little pool and do some general boozing. When we walked in a good looking girl turned around and yelled at me like she knew me. My interest peaked, I began to search my mind for vital information, such as where I met her and what the hell her name was.
I talked to her for about an hour and wasn't gaining any ground on finding out who she was. I was, however, getting pretty drunk and loose tonged. It had become apparent in my drunken haze that she defiantly wanted to pursue extra-barly activities...or so I thought.
I'm not very well versed in how exactly to close the deal at the bar, especially when I'm drunk. When it came time to make or break the deal, I said the first thing that came to mind. I asked her if she wanted to come back to the house and spoon with me. It didn't work.
Her smiles and laughter were replaced with wide-eyed fear. She looked around in stunned bewilderment at the request I had made. She finally looked at me and said, "I don't go home with guys from the bar." I rolled my eyes and thought to myself "those double nose rings tell a different story."
I didn't think much of it at the time. I did run into her at Wild West the other night and she insisted on sitting next to me and making it incredably awkward. Everytime I see her, she feels the need to say 'Hi.' I still don't know how or where I met her.
If she's not going to put out I'm not going to talk to her...dammit.
I talked to her for about an hour and wasn't gaining any ground on finding out who she was. I was, however, getting pretty drunk and loose tonged. It had become apparent in my drunken haze that she defiantly wanted to pursue extra-barly activities...or so I thought.
I'm not very well versed in how exactly to close the deal at the bar, especially when I'm drunk. When it came time to make or break the deal, I said the first thing that came to mind. I asked her if she wanted to come back to the house and spoon with me. It didn't work.
Her smiles and laughter were replaced with wide-eyed fear. She looked around in stunned bewilderment at the request I had made. She finally looked at me and said, "I don't go home with guys from the bar." I rolled my eyes and thought to myself "those double nose rings tell a different story."
I didn't think much of it at the time. I did run into her at Wild West the other night and she insisted on sitting next to me and making it incredably awkward. Everytime I see her, she feels the need to say 'Hi.' I still don't know how or where I met her.
If she's not going to put out I'm not going to talk to her...dammit.
The George's Chug
Here is a video Trail Boss posted on YouTube. It's from about a year ago.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJKKLJi7Bm8
Here is a funny picture from Hederman's shower after-party at the White Elephant you can see the sweat pouring off my forehead.
Monday, February 12, 2007
The Throw Up Chronicles
This is a compiled list of stories in which I throw up somewhere, or on something or someone. They occur in no particular order.
Piano Man:
We all went up to see Piano Man one Thursday night. We had to arrive early in order to get a good seat. Me, Edgar, Fretty, Lee, Wardlaw, and others get there around 8 and got a front row seat. The entire night went well. Piano Man played some great songs and we drank a bunch of beer and jagerbombs. One thing that had bothered me was that we paid him to play Ah-Ha's timeless classic 'Take On Me', but he was taking too damn long to do it. Edgar and I started yelling "Ah-Ha!!" at him. At one point he said "if I hear somebody yell Ah-Ha one more time, I'm going to throw the request away." So, of course, we kept yelling. Sure enough, he threw it away. Lee stood up and said, "are ya'll ready to go?" Before anyone could answer, I threw up on the table and said "I am", and ran out the door and drove home. I forgot I drove people there and inadvertently left them at the bar. Fretty took a cab.
Crickets pt.1:
Before I went to celebrate my ex-roommate's birthday, I went to a party at L.L. Sams. It happened to be someone else's birthday as well and there were jello-shots and beer aplenty. I made the mistake of going to La Fiesta before and having a couple Mexican Martinis which were heavily laced with tequila. By the time we got to Crickets I was already fairly tanked. Brian my roommate didn't like to drink very much at this point and would only really drink Wild Turkey. Being the good friend I am, I bought a Turkey shot for Brian and myself and brought it over to him. As a drank the shot, I knew something was not right. I immediately felt myself begin to earp. Looking for a trashcan, I feverishly scooted around in a small circle, when finally throwing up a little on the bar and Fretty's foot. I hustled across the room to the other side before anyone saw me and asked me to leave. I ordered a water and a beer and continued on with the night.
Captain Suave Wins One:
An obscure friend of mine used to date a guy who was a groundbreaking metrosexual (before it was 'cool' I guess.) I personally didn't care for him. I am one who really debates hand washing after pissing, while this fairy smelled like some kind of gay flower I've never heard of. We had been drinking all day and were playing quarters in the kitchen. Captain Suave came with some girls and sat around the table. I was drunk and started calling him Captain Suave to his face. I made an ass out of myself moments later when I threw up on myself and had to go home, while Captain Suave stayed with the chicks. I really hate that guy.
Hot Damn Shorty Cunningham:
At a Welcome Week party one year Fretty and I made Hot Damn Shorty Cunninghams. It consists of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill wine and beer. You have to drink half of the bottle of wine, and then fill it back up with beer. I can't say it's really that good, but It'll get the job done. I was standing outside in a group of folks when all of a sudden I threw up. I hadn't been drinking that long and figured the Strawberry Hill was responsible for the phantom puke. I think Fretty got some on his foot.
New Years at the Chuggin' Monkey:
After a long night of drinking in Austin for New Years, I found myself in the chuggin monkey leaning on a pillar singing Robert Earl Keen's "Merry Christmas from the Family." At the end of the 2nd chorus, I took a jagerbomb and threw up all over floor. As soon as I looked up A security guard and the doorman were standing over me asking me to kindly leave. I did.
Crickets pt.2:
Not too long ago we were up at Crickets having a drink. I ended up getting a little drunker than I had planned on and decided to order a jagerbomb. As I took the drink I realized there was no bomb involved, and only jager. I love jagerbombs but hate...Hate! Straight Jagermeister. I ,of course, barfed. I was sure somebody had to see me when I turned to Matt he looked at me and shrugged. Being a master in the ways of espionage, I had naturally avoided the eyes of all those present in the bar.
George's Strikes Back:
Last Friday I broke my Big O chuggin record. I shattered my previous mark of 6 with a groundbreaking 8. A conservative total count was around 13 which puts it in the area of 17 1/3 beers. When I got home I tried to tear down the cantina. When I stared feeling real bad, I decided I would do something I strongly oppose...pull the trigger. I went into my room and locked the door, I felt like I was doing something illegal like I was doing drugs. I got on my knees in front of my toilet and prepared to gag myself. I lodged my finger deep into my throat, hitting my uvula with my middle finger. This put into the action the 10 minute chain of events that would remind me why I don't pull the trigger. I was vomiting so violently I thought I was going to burst a blood vessle in my eye and die. When the torture finally ended, I had no energy left and had to go to bed.
Here is a picture from the George's night
If I forgot any let me know. I'm sure I've left one or two off.
Piano Man:
We all went up to see Piano Man one Thursday night. We had to arrive early in order to get a good seat. Me, Edgar, Fretty, Lee, Wardlaw, and others get there around 8 and got a front row seat. The entire night went well. Piano Man played some great songs and we drank a bunch of beer and jagerbombs. One thing that had bothered me was that we paid him to play Ah-Ha's timeless classic 'Take On Me', but he was taking too damn long to do it. Edgar and I started yelling "Ah-Ha!!" at him. At one point he said "if I hear somebody yell Ah-Ha one more time, I'm going to throw the request away." So, of course, we kept yelling. Sure enough, he threw it away. Lee stood up and said, "are ya'll ready to go?" Before anyone could answer, I threw up on the table and said "I am", and ran out the door and drove home. I forgot I drove people there and inadvertently left them at the bar. Fretty took a cab.
Crickets pt.1:
Before I went to celebrate my ex-roommate's birthday, I went to a party at L.L. Sams. It happened to be someone else's birthday as well and there were jello-shots and beer aplenty. I made the mistake of going to La Fiesta before and having a couple Mexican Martinis which were heavily laced with tequila. By the time we got to Crickets I was already fairly tanked. Brian my roommate didn't like to drink very much at this point and would only really drink Wild Turkey. Being the good friend I am, I bought a Turkey shot for Brian and myself and brought it over to him. As a drank the shot, I knew something was not right. I immediately felt myself begin to earp. Looking for a trashcan, I feverishly scooted around in a small circle, when finally throwing up a little on the bar and Fretty's foot. I hustled across the room to the other side before anyone saw me and asked me to leave. I ordered a water and a beer and continued on with the night.
Captain Suave Wins One:
An obscure friend of mine used to date a guy who was a groundbreaking metrosexual (before it was 'cool' I guess.) I personally didn't care for him. I am one who really debates hand washing after pissing, while this fairy smelled like some kind of gay flower I've never heard of. We had been drinking all day and were playing quarters in the kitchen. Captain Suave came with some girls and sat around the table. I was drunk and started calling him Captain Suave to his face. I made an ass out of myself moments later when I threw up on myself and had to go home, while Captain Suave stayed with the chicks. I really hate that guy.
Hot Damn Shorty Cunningham:
At a Welcome Week party one year Fretty and I made Hot Damn Shorty Cunninghams. It consists of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill wine and beer. You have to drink half of the bottle of wine, and then fill it back up with beer. I can't say it's really that good, but It'll get the job done. I was standing outside in a group of folks when all of a sudden I threw up. I hadn't been drinking that long and figured the Strawberry Hill was responsible for the phantom puke. I think Fretty got some on his foot.
New Years at the Chuggin' Monkey:
After a long night of drinking in Austin for New Years, I found myself in the chuggin monkey leaning on a pillar singing Robert Earl Keen's "Merry Christmas from the Family." At the end of the 2nd chorus, I took a jagerbomb and threw up all over floor. As soon as I looked up A security guard and the doorman were standing over me asking me to kindly leave. I did.
Crickets pt.2:
Not too long ago we were up at Crickets having a drink. I ended up getting a little drunker than I had planned on and decided to order a jagerbomb. As I took the drink I realized there was no bomb involved, and only jager. I love jagerbombs but hate...Hate! Straight Jagermeister. I ,of course, barfed. I was sure somebody had to see me when I turned to Matt he looked at me and shrugged. Being a master in the ways of espionage, I had naturally avoided the eyes of all those present in the bar.
George's Strikes Back:
Last Friday I broke my Big O chuggin record. I shattered my previous mark of 6 with a groundbreaking 8. A conservative total count was around 13 which puts it in the area of 17 1/3 beers. When I got home I tried to tear down the cantina. When I stared feeling real bad, I decided I would do something I strongly oppose...pull the trigger. I went into my room and locked the door, I felt like I was doing something illegal like I was doing drugs. I got on my knees in front of my toilet and prepared to gag myself. I lodged my finger deep into my throat, hitting my uvula with my middle finger. This put into the action the 10 minute chain of events that would remind me why I don't pull the trigger. I was vomiting so violently I thought I was going to burst a blood vessle in my eye and die. When the torture finally ended, I had no energy left and had to go to bed.
Here is a picture from the George's night
If I forgot any let me know. I'm sure I've left one or two off.
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