The Memphis Chronicles

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Day 4 – 10:00am

Today I wake up more confused than ever before; something is awry.  I see Cola, because I’m hugging him, I see Rizzo laying spread eagle on the bed next to me, I see Sketch-mo curled up on the vomit bed, but I see no Wild Bill?  Oh, that’s right, Wild Bill had pulled a fast one last night!  I forgot he had shelled out cash (something of which he is not a fan) in a weak attempt to scheme up some sort of miracle foursome.  Although I don’t always black out, it generally takes me a few moments to figure out what took place the night before; most drinkers are familiar with this process.  It’s similar to when you wake up with a hangover and cottonmouth and then realize that you did not even drink the night before (if you can relate to that statement, we are friends).  After inappropriately prodding Cola awake with my uncontrollable morning wood, I hustle down the hall to heckle Wild Bill.

I have absolutely no idea which room he is in, but this doesn’t seem to be a problem after I immediately hear a familiar voice.

Amanda  “Help!”
Me  “Amanda?  What the fuck, where are you?”
Amanda  “Down here.”

Her voice leads me to their room, and I immediately regret not having my camera with me.  By some awesome stroke of luck, they are all actually locked inside their room.  I guess that would be the equivalent of locking your keys outside your car?

Me  “What the fuck are you doing?”
Wild Bill  “The door is jammed, we gotta crawl out the window.”

At this point, I’m not sure who’s laughing harder, them or me.  After the four bodies fall out through the window like some sort of circus act, the crisis is avoided.  I can tell by the lackluster smile on Wild Bill’s face that things did not go according to plan.  I ask for no details because even the thought makes me throw up a little bit.  We get back to our room and now everyone is awake.  It doesn’t take long to get ready since we are all wearing the exact same shit as the previous night.  I put in a few calls and find out that AJ, Baines, and company are already at the tailgate.  Us 4 Amigos, and Sketch-mo, pile into the van and head towards the stadium.

Day 4 – 11:00am

For a drive that’s only suppose to be 10 miles long, it takes us about 45 minutes to get there.  Between Cola’s “I’ll get you in the vicinity” GPS and the retarded amount of traffic, I’m surprised we made it at all.  Oh, and we also stopped to pick up a few cases of breakfast beer; Wild Bill had a hankering for some Bud Heavy.  After a long search, we find a place to park the van; Dan The Man parks his ride next to ours.  Once on my feet, I take in the sights.  The first crowds I see are comprised mainly of Cow Humpers, and like I have previously mentioned, mostly families as oppose to college kids.  I get our friends coordinates and head that way.  I am immediately stopped; we already have a problem.  Kristin, a member of Dan The Man’s party, is sick; allow me to digress for just a moment.

Similar to Elsie, apparently Kristin also had a little too much fun last night.  Here’s the problem, Kristin is a vegetarian (lesbian) and not to be trusted; never trust a woman that doesn’t eat meat (get your mind out of the gutter).  Cola and Rizzo have previously named her “Veggie Tales” due to her eating habits and Jumanji-style (farfetched) stories.  Since I have already done my good deed of the year by helping Elsie last night, it’s now Dan The Man’s turn to earn his good Karma.  He agrees to drive her back through the mess that we had just endured.  Dan The Man 1, Veggie Tales 0.  Ultimately, Veggie Tales decides to fly home later in the day instead of waiting for the drive back tomorrow; strange, I know.  Well I guess at least she made it to the game, unlike Elsie.  Veggie Tales 0, Elsie -1; back to the story.

After jolting my way through a bunch of inbreds whom are playing more cowbell than Blue Oyster Cult, I finally lay my eyes on a field of Black and Gold.  As I attempt to find a particular group of kids, I throw high-fives and fistbumps to any and every passing UCFer.  Even though we have been drinking since we made our pit stop, we have yet to really kick things into high gear.  Alas I see many familiar faces; we have found Headquarters.  I don’t think “kicking things into high gear” is going to be a problem, especially since this is what the tailgate looked like before I arrived.

Day 4 – 12:00pm

Since kickoff is at 4:30pm, we should have more than enough time to get silly; although I feel like I have let myself down by not getting here at 6 in the morning.  Apparently, today the name of the game is “Shotgun Rally.”  Basically, we’ll be shotgunning a scheduled beer every half-hour in addition to all of the other random shots, funnels, chugs, and impromptu shotguns.  Hopefully I don’t have to explain to you what a shotgun is, but I will explain what a Gladiator Shotgun is.  Allow me to digress for just a moment.

Although I have yet to do one myself, I have seen several Gladiator Shotguns go down in my day.  The difference between a regular shotgun and a Gladiator Shotgun you ask?  Well instead of using a key to make the hole, you use your teeth.  That’s right, you bite into the can like some sort of Cro-Magnon Billy Goat; it’s painful, barbaric, and awesome.  Whoever the Gladiator is that takes part in said shotgun is soon covered in beer, blood, and praise; back to the story.

Once Dan The Man reappears after completing his good Karma voyage, we welcome him back with a round of impromptu shotguns.  As you can see from the picture, Headquarters is set up right by the street.  This is awesome (a recipe for disaster) because the stadium is right behind us and every Cow Humper must walk right passed us in order to get to the game.  Some Cow Humpers walk passed Wild Bill right after he takes another shotgun, yikes…

Wild Bill  “Hey you!”
Cow Humper #1  “Me?”
Wild Bill  “Yeah you, Cletus, does your house have running water?”
Cow Humper #1  “Yes.”
Wild Bill  “Yeah sure, I bet you need shoes and a flashlight to use the bathroom.”
Cow Humper #1  “What are you talking about?”
Wild Bill  “Keep walking you fuckin’ cousin lover.”

As Wild Bill continues to harass women, children, and the elderly, I turn around and join Rizzo and AJ; they have created some sort of makeshift Jagerbomb circle.  Much like a “puff, puff, pass” rotation for a California cigarette, this is more of a “swig, swig, pass” formation.  And by “Jagerbomb,” I mean drinking it straight out of the bottle and chasing it with Noz (I would have preferred Tilt, but I guess I can’t have it all).  After countless shotguns and Jager-swig-bombs in about two hours time, I realize it’s time to break the seal.

Me  “It’s time to break the seal.”
Cola  “Why do you always tell me these things?”
Me  “No idea.  Where’s the bathroom?”
Rizzo  “Yeah, I kinda gotta piss too.”
Cola  “You aren’t going to like this…”

Cola alerts us that the bathrooms are nowhere to be found; he’s been going back to the van and refilling empty water bottles.  The van is pretty far from our current location, so Rizzo and I start the trek.

Rizzo  “Hey, just piss yourself like usual.”
Me  “I hate you.”

Rizzo can be quite the son of a bitch when it comes to revenge inspired pranks; allow me to digress for just a moment.

When I was a freshman in College, I borrowed a shirt from Rizzo.  Later, I returned it to him dirty and wrinkled.  When I was in class (at a bar), he came into my room and stole my computer mouse; he also left a ransom note promising its safe return as soon as I ironed his shirt.  I challenge you to try and use your computer without the mouse; I ironed his shirt immediately.

Another one of his over-the-top revenges, which has to do with the “just piss yourself like usual” comment, is a bit more disturbing, psychologically that is.  I’m not really sure if he was getting back at me for something or just being an asshole, but here’s the gist.  I had lived in 3 different apartments up until my senior year of college; basically we moved every year.  The first night of each year, I always managed to pee somewhere besides in the bathroom.  My freshman year, I peed all over my unpacked luggage.  My sophomore year, I peed all over my bed; I think I actually stood up and aimed for my bed as if it were a toilet because my boxers were dry.  My junior year, I peed all over Sketch-mo’s laundry; in hindsight, that was hilarious.

Anyway, why am I sharing all of these “make my parents proud” moments with you?  Well because after the time I peed all over Sketch-mo’s laundry, I started wetting the bed on an almost bi-monthly basis.  At the time, I was living with Rizzo and Sketch-mo, so of course I shared with them my “situation.”  I mean, I party often, but seldom do I throw up or wet myself; this was a cause for concern.  Rizzo told me that I was disgusting and just couldn’t handle my booze; I ignored his mean comments.  After about 6 months of staying dry, Rizzo comes clean.  Here is a conversation we had nonchalantly while playing Smash Brothers on Nintendo 64 one day…

Me  “Dude, it’s been 6 months and I haven’t pissed myself!”
Rizzo  “Congratulations.”
Me  “Seriously, I don’t know what that was all about, but I’m glad it’s over.”
Rizzo  “Yeah, you never actually had a problem.”
Me  “Ye… wait, what?”
Rizzo  “It was me.”

I pause the game.

Me  “What?  Are you telling me you have been peeing on me?”
Rizzo  “What?  Oh God no, I’m not an asshole.”

Rizzo unpauses the game.

Me  “Well what are you saying then?”
Rizzo  “I’ve been pouring water on your crotch so you’d think you pissed yourself.”

I pause the game.

Me  “What the fuck?  Are you fucking serious?  For 6 months?”
Rizzo  “Um, yeah just about.  Dude relax, it’s not like I pissed on you or anything.”

Rizzo unpauses the game.

Me  “This is not funny, you are an asshole.  I’ve been seriously worried man!”
Rizzo  “It’s kinda funny.  Like, you’d laugh if it wasn’t you right?”

I pause the game.

Me  “That’s besides the point, how could you not tell me this”
Rizzo  “I told Cola?”

Cola has been playing n64 with us as well; he chimes in.

Cola  “Yeah I knew, it’s pretty funny.
Me  “What?!  Dude, this is so fucked up!”
Cola  “Can you stop pausing the game?”

Imagine thinking you have a sleepwalking problem because every time you fall asleep, your friends move you so you wake up somewhere else; that’s how fucked up this is, except add urine to the mix.  After getting no remorse from my soulless friends, I unpause the game; back to the story.

Day 4 – 2:30pm

With a full bottle of urine in my hand, I contemplate pouring it on Rizzo to get back at him for years of therapy to come; ultimately, realizing he is bigger than me, I just roll the bottle under the van.  Once we get back to Headquarters, I see a small crowd (3 people) gathered around Amanda; she has been bragging about how she can shotgun a Sparks.  After she proves that she cannot, the crowd disperses.

The Cow Humpers continue to pass us on the streets, growing larger in numbers; apparently they too are practitioners’ of the “Safety in Numbers” theorem.  Now that the alcohol has begun to take its natural course, it’s time for my poor decisions to follow.  I see a Jr. Cow Humper (7 year old) and his family about to pass; I make my approach.  I hand him the tail end of my Natty Light…

Me  “UCF, we don’t ID!”

Jr. Cow Humper smiles; his parents do not.  Instead of verbally reprimanding me like normal people, they just shoot me a dirty glare and bang their cowbells scornfully.  We’ve begun to notice the odd dressing style of the College-aged Cow Humpers; they all have “forehead combovers” and don’t seem to know that their shirts are only tucked into the front of their pants.  Instead of my description, let’s go with Johnny Boy’s spot on reenactment.  I can only use the words “shotgun” and “Jager” so many times before they become monotonous (if not already), so we finish off all the supplies and head into the game.

Day 4 – 4:00pm

Right before we enter the stadium loud and proud (sauced and lost), this is the first time I notice how truly outnumbered we are.  Our large group has already separated, so now it’s us 4 Knights, and Sketch-mo, lost in a sea of Cow Humpers.  I stand close to Rizzo and Wild Bill as I shout obscenities at any and everything; Rizzo is a 250lb hockey player and even though Wild Bill is a glass jaw Gummy Spine, his 6’4” looks can be deceiving.  We find our seats and begin to pass around a flask and a water bottle half-full of whiskey as the stadium begins to fill.  I reflect back to our pre-trip planning, and how Cola had purchased our game tickets through AAA.  This is always a safe bet incase the game expectedly sells out, however this generally fucks up your seating.  Instead of being in the UCF reserved block, we are definitely located at the opposite end of the stadium.  Regardless, Rizzo and Wild Bill give our seats the thumbs up.

We cheer like idiots as the Knights take the field; our spirits can’t (will) be broken.  Instead of giving you the play by play, I’ll give you the gist:  we did not win.  Cow Humpers 1, Us 0.  Some highlights of the game include this liar in front of us who promises he’s awake, me falling on my way back from the concession stand and dropping my overpriced, undercooked hotdog, and Baby Voice Bill sneaking off to the other side of the stadium to make another fruitless pass at my mom.  By game’s end, my body is bruised, drained, and condiment-stained.  We leave Baby Voice Bill behind as we make it to the van and putter back to the hotel.

Now if you’re reading this, I’m going to assume you have been to a tailgate before.  If not, well then your parents should do a better job of monitoring the Internet content that you peruse; but that’s their fault.  After any tailgate, one usually passes right out, no matter the time.  Often it’s only 7pm, so when you wake up feeling rejuvenated at 4am, you are very confused as to why it’s still dark outside.  Well friends, I reach the hotel and I hit the bed hard; my lights are out at 8pm.  Wow, I really hope you didn’t believe any of that crap; I cracked another beer and kept the party going.  You know who sleeps?  Losers.  I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

Day 4 – 9:00pm

The only problem with never sleeping and always wanting to be out and about is that you are in a league all of your own.  My friends aren’t (are) losers, but they actually are sleeping.  Back at school, it’s not really much of a problem; as long as you have several different groups of friends, somebody somewhere is doing something.  It’s now time to go door to door at the hotel until I find some companionship.  I first knock on Lora’s door, no answer.  I assumed they were all sleeping, but I later find out they are out to eat somewhere.  Next, I go to Dan The Man’s room.  Eureka!  They are all awake and drinking, plus 1 Sanford to boot.  So in reality, I guess it’s only my friends that are tired?  Oh well.

Me  “Amanda, how the hell are you still awake?”
Amanda  “Cause I’m awesome.”
Me  “That can’t be it, must have been that Sparks you ‘shotgunned’.”
Amanda  “You’re an asshole.”

Dan The Man laughs; we high five.  Since Veggie Tales has already shipped off, the room seems a lot more spacious and lesbian free.  Oh, just for the record, if any guys are ripping on me for not liking lesbians, please let me clarify.  I’m not talking about hot schoolgirl lesbians that you see on the Internet, I’m talking about softball players and the WNBA.  After sharing a little bit of California tobacco, the new group grabs a taxi and heads to, where else, Beale Street.

Day 4 – 11:00pm

Since this is my 4^th night in a row boozing on the same ¼ mile strip, I’ll just give you the key parts as not to be too repetitive.  Since I’m with Dan The Man and local neighbor women, we spend the majority of the night at B.B. King’s; this place is probably the busiest that I have seen it all week.  Unfortunately, it’s mainly swamped with the Mississippi State college crowd, which until now has not been large in show.  Dan The Man and I start the night out with 4 shots each, so basically I’ll be bilingual very shortly, speaking both English and Retard.  Like clockwork, I stumble out of the restaurant solo and hit the streets.  Oh, and if I haven’t mentioned it yet today, FUCK IT’S COLD!  The mother ship beacons me in and before I know it, I’m sitting alone at the Tap Room bar.  I can only smile as Rob pours me a much-needed Rogue Dead Guy, you know, to even out the shots.

Rob  “So how’d your team do Florida?”
Me  “It was an abortion.”
Rob  “Messy huh?”
Me  “You got it.”
Rob  “Sorry brotha.”
Me  “Hey, you win some, you lose some.”

The time has come for me to say goodbye to my dear friend Rob.  It’s a little past midnight, and due to our 6am departure, once I leave Tap Room tonight, I will not be returning.

Me  “Rob, this is where we part ways my friend.”
Rob  “Oh yeah?”
Me  “Yup, leaving in the morning, going to find my friends (anybody) now.”
Rob  “Well man, keep it real.  Here’s a shot of Whiskey for the road.”
Me  “Dear God.”

I take the shot, we hug it out, fistbump, and then I wipe the tear from my cheek.  I rush back to B.B. King’s before I forget where I am.  When I get inside, I head right to the bathroom.  Once at the urinal, I spend a fair amount of time searching for my frozen member and stretching it out as best I can so I look respectable incase the guy to my right has wandering eyes; another guy approaches the urinal to my left.  Gadzooks, it’s our Quarterback!  The QB and I know each other, but not well.  You know those people you recognize from all over town, but you’ve never actually had a conversation longer than the “what’s up” head nod?  This is that type of relationship and I find this the most appropriate time to formally introduce myself.  While we are both still peeing, I give him a pat on the back and lead in with an introduction…

Me  “Hey QB, good game man.  Things could have gone better, but good season.”
QB  “Thanks man, glad you guys came up here and supported us.”
Me  “I mean, the papers are gonna call you a bum and say you cost us the game and that you’re a clown and blah blah blah, but you can’t buy into any of that shit.”
QB  “Uh, I guess not, thanks?”

Now if you haven’t seen Along Came Polly, this might just seem gay and not funny.  He’s still relieving himself as I finish, so as I flush, I awkwardly rub his ear with my other hand…

Me  “Mazel, good things.”

I finish with a football style palm-to-ass goodbye.  Either he had seen Along Came Polly or he was too drunk to notice, because he did not punch me.  Actually, he was a great sport and even posed for a picture.

When I finally make it back to the table and find my “friends,” I’m handed another shot.  See ya!  Let’s fast-forward 3 hours.

Day 5 – 3:00am

The rest is broken memories, pictures, and hearsay.  At some point, apparently I ran into Lora, or as Cola calls her, “the mean one.”  I think Lora is awesome, but Cola disagrees; allow me to digress for just a brief moment.

During the previous 4^th of July, we had a giant neighborhood block party; I mean fucking GIANT.  We staged it in front of Wild Bill’s place, which happens to be located 3 doors down (accidental band reference) from Lora’s place.  We had kegs, golf carts, and slip n’ slides; it was like MTV’s the Grind (if you don’t know what that is, fuck you, you lucky young bastard).  Anyway, Cola and Lora had never met or spoken before, and here was their introduction…

Lora  “I’m not going fast on the slip n’ slide, what should I do?”
Cola  “Take your top off.”

It’s been awkward ever since.  Back to the story.

Amanda also informed me that as the club emptied out, there were 3 girls dancing together downstairs.  Dan The Man and I approached the threesome and impressed them with our dance moves.  Apparently they were more into dancing with each other than us, so then we decided to impress them with our smooth game.

Me  “I’m down with lesbians.”
Dan The Man  “Yeah, even ugly ones.”

They were not into our smooth game; I’ll never truly understand lesbians.  Alright, enough is enough, it’s time to get out of Memphis while I still have my dignity (wallet) intact.  Back in West Memphis, I briefly remember a casino?  I can only imagine that at some point I was stumbling around Southland Park; I guess I’ll need to get tested when I get back to Orlando.  When I’m finally in the room, Cola is actually just waking up to get ready for the drive home.  Apparently I had my headphones on and was rocking out to my iPod.  Cola later informed me that the other end of my headphones was plugged into nothing and that I was trying to jam it into my cell phone.  My cell phone does not play music.  I drop dead on the bed for about 20 minutes before I am woken up.

Day 5 – 6:00am

Since we are making the drive back in 1 day, it has been predetermined that we will get up and leave super early.  This is good for everyone except me; I’m more intoxicated now then I was 20 minutes ago when I went to sleep.  I shove everything I think I own into my bag and then head to the van.

Day 5 – 6:45am

I’m phasing in and out as I realize we are still parked.  I’m too drunk to move, but not to drunk to notice that I’m the only one in the van.  Finally Cola opens the driver side door as I lay lifeless in the back row.

Me  “Dude, man, meh, ah, what’s going on?”
Cola  “We were eating breakfast.”
Me  “Why am I in the car?”
Cola  “We didn’t want you to go anywhere.”
Me  “Why didn’t you leave me in the room?”
Cola  “This was funnier.”

Before I can call him an asshole, I pass back out.

Day 5 – 12:15pm

Once I wake back up, I feel great.  Somehow we have gotten lost; apparently Cola’s GPS only leads us to danger, and this great breakfast joint called Michelle’s.  Whenever you go on any adventure, you always end up somewhere amazing that you can never find again; Michelle’s is said spot.  I’ve Googled the shit outta this place and have come up empty-handed.  It’s somewhere about 5 hours south-ish of Memphis; if you know, please do tell.  The food here was so plentiful and cheaply priced that Rizzo couldn’t stop himself from flexing.  Since it’s Sunday, Michelle’s is offering some sort of Church Buffet Special.  We may not be much for Church, but we’ll take God up on his kick ass Buffet.  With a menu that looks this good, how could we say no?  It’s the kind of stuff your mom cooks, well, if your mom was related to your dad before they got married.

Remember how I told you my mom forced us to take an Amish-style map along?  Yeah, me neither because The Memphis Chronicles – Part 1 seems like a fucking year ago because I’m a terrible writer.  Anyway, Cola’s GPS wasn’t worth the cardboard it was printed on, and for some reason our MapQuest directions didn’t work in reverse.  The old school map was the only thing that got us home (this was before phones could do everything).  However, we all made it back successfully, even Sketch-mo.

So what did we learn from this voyage?  Well, in short, Memphis is cold so don’t waste your time.  Besides that, let’s list a few:

• Vans are awesome (I honestly can’t believe I don’t have 1 fucking picture of this thing, it’s very upsetting).
• Only pour urine out of a moving car when Sketch-mo is behind you.
• West Memphis is actually in Arkansas.
• Don’t listen to idiots that don’t know what a “green jacket” looks like.
• Cell phones can still work even after they are soaked in water overnight.
• Rob the Bartender kicks ass.
• Drunk gambling can be awesome if you win money.
• 90lb girls who drink with me will throw up.
• Baby Voice Bill has no game.
• Vegetarians (lesbians) are weird.
• People from Mississippi hump cows.
• It’s very wrong to pour water on your friend’s crotch and tell him he pissed himself.
• Last but not least, always listen to your mother.

So what’s next?  I’m thinking something tropical, perhaps Spring Break in Key West?  Who knows, maybe I’ll spend my nights on a pier, run from the law, meet the Joad family, avoid a drive-by, befriend homeless teenagers, hell, I might even get laid!  But that’s really just speculation…

AFTERMATH:

My roommate found this link on Forbes.  Apparently they did a study of the top 10 most miserable cities… Memphis?  Holding strong at #2. http://www.forbes.com/2009/02/06/most-miserable-cities-business-washington_0206_miserable_cities_slide_3.htmlhttp://www.forbes.com/2009/02/06/most-miserable-cities-business-washington_0206_miserable_cities_slide_3.html

The Memphis Chronicles

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Day 3 – 6:30pm

I always find it amazing that the “3 S’s” can instantly sober up even the wildest of idiots.  For those of you unfamiliar with the term “3 S’s,” it stands for Shit, Shower, Shave.  I’m not sure if this is an acronym that girls use, but for us boys, well I guess we’re just that simple.  Complete with my UCF shirt and rejuvenated appearance, I take a solo walk to the Mexican restaurant, Margaritas, to meet back up with Wild Bill.

Once inside, I grab a seat at the end of the ghetto-rigged 2 table arrangement that seats about 8; it’s Wild Bill, Sketch-mo, Sanford, and Lora and her friends.  At this point, I have still not seen Amanda and the rest of that crew.  I sit into a very awkward conversation; for some reason, Wild Bill and Lora have told the waitress that they are married and have a kid.  They are getting a To Go order for one of Lora’s friends, but are pretending it’s for their fictional child.  Yes, at times my friends are even dumber than me.  As the waitress takes the order, I waste no time interrupting in a humorous attempt to steal the table’s thunder.

Waitress  “And what will your son be eating?”
Me  “Cock, if he’s anything like his father.”

My attempt is successful; people laugh as Wild Bill is shamed.  He gives me the stink-eye to show his disapproval of my remarks.  I smile and cheers him with someone else’s Margarita; we are friends again.  After we have slammed a few margaritas and the To Go order is intact, it’s time to get back to the room and start the heavy pregaming.  Real quickly on the margaritas, allow me to digress for just a moment.

Tequila does not taste good.  The idea that anybody would want to mix it with sugar juice and drink it even slower is just asinine.  If you are reading this and thinking “Hey, I like Tequila,” you are dumb.  Nobody drinks Tequila for the taste; we drink it because it makes us feel not dead inside.

As the girls go back to the room to change and Wild Bill follows them to watch, I call Amanda and head to her upstair’s room.  She told me that she had just finished eating at the Mexican place right before Wild Bill got there.  Once inside, I see she is with Alexa, Kristin, Jess, and a new face, Dan.  Dan sits in a chair in the corner drinking alone while randomly insulting all of the girls in the room.  I like Dan immediately; he is the man.  Dan The Man informs me that he drove the entire way, and that girls are very useful during long drives.  After I chug a couple beers with Dan The Man, I make fun of Amanda and then exit the room.

Back in Lora’s room (which if you remember shares a wall with ours), the party has grown to about 10 or so.  I see that Wild Bill has put on his party face as he leans over to whisper something to me.

Wild Bill  “I just saw Holly’s butt.  Woo Wee!”
Me  “What are you, 7?”
Sketch-mo  “Yeah I know right?!”
Wild Bill  “Just shut up Sketch-mo.”

As the party continues to grow, we feel it’s best to move it to the lobby.  The group fires up a couple card games as I polish off a mixed drink and a Tilt.  We are starting to run low on refreshments, so Lora drives Rizzo and me to a sketchy gas station to pick up some beer and a few more Tilts.  Upon our return, all UCFers that are staying at Days Inn are now in the lobby.  Cola, our future accountant, takes a head count and realizes that we cannot fit 15 people into a single cab.  We turn back towards the booze as we wait for our transportation to arrive.

Day 3 – 9:45pm

I jump into the back of one of the van-style taxis with Amanda and her friends; Dan The Man snags shotgun and brings his Days Inn beverage along for the ride.  Once we reach Beale Street, it looks like a completely different place.  The street is packed beyond belief; this is what we had originally envisioned, apparently we just had to wait until night 3 to experience it.  There are beer vendors in the streets, drunk kids already throwing up, beautiful UCF people everywhere, and even a few obnoxiously ugly people from Mississippi State; life is now amazing.

Once all taxis are unloaded, it’s time to split the heard; with groups this large, you generally never stick together for more than 10 minutes.  Our room and Amanda’s room stick together and hop into the first bar we see, B.B. King’s.  As we get IDed, both Dan and Rizzo are using passports because they don’t have IDs; they fist bump and become instant friends.  We manage to find a large enough available table in the middle of the crowded bar.  Once we sit down, Wild Bill leans in for another whisper.

Wild Bill  “Have you ever hooked up with Amanda?”
Me  “You are an idiot.”
Wild Bill  “Just checking.”
Me  “Does this mean you’re gonna try?”
Wild Bill  “I can’t predict the future.”
Sketch-mo  “Hey, what are you guys talking about?”
Wild Bill  “Eyes down Sketch-mo.”

Have I ever hooked up with Amanda?  This is a question I have been asked so many times; allow me to digress for a very disturbing moment.

No, I have never and will never hook up with Amanda.  For those of you who don’t know our situation, my nickname for Amanda is “Mom.”  This is not because she is caring and helpful; this is because she physically resembles my mother.  I would have referred to her as “Mom” throughout this entire story, but I did not want to confuse anybody.  So with that in mind, let’s rephrase Wild Bill’s question.

Wild Bill  “[Have you ever hooked up with someone who looks like your mother]?”

No Wild Bill, I have not.  Furthermore, you know that I call her “Mom” so why would you ask me this (multiple times)?  That would be weird, uncomfortable, and in some way probably incestuous.  This reminds me of another disturbing conversation that I’ve been trying to erase from my mind for years; readers beware.  One time while I was at the Wife Factory (Strip Club), I asked one of the Future Wives what the weirdest thing a guy has ever said to her was.

Me  “What’s the weirdest thing a guy has ever said to you?”
Future Wife  “This one time a guy asked me for a lap dance because he said I reminded him of his granddaughter.”

Take a moment to wipe your projectile vomit off the screen.  Some people are just fucking weird.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve never gone to a family reunion with a wad of singles in my pocket.  If you are normal, Wife Factories can be a good time.  I mean besides, guys like Wife Factories because “they are funny and not a turn-on.”  Girls, if we (men) tell you that we like going to a Strip Clubs because it’s “funny and not a turn-on,” we are lying to you; we like going because strippers are hot and obedient, and yes, we want to have sex with all of them.  I’m not sure where this is going, but the bottom line is Amanda = No Sex, Strippers = Cool; back to the story.

Once at B.B. King’s, Dan The Man is working some magic at the bar because he actually works at the B.B. King’s in Orlando, so he is scoring some sort of discount.  He returns with several shots; I rip a couple and then take to the streets alone.  As I’ve mentioned before, I’m somewhat of a wanderer.  I think it must be my ADD or something, but whatever the case, I can’t sit still for too long.  I walk into another bar called Club 152 and find Lora and Elsie drinking at the bar.  I brag about my poker winnings and suggest that we spend it; we begin ordering all sorts of random shots.  Some girl next to me shouts my way.

Some Girl Next To Me  “Hey, do you work at the UCF Gym?”
Me  “Yes, I do.  Would you like a shot?”
Some Girl Next To Me  “Obviously.”

It’s easy to make friends when you are handing out money in the form of alcohol.  I look back to the girls and notice that Lora has wandered off somewhere.  Elsie and I exit and head towards, where else, Tap Room.  As we cross the street, we run into Wild Bill and Casey.  I tell them that we are going to visit Rob the bartender; they agree to meet us after they find [some member of the crew, I can’t remember who].  After giving Rob an overzealous hug, Elsie and I sit alone at the bar and continue to pound drinks; nothing good can come from this, especially for Elsie.  She is drinking as fast as I am, the only problem is that she weights maybe 90 lbs, soaking wet.  All of a sudden Lora appears as if from nowhere and since Elsie is once again safely a part of “the buddy system,” I hop back to the streets.  Oh in case I haven’t mentioned this yet tonight, FUCK IT’S COLD.

Day 3 – 11:30pm

Every time I blink, the population of Beale Street seems to double.  I see a large group of UCF fans jumping wildly in a circle in the middle of the street; I join the madness and start hopping up and down like a diehard fan (crazed idiot).  Out of nowhere, I’m bear-hugged from behind and lifted off the ground.  Holy Smokes!  It’s AJ (from The Key West Chronicles) and Baines (from The Cross Country Chronicles coming eventually).

AJ  “Where have you been?!”
Me  “All over the place, when’d you get here?”
AJ  “Today.”
Me  “So why did you ask me where I’ve been?”
AJ  “Huh?”
Me  “Never mind.  Where’s everyone else?”

AJ and Baines point to the rest of the drunkards who are in the middle of the jumping circle; apparently I had been jumping with people I actually knew.  AJ high-fives me a skittle and I accept it.

Baines  “Who are you here with?”
Me  “A bunch of people.”
Baines  “Where are they?”
Me  “No idea.”

As if they could smell the insanity, Wild Bill, Rizzo, and Cola appear from out of the shadows; Dan The Man, Amanda, and others follow close behind.  Our original group is now reuniting in the middle of the freezing street.  Just when all is well, trouble comes a brewin’.  A Mississippi State circle has formed and they are challenging us in a very West Side Story fashion; although, instead of the Sharks vs. the Jets, it’s really more like Team Good Looking vs. Team Inbred.  These Cow Humpers have also gone with these very annoying cowbells as their weapon of choice.  Wild Bill accuses Team Inbred of being a bunch of “Sister Kissers.”  We agreed.  The kids gather around Mom and take a picture.  After street security unnecessarily intervenes, I invite Team Good Looking back to Tap Room as if it were my own bar.  Once inside, more trouble is a brewin’.

Day 4 – 12:45am

Inside Tap Room, Lora informs me that Elsie is a bit on the fritz.  And by “a bit on the fritz,” she means face down at the bar.  There’s nothing more complicated than being drunk and having to take care of another drunk person, but we’ve all been there.  The original plan is to toss her in the back of a cab and let the Gods protect her; but fearing that she might get gang-raped by a gaggle of locals, I’m elected as the designated guardian.  Once we make it to the hotel, I toss her over my shoulder and carry her to her room.  I tell the cabbie to stay put and that I’ll be right back because this is a round-trip.  With Elsie out cold, I fruitlessly search through her purse for her room key.  Ultimately, I can either toss her in our room or leave her on the staircase; I believe in Karma so I throw her in our room.  I also believe in vomit, so I place her on Sketch-mo’s cot “just in case.”  I run to the cab and catch my ride back to the madness.

Day 4 – 2:00am

Having just completed my good deed for the year, I reward myself with a Fat Ass sized Rogue Dead Guy back at Tap Room.  The massive crowd has dispersed, but Cola and Rizzo still grace the bar.  There is a walk-up window connected to the bar so people can order drinks from the street; it’s also useful for harassing Cow Humpers.

Rizzo  “Hey you!  Who’s better in bed, your mom or your sister?”
Me  “Do you know what the internet is?”
Cola  “Yeah, what they said.”

The funny thing is that most of the Cow Humpers are real adults and not college kids; although, at 2 in the morning there is no such thing as respect for authority.  I ask Rizzo as to the whereabouts of Wild Bill.

Rizzo  “Oh, you mean Baby Voice Bill?  He’s trying to score with your mom.”
Me  “Oh, that should be funny.  And please call her Amanda because I don’t like sound of ‘Wild Bill scoring with my mom’.”

Alright, the time has come for you to learn all about this man, Wild Bill; allow me to digress for more than just a moment.

I first met Wild Bill (formerly Big Bill) my sophomore year of college; he was a fraternity brother of mine.  Yes I was in a fraternity, and no I do not have a tribal band tattoo.  We became good friends my junior year when we ended up living in the same neighborhood.  Big Bill lived with his brother and Sanford, and I lived down the street with Rizzo and Sketch-mo.  Our place basically became the community rec center; we had a Jager machine, a Kegerator, and a full liquor bar, so I guess we brought this upon ourselves.  Big Bill would come over, we would get all liquored up, and then go out to a local watering hole (sometimes we would just cruise around in my borrowed golf cart, but that’s a whole nother story).  I started noticing the crass and hilarious things that Big Bill would say to strangers; not that I didn’t do the exact same thing, but I guess it just seemed funnier when somebody who was 6’4” 240lb said it.

On the way out to Vegas for my 21^st birthday, Big Bill asked the stewardess (flight attendant) if the in-flight movie was United 93; right then the nickname Wild Bill was spawned.  Wild Bill reared his brash, shameless head all over the place; like the time a sweet innocent girl asked Wild Bill if she could use his stool because he was only sitting on it half the time.  His response:  Sorry, chivalry is dead sugar tits.  Another time, we were leaving The Library (the one with booze, not that weird place that’s like Blockbuster except with books) after a Friday afternoon happy hour; about 3 doors down is an Italian ice place at which several of my friends (female) worked.  I was talking to one of them, Jessica, and she noticed that Wild Bill’s knuckles were all fucked up (we had a punching bag), so she asked what happened.  His response:  I just got done teaching my girlfriend a valuable lesson (relax, he was kidding, I think).  These are just a few instances of Wild Bill, but like most people, this man has many different personas.

Personally, I only have 2 versions; regular ol’ jolly me, and The Russian.  The Russian is who I become after I drink too much vodka, start speaking a made up language, and then urinate on myself; this version is not a fan favorite.  Another friend of mine, Dez, has a couple.  There is Full Price Dez; this version works at a bar and offers his pals no discount whatsoever.  And then there’s my personal favorite, Too Full Dez; this version eats so much that he goes into a food-coma on the couch and repeats the phrase “I feel like I’m gonna throw up” like a broken record.

So far in this story, Wild Bill has been brutal, witty, and hilarious; I think now it’s time you learn about the rest of the Bills.  Let’s begin with Office Bill (aka Whistleblower Bill, a term coined by my friend Griff Dawg).  Whistleblower Bill holds a position at a bank for which he is more than under qualified.  Furthermore, if he’s not texting on the job, he is somehow miraculously using up another vacation day.  The kid has more vacation days than me; I’m currently unemployed.  Whistleblower Bill?  Not for me.

Next up, we have Gummy Spine Bill.  Gummy Spine Bill gets walked all over by anyone and everyone; this is still a mystery to me because Gummy Spine Bill has the same physical dimensions as Wild Bill.  Gummy Spine Bill is also stupidly sketchy.  Often, he will call me and say he’s on his way over to hang out; then, when I call him back hours later because he is a no-show, he says “Oh sorry man, I can’t make it.”  Read that sentence again, it makes sense, I promise.  Gummy Spine Bill also gets pushed around and overruled by all of his roommates, even though he is the eldest and the largest.  Gummy Spine Bill?  Not for me.

Next on the menu, Baby Voice Bill.  You know when your buddy picks up his phone and changes his voice to “little bitch mode” because he is talking to his girlfriend?  Welcome to Baby Voice Bill.  Baby Voice Bill loves to come out when he’s “running game” on a girl or talking to a waitress; again it’s always funnier with him because of his larger-than-life size.  Baby Voice Bill speaks to women, and sometimes authority figures, in a tone which implies that he’d like to pet them softly.  Baby Voice Bill?  Not for me.

With most people, you can tell which version you’re going to get according to their level of alcohol consumption; in Big Bill’s case, it’s always a complete guess.  Big Bill has several other versions, but the aforementioned are the dominant ones.  In any case, unless you’re a stranger, you are always praying for Wild Bill to show up at the party.  Anyway, where was I?  Oh right, basically even though Amanda has understandably low standards, she knows Wild Bill far to well to fall for Baby Voice Bill; back to the story.

Day 4 – 3:00am (estimate)

By this point, the booze has once again started to take a toll on my memory; if not for the skittle, I would have blacked out hours ago.  After a few incoherent phone calls, I somehow manage to meet back up with AJ and Baines.  They, along with the rest of their buddies, are at a place called Rum Boogie Café; it is located at the end of Beale Street and across from Silky O’Sullivans (the place at which I had made friends the previous night).  This place seems a little too busy for my liking, and after unsuccessfully attempting to order chicken wings, I take back to the streets.

The time has come for me to find my original group; if not I fear I will wind up being just another pillaged victim of a local meth-head.  Things are very hazy and the streets are still packed, so I turn on my drunken recall and head to our original place, B.B. King’s.  Once again, God favors the drunks, because Eureka, I have part of the crew!  It’s Dan The Man’s crew (formerly Amanda’s crew) along with Rizzo, Cola, and Sanford.  Wild Bill is nowhere to be found, but unfortunately Baby Voice Bill is residing with the rest of the group.  I’m also glad Alexa is here, because I had entrusted her with my camera earlier since I tend to lose things when I drink.  She did however take about 15 pictures of herself; she’s hot enough so I’ll show one here.  Rizzo leans over…

Rizzo  “Hey, you want a skittle?”
Me  “Where’d you get that?”
Rizzo  “AJ.”

I take the gift; Rizzo and I are nothing but smiles.

Day 4 – 4:00am (estimate)

After another round of shots and a Miller Lite, It’s about time to head back to the hotel.  Once outside, I no longer notice the cold.  Finally, I have reached a BAC high enough to keep me safe from below freezing temperatures.  The streets are beginning to thin out, and the cops are kicking everyone off Beale Street.  They are literally telling us that we cannot stand on a particular corner, but the “other” corner (5 feet away) is not a problem.

Rizzo  “Oh ok, so you want us to loiter on the other side of the street?”
Dumb Cop #1  “Yes.”

We flag down a cab; this time it happens to be a 15 person passenger van.  I don’t think we needed that much space this time around because I’m fairly certain that other parts of the group had already gone back (I’m not positive though).  As we all pile in, we notice Sketch-mo talking to a presumably underage sex solicitor behind a tree in the distance; we break up the probable jail time situation and throw his ass in the van.

As I completely say goodnight to my memory, the rest is once again hearsay.  On the way back, Baby Voice Bill sat shotgun and kept fucking with the cab radio volume in a poor attempt to befriend the driver.  I sat in the back row doing my patented Fake Pass Out at least 10 times; as usual, I fooled no one.  Once we got back to the hotel, things got even better.  As we entered our room, Elsie had decided to throw up; good thing I had placed her on Sketch-mo’s cot “just in case.”  He gets angry with me, but I reraise him with more anger until he settles down.

Me  “What was I gonna fuckin’ do?  Leave her outside?!”
Sketch-mo  “You could have put her on the floor or something?”

Wild Bill (formerly Baby Voice Bill) walks by…

Wild Bill  “Just shut up Sketch-mo.”

I cozy up to Cola in our shared bed as Rizzo finds himself sleeping solo.  Why you ask?  Well Wild/Baby Voice Bill has big plans for this evening.  He decided to rent his own room so that he and Sanford could conjure up some sort of sex party with Amanda and her friend.  Even with my eyes closed and brain turned off, my mouth still runs on its own.

Wild/Baby Voice Bill (to Amanda) “Yeah, so I think I need to get a new room cause Elsie threw up in mine.”
Me (laughing) “Never gonna happen.”

Cola can’t help but to laugh; this only fuels my autopilot wittiness.

Wild/Baby Voice Bill (to Amanda) “Me and Sanford are gonna split it, you guys should stay with us.”
Me (eyes closed) “Everyone in this room can smell your desperation.”

I will give Wild/Baby Voice Bill his due credit; his ploy worked.  The 4some ended up sharing a much overpriced and very sexless room.  Our room has emptied out; Elsie was carried back to her place, Sketch-mo is sleeping in vomit, Rizzo is sleeping like a king, and I’m the big spoon as I clutch Cola tightly.  Tomorrow can’t come soon enough; it is GAMEDAY!

Me (talking in my sleep) “Ha, Wild Bill, ha…”

CONTINUE ON TO PART 5 (FINALE)

The Memphis Chronicles

Part 1

(click the LINKS within the story for pictures)

There are a few things every man (dumbass) must do in his life:  Punch a wall, wet the bed after being old enough to vote, wake up in a field on the wrong side of town alone and cold at 2 in the morning only to have a homeless man help you find your cell phone the next day, are just a few things that should be on the list.  However, the #1 thing that must be done is the quintessential college road trip.  If you have yet to do this, I’m sure you’ve heard one of your idiot buddies drone on and on about how awesome his road trip was, and if not, well here’s mine.

Day 1 – 7:00am

Generally, the day after Christmas is not an auspicious one.  There are no more presents to open, it’s no longer socially acceptable to drink in the morning, and you’re stuck trying to piece together a last minute New Year’s Eve plan, which for one reason or another always turns into a huge let down.  Well my friends, not this year.  It’s the morning after Christmas and my vacation is just getting started.  UCF has had a winning football season (whodathunkit) and my friends and I are driving to Memphis to cheer them on in the AutoZone Liberty Bowl against Mississippi State.

For this trip, we start with 5 journeymen.  Cola, Rizzo, Wild Bill (you might remember him from The Denver Chronicles), Sketch-mo, and myself.  We have rented a minivan in Clearwater and will be leaving from there.  Cola, Rizzo, and I are already in Clearwater visiting family, so it’s only Wild Bill and Sketch-mo that have to get up 2 hours earlier than us and make the drive over from Orlando.  We all meet at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car at the corner of Sunset and 19.  Cola, Rizzo, and I get there right as the store is opening up at 7:30am.  One major concern that we can see is that there is not a minivan anywhere on the lot.  The minivan guru working the counter alerts us that the van is “in route”.  As Cola begins the paperwork, I continually ask Minivan Guru what his stance/policy is on drunk/stoned driving.

Minivan Guru  “Whatever, just try not to wreck.”

Minivan Guru clearly deserves a raise.  Right about the time when my comments are turning from playful to menacing, trouble arrives.  Wild Bill has just rolled up and barges into the shop.

Wild Bill  “Ok, so where’s this drunk sex bubble of a van?”
Me  “Wild Bill, what’s happening my man!”
Wild Bill  “Ready to rock n’ roll.”

Sketch-mo walks in, we give him a head nod.  Cola signals over to us that there’s a situation with the paperwork.  Apparently they need the signature of at least 2 drivers, or of anybody that might actually be driving the car.  At this point, I do not have a license due to legal complications, and I believe that Rizzo’s license was also on the fritz.  Wild Bill steps up and forges Sketch-mo’s signature.  Problem solved.  Another bit of paperwork we had to fill out was the name of each state we will be driving through (Florida to Tennessee).  Since we’re a nonfunctioning pack of idiots, this was much harder than expected.  The directions we have MapQuested do not include all the state names.  We randomly guess what we think will be near our vicinity.  Wild Bill continuously shouts Mexico, Minivan Guru is not amused.  After a drawn out stint in the office, we see our baby come screeching into the parking lot.  We were expecting some piece of shit that we could set fire to without any consequences, which is not exactly what we got.  Well, it was a Kia Sedona, but this minivan was brand new!  I mean brand fucking new.  It had all the stickers on the outside and the seats and floors were still covered in plastic.  It also had an odometer which read “3”.

After inspecting the van, we are ready to rock.  Wild Bill and I hop in the van as we follow the other 2 cars back towards Cola’s house.  Cola and Rizzo live in the same neighborhood, so after dumping off Sketch-mo’s car at a nearby shopping plaza, we reconvene there.  With the minivan parked in front of Cola’s house, we begin to load our luggage plus a cooler that we cram in the back next to Sketch-mo.  My mom had handed me a road map earlier in the morning just in case we got lost.

Me  “A paper map?  What are we, fucking Amish or something?”
Mom  “Just in case.”
Me  “But we have printed directions and a GPS?”

I continue to explain how we will never get lost because “men don’t get lost, we just sometimes subconsciously decide to take a more rugged route.”  I have also put too much faith in Cola’s old school GPS, it looks more like a Pop-Tart with a coat hanger sticking out of it.  We are definitely not Amish, but we are dumb and will ultimately have to rely on this paper map to get us back home.

We say goodbye to the Cola family and dive into the van; Cola sits driver, I take shotgun, Rizzo and Wild Bill occupy the captains’ chairs and Sketch-mo is stuffed somewhere in back.

Day 1 – 9:00am

As we leave the neighborhood, the level of excitement begins its steady climb.  It is a 14 hour trip, so we have plenty of time to mentally prep ourselves (get drunk in the van) for the city of Memphis.  We rock out to Beating Heart Baby by Head Automatica.  The drive up to Memphis is long and cold, really fucking cold.  I decide to roll with my window down and let the scrubs in the back get smacked around by the cold breeze.  Like gentlemen, we wait until about 10:30am before we start drinking.  At this point in my life, I, as well as Wild Bill and Rizzo, have a mild Tilt addiction (the green one, not the orange one, which has a weaker alcohol percentage and tastes like berry flavored piss).  If you haven’t had a Tilt before, pick one up.  It’s like Sparks but it doesn’t taste like cancer.

Once we make it to Georgia, we immediately pull over and find a gas station.  For us Florida boys, picking up a 40oz is mandatory the second it becomes available.  Yes, we do have quarts, but that extra 8 ounces can turn things from “ugly” to “good enough” real quick.  By this point, we are already starting to feel a bit loopy, oh well it’s vacation.  It isn’t long before we decide to take it from loopy to sloppy.

Day 1 – 1:30pm

Again in a gentlemanly fashion, we wait until after noon to begin our hard liquor consumption.  Wild Bill pulls out a flask of Jack and passes it around.  Rizzo and I swig hard, Cola is driving so he declines, and Sketch-mo is skipped because Wild Bill tells him that Jack is “not for babies”.  It’s about this time when we also light up our first California Cigar.  We exhale in Cola’s face in weak attempts to get him to “join the party”.  As Rizzo and I become more lovable (intoxicated), we constantly hound Cola for the opportunity to drive.

Rizzo  “Cola, let me drive.  I’m ready.”
Cola  “No.”
Me  “How bout me?  I’m so good I don’t even need a license.”
Cola  “No.”

Allow me to digress for just a moment to explain to you this man, Cola.  I have been good friends with Cola since I was about 8 years old.  Had I not grown up with him, it would be safe to assume that I would have never spoken with him in High School.  Well good thing we did grow up together, because Cola is the most stable person I know.  Cola rarely drinks so, being the great friends that we are, we always harass him and offer him large quantities of free booze.  Unlike most sober people, Cola is very fun to be around.  He blends in with us booze bags so well that you would never know he’s not an idiot.  Since he’s known me since childhood, he is also one of few people who can decipher all (most) of my drunken babble with little difficulty.  Furthermore, he is a great man to whom I owe my life (on several accounts).  Cola, I love you sir.  Moving on.

Day 1 – 4:00pm

As we near the outskirts of Atlanta, the amount of “pee breaks” has become absurd.  And of course none of us have to pee at the same time, so we are literally pulling over every 20 minutes.  The solution?  Well, it’s time to be men.  We decide to refill the 40oz bottles ourselves.  Pissing into a beer bottle in an over-packed minivan is a lot more of a challenge than one might think.  Also, the beer bottle opening is too small to jam a penis into (maybe not Wild Bill’s), so you have to somehow make a secure connection between the tip of your dick and the bottle.  We make no such connection.  As I try to fill up my 40, urine goes everywhere.  All over my hands, my jeans, and the floor, I don’t think I got any into the actual bottle.  Rizzo and Wild Bill have the same results.

By the time we have all finished draining our respective lizards, the minivan just wreaks of urine and alcohol. Oh well, so much for that “new car” smell.  Wild Bill does not like the stench of urine and decides to be smart.  He rolls down his window and starts to empty the bottle.  It is extremely windy, so not only does urine get splashed all over the side of the van, but it actually comes back in the window and soaks a sleeping Sketch-mo who sits behind Wild Bill.  This mixture of urine and cold wind wakes Sketch-mo.  He is not happy.

Sketch-mo  “What the fuck.  What is this shit?”
Wild Bill  “Go back to sleep, just a little fresh mountain rain.”
Sketch-mo  “It’s fucking urine.  You’re a fucking moron.”
Wild Bill  “It’s sterile, why don’t you stop being a baby, Geez.”
Sketch-mo  “You just got piss all over me.”
Wild Bill  “Man, do you ever stop complaining?  It’s always something with you.”

By this point of the drive, it has become pitch black outside and extremely cold.  I would also like to add that everyone, with the exception of Cola, is incredibly charming (old man drunk).  Somewhere in the middle of Alabama, we hit a Flying J to fill up on gas and pee once again (we have learned our lesson from the previous urine debacle).  Once we enter the store, I notice that we are surrounded by a crowd of people whom I can only assume will not be voting for Obama.  Rizzo and I wander around the store, and eventually find ourselves mystified by an unheard of product.  Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Pickle Sickle.  It is exactly how it sounds, frozen pickle juice on a stick.  And that is exactly how that sounds, fucking terrible.  If you just threw up in your mouth a little bit, then we’re on the same page.  We pass on the Pickle Sickle and decide to grab another 40.  Rizzo and I are stoked because we are very close to our destination (so we think).

Heartbreaker Clerk  “Hey boys, is that all for ya?”
Me  “Yes mam, we’re on vacation, living the dream.”
Heartbreaker Clerk  “Oh yeah, where to?”
Rizzo  “Memphis.”
Heartbreaker Clerk  “Well you’re getting close, it’s only about another 3 hours.”
Me  “Awesom… wait, what the fuck?  Did you say 3 hours?”
Heartbreaker Clerk  “Yup.”

I look at Rizzo and without having to say a word, he reads my eyes.  He immediately races back to the cooler and grabs a 2^nd pair of 40s.

Me  “Well played.”

As we stumble back to the car, we see Cola filling her (it’s a minivan) up, as Wild Bill and Sketch-mo continue to bicker about the urine incident.

Me  “Good news, we’re almost there.”
Cola  “How far?”
Me  “3 hours.”
Sketch-mo  “What the fuck?”
Wild Bill  “Shut up baby boy.”
Cola  “I thought you said we were like 30 minutes away?”
Me  “Yeah well what do I know?  I’m a hammered dumbass from Florida.”
Rizzo  “Well said.”
Me  “Thank you sir.”

The circus piles back into the van and just like that we’re back on the road.  Moments (hours) later, we arrive in Memphis, kinda.

Day 1 – 10:00pm

We arrive at our hotel, Days Inn – West Memphis.  One of the funny things about our hotel is that it isn’t actually in Tennessee, it’s in Arkansas.  Another hilarious feature is the Mexican restaurant attached to it called Margaritas (we’ll be patroning this place in the nights to come).  We fall out of the van like a group of drunken buffoons, and then make our way to the lobby.  We let Cola (the only sober one) take care of the room situation at the front desk.  We divvy out the room keys and find it appropriate to assign Wild Bill and Rizzo to the same bed.  They are the only journeymen who are currently members of the 200+ club so this seems to be the funniest option.  Cola and I bunk up, and Sketch-mo shells out another 50 bucks to rent a sad little cot for himself.

After we toss our belongings into the room, we waste no time searching for food.  During the ride up, our diet consisted solely of Beef Jerky, Combos, and liquor.  Oh, and Wild Bill had also eaten half a bag of Cheetos, the other half he proceeded to throw at the back of Cola’s head throughout the duration of the ride.  After a very short drive, we spot an Applebees and decide that it’s a “good enough” option.

Day 1 – 10:30pm

Reality starts to rear its ugly head just as we sit down to eat.  For some reason, we were all expecting the streets to be painted red with blood, and the bright lights of Vegas to be shining all around us.  I’m not really sure why we thought this, since the reality of the situation was that it’s the Wednesday night after Christmas and we are tucked into an Applebees in West Memphis, Arkansas 30 minutes from closing time.  This is just a detailed way for me to explain that it was a ghost town.  There wasn’t anyone under the age of 30 and/or with a full set of teeth within 100 miles.  Instead of griping about the situation, we just order Long Islands and chicken wings.  After a solid 12 hours of drinking, I have absolutely no idea how in the hell this picture came out so flawlessly. I mean seriously, we all have our eyes open, we’re all smiling, we all appear coherent, and somehow we all manage to do these things simultaneously.  On a side note, I can’t really smile, and definitely not on cue, so generally I stick my tongue out or make some sort of stupid face.  I had a teacher in High School who told me it was because I had an “oddly shaped upper lip”, he is no longer with us because I killed him.

Shortly after mauling through our food, it’s time to go because they are closing.  I spot a local crack whore outside the front door and ask her what’s happenin’ in Memphis.

Me  “What’s happenin’ in Memphis?”
Local Crack Whore  “The tracks.”
Me  “Are you asking me to do heroin with you?”
Local Crack Whore  “No, the tracks.”

She points in the distance to place back towards our hotel.

Me  “Oh, like a dog track.  Got ya.  Dibs.”
Cola  “Need you really call dibs on her?”
Me  “Yes, dibs.”

We drive back to our hotel and park the van.  The “race track/casino” that Local Crack Whore had pointed to is well within walking distance.  Allow me to introduce you to a little West Memphis hidden gem known as Southland Park.  If you ever get the chance to go here, don’t.  This place is as grimy as any place named Southland Park could possibly be, or as Wild Bill so eloquently puts it…

Wild Bill  “Wow, nothing but garbage men and homeless people.”

Wild Bill is correct.  Not only is this place a complete dump, but it also boasts a crowd comprised of the cast from the unaired “Survivor: Landfill” season.  I rarely get the chance to feel like the classiest person in a room, but this was one of those moments and it’s oddly unfulfilling.  We sit down at a $3 blackjack table located next to the food-stamp slots.  The felt smelled like our van (urine-soaked) and I’m almost certain the dealer had a mousetrap hanging from his beard.  After only a few hands, we have to get out of here.  Usually I’m the kind of person who seeks out sketchy/grimy hangouts, but not this place.  Southland Park was seriously identical to a homeless shelter, except with maybe a more entertaining carpet pattern.

Before we stumble out, we figure we might as well grab at least one cocktail.  As always Cola, looking like he’s 11, gets IDed and holds everything up; then we have another problem.

Bartender (to Cola) “You’re going to need to take off your hat sir.”
Cola  “Excuse me?”
Bartender  “You can’t wear your hat in here.”
Cola  “Are you kidding me?”

This is about to get out of hand.  Cola has had one cocktail, and like usually, he always gets a bit “punchy” (although in this scenario, I don’t blame him).  Here come his Cola Muscles.

Cola  “That [homeless person] has one on.”
Bartender  “He is not at the bar.”
Cola  “At the bar?  This is like a fucking lemonade stand without wheels.”
Me  “Cola, calm down, don’t get all Italian on us, we’re leaving.”
Cola  “This fucking guy, this shit really pisses me off.”

Cola curses a lot after one cocktail.  I pull him away as Wild Bill and I finish the insults.

Me  “Let’s get out of here before someone steals my shoes.”
Wild Bill  “This fucking dump, we can’t wear hats but that [homeless person] can shit on the floor?”
Lemonade Stand Employee  “It’s about time you fellas take off.”
Wild Bill  “That’s what you sister said when I put the condom on.”
Lemonade Stand Employee  “What did you say?”
Wild Bill  “I meant to say that I fucked your sister, you’ve probably been there.”
Lemonade Stand Employee  “I’m calling security.”
Me  “This place has security?”
Wild Bill  “Yeah who is it?  Hangover Hank?  Boxcar Willy?”
Me  “This place is like Vegas with AIDS.”

Wild Bill and I look back and realize the rest of the crew has already left.  We fumble our way outside, angry and goofy eyed.

Day 2 – 12:15am

As we reconvene in the streets near the hotel, we realize it’s getting late.  It’s been a long day, so now we have two options.  We can either go to sleep, or we can get in the van, drive to Tunica, Mississippi (40 minutes away), find a casino, and carry on with the debauchery.  Welcome to Mississippi.

Remember my previous explanation of Cola being a stable guy?  Well, every man has their vice.  While he has no problem being reasonable and responsible when it comes to substance abuse, there is little he can do when it comes to passing up a card table.  I once met Cola in Vegas; my flight had arrived several hours after his.  When I first see him in the hotel, we shake hands and then he tells me he’s already down a G and needs to borrow some money.  What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help support his habit?  Back to point, Cola pours out his drink and is more than happy to pilot us to the Grand Casino.  On the way out of town, we roll passed the FedExForum.

Day 2 – 1:00am

By this point, all of my senses are starting to fade (even I have my limits).  The only clear memory I have of this casino is that it had a super long driveway from the highway exit to its front door.  Once inside, we split up between the poker room and the blackjack tables.  Rizzo, Wild Bill, and Sketch-mo are downstairs playing blackjack and Cola is with me in the poker room but at a different table on the opposite side.  I am in no condition to be out in public, much less gambling, and by no means should I be left alone at a poker table.

I’m really not much of a gambler, although I’ve had my intoxicated moments.  Back when I was a freshman in college, I got into the online poker craze.  One night, Rizzo and I had a case race (a game where you see who can finish a case of beer first) and then ate a bowl of Jell-O shots.  Needless to say, we did not play wisely.  Lucky for us, we were able to make up our losses playing craps on the SunCruz Casino boat the following night.  There was another incident a year later where I woke up $1500 in the hole, but we really don’t need to pull at that thread.

Now when I gamble, I still stick with poker, but I only play so I can get free drinks.  I usually fold every hand and just get hammered.  Sometimes I’ll play a hand or two, and that’s when things get dicey.  I publicly call out my cards and harass everyone at the table.  If you are someone who acts serious and wears reflective sunglasses at the poker table, then I am your nemesis.

About 1 hour and 4 Crown n Gingers later, I black out much too violently to recall any exact dialogue (don’t worry, we gamble again with a more hilarious outcome).  I had started falling asleep at the poker table, which apparently is frowned upon, so I was asked to leave.  I wait downstairs by the blackjack table and watch Wild Bill lose his ass and become progressively angrier, thus his slurs become exponentially racier and more prejudice.  Once Cola is done losing about a hundo or so, he corrals us back into the van.  I wake up in the morning missing more than just my dignity.

CONTINUE ON TO PART 2

The Denver Chronicles

Part 1

(click the LINKS within the story for pictures)

Day 1 – 6:00am

Unable to sleep, I am again awaken by impending excitement.  Although the alarm is set for 8:30am, I have been waking up every hour on the hour since I decided to pass out around 1:00am.  Like a child on Christmas morning, as is an Adult on Vegas eve.  Thoughts of flashing lights, blaring sirens, the sweet sound of stripper breasts banging together, the sensational smell of overpriced buffets, and of course the beautiful concept of the breakfast beer cannot be suppressed any longer.  Again unable to force myself back to sleep, I chalk up the extra 150 minutes of shut eye as a loss and fire up a couple episodes of the TV show Las Vegas.  Go figure.

Day 1 – 8:45am

It is time to put in a phone call to my airport escort, Big Bill.  Or as he is better known on the Vegas Strip, Wild Bill.  With no answer, I give little hesitation in calling back immediately.  He is beeping in as I am calling.

Me  “The big guy!”
Wild Bill  “What’s happenin’ buddy?”
Me  “Just trying to get this party started, what’s the deal?”
Wild Bill  “My buddy just pulled up, we will be at your place in 15 minutes (lie).”
Me  “Alright, put some hustle behind that lack of muscle sir.”
Wild Bill  “See you soon.”

Day 1 – 9:00am

Of course, no sign of Wild Bill.  I have known this character for sometime, so I do not show concern because this was expect.  Standing 6 foot 4, I just assume it takes him awhile longer to get ready because he has to reach a bit farther.  After popping some medicine (I am battling a cold) and taking down a few popsicles, I peruse the rest of my fridge for something to eat.  A half carton of soon-to-be spoiled milk, a single slice of cheese, a 3-month old bag of carrots with only one left, a half empty jar of cheese dip, and like every other collegiate male fridge, a side door loaded with every condiment and/or sauce known to man.  Fighting off hunger pangs, I head north to the freezer.  This is where the previously referenced popsicles reside, along with a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels.  I give serious contemplation to rippin a shot, but I figure due to my cold, I will give my body the courtesy of waiting until the airport before Operation Black Liver commences.

Day 1 – 9:20am

Phone rings…

Wild Bill  “I’m pulling into your neighborhood (lie), come on down.”
Me  “Roger that.”

Assuming that I forgot at least one item of importance, I do one last scan of the house.  Everything seems to be in order, so I twist up my stallion (pony) tail, toss on a backwards cap, grab my bags and head out the door.  Dressed like a true Floridian, I head down three flights of stairs to the street level dressed in sandals, brown pants, a black Buccaneers Polo t-shirt, and a UCF fitness instructor windbreaker.  This chosen travel attire will soon prove not to be an auspicious one.

Day 1 – 9:30am

Clearly it does not take 10 minutes to get from the front of my neighborhood to my front door.  Why Wild Bill always finds it necessary to fib to his buddies like some sort of unfaithful mistress will forever be a mystery.  Several minutes later, I see the dirty two-tone Durango in the distance.  I fidget through my car, looking for an alternate pair of sunglasses as Wild Bill and friend come roaring up the street.  His buddy, who will from here on be referred to as Benny (because that’s his name), rolls down the shotgun window and shoots me a pleasant greeting.  I throw him an excited hand shake and head to the back of the Durango as Wild Bill leaps out to help me squeeze in my luggage.

Wild Bill  “Good day sir.”
Me  “Good day to you sir.”
Wild Bill  “Vegas Baby!”
Me  “Vegas.”

We shift around a piece of luggage and find room in the back in which to stuff my duffle bag.  I keep my backpack with me.

Wild Bill  “Thought you might be needing one of these.”

As Wild Bill hand shakes me an M&M…

Me  “Absolutely sir, good man.”

I pile in the back of the two-tone as we head towards Wild Bill’s brother’s place so he can give us a lift to the airport.  As we make the 5 minute trek, I learn that Benny is a Vegas virgin.  Wild Bill and I start pumping up the sights and sounds of the Sinner’s Mecca.  Not that we are experts on the city, but little experience does prove to be better than none at all.  Upon arriving at Tom (Wild Bill’s Brother)’s place, Wild Bill raps on the door mercilessly until Tom awakes.  As he stumbles down the stairs, awake yet disoriented, Wild Bill hustles inside to lighten his traveling load (take a massive dump).  Tom hands Benny and I each a packet of Gummy Starburst.  Although I have sworn off Starbursts as a weak attempt at a diet (I’m not fat, just bored), I decide to throw back a couple in the spirit of vacation.  Believing they would have been benchmarked off Lifesaver Gummies, I have assumed wrong.  Much like Gushers, they have a mysterious “goo” inside them that squirts out into my mouth.  But unlike Gushers, which are delicious, these are not.  So if you ever get the chance to try them, don’t.  Anyways, Wild Bill finishes wiping from the knees up and we head back outside and pile back into the Durango.  All heads accounted for, off we go to MCO (the unexplainable airport code of Orlando International Airport).

Day 1 – 10:15am

As we pull up to United curbside check-in, all 3 of us have already printed out our boarding passes, as well as having paid a ridiculous $12 per bag luggage fee (originally $15, we were given a $3 discount because of our online prepayments.  Thanks United for all your help).  This will be our first “beef” with United Airlines, a “beef” that will eventually turn into a full-blown hatred of anything and everything for which United Airlines stands.  We toss the Skycap a couple of unnecessary dollars for giving us our claim ticket (which will soon be very necessary), give our thanks to Tom, then head inside.

Now the next obstacle is always a train wreck, but must always be dealt with: security.  Besides the giant lines and disorganization, the thing that always chaps my ass about these “security checks” is the caliber (education level) of the people actually conducting them.  The lady comparing my ID to my boarding pass can be presumed to have a skull as thick as the bifocals that she is wearing.  Moments later, she returns them both to me and wishes me a pleasant trip.  It is amazing how she knew it was my ID, seeing as though she never looked up in an attempted to make a face-to-picture comparison.

Obstacle number 2: the screaming infant.  We have about 4 passengers to go before we contract terminal cancer from the metal detector, but we won’t have to worry about that as long as Baby McWuss refuses go through.  His mother, also appearing to be highly educated, holds him like a football as he screams shamelessly.  The security officer/bag screener, whom appears to have an awful lot of street cred, finds it to be a good idea to take his focus off of the bag x-ray machine and divert it all towards Baby McWuss.  Don’t worry about the other items sliding on by, a box of syringes, several elbows of hashish, perhaps even the body of Jimmy Hoffa; let’s just have ourselves a good chuckle at the ear sore.  As the line and level of frustration begin to build, finally Educated Mother darts through the metal detector with Baby McWuss as if trying to smuggle the neighbor’s Labrador passed the invisible fence.

Obstacle number 3: the “too many bins lady”.  Unless she is Jane Bond, I highly doubt the wannabe British Op in front of us has the need to use 6 bins.  Do not be skeptical, this is not an exaggeration.  Perhaps she had one bin per tooth?  I cannot be certain.  Anyways, once Jane Bond snails her way through, I finally get my chance to make to the other side.  Nearly stripped down to my birthday suit, I walk through the machine, which to my surprise does not go off.  I left a shooter of American Honey that Wild Bill had given me in my bag which was rolling through the x-ray.  I’m not sure if this shows up on the scan or not, but our Street Cred Screener gave me a gold-tooth grin and a head nod so I figured all was well.  Wild Bill is the last to come through, as soon as he re-robes himself, we file into the tram and head to the terminal.

Day 1 – 10:45

We check our gate to make sure the flight is on-time; everything appears to be up-to-par.  Benny and I decide to throw down a small meal to help line our stomachs for the party to come.  Along with Wild Bill, we sniff out an airport Wendy’s and hop in line.  I order a grilled chicken sandwich and ask for some hot sauce to spice it up a tad.  The sales associate (GED cashier) told me all they have is chili sauce.  I grab a couple packets and wait 10 minutes for my sandwich (true).  Finally I get my meal and trot over to Wild Bill and Benny.  I take the cup of ice I had received and pour in the shot of American Honey.  That stuff is delicious whiskey, even on the rocks (true).  We all toss away our scraps and head back to the gate as the plane begins to board.  Before I board, I make a call into Cola (from The Memphis Chronicles), a buddy of mine who is leaving from Tampa to rendez vous with us in Vegas.  All in all, we have about 12 champions gathering for this adventure.  Cola, whom is flying in with our buddy Murph, answers…

Me  “Hey ooooooo!”
Cola  “Good morning to you sir.”
Me  “Ready to rock brotha?”
Cola  “Yes sir, already in Atlanta, about to board.”
Me (surprised) “Atlanta?”
Cola  “Yeah, we just got in from Tampa a bit ago.”
Me  “Oh, I thought we were the first group making it into Vegas?”
Cola  “No sir, Murph and I get in around 2:00pm (that‘s what he thinks), Vegas time.”
Me  “No shit, well have a good flight.  Drain a few cocktails before I get there.”
Cola  “I’ll try my best, fly safe.”
Me  “Right on, peace brotha.”

I hang up, a little distraught because I felt “one upped” by not being the first to arrive; that feeling is quickly suppressed as I hear our seating section being called to board.  I sit in the isle seat behind Benny and Wild Bill.  In true Wild Bill fashion, even though he was the one who had purchased both his and Benny’s ticket, he managed to screw up and put his 6 foot 4 ass in the middle, assigning the isle seat to Benny.  Benny, showing no mercy, refuses to make the switch (good play sir, good play).

Day 1 – 11:30am

To everyone’s surprise, the plane departs on time.  Smiles are big and spirits are high.  Speaking of spirits, isn’t it about time for our first round of cocktails?  As the cart lady approaches, we shell out $6 apiece for our first round.  I go for a rum and diet with lime.  The others order whiskey and shoot several sexual orientation jokes my way; allow me to digress for just a moment.

By itself, diet coke with lime tastes like aids.  However, if you mix it with rum or whiskey, it is delicious.  I’m not sure how or why this works, but give it a try sometime.  Back to the story.

I sit back and start to eye up the plane.  To my right there is a college surfer looking dude, who agreed to give his window seat up for an Asian toddler, the mother of said toddler resides between the two.  It only takes one M&M and a cocktail or two before my female radar is in full swing.  The only thing I can see around me is the girl in the window seat in the row behind me.  As I recline my seat in an attempt to get a better look, I’d be shocked if she had her learner’s permit.  In the middle seat next to her, I can only assume that man to be her disapproving father.  I turn my head around and reach in my bag for some music.  Expectedly, my iPod-turned-paperweight does not work.  I try to jam my headphones into the outlet on the seat’s arm, but of course someone has broken off what appears to be a piece of another headset in my outlet.  I notice the lady next to me has fallen asleep, and with her permission (lie), I commandeer her outlet.  I do a bit of light-reading as I jam out to half elevator tunes and half early 90’s pop-rock.  Before my brain has time to conjure up a sober thought, Wild Bill has already ordered me round 2; this time whiskey.  I opt for Crown, but all they have is Jack.  I reluctantly accept.  United… The Greyhound of the skies.  My neighbor awakes and notices my robbery.  She says nothing the rest of the flight, yet I see her staring intently at the E! True Hollywood Story of Charlize Theron.  I found the show quite enjoyable, although I did in fact have audio.  From behind, the guy in the window seat next to Wild Bill looks remarkably similar to him.  Besides that paradox, the rest of flight goes relatively smooth.  We land in Denver with plenty of time to hit our connection to Vegas.  Everyone on the plane is extremely slow to get off, it’s as if they do not know we are on a Vegas vacation.  One jackass darts passed us to catch up with his family, which happens to be just one row in front of Wild Bill, thus two rows in front of me.  He becomes the culprit of congestion as it takes him several minutes to locate the correct overhead bin.  As we stumble off the plane, and through the hanger, that terrible Denver smell takes over, along with a chilly breeze.  We make it into the Denver airport with high hopes of Vegas.

Day 1 1:00pm (Mountain Time)

As we land, Benny and I are absolutely starving.  The one positive thing about Denver that I can remember is that the airport has a restaurant called The Steak Escape.  You may have heard of this chain, it is rather well known.  Anyways, I have been eating their Wild West BBQ sandwich (no onion) since I was about eight years old.  We hustle to the main food court and eureka!  There it is!  We each throw in an order, slam it down, and now search out a watering hole.  We head to the Colorado Sports Bar and plan to slug a few as we wait for our connection.  Oh Denver, how we hate you so (not yet, but soon enough).  As we sit at the bar, Wild Bill and I order a beer called “2 Below”, Benny goes with a Blue Moon.  Byron, our elderly but still “on his game” bartender, IDs us then delivers.  I notice a girl one barstool to my left, she appears to be attractive enough and about our age.  I open the conversation…

Me (referring to the empty stool between us) “Do you mind if I set my bag here?”
Girl  “No worries, it’s cool.”

She talks like a snowboarder, so I continue to engage in a roundabout way.  Allow me to digress for just a moment.

Whenever you are talking to a stranger, especially in an airport bar situation, there is always that time frame where you have yet to engage in a direct conversation, but yet every couple of minutes or so you stare into the distance and ask a rhetorical question that your new friend replies to while also avoiding eye contact.  A very strange practice, but almost a precursor in this scenario before we get to an actual conversation.  Back to the story.

So I begin to speak loudly to Wild Bill, hoping our new friend gets the hint that she is suppose to overhear our conversation and barge in.  It works flawlessly…

Me (to Wild Bill) “First cocktail (airport cocktail) of many, to Vegas sir!”
Wild Bill  “It’s about to get real silly.”

New friend overhears, as predicted…

Girl  “Vegas huh?”
Me  “Yeah, we had to stop here for our connection.”
Girl  “Oh I just came from there.”
Me  “Oh yeah. Good time?”
Girl  “Well of course, but I wasn’t visiting, I live there.”
Me  “Oh no shit?”
Girl  “Yeah, on my way to visit family for a bit.”
Me  “I’m doing like the opposite of that, but that’s straight.”
Girl  “I hope you guys make it.”
Me (slightly intrigued) “Um me too, why wouldn’t we exactly?”
Girl  “Well I got delayed leaving there, you know it’s snowing there for like the first time in like 30 years?”

I had heard it was snowing there, but this did not register with me seeing as though I am a Florida boy.  I assume it is always snowing everywhere, at all times, except in Florida.  Apparently this assumption is incorrect.  We continue…

Me  “Is it really that bad?”
Girl  “I mean, it’s not like crazy, but the Vegas airport isn’t prepared to handle snow.”
Me (starting to show actual concern) “Um what do you mean, it’s an airport isn’t it?”
Girl  “Well yeah, but they don’t have plows and shit to clear the runway.”
Me  “Why not?”
Girl  “Because this kind of shit never happens.”
Girl (to Byron, our bartender) “Can I get a double Bloody Mary?”

Dibs.

Me  “Well, should we be worried about hitting our connection?”
Girl  “I mean it’s not snowing bad, but I promise as long as it’s snowing, no one can land.”
Me (concerned) “Oh shit, that’s no good.”

Allow me to back up a moment.  Although we never believed anything weather related would actually hinder us, all of our minor concerns were on the fact that Denver would be the instigator.  None the wiser, we had never given thought to the idea that the Vegas airport might actually have some problems.  I text a friend of mine who is visiting Vegas at the time, and she alerts me that it is still in fact snowing.  Just then, bad news arrives.  Some random guy standing at the far end of the bar by Benny delivers, you guessed it, bad news.

Bad News Dude  “Damn, my flight to Vegas just got delayed.”
Wild Bill  “What time is your flight?”
Bad News Dude  “Well it was at 3, now it’s at 4.”
Me (overhearing) “Well ours it at 2:15, so I’ll go check.”

I drop my conversation with Girl-turned-Maybe Hot Chick and focus on the possible problem at hand.  I run to the departure board, and sure as shit, Bad News Dude was not drunk, but indeed just full of bad news.  Our flight had also just been delayed an hour.  I hobble back into the bar, a little disheartened but at this point, nowhere near defeated (this will soon change).  I pick back up conversation with Maybe Hot Chick…

Me  “Damn, we are delayed an hour too.”

United… Next time you want to fly, don’t.

Maybe Hot Chick  “I told you, as long as it’s snowing, you aren’t going anywhere.”
Me (upset with Maybe Hot Chick’s response) “Oh don’t say that.”
Maybe Hot Chick (bringing up a good point) “Well wouldn’t you rather be stuck here at the airport bar instead of circling around an airport unable to land?”
Me (agreeing with her point) “This is true.”

Now my mind begins to wonder.  It is right about the time Cola and Murph are suppose to land in Vegas.  I put in several phone calls that go straight to voice mail; this is a sign that they remain in the air.  I also put in a phone call to Rizzo (from The Key West Chronicles and The Memphis Chronicles), and one to Bonk (also from The Key West Chronicles); two other lads joining us from Tampa.  Although they are leaving from the same place as Cola and Murph, their traveling schedule was a bit different.  They, along with Roe and JP Money, are leaving as a foursome from Tampa sometime around 5:00pm ET.  So most likely, they are on the plane as I’m trying to contact them.  I decide it best to stop trying to play operator and just start drinking heavily.  Rounds one and two have already been briefed on Operation Black Liver, so we decide it’s time for a shot.  Benny, from a couple seats down, orders three shots of SoCo and Lime, and throws on a p.s. …

Benny (referring to Maybe Hot Chick) “Unless the lady down there would like one?”

She agrees.  After the shot, Maybe Hot Chick becomes Dibs.  Dibs and I continue to talk while we all anxiously await the progressing weather situation…

Me (being lame) “So Vegas huh?  What do you do?”
Dibs (not noticing me being lame) “I work at Hooters and Planet Hollywood.”

Dibs.

Me (intrigued) “Oh yeah, what do you do?”
Dibs  “I bartend at Hooters, and deal Black Jack at Planet Hollywood.”
Me (as I stare at her breasts trying to find truth to these claims) “Oh that’s cool, how long have you been out there?”
Dibs  “About a year and a half.”
Me (still scanning her body for clues) “That’s cool, dealing Black Jack huh?  Got any good stories, or recent ones that are easier to remember?”

I still cannot quite tell if Dibs is hot or not.  Her face is definitely cute, but she is wearing a sweater and jeans, while sitting down, thus making it very difficult to develop an accurate mental nude visual.  By this point, I’m a little sauced up so I just make up some aesthetically pleasing visual imagery of my own.  She begins to tell some story about a drunk guy giving her the finger, and then another drunk guy hitting on her…

Me  “Well in the drunk guy’s defense, I’ve definitely hit on a Hooter’s bartender before.”
Dibs  “Well I expect it, but it’s kind of annoying while dealing Black Jack.  But I guess it’s part of the job.”
Me  “Wait, someone was hitting on you while you were wearing black slacks and some sort of monkey suit?”
Dibs (laughing) “No, it’s a little different than that where I work.”
Me  “I don’t get it?”
Dibs  “Where I work they dress sexy.”
Me (baffled) “A sexy Black Jack dealer?”
Dibs  “Go to Planet Hollywood and you’ll see (true).”

I wouldn’t quite understand the significance of what she told me until I later visited the area.  If in Vegas, goto Planet Hollywood and check out the “Pleasure Pit.”  It’s time to do another weather check.  This time Wild Bill heads out to check the departures.  He returns disgruntled…

Me  “Don’t fuck with me sir.”
Wild Bill  “6:00pm we depart.”

United… If you like kissing your sister.

Benny  “6:00pm?  Fuck.”
Me (trying to instill the “half-full” attitude) “Hey, at least we’ll make it tonight (lie).”

Right as I open my fat mouth, my cell phone rings, as does Wild Bill’s.  We both are staring at the same unknown number.  This cannot be a good sign.  A recorded message plays…

“Flight [whatever] has been canceled.  Please seek a customer service representative for assistance.  We apologize for any inconvenience this might cause.”

United… If you like choking on pubic hair.

Son of a bitch!  We frantically check the prompter one last time, but it still says delayed.  We sit in the bar and continue to drink.  Finally, I find out that Dibs does in fact have a nickname…

Me  “Well it looks like we’ll be here for a while.  What’s your name?”
Dibs  “Patricia.”
Me  “Well Patricia, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I officially introduce Patricia to Wild Bill and Benny (as if it even matters by this point) and we order another round.  As time keeps winding down, I decide it would be benevolent to go check in with customer service and see how fucked we actually are.  I encourage Wild Bill and Benny to slam the rest of there beers, and we say goodbye to Patricia and throw Byron a high five as we depart.  As we search for customer service, I see a giant line in the distance and assume the worst.  Of course, we have reached customer service.  Apparently we should have gotten here early, I blame Patricia, Byron, and the booze.

The Vegas airport has temporarily been shut down, so we now wait at the tail end of a line that consists of every gambling junkie this side of the Rockies.  We rotate in line as we take bathroom breaks.  About 5 minutes of waiting have gone by, Benny and Wild Bill are in the restroom.  A hip Asian kid approaches me from behind, he is now last in line…

Hip Asian Kid  “Looks like we are here all night.”
Me (drunk and frazzled) “What do you mean?”
Hip Asian Kid  “I just talked to my travel agent, next flight out is tomorrow morning.”
Me  “Fuck you.”
Hip Asian Kid  “No man, I’m serious.”
Me  “What time?”
Hip Asian Kid  “8:50am.”
Me  “Holy Fuck, that’s ridiculous.”

Just as I speak, Wild Bill heads out of the bathroom…

Me (to Wild Bill) “This cat (no Asian joke intended) is telling me we leave tomorrow.”
Wild Bill (finally turning into Wild Bill) “No.”
Me  “That’s what he says.”

Hip Asian Kid throws an agreeing head nod, just then Benny enters.  We explain the news, and then Wild Bill and I decide to walk the airport.  Benny decides to hold strong in line (not much of a problem, as he has just thrown in a lip).  A couple minutes of dicking around on the “people-movers” then Wild Bill and I head back.  As we are about to rejoin our party in line, a man is leaving from the customer service desk.  He is not going to Vegas, but apparently all the parties around him were.  He explains how the airport is shut down, and he has heard that noon tomorrow is the earliest available flight.  He is kind and knowledgeable, so I resist all urges to kick him in the shin because I am a firm believer of “not shooting the messenger”.  He also says that the customer service line takes about two and a half hours.  This, to me, becomes unacceptable.

Wild Bill and I stand around at the front of the line, while Benny holds our “just in case we follow the rules” spot.  This will not be necessary.  As I search for a quicker alternative than the line, I notice that next to the very helpful (useless) customer service employees, there are several electronic ticket machines.  Wild Bill and I look up at a sign that is nearly hovering over us that reads “E-ticket Customers Enter Here”.  Well, we are all e-ticket customers (in this day and age, it is a safe assumption that almost all other patrons in line are as well), so we walk directly up to one of the empty automated machines and start pushing buttons.  I enter my ticket confirmation number, along with another series of numbers that I can’t remember (age, birthday, social security, something to that effect).  The machine prompts me to pick up the phone attached to it.  I do as instructed…

Operator  “United Airlines, what can I do for you?”
Me (angered, but slightly humored that we cheated the line) “Uh yeah, I was told my flight was canceled and need to rebook.”
Anti-Christ  “Ok, go ahead and let me have your flight information.”

Wild Bill keeps throwing me elbows and reminding me not to forget him and Benny.

Me (to Wild Bill) “Relax dummy.”
Anti-Christ  “Excuse me?”
Me (whoops) “Sorry, I was talking to my friend.”
Anti-Christ (after I give her the necessary information) “Ok, the earliest I can do is a flight into Las Vegas leaving tomorrow at noon.”
Me (fuck) “Noon?  Really?  I heard there was an 8:50am flight?”
Anti-Christ  “Yes sir there is, but that flight is already full.”
Me (regretting the extra hour spent at the bar) “Um ok, well I guess if that’s the best you can do.  I’m going to need three of us on that flight.”
Anti-Christ  “Who are the other passengers?”

I give her Wild Bill and Benny’s information.  She gives me a confirmation number, then tells me to scratch it out and write down another one.  What little faith I had in Anti-Christ has just been lost.  At this point, I have also just learned that Benny’s name is actually Mark.  Not really sure what’s going on with this Benny character.  Wild Bill alerts me that it is just his real first name, but Wild Bill is not to be trusted.

Me  “Ok, so we are all confirmed on the noon flight?”
Anti-Christ  “Yes sir.”
Me  “Well thank you, but as for sleeping and eating, do you guys offer vouchers or anything to that effect?”
Anti-Christ  “Sir for that you will have to speak to a United Representative.”
Me (confused) “Well who the fuck is this?  Excuse me, I’m sorry, but I thought you were a United Rep?”
Anti-Christ  “I am an agent sir, for customer service issues, you must speak to someone at the airport that is tending to the customer service station.”
Me (as I hang up) “Ok, thank you.”

The literal translation of what she had just said was, “Yeah, nice try cutting that line douche bag, now go and hop back in it.”  We still have Benny waiting in line just in case Anti-Christ tried to fuck us over.  Just as I hang up, some genius in a United blazer walks out from a back room, Wild Bill flags him down…

Wild Bill  “Excuse me, we rebooked our flight, what do we do for hotels, food, you know, all that stuff?”
Genius  “Well sir, where are you trying to fly?”
Wild Bill  “Las Vegas, like most of these people waiting.”
Genius  “Sir, when the delay is weather-related, we are not responsible for providing any compensation.”
Wild Bill  “So what, we just have to pay out of our pockets?  We are college kids (lie, kinda) for God sakes!”
Useful Genius  “I’m sorry sir, all we can do is help you find a discounted room.”
Wild Bill  “Well can you at least do that?”

As Useful Genius tries to hurry passed us, he finally turns around and heads back behind the counter to grab a voucher, most likely just to get us to go away.

Useful Genius (to Wild Bill) “Here you go sir.”
Wild Bill (not satisfied) “That’s only one, there are three of us.”
Useful Genius (grabbing two more vouchers) “Here.”

Day 1 5:00pm (Mountain Time)

We wave Benny to the front of the line and fill him in on the situation.  We are all disgruntled and are beginning to sober up.  We decide to make the best of an interesting (shitty) situation.  I call the number on the voucher, and discover that a $49 stay at the local Comfort Inn is our cheapest choice.  I reserve the room and we head downstairs to try and find access to our baggage (we have already been told that we will not be allowed to get to our luggage).

United… I’d rather “Ape” (shit in one’s own hand and throw it at something/someone) myself.

We head to the United desk near baggage claim downstairs, finally speaking to a lady who does not feast on the souls of newborn babies…

Decent Lady  “Yes?”
Wild Bill (after being informed the only way you can get to your luggage is if you claim there are meds enclosed that are necessary for survival) “Yes, I need to get to my bag, it has medication I need to take.”
Decent Lady  “What flight were you on?”

Wild Bill gives her the information, and she is unable to locate our bags.  I explain to her the real situation as I lift my foot onto her counter…

Me  “We are stuck in Denver, ew, for the night.  I only have these sandals (as I point to my foot) and this windbreaker.  I need clothes from my bag.”
Evil Whore  “I’m sorry sir, I can’t help you.  Might I suggest you purchase some socks in Denver?”

Before suggesting that Evil Whore remove my foot from her ass, we leave and head towards the shuttle pick-up for Comfort Inn.  On the way there, I notice that a Southwest flight is boarding to Las Vegas.  What the fuck?  Southwest 1, United -9.  We walk over to a random regional airline (because it had no line) and ask questions…

Me  “Excuse me, I know this concern has nothing to do with your airline, but our flight got canceled on our way to Vegas, and now it is showing another airline boarding to go there?”
Another Decent Lady  “Well that’s odd, let me see.”

Without any special request or anything, Another Decent Lady picks up the phone and calls the Las Vegas Airport.  Apparently they have reopened.  We are shocked, and have now decided to devise a new plan.  Operation Get the Fuck to Vegas has just commenced.  We all thank Another Decent Lady and head back to the main terminal.  After stumbling around the airport with no sense of direction, we’re finally pointed towards the United check-in station inside the airport.  Oh goody, the opportunity to speak to another well-educated, jovial individual.  At this point we are dead sober, and quickly losing our patients.  A lady calls us up as next in line, all three of us approach…

Me  “Hello, how are–”
Chloe  “One at a time please.”
Me  “But we all have the same issue?”

Chloe rolls her eyes, we remain cool.

Chloe  “Fine, what can I do for you?”

The term “BJ” comes to mind, but I refrain…

Me  “Yeah, we are trying to get to Vegas, and our flight has been canceled.”
Chloe  “Yes sir, the airport has shut down.”
Me  “Well we have caught wind that it has opened back up?”
Chloe  “I don’t think so sir.”
Me (losing patients) “Well mam, we just had another airline representative call the airport, and Vegas told her they are now open.”
Wild Bill (butting in) “Yeah, a Southwest flight is boarding right now!”
Me (calming Wild Bill) “How can we get there?  What can you switch us onto?”
Cunty  “Well, I’m sorry sir but we do not conduct business with Southwest.”
Me  “Well, what sister companies do you have?  Frontier?  Something shitty like that?”
Cunty (not appreciating the language) “Let me check sir.”

I am doing my very best to keep my foul vocabulary to a minimum.  This is a daunting task considering it is pretty much a way of life for me.

Cunty (sucking as usual) “I’m sorry sir, all of the other flights are canceled as well.”
Me  “So the airport is open, but you just aren’t going there?”
Cunty (being smug) “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t control the weather.”
Me  “Ok, well can you at least verify that we are in fact on the noon flight tomorrow?”
Cunty (after taking our names) “Ok, I have all three of you confirmed.”
Me  “Can you print our boarding passes?”
Cunty  “I can probably take care of that.”
Me  “Any chance you can bump us up to first class or something?  You know, for having to deal with all this nonsense?”
Cunty  “I’m sorry sir, but Ted (subsidiary of United that we are flying) only has 1 class.”
Wild Bill (no longer able to keep quite) “Yeah, No Fuckin’ Class!”
Cunty (not amused) “I cannot control the weather sir.”

Day 1 5:30pm

Still laughing at Wild Bill’s idea of rage, we grab our boarding passes and head towards the hotel shuttles.  No longer willing to spend our vacation sober, we decide to cut our loses and see what Denver has to offer (nothing).  Just then, I finally receive a call from Cola (well Murph actually)…

Me  “Hey man, where are you?”
Murph  “We are stuck in Phoenix.  Never made it.”
Me  “No shit?”

Cola grabs the phone…

Cola  “Yeah, we circled the airport for over an hour and then they flew us to Phoenix.”
Me  “That sucks, so what now?”
Cola “Well Air Tran (United’s fat, herpe-carrying cousin) does not fly to Vegas from Phoenix.”
Me  “So wait, they will drop you off in Phoenix, but not take you to Vegas?”
Cola  “Exactly, they said they would fly us back to Atlanta if we want.”
Me  “Well that’s awfully nice of them.”
Cola  “Yeah, real cool.  We decided to say fuck it, and just rent a car.”
Me  “Wait, you are going to drive to Vegas?”
Cola  “Yeah, apparently it’s only 4 hours.”
Me  “Right on brother, good luck.  I’ll let you know when we make it.”
Cola  “Godspeed.”

As I hang up, I realize I still have not heard from half of the team.  6 out of 12 are accounted for.  The 3 of us in Denver, Cola and Murph in Phoenix, and Wild Bill and Benny’s friend Dave is stuck in Atlanta.  Ok, it is time to get out of this fucking airport.  We find the shuttle stop, and step out into the wild.  Fuck it’s cold!  Denver, it’s gonna take a lot more than scrotum-crinkling cold to keep us away from a good time, you’re going to have to try harder than that!  And Denver does try.  Much harder.

CONTINUE ON TO PART 2 (FINALE)