August 15, 2005
Sausage Fest VII
Sausage Fest VII took place this past weekend at the thumbnail of Wisconsin, and as always, it was the greatest Sausage Fest ever, as well as the best weekend of the past year. Near the end, we started brainstorming ways to bring all the stories together into one coherent narrative. In this process, we realized that were we to finish the task, we would easily have the greatest story ever as our product. In fact, this story would be so fucking sweet that anyone who heard it would have their head explode, and yet they would be willing to accept that as a consequence of hearing such a good story. However, in the interest of avoiding legal expenses, I will only summarize the story using bullet points, because I don't need thousands of my readers' family members suing me. Here goes:
- We played twilight golf at Peninsula State Park on Friday. As Tone Loc rolled into the lot, we saw a brand new Dodge Sprinter (take a look), and jokingly said, "That's probably Jared's new ride." Sure enough, as soon as we got out of Tone's car, Jared and Ludacritz pop out of the Sprinter, beers in hand. We later found out it is not legal to purchase or consume alcohol on this course, but before we did, we finished a twelver in the Sprinter in the parking lot waiting for our tee time, and probably another case out on the course. Tone Loc rolled up to the starter with a beer in his cupholder. Despite our consumption, we all played decent and had many laughs catching up and speeding around the course in our carts.
- Had dinner at Husby's Friday night, had some shots and drinks, and retired to the campsite, where we had a nice fire and went to bed relatively early in preparation for our next day at the beach.
- Got up insanely early for a weekend (9ish), and drove to the beach (at Peninsula State Park). We played volleyball, bocce, testes toss, one-handed under the leg catch, we swam, and probably a few other sports/games. All the while we were consuming malternatives and sub-premium beers. We started as soon as we got to the park, which was around 10 AM - it's noon somewhere, right?
- That morning we had stopped at a grocery store for liquor and food. On our way out, we ran into a fake tattoo machine, where we all purchased one. We put these on at the beach in a manner which can only be described as "extremely gay."
- While getting tattoos, we noticed that they were coming out of the machine in the exact order they were displayed on the machine signage. Jared came up last, and said he wanted the puma tattoo (as did everyone else). But we were all like, "No, it goes in order, you're going to get the lame next one." But Jared got the fucking bad-ass puma! It seems like Jared has a lot of instances like this in his life. This led Machs to say that it's like Jared has a Game Genie for life, which later we called Life Genie. This may go on a future t-shirt of Jared's.
- Tone Loc left the beach early, before grilling, and took all of my fake meat which I had left in his cooler. I'm not fucking pleased with you, Tone.
- About 80% of the conversation dealt with the sexual escapades of one of our friends, who recently told us that during one overnight encounter, he received 9 hjs in 12-15 hours. Every time someone new hears this story, they try to figure out a way in their head to make the math work. It's not worth the effort. It's just one of those crazy things that you will never figure out.
- Last, and certainly the opposite of least, we went to Husby's again, this time just for drinks. Now, this is a nice quiet bar and restaurant. There are no crazy bars in Door County. But that bar got fucking crazy when we were there. First, a random girl bought Machs a drink from across the bar. She was not particularly attractive, but Linz did describe her as "big-titted." Our friend ~~~ (pronounced "Lander") knew the big-titted girls companion, and struck up a conversation with her. Before we knew it, ~~~ and this girl are dancing up on the bar together, and ~~~ is so sauced at this point that his not falling off the bar and cracking his skull is almost enough to make me question my lack of god-belief. Meanwhile, me and Ludacritz were working together on a mother-daughter combination. Luda started out talking to the daughter, but she was clearly more into me, so Luda kindly stepped aside and went to work on the 50-year old. Hot daughter obviously wanted to make out with me, but not in front of her mother. I suggested we go for a "walk" outside, she counter-offered to go to the women's bathroom, and I graciously accepted. While in there, Machs noticed my disappearance, heard what happened, jacked Joynt's camera, and raced into the bathroom to photograph. When I got back out to the bar, the craziness had been kicked up yet another notch. ~~~ and big-titted girl are still dancing all over the bar, except now she has her shirt off. Basically, this girl spent the rest of the night with her tatters hanging out at the bar. Her and ~~~ got kicked off the bar 3 times, so eventually they moved over to the side table and danced up there. Hot daughter and her mother went home at some point in the night, but before they left, 50-year old turned around and made out with Luda for a bit. Luda had made it clear that he wanted to make out with her, because it's just something you could say you've done. (I believe his actual words were "I'm sure I could learn a lot from her.")
Okay, that was a novel of a last bullet point, not to mention the length of this whole entry. Sausage Festers, please add any stories I might have forgotton.
Posted by mill1991 at 6:00 PM
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June 8, 2005
Storm the Capitol! (or, weekend of organized binge drinking continued...)
Note: For an explanation of the nicknames used in this article, see the post directly below this one.
On Saturday morning we packed up and left Milwaukee at 11 AM for Madison, WI, for what has become known as Storm the Capitol! Basically it involves drinking in Madison. We were going to golf in the afternoon, but because of the forecasted rain, we decided to go play cards at the Union terrace, and drink, staying outside during non-raining periods. Before #1 Dad arrived, we decided that we would all take on ridiculous roles in the conversation, and see which one of us was figured out first. TJ said the opposite of whatever Dad did, I mentioned birds every time I spoke, The Wizard related everything to the weather, King Asshole spoke in mathematical equations, and Tone Loc only said "Whats up Al!" I'm proud to say that when #1 Dad found out what was going on, he declared me the winner for such gems as "Hey Tim, could you wing me another beer," and "Quoth the raven, nevermore."
After cards, we went to another student union to bowl. The teams were easy to set up, as we had 3 Marquette alums (God's team, despite the presence of a heathen) vs. 3 Wisconsin alums (Marx's team). MU won handily in the first two games, despite our beloved alma mater's current lack of a nickname, while UW won a meaningless third game. Both King Asshole and The Viscount of Scrots put together turkeys to garner shots of Wild Turkey, while for winning the game our team won Jagie-bomb shots. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the bars to get these shots, we were already pretty tired, so they were mostly nursed.
Okay, time to skip to the end of the night. Everybody was wasted. I was near our hotel, for reasons that alcohol has prevented from reaching my long term memory. Suddenly I see the Viscount of Scrots stumbling down State St, head mostly down, in the direction of our hotel. However, he was not going to the hotel. I'm pretty sure that, had I not stopped him, he would've kept stumbling until he hit the Capitol Building. But I did stop him, and attempted to corral him, but unfortunately I did not have a key to get into the room and put him to bed. Earlier in the night, when offered a key, I declined, because I tend to lose things (cellphones, digital cameras, shoes) when I go out. So, I had to call up the Peasant of Pap Smear in order to get a key.
At this point, the story is as was related to me later by the Peasant of Pap Smear. Apparently, when he arrived, I was holding the Viscount of Scrots up against a brick wall with a forearm to the chest (he has about 4 inches and 40 pounds on me, mostly muscle and scrot). I was also apparently being completely belligerent with him, because (I suppose) of mounting frustration at dealing with this mountain of a man. So we took him upstairs as I forcefully and sarcastically pushed the Viscount of Scrots into the elevator. At this point, he started saying our room number (321) repeatedly, as in "3! 2! 1! Contact!" Also, there were two girls in the elevator, both of whom were invited into our room with as much grace as a 200 pound drunken zombie can muster, as PoPS and I repeatedly told the girls to ignore our friend.
Okay that's the most interesting stuff I can remember, but I'm sure there are things I'm forgetting, so if any of the "Capitol Gang" would care to add, go ahead.
June 7, 2005
Fake names we used on Saturday Night
Lately, my friends started informally awarding a King Tipsy honor to the person least able to handle his alcohol when we go out. Before going out last Saturday, there was a flurry of activity on our e-mail list. It started when Jared declared that he was going for the double award of both King Tipsy and the award of King of Assholes, which he had just made up, and after that the floodgates opened as everyone gave themselves feudal nicknames, which we referred to each other by all Saturday night in Madison. I will record them here for posterity, with brief explanations where appropriate. I know I didn't get them all down, and I am going to kick myself when I hear the ones I forgot, because they are hilarious, but nobody e-mailed them to me, so here they are.
- King Asshole - This one is for Jared, who was already one-half of the revered Euchre team "Team Asshole" with a legendary Green Bay Packer's Wide Receiver.
- Viscount of Scrots - This was awarded to Tone Loc. Mind you, "Scrots" is pronounced with a long 'o'. It is in honor of a certain part of his body which is large enough to be its own fiefdom.
- Peasant of Pap Smear - This was for the Wizard. It is completely nonsensical.
- Duke of Awesome - This is me. One time when filling out a magazine subscription card, in the spot that said "Title," I put "Duke of Awesome," because I thought it would be cool to get magazines addressed to that name.
- Prince of Sweetness - This is $, who once claimed to have been kicked out of a Green Bay bar because he was "too fuckin' sweet."
- Count of Crunk - This name was given to TZ.
- Earl of Inebriation - I think this was #1 Dad
- Vassal of Asshole - This one went to T Joynt, not because he's anymore of an asshole than the rest of us, but because we were so proud of our cleverness in coming up with it, and he was the last person to get a nickname
June 6, 2005
Weekend of organized binge drinking
This past weekend I headed to visit some friends in Milwaukee and Madison. On Friday night we went downtown in Milwaukee, where there was a festival called Riversplash in which Water Street (the street in downtown Milwaukee with all the bars) is opened up and it becomes legal to buy and consume beer in the street. As far as I could tell, the legality of drinking outdoors is the only feature of this "festival." During the summer, it seems Milwaukee has a festival just about every weekend in which drinking in the streets is encouraged. Many of these festivals celebrate the variety of ethnic groups that call Milwaukee home. All that changes is the area of Milwaukee where it is legal to drink, and the ethnic flavor of the food sold by street vendors. And there are different hats.
Anyways, we went to a bar with an outdoor patio where we could sit and drink. While there, we hung out with Tone Loc's new (to us) girlfriend, who made a crucial blunder in overestimating the restraint of her beau's friends. When getting up to get herself another drink, she politely asked if anyone else would like a drink. She probably made the reasonable assumption that she would not be inundated with drink requests by people who barely knew her. However, that assumption proved to be way off, as she immediately saw 6 hands go up with widely varying drink requests.
January 20, 2005
Sin City prepares for my arrival
I am going to Las Vegas this weekend to witness the marvel that is Chris Samp
play in a college football all star game
. The last time I went to Las Vegas was for a bachelor party in May 2003, and the town hasn't been the same since.
The groom's brother, who was also the best man, had told us he didn't want to do a cliche bachelor party with strippers and the like, because the groom was a fundamentalist Christian preparing for a career in the ministry. Somehow the best man didn't think his brother would mind the round-the-clock drunkenness, hours of gambling, and erotic nightclub dancing. Well played, my friend.
However, once we were there, I think it was inevitable that we would end up at a strip club, and we did. I had only been to one strip club before this, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and I figured they all looked like that one. In the U.P., we had 10 guys on a ski trip, maybe 1 or 2 older than 21. No one at the club seemed to mind that fact, as we probably doubled their alcohol sales for that month in our one night there. Anyways, the club in the U.P. had like 3 "dancers", and they took turns "dancing". Walking into the club in Las Vegas was like a kid walking into a candy store, assuming that kids like to have sex with candy. There are like 3 strippers per square foot in this place - they're so numerous that you are not even sure where to look.
You see, a man's brain is programmed to reflexively snap the head to look towards any naked woman that it sees. Inside this strip club, your head just starts snapping back and forth every time a new naked woman walks by, and it is completely out of your control. Every five minutes or so, your neck will get extremely tired. At this point, you need to go into a corner and just stare at the walls, so that your neck muscles get some time to recover.
There are a few funny things that happened here. First, a dancer asked Jared if he wanted a lap dance for $20. He tried to talk her down to $10, and in a very insulted voice she told him "$10? Reno is that way!" (pointing North with her nipple tassles). Then, we (Read: I) bought the groom a lap dance. I figured since it was us forcing "sin" upon him, he was not culpable and God would just add the punishment onto my already eternal sentence. Another stripper, undoubtedly down on her luck due to her old age and unsightly appearance, came over to me thinking I must be a big spender. Now, at this point all of us had settled down in seats to watch our friend awkwardly receive a lap dance. But this woman wouldn't leave me alone, and kept persisting that she wanted to dance for me. Finally, I got fed up and said: "FINE. If you really want to dance, go ahead, but I'm not going to watch you."
My friends now watched in hilarity as this woman danced in front of me. Meanwhile, I kept my promise and did not watch her at all. I was looking around her, because I was here for someone else's bachelor party. So now, the other guys are laughing their asses off, because I'm ignoring a lap dance, and our other friend is getting a lap dance, and they were drunk, so everything seemed funny even though as I read it here it doesn't sound funny.
There is a game that goes on during a lap dance. Strippers, not content with their upfront $20, will bombard you with ridiculous compliments in the hopes of receiving great tips. The intensity of the compliment is inversely related to the distance of your hand from your wallet, i.e. the closer you are to your money, the more flattering they are. However, I discovered that one can also illicit intense flattery by being completely disinterested, as I was - I wasn't even watching her. So, I was just responding to her compliments with smartassery, which I thought was really funny, but unfortunately no one heard me. For instance:
Stripper: "Wow! You're really good looking - you should be in movies."
Me: "What are you talking about? I own mirrors, you know. If I was good looking I think I'd know about it."
Then, noticing that didn't work:
Stripper: "You're huge! I've never danced for someone this big."
Me: "I've seen pornography, and while I certainly have nothing to be ashamed of, I find that really difficult to believe."
Frustrated with her futility, she goes for the jackpot:
Stripper: "I used to think that Abraham Lincoln was the greatest American ever, but now I think it's you."
Okay, she didn't really say that last one. Or the first two. Come to think of it, I was drunk the whole time so it may have all been a dream. Anyways, if she really wanted a tip, all she had to say was this:
Stripper: "I think you're the best computer scientist in the world."
Me: "How do I arrange to have my paychecks deposited into your checking account?"
And that was my first Las Vegas experience. I don't anticipate going to any strip clubs this time, so hopefully I can maintain a positive balance in my bank account. I will be taking pictures and copious notes this time though, so I will post anything interesting that happens.
Posted by mill1991 at 1:33 PM
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