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Story Time with EG - ***OFFICIAL THREAD*** (The "Magnum Opus" is complete 5/17/18) (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter Evilgrin 72
- Start date
Ditkaless Wonders
Footballguy
Quint
Footballguy
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
This the call of which I was doing an imitation. I haven't heard this in years. 
I just listened to it again, I can't believe how much #### I say on a regular basis that has its origins in this call. "Shoot, let me hear ya, shoot!" and "OK, you DO that..." in particular.
I just listened to it again, I can't believe how much #### I say on a regular basis that has its origins in this call. "Shoot, let me hear ya, shoot!" and "OK, you DO that..." in particular.
Ned
Footballguy
Ned
Footballguy
Last edited by a moderator:
Ned
Footballguy
Dan Lambskin
Footballguy
Ned
Footballguy
Ned
Footballguy
regularguy
Footballguy
Just
at the mention of Worldstar on one of Chappelle's new specials because of this story and couldn't explain to my wife why it was so funny.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
I just watched this. So good. The one with him in the small comedy club was OK, but the other one in the large theater was easily the best stand-up he's done since "Killing Them Softly," IMO.Just
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
OK, I originally intended the Preakness 99 story to be written over my last vacation (last Christmas) but it didn't get done, so I made it my mission to get it done by Preakness 2018. Over the next few days, this will unfurl over the course of several days and a number of chapters. This will be the longest story in the thread by a huge margin. Get your 
ready.
ready. 
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Seriously, this is crazy long. Like 20-25 pages in Word long. I wrote the outline and key points today, over the rest of the week, I'll be grabbing these and fleshing them out here every few hours.
DA RAIDERS
Footballguy
can't wait.
and tell the ox and yams to eat something. we don't care if they're older now.
and tell the ox and yams to eat something. we don't care if they're older now.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Ox would be down. Yams has a one year old now, we barely see him and when we do, it's for a couple of hours in the afternoon.can't wait.
and tell the ox and yams to eat something. we don't care if they're older now.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
This one is more insane than it is ha ha funny. It's so debauched that you're likely to just shake your head in disbelief. It's kind of like Jacka##.. fun to laugh at from afar, but you wouldn't want to hang out with these guys.
NotSmart
Footballguy
DocHolliday
Footballguy
Ned
Footballguy
Courtjester
The Town Drunk
While I am a huge EG fan, not sure this is the best timing to post this. I wouldn’t want to lose this thread too considering the new “G” rating being instituted.
Nevertheless
Nevertheless
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
OK, folks – we’ve reached the Preakness weekend of 1999. This may not be the funniest story I’ve ever posted, but it’s the most comprehensive and probably the weekend of my life most packed with sheer ridiculousness. Think of this as more of a long-form “interesting” story rather than a gut-busting one, and calibrate expectations accordingly. It starts off slower, but ramps up considerably as the weekend progresses….
Some of this you’ll read and think it’s exaggerated or outright made up, but hopefully by now, you all know me well enough to know that these stories require no embellishment. Strap in kids, this is going to be a bumpy ride.
First things first, a story of this magnitude requires you to be familiar with the cast of characters you’re about to spend some time with. There were eight of us on this fateful journey: myself, of course, plus Beef, Dan-O, Rose, Faz, Chad, Kev, and Jer-Mac. Now, Beef you’ve read about a little in previous tales (mainly the Vegas finale a few pages back,) but the rest are somewhat new to you.
Dan-O was Beef’s best friend, they went to Catholic school together. This guy was an utter maniac. He was constantly getting himself in trouble for his drunken stupidity. He’d been arrested several times for passing out on people’s lawns, possession of marijuana, he got himself kicked out of the hotel in Philly we were staying at for Beef’s wedding in 2007 for weed, etc. He usually had a passel of drugs with him everywhere he went and had a ton of cash due to his sweet job as a high-rise crane operator and union delegate.
Rose and Faz were best friends that were college buddies of Kev’s at Glassboro State. As out of control as Dan-O was, these guys were far worse. I’d never met anyone quite like them. I knew Faz quite well, but I only hung out extensively with Rose for the first time this weekend. Faz looked a little like Sebastian Bach – long blond hair, the 80s rocker look. This dude could pull trim like few human beings I had ever met. He had an impossibly smooth rap and was one of the most fun people to hang out with on Earth. He used to work for "This Week in Baseball" and somehow had the ability to draft his own schedule, so he would work for weeks on end without a day off to bank vacation time that he used to go to EVERYTHING. Great American Beer Festival? Woodstock? Cannabis Cup? Mardi Gras? Carnival? He was at all of them, every year. Anything that was an event that involved getting ####ed up, anywhere in the world, there was a 90% chance Faz was there. We were stuck in traffic on the BQE once going to a Pearl Jam show at Randall’s Island when he spotted our car in the logjam (we didn’t even know he was going) and he suddenly materialized on top of our car, climbed in through the sunroof without spilling his road beer, and landed in the back seat. As much fun as Faz was, Rose was his Mr. Hyde. A terrifying individual (he was roughly 6’4” and 250 pounds of pure rip with an unmistakable rage behind his eyes,) he was renowned for his temper and propensity to throw down at the drop of a hat. More on these two later.
Jer-Mac was a frat brother of Kev’s. He was quite possibly the most annoying human being on Earth if you didn’t know him, and still in the top top 20 if you did. He was one of those guys that was constantly jitterbugging around, jumping on people, just a ball of hyperactivity. He was a really good guy, but if you didn’t know him, his antics got tiresome in a hurry. Hell, even if you DID know him, they got tiresome, but you kind of just chalked it up to “that’s Jer-Mac” and moved on. He could be really funny if you weren’t the one that was the object of his attention, but if you were…boy, you needed a long fuse to hang out with this dude.
Finally, Kev and Chad were my two best friends from high school, and really to this day. I’ve known these guys forever and at the time of this story, Kev and I were living together in a condo we bought in our hometown. They’re genuinely great guys and two of the funniest people I have ever met. They also are maybe the only two people alive besides my brothers who enjoy drinking beer as much as I do.
OK, introductions out of the way, let’s get down to business…….. Chapter 1 to follow in the next hour or two.
Some of this you’ll read and think it’s exaggerated or outright made up, but hopefully by now, you all know me well enough to know that these stories require no embellishment. Strap in kids, this is going to be a bumpy ride.
First things first, a story of this magnitude requires you to be familiar with the cast of characters you’re about to spend some time with. There were eight of us on this fateful journey: myself, of course, plus Beef, Dan-O, Rose, Faz, Chad, Kev, and Jer-Mac. Now, Beef you’ve read about a little in previous tales (mainly the Vegas finale a few pages back,) but the rest are somewhat new to you.
Dan-O was Beef’s best friend, they went to Catholic school together. This guy was an utter maniac. He was constantly getting himself in trouble for his drunken stupidity. He’d been arrested several times for passing out on people’s lawns, possession of marijuana, he got himself kicked out of the hotel in Philly we were staying at for Beef’s wedding in 2007 for weed, etc. He usually had a passel of drugs with him everywhere he went and had a ton of cash due to his sweet job as a high-rise crane operator and union delegate.
Rose and Faz were best friends that were college buddies of Kev’s at Glassboro State. As out of control as Dan-O was, these guys were far worse. I’d never met anyone quite like them. I knew Faz quite well, but I only hung out extensively with Rose for the first time this weekend. Faz looked a little like Sebastian Bach – long blond hair, the 80s rocker look. This dude could pull trim like few human beings I had ever met. He had an impossibly smooth rap and was one of the most fun people to hang out with on Earth. He used to work for "This Week in Baseball" and somehow had the ability to draft his own schedule, so he would work for weeks on end without a day off to bank vacation time that he used to go to EVERYTHING. Great American Beer Festival? Woodstock? Cannabis Cup? Mardi Gras? Carnival? He was at all of them, every year. Anything that was an event that involved getting ####ed up, anywhere in the world, there was a 90% chance Faz was there. We were stuck in traffic on the BQE once going to a Pearl Jam show at Randall’s Island when he spotted our car in the logjam (we didn’t even know he was going) and he suddenly materialized on top of our car, climbed in through the sunroof without spilling his road beer, and landed in the back seat. As much fun as Faz was, Rose was his Mr. Hyde. A terrifying individual (he was roughly 6’4” and 250 pounds of pure rip with an unmistakable rage behind his eyes,) he was renowned for his temper and propensity to throw down at the drop of a hat. More on these two later.
Jer-Mac was a frat brother of Kev’s. He was quite possibly the most annoying human being on Earth if you didn’t know him, and still in the top top 20 if you did. He was one of those guys that was constantly jitterbugging around, jumping on people, just a ball of hyperactivity. He was a really good guy, but if you didn’t know him, his antics got tiresome in a hurry. Hell, even if you DID know him, they got tiresome, but you kind of just chalked it up to “that’s Jer-Mac” and moved on. He could be really funny if you weren’t the one that was the object of his attention, but if you were…boy, you needed a long fuse to hang out with this dude.
Finally, Kev and Chad were my two best friends from high school, and really to this day. I’ve known these guys forever and at the time of this story, Kev and I were living together in a condo we bought in our hometown. They’re genuinely great guys and two of the funniest people I have ever met. They also are maybe the only two people alive besides my brothers who enjoy drinking beer as much as I do.
OK, introductions out of the way, let’s get down to business…….. Chapter 1 to follow in the next hour or two.
Ditkaless Wonders
Footballguy
Drop your pants Sir William, I cannot wait til lunch.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
This is going to come in probably 4 to 6 installments. Maybe two a day for the next three days. It takes a long time to write these chapters, especially at work.Skipdog77 said:
mquinnjr
Footballguy
I hate to ask, but due to current climate in these parts as you write this can you tone down any and all potential objectification of women in this story? We all appreciate the yeoman work that goes into typing these stores out and maintaining this thread, I'll be hitting F5 all day. I'm just afraid of you getting a visit from the thought police, it's unfortunately come to that.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Chapter One
DAY ONE – Friday, May 14th, 1999. “The Calm Before the Storm.”
Kev and I had taken the day off of work and arrived at around 8 AM at Faz’s house, a few towns over from mine. Faz lived with his parents despite being 28 years old, strictly so that he didn’t have to “waste” money on rent and could spend every dime he made traveling around the world partying. He drove a beat-up old panel van that was big enough to fit all 8 of us, so he volunteered to make the 3 hour drive down to Baltimore. We knocked on his door – Faz yanked the door open and nearly fell over doing so. Kev and I looked at one another quizzically. Faz proceeded to explain…
EG: Dude, what the-?
Faz: Oh man, I was out last night, I woke up about a half hour ago so ####ing dehydrated and went downstairs and grabbed the orange juice. I just chugged the entire carton, but I forgot… last night when I got home, I spiked it.
Kev: What? You-
Faz: I poured like half a bottle of vodka into it when I got home. I was going to drink it last night, but I passed out. This morning, I forgot I had done that and drank the whole ####ing thing before I realized.
Kev: So you drank a half a bottle of vodka since you woke up?
EG: He’s driving….
Faz: Yeah, I ####ed up.
Kev: Greeeeeeaaat….
Shortly thereafter, Faz jumped behind the wheel, half-drunk, and started driving towards Baltimore. We made a couple of stops along the way to pick up the rest of the goon squad, and finally we were officially en route. Rose sat up front with Faz and the rest of us were cracking beers in the back and BSing as we prayed Faz wouldn’t kill us all before we even got to the state line. About an hour and change into the trip, I poked my head up front to see where we were, expecting to be on I-95. Instead, we were on some back road, driving past farms.
EG: Where the #### are we?
Faz: We’re making a brief pit stop.
EG: Where?
Faz: Glassboro – I have to stop in and see Michelle.
EG: Is she coming with us? I don’t know if there’s room back he-
Faz: Nah, I just have to stop in real quick.
Naturally, once I told everyone else that we were on some back road and were stopping in Glassboro, there were various annoyed exclamations and people began throwing empty beers at Faz’s head. Nevertheless, he soldiered on and soon we arrived at a house in Glassboro. Faz disappeared into a room behind closed doors for a while as the rest of us milled about on the porch and drank more beer. After a little while, Faz emerged, adjusting his junk through his pants and holding a large beverage.
Jer-Mac: I’m so glad we went out of the way so you could get laid, you buttwad.
Faz: Plus…. Check it out. Screwdrivers for everyone!
As if on cue, two girls come out of the house carrying 6 screwdrivers on trays. Now, when I say screwdriver, you may imagine a rocks glass or maybe even a highball. These were 7-11 Big Gulp cups. I took a sip of mine and nearly choked – it had to be 50% vodka at least. The girl looked at me apologetically as Faz yelled out “All right, round ‘em up! Let’s go!!” I heard at least one mild protest of “Haven’t you had enough screwdrivers already today, ###hole?” but next thing we knew, it was off to Baltimore with this drunken idiot behind the wheel.
We climbed back into the van and began drinking these preposterous cocktails that I later found out had 3 liters of vodka spread between them. How Faz coerced this out of these girls (or why they had that much vodka lying around,) I’ll never know. The dude was a cacksman. After about another hour or so, I had finished my drink and was already nearing blackout drunk - it wasn’t even noon yet. I can drink beers all day long, but large amounts of hard liquor on an empty stomach was kicking my ###. Everyone in the van was annihilated, including the driver, and we still had a long road and day ahead of us. Next thing I knew, we were stopped at the Maryland House traveler’s center. If you’ve never been there, it’s one of the most heavily trafficked rest stops in America, right on 95, and on a sunny Friday afternoon it was absolutely packed with people. We all went in and pissed and when we got out of the bathroom, saw that Faz and Jer-Mac had gotten their hands on a large superball from a vending machine. Faz climbed the stairs to a balcony overlooking the main floor of the central concourse in this huge rest area and was leaning over the railing, about 20 feet or so above the madding crowds. He yelled out: “OK, catch this!” and fired it down as hard as he could. It hit the floor in front of us and bounced at least 20-30 feet in the air, over our heads, and into the crowd. Jer-Mac faded back in pursuit, ignoring the people all around him, like a center fielder doggedly pursuing a fly ball hit well over his playing depth. I covered my eyes in anticipation, and seconds later I heard multiple voices yelling epithets. I knew before I even looked. Jer-Mac had crashed head-long into a family of 4 looking to get some Roy Rogers for lunch and knocked two kids to the floor. One kid was crying, the wife was screaming at Jer-Mac, the father looked like he was about to lose his mind. Several of us went running over to intercede before a full-scale brawl broke out and in short order, we got the hell out of the Maryland House.
A little while and several more beers later, we arrived at the Radisson Hotel in Inner Harbor to check in. By this time, I could barely stand up straight and literally fell out of the van onto the street when climbing out. Naturally, one of the three rooms was in my name, so I had to navigate going to the desk to check in. Somehow, I managed to get us checked in and we dropped off our crap up in the room and cracked new beers. Someone decided the best course of action was to head over to Pimlico for the Black-Eyed Susan, so we piled back into the van for the drive over to the track. At this point, I blacked out entirely. I knew from the cash in my wallet later that night that I somehow won money while we were there, but I honestly do not remember a single second of being at the track that day.
The next (hazy) memory I have is being back at the hotel after the race and hearing a commotion in the hallway. Apparently, Jer-Mac had lost his brand new cell phone at Pimlico during the afternoon session and was freaking out about it. This was still in the infancy of cell phones and his job (he was a NYC Transit cop) had paid for it, and he was going to be in a world of #### if he lost it. Chad was out in the hallway trying to calm him down when suddenly, I heard an ungodly crashing sound. I ran out into the hall and saw that Jer-Mac had yanked a huge framed, glass-covered painting in the hallway off the wall and thrown it down the hall, where it hit the ground and exploded in a cloud of broken glass, which now littered the entire hall carpet. (Side note: the hotel ultimately billed my room for the broken painting and it took me a month to get cheap-### Jer-Mac to write me a check for the damages.) Jer-Mac ultimately left and took a taxi back to Pimlico with a flashlight to look for his phone (he never found it) while the rest of us went to the bar at Shula’s Steak House in the hotel to scout out the local talent. The last thing I remember clearly was Faz telling me surreptitiously to go to the bathroom and go in the first stall, close the door, and look around. I did so, and found a line that would have sent Sam Kinison into orbit cut up on the toilet paper dispenser. That kept me on auto-pilot for a couple more hours before we all retired with plans to meet in Faz’s room the next morning at 8 AM to get the charter bus that was taking us to Pimlico. I remember thinking as I drifted off to sleep that this day was some appetizer to the main course on Saturday. I had no idea…..
DAY ONE – Friday, May 14th, 1999. “The Calm Before the Storm.”
Kev and I had taken the day off of work and arrived at around 8 AM at Faz’s house, a few towns over from mine. Faz lived with his parents despite being 28 years old, strictly so that he didn’t have to “waste” money on rent and could spend every dime he made traveling around the world partying. He drove a beat-up old panel van that was big enough to fit all 8 of us, so he volunteered to make the 3 hour drive down to Baltimore. We knocked on his door – Faz yanked the door open and nearly fell over doing so. Kev and I looked at one another quizzically. Faz proceeded to explain…
EG: Dude, what the-?
Faz: Oh man, I was out last night, I woke up about a half hour ago so ####ing dehydrated and went downstairs and grabbed the orange juice. I just chugged the entire carton, but I forgot… last night when I got home, I spiked it.
Kev: What? You-
Faz: I poured like half a bottle of vodka into it when I got home. I was going to drink it last night, but I passed out. This morning, I forgot I had done that and drank the whole ####ing thing before I realized.
Kev: So you drank a half a bottle of vodka since you woke up?
EG: He’s driving….
Faz: Yeah, I ####ed up.
Kev: Greeeeeeaaat….
Shortly thereafter, Faz jumped behind the wheel, half-drunk, and started driving towards Baltimore. We made a couple of stops along the way to pick up the rest of the goon squad, and finally we were officially en route. Rose sat up front with Faz and the rest of us were cracking beers in the back and BSing as we prayed Faz wouldn’t kill us all before we even got to the state line. About an hour and change into the trip, I poked my head up front to see where we were, expecting to be on I-95. Instead, we were on some back road, driving past farms.
EG: Where the #### are we?
Faz: We’re making a brief pit stop.
EG: Where?
Faz: Glassboro – I have to stop in and see Michelle.
EG: Is she coming with us? I don’t know if there’s room back he-
Faz: Nah, I just have to stop in real quick.
Naturally, once I told everyone else that we were on some back road and were stopping in Glassboro, there were various annoyed exclamations and people began throwing empty beers at Faz’s head. Nevertheless, he soldiered on and soon we arrived at a house in Glassboro. Faz disappeared into a room behind closed doors for a while as the rest of us milled about on the porch and drank more beer. After a little while, Faz emerged, adjusting his junk through his pants and holding a large beverage.
Jer-Mac: I’m so glad we went out of the way so you could get laid, you buttwad.
Faz: Plus…. Check it out. Screwdrivers for everyone!
As if on cue, two girls come out of the house carrying 6 screwdrivers on trays. Now, when I say screwdriver, you may imagine a rocks glass or maybe even a highball. These were 7-11 Big Gulp cups. I took a sip of mine and nearly choked – it had to be 50% vodka at least. The girl looked at me apologetically as Faz yelled out “All right, round ‘em up! Let’s go!!” I heard at least one mild protest of “Haven’t you had enough screwdrivers already today, ###hole?” but next thing we knew, it was off to Baltimore with this drunken idiot behind the wheel.
We climbed back into the van and began drinking these preposterous cocktails that I later found out had 3 liters of vodka spread between them. How Faz coerced this out of these girls (or why they had that much vodka lying around,) I’ll never know. The dude was a cacksman. After about another hour or so, I had finished my drink and was already nearing blackout drunk - it wasn’t even noon yet. I can drink beers all day long, but large amounts of hard liquor on an empty stomach was kicking my ###. Everyone in the van was annihilated, including the driver, and we still had a long road and day ahead of us. Next thing I knew, we were stopped at the Maryland House traveler’s center. If you’ve never been there, it’s one of the most heavily trafficked rest stops in America, right on 95, and on a sunny Friday afternoon it was absolutely packed with people. We all went in and pissed and when we got out of the bathroom, saw that Faz and Jer-Mac had gotten their hands on a large superball from a vending machine. Faz climbed the stairs to a balcony overlooking the main floor of the central concourse in this huge rest area and was leaning over the railing, about 20 feet or so above the madding crowds. He yelled out: “OK, catch this!” and fired it down as hard as he could. It hit the floor in front of us and bounced at least 20-30 feet in the air, over our heads, and into the crowd. Jer-Mac faded back in pursuit, ignoring the people all around him, like a center fielder doggedly pursuing a fly ball hit well over his playing depth. I covered my eyes in anticipation, and seconds later I heard multiple voices yelling epithets. I knew before I even looked. Jer-Mac had crashed head-long into a family of 4 looking to get some Roy Rogers for lunch and knocked two kids to the floor. One kid was crying, the wife was screaming at Jer-Mac, the father looked like he was about to lose his mind. Several of us went running over to intercede before a full-scale brawl broke out and in short order, we got the hell out of the Maryland House.
A little while and several more beers later, we arrived at the Radisson Hotel in Inner Harbor to check in. By this time, I could barely stand up straight and literally fell out of the van onto the street when climbing out. Naturally, one of the three rooms was in my name, so I had to navigate going to the desk to check in. Somehow, I managed to get us checked in and we dropped off our crap up in the room and cracked new beers. Someone decided the best course of action was to head over to Pimlico for the Black-Eyed Susan, so we piled back into the van for the drive over to the track. At this point, I blacked out entirely. I knew from the cash in my wallet later that night that I somehow won money while we were there, but I honestly do not remember a single second of being at the track that day.
The next (hazy) memory I have is being back at the hotel after the race and hearing a commotion in the hallway. Apparently, Jer-Mac had lost his brand new cell phone at Pimlico during the afternoon session and was freaking out about it. This was still in the infancy of cell phones and his job (he was a NYC Transit cop) had paid for it, and he was going to be in a world of #### if he lost it. Chad was out in the hallway trying to calm him down when suddenly, I heard an ungodly crashing sound. I ran out into the hall and saw that Jer-Mac had yanked a huge framed, glass-covered painting in the hallway off the wall and thrown it down the hall, where it hit the ground and exploded in a cloud of broken glass, which now littered the entire hall carpet. (Side note: the hotel ultimately billed my room for the broken painting and it took me a month to get cheap-### Jer-Mac to write me a check for the damages.) Jer-Mac ultimately left and took a taxi back to Pimlico with a flashlight to look for his phone (he never found it) while the rest of us went to the bar at Shula’s Steak House in the hotel to scout out the local talent. The last thing I remember clearly was Faz telling me surreptitiously to go to the bathroom and go in the first stall, close the door, and look around. I did so, and found a line that would have sent Sam Kinison into orbit cut up on the toilet paper dispenser. That kept me on auto-pilot for a couple more hours before we all retired with plans to meet in Faz’s room the next morning at 8 AM to get the charter bus that was taking us to Pimlico. I remember thinking as I drifted off to sleep that this day was some appetizer to the main course on Saturday. I had no idea…..
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Chapter 2 s/b right around lunch time (EDT.) Chapter 3 hopefully later today.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Chapter Two
DAY TWO – PREAKNESS DAY, Saturday, May 15th, 1999. “The Call to Post”
I awakened at 6:15 AM to the unmistakable sound of a beer can being opened, followed by cold foam landing on my face. I sat up, head pounding, to see Dan-O standing over me, crushing a beer and yelling at me to get up and party. As I politely asked him to get the #### out of my room, I grabbed a bottle of water and started drinking it.
Dan-O: [EG], you pu##y! Water? Drink a beer, Nancy!
EG: I’ve been awake for 10 seconds. Has it come to this? You can’t even take a swallow of water first without getting razzed?
Dan-O: I’m on my third beer already.
EG: It’s 6 o’clock in the morning! What are you doing? I don't want to live like this!!!
A beer landed firmly on my nuts. That will wake you up. I opened it and started drinking it and slowly began the process of crapping and showering, feeling like I was going to vomit at any moment. I looked at the beer I’d brought in to the shower with me, just sitting there next to the shampoo as the water beat off my back and wondered for the first time in my life if I had a drinking problem (I didn’t.)
By 8, we’d all gotten up and were ready to go, so 5 of us shuffled down to Faz’s room and knocked on the door, expecting the three in that room to be ready. Much to our chagrin, Faz answered the door in a pair of leopard-print bikini underwear, and nothing else. The room was in disarray, no one had moved, and two of them were still asleep.
EG: Damn it…. why did you have us here at 8:00 when you guys are still sleeping? And will you put on some GD pants please?
Faz: Bus is picking us up at 9.
Kev: So why are we here at 8? Also, did you drink half a bottle of vodka while you slept?
Faz: Pre-party, man. (To the two dudes sleeping): GET THE F### UP !!!!!!!!
Faz walked over and put Metallica on the stereo he brought along (you read that correctly, a stereo, complete with full-size speakers) and cranked it to max volume. In a hotel. At 8 AM. He immediately fired up a spliff he had rolled and handed it to me.
Faz: You feel like crap? Hit this a couple times, I got this from some dude I met in Atlantic City. It’s crippler.
We all got stoned to the bejesus belt and Dan-O opened his fifth beer of the morning when Faz began to introduce me to part 2 of his “patented” hangover cure.
Faz: OK, step right this way, good sir. All you need to do now is-NOOOOOOOOOOOOO !
He screamed at the exact moment that Rose took a wastebasket he’d filled with beers and ice from the ice machine and tossed it up on the desk in the room.
Rose: What?
Faz : ###hole !!! The “X” was up there !!!!! Oh no…………
Faz lifted the trash can and all of his ecstasy was now powdered and stuck to the bottom of the waste bin. He frantically began scraping it off the bottom of the can onto the desk and licking the desk. This was not a good hangover cure, I wanted to throw up even more than I did before.
Faz: [EG], come here, you can still get some…..
EG: Pass.
Faz: Well, that sucks.
A few minutes later, Rose came out of the shower, ready to go. His hair was slicked back with some kind of gel and he was sporting a Limp Bizkit t-shirt. Kev made a comment about the shirt, and the ball-breaking began almost immediately.
Rose: Whatever, Kev – you scrawny mother####er. This guy (points at Dan-O) is wearing a pink polo shirt and you’re giving me ####?
At this point, he made a comment directed at me that I cannot recall. Now, I am never one to let an opportunity to zing someone pass, but this guy was enormous and had a reputation for violence; I had no idea what kind of drugs he’d already done, and he barely knew me. I considered letting the moment pass, but my friends were all waiting on a snappy retort. I was renowned for being a world-class roaster among our group and they were eagerly anticipating the comeback. I took a calculated risk and said “OK, but at least I don’t look like I combed my hair with a ####ing pork chop.” The room exploded in laughter, more than I had hoped for. A few chuckles and it probably just ended there, but there was so much uproarious laughter that Rose began to get embarrassed. I could see an anger in his eyes that was unsettling and he began walking towards me. For a few seconds, I was sure that I was about to get thrown out of the window down onto the street. Then slowly….. a smile creased his lips and he began laughing along with everyone else. I tried not to let my face betray the enormous relief I felt as he stuck his hand out to slap mine and said “OK, that was good.”
At this point, I started talking to someone else when there was suddenly a pounding on the door, barely audible over the sounds of “Master of Puppets.” Faz answered the door, still wearing only leopard print bikini underwear, and a security guard was standing in the hallway.
Security Guard: You have to turn that radio down, and I can smell the weed from the elevator. Come on. And there’s broken glass everywhere, did you guy-
***SLAM***
Faz, without saying a word, slammed the door in the security guards face and, without even turning the radio down, did a huge line.
Kev: There’s no way on Earth we’re not getting kicked out of this hotel.
Chad: Seriously, we gotta get out of here. Let’s go wait in the lobby.
We left Faz and the others in his room and went downstairs with our gigantic cooler full of beers to wait in the lobby for the chartered bus taking us and a bunch of others to Pimlico. Shortly thereafter, the bus pulled up and we dragged our cooler on, blocking the entire aisle, and staked out some seats. We had two sections of four seats, two of which were facing the other two in each, with a little table in between. Perfect for beer drinking, card playing, whatever ensued. Faz, Rose, and Jer-Mac came down a few minutes later and piled in and we were off to the race. Dan-O opened his ninth beer of the morning and I tried to warn him since it was his first Preakness, that this was a marathon and not a sprint. He paid me no heed.
We arrived at the track after the cross-town ride and paid some neighborhood kids $5 each to drag our gigantic coolers from where the bus dropped us off to the track entrance. We went in, through the tunnel that runs under the track and into the still mostly-empty infield. We staked out a spot right near the fence on the backstretch near the final turn and began emptying beers aggressively. I believe we had 12-14 cases for the 8 of us, so it was time to get to business. Except for Dan-O, who fell asleep in a lawn chair by 10:30 after beer 11. Naturally, we spent the next half hour sticking French fries in his nose, putting empty beers on his head, etc and taking photos. At one point, Beef dropped trou and stuck his buttocks in Dan-O’s face and we got a shot of that. Right after the photo was taken, Rose pushed Beef from the front and drove him backwards towards Dan-O. The resulting as#face was so powerful that it knocked Dan-O and his chair over backwards and he came crashing to the ground, breaking one of the hinges on his sunglasses, which he then put back on and proceeded to continue to wear, cockeyed, for the rest of the day. It did, however, wake him up and get him back into the beer cooler.
Over the next few hours, the drunken tomfoolery continued to escalate. At one point, some guy walked into our little area while we had the beer bong out and told us he could funnel a beer through his nose. We naturally refused to believe it, but this SOB stuck the funnel up to his nose and drank the entire beer through his nostril, barely spilling a drop. It was possibly the most impressive beer-drinking feat I have ever witnessed, to this day. We asked him if we could trade Dan-O to his group and keep him for the rest of the day, but he declined. A few hours later, some dude wandered into our circle, bombed out of his gourd, and just stood there. As we looked at one another, wondering what he wanted, he just passed out cold, falling right on his face, and was sound asleep. Of course, we rolled him over and Beef started pouring beer on his face from about 5 feet up. He woke up, mega-pissed off and wanted to fight. Beef is about 5’7” but built like a fire hydrant; he was a rugby player for years and is not to be trifled with. Ultimately, the guy realized the futility of trying to go 1-on-8 ( even 1-on-1 wouldn’t have ended well for him) and wandered off grumbling to himself.
The fighting spirit must have been in the air, because a couple of hours later, during the Preakness itself, some guy from a neighboring party climbed the fence between the infield and track and started walking out towards the track. I didn’t see him at first, but as he got closer, Kev yelled out to us, “Look at this ####ing guy.” The rest is history as he ran out onto the track as the horses came down the backstretch and tried to punch one of the horses. If you haven’t heard of this, you can watch it here: Guy tries to punch horse at Preakness. The fact that he didn’t get trampled to death was a miracle in and of itself, but the security/cops handled what the horses didn’t and dragged him off to jail.
After the race, we were getting ready to head for the bus that would take us back to the hotel and were finishing beers and packing up our chairs, etc. I was standing in a circle of a few people when Kev suddenly started slowly tipping backwards, unprovoked, and then just fell from a standing position right onto his tuchus, like a diaper-wearing toddler who leaned backwards too far. He was just sitting there looking up at us and there was a pregnant pause in the air as everyone prepared to start making fun of him. A split-second before anyone could say anything, however, Kev just looked up at the smiling group of people around him and, without missing a beat, said: “You’re the one that fell…..” It was so damned funny in the moment that everyone just started cracking up instead of breaking his balls. It was the most impressive defusing of what would have been at least an hour of abuse that I’ve ever witnessed.
Ultimately, we got our stuff together and headed out of the track, everyone completely destroyed, to try to find the charter bus to take us back to the Inner Harbor. You’d think that with the race over, things would settle down, but little did I know that #### was about to shift to “insane mode”….
DAY TWO – PREAKNESS DAY, Saturday, May 15th, 1999. “The Call to Post”
I awakened at 6:15 AM to the unmistakable sound of a beer can being opened, followed by cold foam landing on my face. I sat up, head pounding, to see Dan-O standing over me, crushing a beer and yelling at me to get up and party. As I politely asked him to get the #### out of my room, I grabbed a bottle of water and started drinking it.
Dan-O: [EG], you pu##y! Water? Drink a beer, Nancy!
EG: I’ve been awake for 10 seconds. Has it come to this? You can’t even take a swallow of water first without getting razzed?
Dan-O: I’m on my third beer already.
EG: It’s 6 o’clock in the morning! What are you doing? I don't want to live like this!!!
A beer landed firmly on my nuts. That will wake you up. I opened it and started drinking it and slowly began the process of crapping and showering, feeling like I was going to vomit at any moment. I looked at the beer I’d brought in to the shower with me, just sitting there next to the shampoo as the water beat off my back and wondered for the first time in my life if I had a drinking problem (I didn’t.)
By 8, we’d all gotten up and were ready to go, so 5 of us shuffled down to Faz’s room and knocked on the door, expecting the three in that room to be ready. Much to our chagrin, Faz answered the door in a pair of leopard-print bikini underwear, and nothing else. The room was in disarray, no one had moved, and two of them were still asleep.
EG: Damn it…. why did you have us here at 8:00 when you guys are still sleeping? And will you put on some GD pants please?
Faz: Bus is picking us up at 9.
Kev: So why are we here at 8? Also, did you drink half a bottle of vodka while you slept?
Faz: Pre-party, man. (To the two dudes sleeping): GET THE F### UP !!!!!!!!
Faz walked over and put Metallica on the stereo he brought along (you read that correctly, a stereo, complete with full-size speakers) and cranked it to max volume. In a hotel. At 8 AM. He immediately fired up a spliff he had rolled and handed it to me.
Faz: You feel like crap? Hit this a couple times, I got this from some dude I met in Atlantic City. It’s crippler.
We all got stoned to the bejesus belt and Dan-O opened his fifth beer of the morning when Faz began to introduce me to part 2 of his “patented” hangover cure.
Faz: OK, step right this way, good sir. All you need to do now is-NOOOOOOOOOOOOO !
He screamed at the exact moment that Rose took a wastebasket he’d filled with beers and ice from the ice machine and tossed it up on the desk in the room.
Rose: What?
Faz : ###hole !!! The “X” was up there !!!!! Oh no…………
Faz lifted the trash can and all of his ecstasy was now powdered and stuck to the bottom of the waste bin. He frantically began scraping it off the bottom of the can onto the desk and licking the desk. This was not a good hangover cure, I wanted to throw up even more than I did before.
Faz: [EG], come here, you can still get some…..
EG: Pass.
Faz: Well, that sucks.
A few minutes later, Rose came out of the shower, ready to go. His hair was slicked back with some kind of gel and he was sporting a Limp Bizkit t-shirt. Kev made a comment about the shirt, and the ball-breaking began almost immediately.
Rose: Whatever, Kev – you scrawny mother####er. This guy (points at Dan-O) is wearing a pink polo shirt and you’re giving me ####?
At this point, he made a comment directed at me that I cannot recall. Now, I am never one to let an opportunity to zing someone pass, but this guy was enormous and had a reputation for violence; I had no idea what kind of drugs he’d already done, and he barely knew me. I considered letting the moment pass, but my friends were all waiting on a snappy retort. I was renowned for being a world-class roaster among our group and they were eagerly anticipating the comeback. I took a calculated risk and said “OK, but at least I don’t look like I combed my hair with a ####ing pork chop.” The room exploded in laughter, more than I had hoped for. A few chuckles and it probably just ended there, but there was so much uproarious laughter that Rose began to get embarrassed. I could see an anger in his eyes that was unsettling and he began walking towards me. For a few seconds, I was sure that I was about to get thrown out of the window down onto the street. Then slowly….. a smile creased his lips and he began laughing along with everyone else. I tried not to let my face betray the enormous relief I felt as he stuck his hand out to slap mine and said “OK, that was good.”
At this point, I started talking to someone else when there was suddenly a pounding on the door, barely audible over the sounds of “Master of Puppets.” Faz answered the door, still wearing only leopard print bikini underwear, and a security guard was standing in the hallway.
Security Guard: You have to turn that radio down, and I can smell the weed from the elevator. Come on. And there’s broken glass everywhere, did you guy-
***SLAM***
Faz, without saying a word, slammed the door in the security guards face and, without even turning the radio down, did a huge line.
Kev: There’s no way on Earth we’re not getting kicked out of this hotel.
Chad: Seriously, we gotta get out of here. Let’s go wait in the lobby.
We left Faz and the others in his room and went downstairs with our gigantic cooler full of beers to wait in the lobby for the chartered bus taking us and a bunch of others to Pimlico. Shortly thereafter, the bus pulled up and we dragged our cooler on, blocking the entire aisle, and staked out some seats. We had two sections of four seats, two of which were facing the other two in each, with a little table in between. Perfect for beer drinking, card playing, whatever ensued. Faz, Rose, and Jer-Mac came down a few minutes later and piled in and we were off to the race. Dan-O opened his ninth beer of the morning and I tried to warn him since it was his first Preakness, that this was a marathon and not a sprint. He paid me no heed.
We arrived at the track after the cross-town ride and paid some neighborhood kids $5 each to drag our gigantic coolers from where the bus dropped us off to the track entrance. We went in, through the tunnel that runs under the track and into the still mostly-empty infield. We staked out a spot right near the fence on the backstretch near the final turn and began emptying beers aggressively. I believe we had 12-14 cases for the 8 of us, so it was time to get to business. Except for Dan-O, who fell asleep in a lawn chair by 10:30 after beer 11. Naturally, we spent the next half hour sticking French fries in his nose, putting empty beers on his head, etc and taking photos. At one point, Beef dropped trou and stuck his buttocks in Dan-O’s face and we got a shot of that. Right after the photo was taken, Rose pushed Beef from the front and drove him backwards towards Dan-O. The resulting as#face was so powerful that it knocked Dan-O and his chair over backwards and he came crashing to the ground, breaking one of the hinges on his sunglasses, which he then put back on and proceeded to continue to wear, cockeyed, for the rest of the day. It did, however, wake him up and get him back into the beer cooler.
Over the next few hours, the drunken tomfoolery continued to escalate. At one point, some guy walked into our little area while we had the beer bong out and told us he could funnel a beer through his nose. We naturally refused to believe it, but this SOB stuck the funnel up to his nose and drank the entire beer through his nostril, barely spilling a drop. It was possibly the most impressive beer-drinking feat I have ever witnessed, to this day. We asked him if we could trade Dan-O to his group and keep him for the rest of the day, but he declined. A few hours later, some dude wandered into our circle, bombed out of his gourd, and just stood there. As we looked at one another, wondering what he wanted, he just passed out cold, falling right on his face, and was sound asleep. Of course, we rolled him over and Beef started pouring beer on his face from about 5 feet up. He woke up, mega-pissed off and wanted to fight. Beef is about 5’7” but built like a fire hydrant; he was a rugby player for years and is not to be trifled with. Ultimately, the guy realized the futility of trying to go 1-on-8 ( even 1-on-1 wouldn’t have ended well for him) and wandered off grumbling to himself.
The fighting spirit must have been in the air, because a couple of hours later, during the Preakness itself, some guy from a neighboring party climbed the fence between the infield and track and started walking out towards the track. I didn’t see him at first, but as he got closer, Kev yelled out to us, “Look at this ####ing guy.” The rest is history as he ran out onto the track as the horses came down the backstretch and tried to punch one of the horses. If you haven’t heard of this, you can watch it here: Guy tries to punch horse at Preakness. The fact that he didn’t get trampled to death was a miracle in and of itself, but the security/cops handled what the horses didn’t and dragged him off to jail.
After the race, we were getting ready to head for the bus that would take us back to the hotel and were finishing beers and packing up our chairs, etc. I was standing in a circle of a few people when Kev suddenly started slowly tipping backwards, unprovoked, and then just fell from a standing position right onto his tuchus, like a diaper-wearing toddler who leaned backwards too far. He was just sitting there looking up at us and there was a pregnant pause in the air as everyone prepared to start making fun of him. A split-second before anyone could say anything, however, Kev just looked up at the smiling group of people around him and, without missing a beat, said: “You’re the one that fell…..” It was so damned funny in the moment that everyone just started cracking up instead of breaking his balls. It was the most impressive defusing of what would have been at least an hour of abuse that I’ve ever witnessed.
Ultimately, we got our stuff together and headed out of the track, everyone completely destroyed, to try to find the charter bus to take us back to the Inner Harbor. You’d think that with the race over, things would settle down, but little did I know that #### was about to shift to “insane mode”….
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Chapters 3 & 4 will cover Saturday night in two parts. Chapter 5 will cover Sunday and Chapter 6, the aftermath.
DocHolliday
Footballguy
EG, on top of being a maniac, you write well. You really should write a book of short stories and become wealthy.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
I was hoping this would convey in print. It was so GD funny - it came out so quickly that he completely shunted off what would have been at least an hour of ribbing at his expense. It also became a "meme" among us - "You're the one that ______________." It survives to this day, in fact, not more than an hour ago, I saw Kev type it to someone on Facebook.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Thanks man. I wouldn't even know how to begin getting it published if I did ever sit down and really write them.
Buzzbait
Footballguy
Wasn't the security guard still there when you left? Did he get the door slammed in his face and just go back downstairs?
You can take alcohol into Pimlico? I've been the Ky Derby numerous times and bringing alcohol in isn't allowed. One of the traditions is always finding new & inventive ways of getting alcohol in. Last time we went we took several styrofoam coolers in with nothing but soda inside. As we approached the gate we dumped a ton of pure grain into the cooler so it look just looked like melting ice. Then, once inside, got rid of all the soda and dumped some kool aid (or other powdered mix) into with the pure grain. We partied with nurses last time and they took the bottom off of 2 liter bottles and used a syringe to siphon out all the soda. Then with the same tiny hole and syringe injected their alcohol, sealed the hole and glued the bottom back on. Where there's a will there a way.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
The security guard apparently left, presumably to take some other action. We left shortly after him and no one ever reported seeing him again, so if he did anything else, they must have vacated the room before he came back. How we didn't get punted from this hotel, especially after what you're going to read in chapter 4, is a miracle.Wasn't the security guard still there when you left? Did he get the door slammed in his face and just go back downstairs?
You can take alcohol into Pimlico? I've been the Ky Derby numerous times and bringing alcohol in isn't allowed. One of the traditions is always finding new & inventive ways of getting alcohol in. Last time we went we took several styrofoam coolers in with nothing but soda inside. As we approached the gate we dumped a ton of pure grain into the cooler so it look just looked like melting ice. Then, once inside, got rid of all the soda and dumped some kool aid (or other powdered mix) into with the pure grain. We partied with nurses last time and they took the bottom off of 2 liter bottles and used a syringe to siphon out all the soda. Then with the same tiny hole and syringe injected their alcohol, sealed the hole and glued the bottom back on. Where there's a will there a way.
You used to be able to bring your own beer to Pimlico, but the Generation Yers effed it up for everyone. They started running across the tops of the porta-potties while people threw beer cans at them (you can find this on YouTube) and not long after, they banned BYOB. I haven't been back since.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
In fact, after they banned coolers, they came up with Kegasus, the half-man half horse, all party-animal as their new mascot. I saw that they were going to have a Q&A with this mythological being in the Washington Post, so I enlisted my brothers and we sent in a bunch of questions. Evidently, we were nearly the only ones, as roughly 75% of the Qs that are answered came from us. It's not hard to figure out which ones - in fact, two of the people from this story are name-checked here as I submitted questions with their names, largely based on this story. You can read it here if you'd like....
https://live.washingtonpost.com/kegasus-mascot-for-preakness.html
https://live.washingtonpost.com/kegasus-mascot-for-preakness.html
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
It killed a little too hard. I was afraid I was going to be killed. There's no way to overstate just how nervous I was for about 5 seconds there. This will become even more clear in chapter 4, when #### really starts to go off the rails."... and wondered for the first time in my life if I had a drinking problem (I didn’t.)"
also, that "combed your hair with a porkchop" line is a great one to have in your back pocket. it has to be the perfect situation, and it kills 100% of the time.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Chapter Three
Evening, Saturday, May 15th, 1999. “The Downward Spiral Begins.”
Not long after we walked out of the physical confines of Pimlico Race Track, it became glaringly obvious that no one knew or was in a condition to figure out how to get to where the bus was waiting for us. Knowing that there were at least 30 other people on this bus besides us and that it couldn’t leave without us should have given us a sense of urgency not to hold everyone up, but the opposite was true. Faz, who had been ingesting a seemingly never-end galaxy of drugs all day long from cocaine to ecstasy to ketamine to marijuana to LSD (not kidding) was taking control of the group and quickly leading us….. nowhere. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been to Pimlico, but some of the neighborhoods around there are a bit shady and we were wandering around, seemingly in circles. At one point, we just stopped walking and started funneling beers on someone’s front lawn. I was trying to get us going in the right direction, but after probably 30-40 beers, I wasn’t having a ton of success. People were in various states of drunkenness, but Chad was the worst of the bunch by far. We practically had to hold him upright at this point.
Eventually, we came out to a relatively major thoroughfare and Beef started confidently leading the way, saying we were getting close. He forged off a little ahead of the following group and we approached a 7-11 (or possibly a gas station, but we’ll call it 7-11) at an intersection. There was a fairly steep, grassy hill he was about to lead us down to the 7-11 parking lot when I bizarrely decided to run up and jump on his back. I have no idea why I did this, but the second I landed on his back and locked on, he lost his balance and the two of us went to the ground. Naturally, he was literally two steps down the hill, so we rolled over and over one another like Happy Gilmore and Bob Barker all the way down to the bottom and landed on the concrete at the edge of the parking lot. Some woman coming out of the 7-11 nearly had a heart attack as we rolled, intertwined, right to her feet. Everyone else besides Beef was cracking up laughing as I issued a half-hearted “Ummm, sorry?” We got up and brushed as much dirt and grass off of ourselves as we could when I heard Jer-Mac yell out: “Hey, I think he’s right, this is the right way!”
Jer-Mac now took the lead, despite Beef’s protests that he was deviating from the correct path, as we walked along a road and ended up…. back at the race track. I felt like the guys from Spinal Tap at his point, and our continued failure to find the right route was fraying a couple of people’s nerves – mainly Chad, who was barely ambulatory and desperate to get back to the hotel, and Beef, who was now walking with a slight limp and was covered with dirt and grass stains. We ended up walking down a one way street with a huge line of vehicular traffic behind us, unable to pass us as we were staggering around in the middle of the street. At one point, the lead car, a Mercedes 500, rolled a window down and an older gentleman leaned out and shouted out: “Excuse me. We’re headed to a dinner at the Governor’s Mansion, can you please move to one side?” Beef somehow felt slighted by this, as if this man’s appeal was meant to signify to us that he was “better than us,” and he took action. He spun around, ran at the car and jumped onto the hood. As he extended a middle finger, he shouted “Yeah? Well f##k the Governor and f##k you !!!!” He then proceeded to chug half the beer he was carrying and spit-sprayed beer all over the guy’s windshield before jumping off the hood. Had I been sober, I probably would have felt bad for the guy, but Kev, Dan-O and I were nearly passing out from laughter in the moment. To this day, nearly two decades later, “F--- the Governor and f--- you” is used as a dismissive phrase whenever any members of this group get together – you’re nearly guaranteed to hear it at least once a night.
After a few more minutes of reversing direction, we came upon a major highway. I honestly don’t know what highway it was, but it was a major interstate type of road (looking at a map now, I’m nearly convinced it was Rt. 83, which is nowhere near where we needed to be.) Somehow, it was decided upon that we needed to get across it to get to where we needed to go, which to me seemed like the worst idea ever. I protested, stating the obvious, that someone was going to die if we attempted to traverse a major highway with multiple gigantic coolers, piss-drunk. This, for some reason, further enraged Chad, who now suddenly had an adrenaline burst.
Chad : “F### this !! We have to get the f### out of here !”
EG : “I know, but if we try to drag these coolers across a highway, someone’s going to get run over. Plus, I’m pretty sure we don’t need to cross this road, we have to head back the other way….”
Chad : “F### the coolers !!!!!!!!!!!”
Chad then grabbed the (brand new) cooler (that I’d just spent $50 on) and heaved it into the middle of the freeway.
EG: “What the hell are you doing, you moron?!! You’re going to kill someone! THERE WAS STILL BEER IN THERE !!”
It took about 10 seconds before an oncoming car clipped the cooler and shot it into the median, ending the immediate threat to Maryland's drivers, but surely ruining the cooler and whatever beer was left in it. I was aggravated by the loss of money and beer, but more relieved that he hadn’t caused a major accident than I was annoyed. I pointed out that we could easily get arrested for this and suggested we get the F out of Dodge, like immediately. We beat a path in the other direction and soon were back near the track and away from the highway. We came to a smaller intersection and it seemed like we were actually nearing where we had to go. By this point, the people on the bus had to have been waiting close to an hour for us to get back and I figured there was a more than decent chance that they thought we’d bailed early and just took off without us. I started to get worried that we were going to be stranded out there and voiced this concern. Chad responded by saying “Well, then we should probably try to hitch a ride back” and took off toward the stopped cars at the intersection in a dead sprint. Kev and I ran after him to stop him from doing…whatever it was he was about to do, but we were too late/slow. Chad ran up to a car that was stopped at a light with a couple in it and started climbing in the open driver’s side rear window. I could hear the guy and his wife/girlfriend shouting as he got through the window and into their back seat and the driver started opening his door to get out. Kev and I ran up and I quickly explained to the (rightfully) fuming guy that Chad was harmless and just plastered out of his gourd after a day in the infield. Meanwhile Kev opened the back door and tried to pull Chad out, the latter kicking and fighting the entire time. I went back to help Kev extricate him, when Chad started doing Jim Carrey from “Dumb and Dumber,” asking these poor people if they’d “like to hear the most annoying sound in the world” and then making the sound I’m sure you’re familiar with from the movie : “Annnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh !!!!” I was literally holding my face in my hands now, as drunk as I was, even I couldn’t believe what was going on. I kept apologizing profusely to these people, and to the line of traffic behind them, many now honking angrily at us as the light had long since turned green, and got Chad the hell out of there.
Blessedly, we turned left after this and soon spotted our bus, at long last. With much rejoicing, we ran over and got on board. Apparently, a few others had gotten turned around as well and while we were the last to board, a lot of the people had only been waiting a short time. Those that were responsible and found it straight away had been sitting there for over an hour and were none too pleased, but the majority of people were in good spirits and continuing to imbibe. 4 of them were young girls that had parked themselves in some of the seats we had been in for the ride over to Pimlico. Beef took this too as an affront and decided they needed to be relocated.
Beef : “These are our seats, you have to move…”
22-year old girl : “There’s no assigned seating, just sit wherever-“
Beef : “No, YOU sit wherever, my friends and I are sitting here. All our stuff is here – that’s my bag you threw on the f—king floor.”
EG: “Beef, who cares, let’s just sit over there-“
Beef: “No, we’ll be all split up. We’re sitting here, where we sat before, where our STUFF is. Let them go up there where they were before.”
Girl: “###hole ! What is your prob-“
Beef had had enough and grabbed the girl’s purse off her lap and threw it up the aisle to the front of the bus.
Girl: “You are such a d##k !!! What’s the matter with you?”
Beef (coaxing and whistling, as if he’s trying to get a dog to fetch): “Come on girl, go get it. *whistle whistle* Go get it!”
Girl: “You are the biggest jerk I have ever met in my entire life.”
She got up to go get her purse and Beef slid into her seat before informing the girl’s travel companions that they could stay if they wanted, but that he wasn’t moving and planned to fog them out with farts the entire ride back to the hotel. They begrudgingly got up and moved and Beef motioned to us to sit in their now-vacant seats. I literally couldn’t believe what was going on anymore.
After a little bit, the bus still wasn’t moving and some people (primarily Chad) started angrily questioning that fact. Some guy sitting near us said that we were waiting for “Richard to get back from looking for you guys…” We asked who Richard was. “The guy who organized this, Richard Wood. He was trying to find you guys so we could get moving, but you showed up and now he isn’t here.” I pointed out the obvious.
EG: “Richard Wood? So, this guy’s name is ‘**** Wood’?”
Guy: “Ummm, yeah. I guess so.”
Jer-Mac : “WHAT? **** Wood? AHAHAHAHAHAA !!!”
He thought this was about the funniest thing he’d ever heard in the moment. He started running around the bus telling everyone that “this guy’s name is **** Wood.” Yes, we were all in our twenties. Shortly thereafter, someone spotted Mr. Wood walking towards the bus and Jer-Mac started chanting as he approached… “**** WOOD ! **** WOOD ! **** WOOD !” Slowly but surely, everyone else on the bus started joining in, and as our intrepid leader walked up the steps into the coach, the entire busload of drunken idiots was chanting “**** WOOD ! **** WOOD !” in full, vociferous throat. I’ll remember the look of abject confusion on his face on my death bed, it was so profound and genuine.
A minute later, the bus was in motion and it was going to be kind of a long ride with the exiting traffic, so people started digging into their coolers and grabbing beers. We were short a few from the cooler Chad threw into traffic, but between what we had left and a few suds we managed to scrub off of our neighbors, we had enough to keep us lubricated for the ride back. We’d probably consumed somewhere between 11 and 12 cases between us at this point and it was still light out. Faz immediately broke out the beer bong and started passing it around, always a good idea given the auspices. At one point, Chad, who was sitting up on the back of the seat in front of him rather than in his own seat, did a funnel and promptly fell over backwards, landing on the two guys sitting in front of him. They weren’t particularly pleased by this and rather forcefully shoved him off of them. Jer-Mac took mild offense to this and decided to “retaliate” by putting the hose end of the beer bong in his mouth and sticking the funnel end in their faces to use it as a megaphone. He then proceeded to mumble/sing the first few lines of “1-2-3-4 (Sumpin’ New)” by Coolio over and over again, directly into their faces. Why he chose this song (or to do this at all,) I’ll never know, but I can still hear it like it was yesterday, he did it so many times. (muffled) “ONE – TWO – THREE – FOUR… GET YOUR WOMAN ON THE FLOOR… GOTTA GOTTA GET UP TO GET DOWN… GOTTA GOTTA GET UP TO GET DOOOWWWWWN…” He had to have done it about 30 times in a row. He was annoying us, I can’t imagine what these poor souls were thinking. Eventually one of them got up, grabbed the funnel, and looked like he was about to punch Jer-Mac in the face (I wouldn’t have blamed him,) but I grabbed him and tried to explain that if he did that, he and his friend were going to get stomped into oblivion by 8 people. I sympathized with him and explained that it was annoying me too and managed to appeal to his common sense to get him to sit back down and just endure it. Ever the peacemaker, I. Literally 10 seconds after defusing that situation, I heard Dan-O yell out “WHAT THE F—K ?!?!?!?!” at the top of his lungs and in a panic. Half the bus spun around due to the urgency and volume of his question to see that the last funnel, on top of everything else, had pushed Chad over the edge and he’d thrown up all over Dan-O and the seat. A mix of laughter and revulsion followed as while it was hilarious, we had to sit in puke-stink the entire rest of the ride back to the hotel.
Now you'd think that once we were back to the hotel, things would calm down a bit, but from here on is where things really started to spiral out of control, as you'll read in chapter four, either later this afternoon or tomorrow morning....
Evening, Saturday, May 15th, 1999. “The Downward Spiral Begins.”
Not long after we walked out of the physical confines of Pimlico Race Track, it became glaringly obvious that no one knew or was in a condition to figure out how to get to where the bus was waiting for us. Knowing that there were at least 30 other people on this bus besides us and that it couldn’t leave without us should have given us a sense of urgency not to hold everyone up, but the opposite was true. Faz, who had been ingesting a seemingly never-end galaxy of drugs all day long from cocaine to ecstasy to ketamine to marijuana to LSD (not kidding) was taking control of the group and quickly leading us….. nowhere. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been to Pimlico, but some of the neighborhoods around there are a bit shady and we were wandering around, seemingly in circles. At one point, we just stopped walking and started funneling beers on someone’s front lawn. I was trying to get us going in the right direction, but after probably 30-40 beers, I wasn’t having a ton of success. People were in various states of drunkenness, but Chad was the worst of the bunch by far. We practically had to hold him upright at this point.
Eventually, we came out to a relatively major thoroughfare and Beef started confidently leading the way, saying we were getting close. He forged off a little ahead of the following group and we approached a 7-11 (or possibly a gas station, but we’ll call it 7-11) at an intersection. There was a fairly steep, grassy hill he was about to lead us down to the 7-11 parking lot when I bizarrely decided to run up and jump on his back. I have no idea why I did this, but the second I landed on his back and locked on, he lost his balance and the two of us went to the ground. Naturally, he was literally two steps down the hill, so we rolled over and over one another like Happy Gilmore and Bob Barker all the way down to the bottom and landed on the concrete at the edge of the parking lot. Some woman coming out of the 7-11 nearly had a heart attack as we rolled, intertwined, right to her feet. Everyone else besides Beef was cracking up laughing as I issued a half-hearted “Ummm, sorry?” We got up and brushed as much dirt and grass off of ourselves as we could when I heard Jer-Mac yell out: “Hey, I think he’s right, this is the right way!”
Jer-Mac now took the lead, despite Beef’s protests that he was deviating from the correct path, as we walked along a road and ended up…. back at the race track. I felt like the guys from Spinal Tap at his point, and our continued failure to find the right route was fraying a couple of people’s nerves – mainly Chad, who was barely ambulatory and desperate to get back to the hotel, and Beef, who was now walking with a slight limp and was covered with dirt and grass stains. We ended up walking down a one way street with a huge line of vehicular traffic behind us, unable to pass us as we were staggering around in the middle of the street. At one point, the lead car, a Mercedes 500, rolled a window down and an older gentleman leaned out and shouted out: “Excuse me. We’re headed to a dinner at the Governor’s Mansion, can you please move to one side?” Beef somehow felt slighted by this, as if this man’s appeal was meant to signify to us that he was “better than us,” and he took action. He spun around, ran at the car and jumped onto the hood. As he extended a middle finger, he shouted “Yeah? Well f##k the Governor and f##k you !!!!” He then proceeded to chug half the beer he was carrying and spit-sprayed beer all over the guy’s windshield before jumping off the hood. Had I been sober, I probably would have felt bad for the guy, but Kev, Dan-O and I were nearly passing out from laughter in the moment. To this day, nearly two decades later, “F--- the Governor and f--- you” is used as a dismissive phrase whenever any members of this group get together – you’re nearly guaranteed to hear it at least once a night.
After a few more minutes of reversing direction, we came upon a major highway. I honestly don’t know what highway it was, but it was a major interstate type of road (looking at a map now, I’m nearly convinced it was Rt. 83, which is nowhere near where we needed to be.) Somehow, it was decided upon that we needed to get across it to get to where we needed to go, which to me seemed like the worst idea ever. I protested, stating the obvious, that someone was going to die if we attempted to traverse a major highway with multiple gigantic coolers, piss-drunk. This, for some reason, further enraged Chad, who now suddenly had an adrenaline burst.
Chad : “F### this !! We have to get the f### out of here !”
EG : “I know, but if we try to drag these coolers across a highway, someone’s going to get run over. Plus, I’m pretty sure we don’t need to cross this road, we have to head back the other way….”
Chad : “F### the coolers !!!!!!!!!!!”
Chad then grabbed the (brand new) cooler (that I’d just spent $50 on) and heaved it into the middle of the freeway.
EG: “What the hell are you doing, you moron?!! You’re going to kill someone! THERE WAS STILL BEER IN THERE !!”
It took about 10 seconds before an oncoming car clipped the cooler and shot it into the median, ending the immediate threat to Maryland's drivers, but surely ruining the cooler and whatever beer was left in it. I was aggravated by the loss of money and beer, but more relieved that he hadn’t caused a major accident than I was annoyed. I pointed out that we could easily get arrested for this and suggested we get the F out of Dodge, like immediately. We beat a path in the other direction and soon were back near the track and away from the highway. We came to a smaller intersection and it seemed like we were actually nearing where we had to go. By this point, the people on the bus had to have been waiting close to an hour for us to get back and I figured there was a more than decent chance that they thought we’d bailed early and just took off without us. I started to get worried that we were going to be stranded out there and voiced this concern. Chad responded by saying “Well, then we should probably try to hitch a ride back” and took off toward the stopped cars at the intersection in a dead sprint. Kev and I ran after him to stop him from doing…whatever it was he was about to do, but we were too late/slow. Chad ran up to a car that was stopped at a light with a couple in it and started climbing in the open driver’s side rear window. I could hear the guy and his wife/girlfriend shouting as he got through the window and into their back seat and the driver started opening his door to get out. Kev and I ran up and I quickly explained to the (rightfully) fuming guy that Chad was harmless and just plastered out of his gourd after a day in the infield. Meanwhile Kev opened the back door and tried to pull Chad out, the latter kicking and fighting the entire time. I went back to help Kev extricate him, when Chad started doing Jim Carrey from “Dumb and Dumber,” asking these poor people if they’d “like to hear the most annoying sound in the world” and then making the sound I’m sure you’re familiar with from the movie : “Annnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh !!!!” I was literally holding my face in my hands now, as drunk as I was, even I couldn’t believe what was going on. I kept apologizing profusely to these people, and to the line of traffic behind them, many now honking angrily at us as the light had long since turned green, and got Chad the hell out of there.
Blessedly, we turned left after this and soon spotted our bus, at long last. With much rejoicing, we ran over and got on board. Apparently, a few others had gotten turned around as well and while we were the last to board, a lot of the people had only been waiting a short time. Those that were responsible and found it straight away had been sitting there for over an hour and were none too pleased, but the majority of people were in good spirits and continuing to imbibe. 4 of them were young girls that had parked themselves in some of the seats we had been in for the ride over to Pimlico. Beef took this too as an affront and decided they needed to be relocated.
Beef : “These are our seats, you have to move…”
22-year old girl : “There’s no assigned seating, just sit wherever-“
Beef : “No, YOU sit wherever, my friends and I are sitting here. All our stuff is here – that’s my bag you threw on the f—king floor.”
EG: “Beef, who cares, let’s just sit over there-“
Beef: “No, we’ll be all split up. We’re sitting here, where we sat before, where our STUFF is. Let them go up there where they were before.”
Girl: “###hole ! What is your prob-“
Beef had had enough and grabbed the girl’s purse off her lap and threw it up the aisle to the front of the bus.
Girl: “You are such a d##k !!! What’s the matter with you?”
Beef (coaxing and whistling, as if he’s trying to get a dog to fetch): “Come on girl, go get it. *whistle whistle* Go get it!”
Girl: “You are the biggest jerk I have ever met in my entire life.”
She got up to go get her purse and Beef slid into her seat before informing the girl’s travel companions that they could stay if they wanted, but that he wasn’t moving and planned to fog them out with farts the entire ride back to the hotel. They begrudgingly got up and moved and Beef motioned to us to sit in their now-vacant seats. I literally couldn’t believe what was going on anymore.
After a little bit, the bus still wasn’t moving and some people (primarily Chad) started angrily questioning that fact. Some guy sitting near us said that we were waiting for “Richard to get back from looking for you guys…” We asked who Richard was. “The guy who organized this, Richard Wood. He was trying to find you guys so we could get moving, but you showed up and now he isn’t here.” I pointed out the obvious.
EG: “Richard Wood? So, this guy’s name is ‘**** Wood’?”
Guy: “Ummm, yeah. I guess so.”
Jer-Mac : “WHAT? **** Wood? AHAHAHAHAHAA !!!”
He thought this was about the funniest thing he’d ever heard in the moment. He started running around the bus telling everyone that “this guy’s name is **** Wood.” Yes, we were all in our twenties. Shortly thereafter, someone spotted Mr. Wood walking towards the bus and Jer-Mac started chanting as he approached… “**** WOOD ! **** WOOD ! **** WOOD !” Slowly but surely, everyone else on the bus started joining in, and as our intrepid leader walked up the steps into the coach, the entire busload of drunken idiots was chanting “**** WOOD ! **** WOOD !” in full, vociferous throat. I’ll remember the look of abject confusion on his face on my death bed, it was so profound and genuine.
A minute later, the bus was in motion and it was going to be kind of a long ride with the exiting traffic, so people started digging into their coolers and grabbing beers. We were short a few from the cooler Chad threw into traffic, but between what we had left and a few suds we managed to scrub off of our neighbors, we had enough to keep us lubricated for the ride back. We’d probably consumed somewhere between 11 and 12 cases between us at this point and it was still light out. Faz immediately broke out the beer bong and started passing it around, always a good idea given the auspices. At one point, Chad, who was sitting up on the back of the seat in front of him rather than in his own seat, did a funnel and promptly fell over backwards, landing on the two guys sitting in front of him. They weren’t particularly pleased by this and rather forcefully shoved him off of them. Jer-Mac took mild offense to this and decided to “retaliate” by putting the hose end of the beer bong in his mouth and sticking the funnel end in their faces to use it as a megaphone. He then proceeded to mumble/sing the first few lines of “1-2-3-4 (Sumpin’ New)” by Coolio over and over again, directly into their faces. Why he chose this song (or to do this at all,) I’ll never know, but I can still hear it like it was yesterday, he did it so many times. (muffled) “ONE – TWO – THREE – FOUR… GET YOUR WOMAN ON THE FLOOR… GOTTA GOTTA GET UP TO GET DOWN… GOTTA GOTTA GET UP TO GET DOOOWWWWWN…” He had to have done it about 30 times in a row. He was annoying us, I can’t imagine what these poor souls were thinking. Eventually one of them got up, grabbed the funnel, and looked like he was about to punch Jer-Mac in the face (I wouldn’t have blamed him,) but I grabbed him and tried to explain that if he did that, he and his friend were going to get stomped into oblivion by 8 people. I sympathized with him and explained that it was annoying me too and managed to appeal to his common sense to get him to sit back down and just endure it. Ever the peacemaker, I. Literally 10 seconds after defusing that situation, I heard Dan-O yell out “WHAT THE F—K ?!?!?!?!” at the top of his lungs and in a panic. Half the bus spun around due to the urgency and volume of his question to see that the last funnel, on top of everything else, had pushed Chad over the edge and he’d thrown up all over Dan-O and the seat. A mix of laughter and revulsion followed as while it was hilarious, we had to sit in puke-stink the entire rest of the ride back to the hotel.
Now you'd think that once we were back to the hotel, things would calm down a bit, but from here on is where things really started to spiral out of control, as you'll read in chapter four, either later this afternoon or tomorrow morning....
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mquinnjr
Footballguy
Easily my favorite line and paints the visual of getting back to the bus perfectly.
Brony
Footballguy
You couldn't take bottles into Pimlico in this era. Esp. ones from Boone Farms. I discovered this at 8AM in line. Joke was on them - I finished the bottle before the gates opened.Wasn't the security guard still there when you left? Did he get the door slammed in his face and just go back downstairs?
You can take alcohol into Pimlico? I've been the Ky Derby numerous times and bringing alcohol in isn't allowed. One of the traditions is always finding new & inventive ways of getting alcohol in. Last time we went we took several styrofoam coolers in with nothing but soda inside. As we approached the gate we dumped a ton of pure grain into the cooler so it look just looked like melting ice. Then, once inside, got rid of all the soda and dumped some kool aid (or other powdered mix) into with the pure grain. We partied with nurses last time and they took the bottom off of 2 liter bottles and used a syringe to siphon out all the soda. Then with the same tiny hole and syringe injected their alcohol, sealed the hole and glued the bottom back on. Where there's a will there a way.
