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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
Insein
Footballguy
berndog
Footballguy
Nathan R. Jessep
Footballguy
Oh, and I'm henceforth going to do my damndest to work "F the governor and F you" into casual conversation 
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
That spread like wildfire when we got back, even among those friends that weren't there and heard the story second-hand. There's a fairly large group of people spread around the country now that, if any two or more of them get together in one place for beers, have about a 90% chance of saying or hearing that within 2 hours.Oh, and I'm henceforth going to do my damndest to work "F the governor and F you" into casual conversation
Mr. Brownstone
Footballguy
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
That and when he told the girl, while she was pulling his pants off : "I s--t myself....", as if it was news, were too much. The latter made me laugh so hard in the moment that I saw stars. I almost literally passed out.
Ditkaless Wonders
Footballguy
I liked the fact that it sounded like, ####-covered and still half-passed out in a woman's restroom, he was apparently trying to seduce the only human on this planet who was more than casually interested in helping him. Certainly, even in his ####-assed drunk state he had to realize that he was jeopardizing the only help he was going to receive, but he figures, "nurse undressing me, this is hot".
berndog
Footballguy
You did a great job capturing the scene as I was laughing uncontrollably reading it.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
That's exactly what was happening, I'm glad that came across. She was tersely replying to him and then he dropped in "I s--t myself...." and I almost died.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
DocHolliday
Footballguy
You are the man. Thank you for another well-written chapter of insanity. I quit keeping track of how many times I just laugh out loud in front of my computer.
Ditkaless Wonders
Footballguy
You guys had more of a "never leave a man behind" ethos than did we. We subscribed to that in situations where there was physical danger of injury, but not danger of self imposed embarrassment.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
We kind of had to. Someone was always making a galloping ### of himself at one point or another, without the "all for one" ethos, we probably all would have been locked up.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Chapter Five
DAY THREE – Sunday, May 16th, 1999. “The Worst Is Behind Us, Right? Right?”
I woke up that Sunday with one of the worst hangovers of my life, to the feeling of cold water dripping on my face. I slapped at my face and opened my eyes to see Chad holding a full beer right out of the cooler over me, cooing “Rise and shine…..” I wanted to kill him. Not only had I not eaten anything besides a croissant on the bus on the way to Preakness (at least that I can remember,) but I hadn’t had anything non-alcoholic to drink since that bottle of water at 6:30 AM the previous day. With probably 50-60 drinks in the interim. So naturally, I grabbed the beer and started drinking it, such was the way of things back then. No rest for the wicked. Kev and I apprised Chad of the previous night’s shenanigans that I just described to you guys, and he was thrilled that we found his pants and especially his wallet, but looked dismayed at the same time. When we asked why, he informed us that the half-ounce of kind bud we’d split between us for the weekend had been in his pants pocket. It wasn’t anymore. F---ing moron. The money in his wallet and all his credit cards were still there, so I guess there’s SOME honor among thieves. We all felt we needed to get stoned as well as drunk to try to help our hangovers, so we went down to Faz’s room begging. He answered the door for the second consecutive day in bikini underwear and nothing else, and I made some comment to Kev about how I’d seen enough package that weekend to last me a lifetime. The friend of the angel that saved Dan-O the night before was in Faz’s bed (this guy f—ks!) and Jer-Mac was still comatose. Faz asked us where Rose was, and we had to explain to him what had happened. Faz quickly got dressed, smoked us out, and then took off to try to get Rose out of jail.
After a couple of hours, the girl left, Faz came back, and informed us that Rose was going before a judge on Monday and that we had to leave him in Baltimore and go back without him. This didn’t entirely upset me; I didn’t know if I wanted to be around a pissed-off, hungover Rose with a court date in front of him. We packed up our crap and headed out in the Inner Harbor to get a bite to eat before we left Baltimore. We ended up at a restaurant on the second floor of this strip of eateries, on an open-air rooftop patio. Another restaurant downstairs had patio dining and people were enjoying their crab cakes al fresco directly below us, and below a large awning shading the outdoor tables at that establishment. We all ordered food – I don’t recall what anyone ordered except for Faz. He got pretzel nuggets with a cheese dip. The reason I remember that specifically is that after eating about three of them, he decided it would be more fun to race them than eat them. Allow me to explain.
Faz, who was on his third bloody mary (as was I) decided that he hadn’t done enough gambling at the track the day before and wanted to keep the action going. He did this by placing two pretzel nuggets on the top of the awning of the restaurant below (which was attached to the building adjacent to our table and behind a small railing) and holding them in place with a butter knife, preventing the pretzels from rolling down the slope of said awning. He then took wagers on which one would roll off the bottom first when released. Money started flying around the table as the races began and the pretzels tumbled down the awning and off the bottom, two at a time. It started to get heated – people were upping their bets and really getting into it. Even a couple of dudes from an adjacent table walked over and got in on the action. Faz then broke from the game long enough to obscure what we were doing from the waitress and ordered two more plates of pretzel nuggets, no cheese. This led to more people holding knives as the “starting gates”, and soon we had 6 and 8 “horse” races going on, replete with arguments over which number had gone off first, as the increased number of pretzels started crossing over one another’s paths as they rolled down. The races were going off every minute or so for a while until we were rudely interrupted by a waiter from the restaurant downstairs. Apparently, the pretzels rolling off the bottom of the awning were landing all over tables down there. People eating their crab cakes and sipping mimosas were literally having pretzel nuggets rain down on them from above every 45 seconds or so. We apologized and told him we hadn’t realized we were right above tables and he accepted this and walked away. He was barely out of earshot when I heard Faz yell – “30 seconds to post!” I advised against continuing, but Faz gave me a look like I was insane for even suggesting cessation of the races (read: fun.)
Allow me to break from the narrative for just one moment here. When I, your old pal EG, am repeatedly and consistently the voice of reason over the course of an entire weekend, something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. OK, back to the story.
Another couple of races went off before the manager of the restaurant below us appeared on the patio, talking to the maître‘d of the restaurant in which we were (ostensibly) eating. Within moments, we were brought our check and asked brusquely to vacate the premises. The waiter stood there watching over us as we counted out money and handed the folio to the maître’d, then he walked us to the door. Kev repeated his familiar mantra: “We’re kicked out.”
At this point, I figured we’d about worn out our welcome in Baltimore, but Faz suggested we pop over to the ESPN Zone for a few rounds before hitting the road. That lasted about 30 minutes, as the ESPN Zone was evidently one of the first places to ban smoking indoors in Charm City. Faz got busted blasting away on a Marlboro Light about 10 minutes after we arrived and was asked to put it out. Feigning ignorance, he did so, and we were allowed to stay…… for another 10 minutes, at which point, he lit another butt. This resulted in our being escorted out by two burly security guards. By now it was early afternoon and having been kicked out of two different establishments already, we finally collectively decided that Baltimore had had enough of us. The now 7 of us piled into the van and began the three hour drive back to New Jersey.
Well, it SHOULD have been a three hour drive. And would have been except for the fact that Faz pulled off the highway every time he saw a drinking establishment and tore in so we could “have a quick one.” This was the first time that I realized, even after the supposedly accidental vodka chug Friday morning, that this man had a serious drinking problem. We stopped at a number of different bars on the way back, in Maryland, Delaware, and New Jersey, having several rounds in each bar. Much to the chagrin and CONSTANT grumbling of a few people (Kev more than anyone) that really wanted to just get home already and start recovering, the normally three hour drive took us over nine hours to complete. Well, we almost completed it….
We dropped everyone off except for Kev and myself along the way and were finally only a few minutes from Faz’s house, and a few more minutes from the comforts of our own beds. It was now roughly 11:30 PM and Kev and I both had to work the next morning (we worked for the same company on Wall Street.) At this point, it seems like the story should end. However, in a moment I will regret to my last breath, I cracked the one joke that I wish more than any other that I could go back in time and not verbalize. Kev was still complaining about how long it took us to get back and that he had to work, yada yada yada. I made the mistake of saying, completely ironically, as we passed by a local bar that we often frequented called the Olde Silver Tavern: “Hey, it’s still 2 hours to last call at OST. Why don’t we pop in for a few? HAHA..” Faz instantly yanked the wheel to the left at about 40 MPH. The van might have actually gone up on two wheels as we made the high-speed turn into the parking lot, tires screeching. Kev looked at me and half shouted, half groaned: “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY ?!” All I could do was sheepishly apologize as the engine was turned off.
Fast forward an hour and a half. We’d had about 4 more beers and Faz was settled in at the bar, a bar where Kev and I were well-known, mind you. Faz was blitzed out of his mind and was starting to get on the (older, very old-school) bartender’s nerves. At some point he got a runner’s bib (or whatever you call it) from someone at the bar that had a number 7 on it. I guess the guy had run a 5K earlier and still had it with him for some reason. I mention this only because Faz was inexplicably walking up to people telling them, completely earnestly and as if they’d be interested, that he was “number 7.” It made absolutely no sense, but he was a lot smoother and less annoying than Jer-Mac and his Coolio karaoke, and most people were laughing and quasi-ignoring him. The bartender, on the other hand, was getting increasingly annoyed with him. Kev and I kept apologizing to the bartender, but he was adamant that we take Faz and f--- off already. We actually both just wanted to get home at this point, so we were fine with this. We grabbed Faz and told him that we’d been asked to leave, yet again. Naturally, this just fueled his fire, so instead of leaving, Faz opted to jump up onto the bar and stand up on it, yelling out to the whole place: “I’m Number 7!! You hear me? NUMBER SEVEN !!!” It was at this point that the bartender called the police. I heard him do it and was literally grabbing Faz’s leg and trying to pull him off the bar. I tried to explain to him that the cops were coming and that we had to get the hell out of there, but it just wasn’t registering. Ultimately I got through to him, but as it turned out, just a fraction too late.
We had just left and walked across the parking lot to the van and were about to get in when the squad car rolled in and trained its spotlight on us. I groaned aloud as it approached and the patrolman got out and walked over to us with the standard “Good evening gentlemen….” salutation that I’d heard so many times before. When he asked who was driving, I knew we were screwed, there was literally no way possible for any of the three of us to convince this cop that we were capable of safely operating a motor vehicle. Once he honed in on Faz, it being his vehicle, things went from bad to worse. He asked to look through the car and Faz, having consumed all the drugs he brought (and ours having been stolen), thought that it was safe to grant him permission. Naturally, within two minutes, the cop found a roach in the ash tray and pulled it out. He asked who it belonged to and of course, we all just stood there feigning incredulousness. His partner then cuffed Faz’s hands behind his back while the first cop called for someone to come tow/impound the van. My heart sank as I tried to figure out a way out of this, but it didn’t seem possible. Where I saw inevitability, though, Faz saw opportunity.
Faz: What are you booking me for? You can’t arrest me for DUI, I wasn’t in the car and the keys are in my pocket.
Officer: Possession of marijuana.
Faz: With what proof?
Officer: (holds up the roach right in front of Faz’s face) : With this..
As he said that, Faz leaned forward, handcuffed, and snagged the roach out of the cop’s hand WITH HIS TEETH. As shocked as I was watching Rose kick two guys’ ###es naked the night before, this stunned me even more. I was in complete disbelief, it would never have occurred to me in a million years to try this.
Faz (swallowing the roach and smiling glibly at the cop): Where’s your evidence now?
I was dumbfounded. For a few seconds, I wondered whether this was insanity or sheer genius. It was the former. Unfortunately, when he chomped at the roach, apparently Faz got a bit of finger along with it.
Cop (as he tackled Faz to the ground): Well, smart ###, now you’re being booked for assaulting a police office and obstruction of justice.
The cops grabbed him, dragged him to their squad car, and shoved him in the back seat while Kev and I stood there, completely flabbergasted, with no idea what to do. Again.
Cop: You’re going to have to find another way home, we’re impounding the van.
EG: It’s 1:30 AM on a Sunday, there aren’t even any cab companies open around here at this hour. Can you give us a ride to-
Cop: Not my problem.
With that, they took off with Faz in the back seat. Now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere at 1:30 AM on a Monday morning and we both have to be at work in lower Manhattan at 9 AM. There weren’t many people we were comfortable calling for a ride at this hour, and as I suspected, there were no cab companies answering the phone. I tried calling Yams. The conversation went like this:
Yams (answering clearly from a dead sleep): Who the #### is this?
EG: Yams, it’s me. Listen, Kev and I are stuck at OST with no ride out of here and the cab-
Yams: [EG], are you serious?
EG: I don’t have time to get into it all right now, I’ll tell you the story later, but we’re stranded here and need-
*CLICK*
So, with no ride, we had little choice but to hoof it the ~5 miles back to our condo. We walked glumly through the misty night air along mostly empty roads, recounting the ridiculous events of the weekend, until we got back home about 4:30 AM. We both retired to our respective rooms, took a 2-hour nap, and by 7:30, still plastered, we were both on the Academy bus in suits, bound for Wall Street.
The final toll of the weekend rolled out like this (as discussed on the walk home.) We estimated that over the three days, the 8 of us went through close to 1,000 alcoholic beverages. Roughly the equivalent of 6 kegs of beer. 3 people ended up pants-less in the lobby of the (pretty nice) hotel we stayed at. Two of us had been arrested and were now detained. We’d been kicked out of 3 different restaurants/bars (but miraculously, not the hotel.) 1 all-out fight and several others narrowly avoided. $500 in damages from the broken painting in the hallway of the hotel. The collateral damage from this trip was significant.
DAY THREE – Sunday, May 16th, 1999. “The Worst Is Behind Us, Right? Right?”
I woke up that Sunday with one of the worst hangovers of my life, to the feeling of cold water dripping on my face. I slapped at my face and opened my eyes to see Chad holding a full beer right out of the cooler over me, cooing “Rise and shine…..” I wanted to kill him. Not only had I not eaten anything besides a croissant on the bus on the way to Preakness (at least that I can remember,) but I hadn’t had anything non-alcoholic to drink since that bottle of water at 6:30 AM the previous day. With probably 50-60 drinks in the interim. So naturally, I grabbed the beer and started drinking it, such was the way of things back then. No rest for the wicked. Kev and I apprised Chad of the previous night’s shenanigans that I just described to you guys, and he was thrilled that we found his pants and especially his wallet, but looked dismayed at the same time. When we asked why, he informed us that the half-ounce of kind bud we’d split between us for the weekend had been in his pants pocket. It wasn’t anymore. F---ing moron. The money in his wallet and all his credit cards were still there, so I guess there’s SOME honor among thieves. We all felt we needed to get stoned as well as drunk to try to help our hangovers, so we went down to Faz’s room begging. He answered the door for the second consecutive day in bikini underwear and nothing else, and I made some comment to Kev about how I’d seen enough package that weekend to last me a lifetime. The friend of the angel that saved Dan-O the night before was in Faz’s bed (this guy f—ks!) and Jer-Mac was still comatose. Faz asked us where Rose was, and we had to explain to him what had happened. Faz quickly got dressed, smoked us out, and then took off to try to get Rose out of jail.
After a couple of hours, the girl left, Faz came back, and informed us that Rose was going before a judge on Monday and that we had to leave him in Baltimore and go back without him. This didn’t entirely upset me; I didn’t know if I wanted to be around a pissed-off, hungover Rose with a court date in front of him. We packed up our crap and headed out in the Inner Harbor to get a bite to eat before we left Baltimore. We ended up at a restaurant on the second floor of this strip of eateries, on an open-air rooftop patio. Another restaurant downstairs had patio dining and people were enjoying their crab cakes al fresco directly below us, and below a large awning shading the outdoor tables at that establishment. We all ordered food – I don’t recall what anyone ordered except for Faz. He got pretzel nuggets with a cheese dip. The reason I remember that specifically is that after eating about three of them, he decided it would be more fun to race them than eat them. Allow me to explain.
Faz, who was on his third bloody mary (as was I) decided that he hadn’t done enough gambling at the track the day before and wanted to keep the action going. He did this by placing two pretzel nuggets on the top of the awning of the restaurant below (which was attached to the building adjacent to our table and behind a small railing) and holding them in place with a butter knife, preventing the pretzels from rolling down the slope of said awning. He then took wagers on which one would roll off the bottom first when released. Money started flying around the table as the races began and the pretzels tumbled down the awning and off the bottom, two at a time. It started to get heated – people were upping their bets and really getting into it. Even a couple of dudes from an adjacent table walked over and got in on the action. Faz then broke from the game long enough to obscure what we were doing from the waitress and ordered two more plates of pretzel nuggets, no cheese. This led to more people holding knives as the “starting gates”, and soon we had 6 and 8 “horse” races going on, replete with arguments over which number had gone off first, as the increased number of pretzels started crossing over one another’s paths as they rolled down. The races were going off every minute or so for a while until we were rudely interrupted by a waiter from the restaurant downstairs. Apparently, the pretzels rolling off the bottom of the awning were landing all over tables down there. People eating their crab cakes and sipping mimosas were literally having pretzel nuggets rain down on them from above every 45 seconds or so. We apologized and told him we hadn’t realized we were right above tables and he accepted this and walked away. He was barely out of earshot when I heard Faz yell – “30 seconds to post!” I advised against continuing, but Faz gave me a look like I was insane for even suggesting cessation of the races (read: fun.)
Allow me to break from the narrative for just one moment here. When I, your old pal EG, am repeatedly and consistently the voice of reason over the course of an entire weekend, something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. OK, back to the story.
Another couple of races went off before the manager of the restaurant below us appeared on the patio, talking to the maître‘d of the restaurant in which we were (ostensibly) eating. Within moments, we were brought our check and asked brusquely to vacate the premises. The waiter stood there watching over us as we counted out money and handed the folio to the maître’d, then he walked us to the door. Kev repeated his familiar mantra: “We’re kicked out.”
At this point, I figured we’d about worn out our welcome in Baltimore, but Faz suggested we pop over to the ESPN Zone for a few rounds before hitting the road. That lasted about 30 minutes, as the ESPN Zone was evidently one of the first places to ban smoking indoors in Charm City. Faz got busted blasting away on a Marlboro Light about 10 minutes after we arrived and was asked to put it out. Feigning ignorance, he did so, and we were allowed to stay…… for another 10 minutes, at which point, he lit another butt. This resulted in our being escorted out by two burly security guards. By now it was early afternoon and having been kicked out of two different establishments already, we finally collectively decided that Baltimore had had enough of us. The now 7 of us piled into the van and began the three hour drive back to New Jersey.
Well, it SHOULD have been a three hour drive. And would have been except for the fact that Faz pulled off the highway every time he saw a drinking establishment and tore in so we could “have a quick one.” This was the first time that I realized, even after the supposedly accidental vodka chug Friday morning, that this man had a serious drinking problem. We stopped at a number of different bars on the way back, in Maryland, Delaware, and New Jersey, having several rounds in each bar. Much to the chagrin and CONSTANT grumbling of a few people (Kev more than anyone) that really wanted to just get home already and start recovering, the normally three hour drive took us over nine hours to complete. Well, we almost completed it….
We dropped everyone off except for Kev and myself along the way and were finally only a few minutes from Faz’s house, and a few more minutes from the comforts of our own beds. It was now roughly 11:30 PM and Kev and I both had to work the next morning (we worked for the same company on Wall Street.) At this point, it seems like the story should end. However, in a moment I will regret to my last breath, I cracked the one joke that I wish more than any other that I could go back in time and not verbalize. Kev was still complaining about how long it took us to get back and that he had to work, yada yada yada. I made the mistake of saying, completely ironically, as we passed by a local bar that we often frequented called the Olde Silver Tavern: “Hey, it’s still 2 hours to last call at OST. Why don’t we pop in for a few? HAHA..” Faz instantly yanked the wheel to the left at about 40 MPH. The van might have actually gone up on two wheels as we made the high-speed turn into the parking lot, tires screeching. Kev looked at me and half shouted, half groaned: “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY ?!” All I could do was sheepishly apologize as the engine was turned off.
Fast forward an hour and a half. We’d had about 4 more beers and Faz was settled in at the bar, a bar where Kev and I were well-known, mind you. Faz was blitzed out of his mind and was starting to get on the (older, very old-school) bartender’s nerves. At some point he got a runner’s bib (or whatever you call it) from someone at the bar that had a number 7 on it. I guess the guy had run a 5K earlier and still had it with him for some reason. I mention this only because Faz was inexplicably walking up to people telling them, completely earnestly and as if they’d be interested, that he was “number 7.” It made absolutely no sense, but he was a lot smoother and less annoying than Jer-Mac and his Coolio karaoke, and most people were laughing and quasi-ignoring him. The bartender, on the other hand, was getting increasingly annoyed with him. Kev and I kept apologizing to the bartender, but he was adamant that we take Faz and f--- off already. We actually both just wanted to get home at this point, so we were fine with this. We grabbed Faz and told him that we’d been asked to leave, yet again. Naturally, this just fueled his fire, so instead of leaving, Faz opted to jump up onto the bar and stand up on it, yelling out to the whole place: “I’m Number 7!! You hear me? NUMBER SEVEN !!!” It was at this point that the bartender called the police. I heard him do it and was literally grabbing Faz’s leg and trying to pull him off the bar. I tried to explain to him that the cops were coming and that we had to get the hell out of there, but it just wasn’t registering. Ultimately I got through to him, but as it turned out, just a fraction too late.
We had just left and walked across the parking lot to the van and were about to get in when the squad car rolled in and trained its spotlight on us. I groaned aloud as it approached and the patrolman got out and walked over to us with the standard “Good evening gentlemen….” salutation that I’d heard so many times before. When he asked who was driving, I knew we were screwed, there was literally no way possible for any of the three of us to convince this cop that we were capable of safely operating a motor vehicle. Once he honed in on Faz, it being his vehicle, things went from bad to worse. He asked to look through the car and Faz, having consumed all the drugs he brought (and ours having been stolen), thought that it was safe to grant him permission. Naturally, within two minutes, the cop found a roach in the ash tray and pulled it out. He asked who it belonged to and of course, we all just stood there feigning incredulousness. His partner then cuffed Faz’s hands behind his back while the first cop called for someone to come tow/impound the van. My heart sank as I tried to figure out a way out of this, but it didn’t seem possible. Where I saw inevitability, though, Faz saw opportunity.
Faz: What are you booking me for? You can’t arrest me for DUI, I wasn’t in the car and the keys are in my pocket.
Officer: Possession of marijuana.
Faz: With what proof?
Officer: (holds up the roach right in front of Faz’s face) : With this..
As he said that, Faz leaned forward, handcuffed, and snagged the roach out of the cop’s hand WITH HIS TEETH. As shocked as I was watching Rose kick two guys’ ###es naked the night before, this stunned me even more. I was in complete disbelief, it would never have occurred to me in a million years to try this.
Faz (swallowing the roach and smiling glibly at the cop): Where’s your evidence now?
I was dumbfounded. For a few seconds, I wondered whether this was insanity or sheer genius. It was the former. Unfortunately, when he chomped at the roach, apparently Faz got a bit of finger along with it.
Cop (as he tackled Faz to the ground): Well, smart ###, now you’re being booked for assaulting a police office and obstruction of justice.
The cops grabbed him, dragged him to their squad car, and shoved him in the back seat while Kev and I stood there, completely flabbergasted, with no idea what to do. Again.
Cop: You’re going to have to find another way home, we’re impounding the van.
EG: It’s 1:30 AM on a Sunday, there aren’t even any cab companies open around here at this hour. Can you give us a ride to-
Cop: Not my problem.
With that, they took off with Faz in the back seat. Now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere at 1:30 AM on a Monday morning and we both have to be at work in lower Manhattan at 9 AM. There weren’t many people we were comfortable calling for a ride at this hour, and as I suspected, there were no cab companies answering the phone. I tried calling Yams. The conversation went like this:
Yams (answering clearly from a dead sleep): Who the #### is this?
EG: Yams, it’s me. Listen, Kev and I are stuck at OST with no ride out of here and the cab-
Yams: [EG], are you serious?
EG: I don’t have time to get into it all right now, I’ll tell you the story later, but we’re stranded here and need-
*CLICK*
So, with no ride, we had little choice but to hoof it the ~5 miles back to our condo. We walked glumly through the misty night air along mostly empty roads, recounting the ridiculous events of the weekend, until we got back home about 4:30 AM. We both retired to our respective rooms, took a 2-hour nap, and by 7:30, still plastered, we were both on the Academy bus in suits, bound for Wall Street.
The final toll of the weekend rolled out like this (as discussed on the walk home.) We estimated that over the three days, the 8 of us went through close to 1,000 alcoholic beverages. Roughly the equivalent of 6 kegs of beer. 3 people ended up pants-less in the lobby of the (pretty nice) hotel we stayed at. Two of us had been arrested and were now detained. We’d been kicked out of 3 different restaurants/bars (but miraculously, not the hotel.) 1 all-out fight and several others narrowly avoided. $500 in damages from the broken painting in the hallway of the hotel. The collateral damage from this trip was significant.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Aftermath and postscript in a couple of hours....
IMAX 3D
Footballguy
Loved the part about the pretzel nugget racing. That’s definitely something I could see myself doing
closest was probably gambling on the Punching Bag game at Trixies the night before the Kentucky Oaks. We were constantly pumping money into that thing for at least an hour and betting over/unders for people’s punches or backing certain friends in a best of 3 type environment. I walked away with at least $100 on it
closest was probably gambling on the Punching Bag game at Trixies the night before the Kentucky Oaks. We were constantly pumping money into that thing for at least an hour and betting over/unders for people’s punches or backing certain friends in a best of 3 type environment. I walked away with at least $100 on it
Worm
slimy ninja
IMAX 3D
Footballguy
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
I'm not even entirely doing him justice. I ran with a pretty wild crowd generally speaking (that I was at least among the most reasonable and subdued of the bunch should give you some idea how much so) but Faz was #1 with a bullet. I could do an entire thread of just Faz stories, many are so unbelievable that people here would undoubtedly question the veracity of the tales. I try to keep it only to things I witnessed first hand and can recall/recount but I am sure there will be some vignettes going forward that will re-acquaint you with Faz.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
All of these questions will be answered in the final chapter. I'm actually glad you asked because I sketched out a Where Are They Now? end-cap to the story, but briefly considered canning it. I wasn't sure if anyone would care.
Skipdog77
Footballguy
Skipdog77
Footballguy
Does Rose happen to live in Australia now, by any chance?
https://abcnews.go.com/ABCNews/late-passenger-attempts-break-plane/story?id=55228147
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Pretty much. I feel like this trip would work well as a film. Lots of visuals to enhance the dialogue.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
IMAX 3D
Footballguy
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
Chapter Six
The aftermath and “Where Are They Now?”
EG – Had to go to work drunk/hungover on Monday. Got billed $500 for the broken painting and took a month to get remuneration from Jer-Mac. Otherwise unscathed. Now posts drinking stories in the FFA. Sports a genius-level IQ and a magnificent penis that all of you would kill your own mothers to have been born with.
Kev – Also had to go to work hungover on Monday. Emerged unscathed. Continues to drink absurd amounts of beer. Now 47 and lives in Hoboken, still unmarried as multiple girlfriends have gotten annoyed at his life-long pattern of choosing to get hammered with his friends over maintaining relationships with women. Destined to die a bachelor with a keg of Budweiser hooked up to him through an IV. Works for a major brokerage firm in Manhattan.
Chad – Slept all day Monday. Curtailed his drinking somewhat after this event and another one shortly afterwards where he kicked a wall in a fit of drunken pique and broke his foot in 3 places, then left the party he was at and drove blind drunk and woke up the next morning in Kev's older brother's driveway. That one was a wake-up call as he didn't remember getting there and was awakened by Kev's menacing older brother pounding on his hood telling him to get the f--- out of his driveway so he could go to work. He came to and drove straight to the hospital, where they put a cast on him for 6 weeks. No longer drinks and drives and is now a successful executive with a Big Pharma company and lives in a huge house on a golf course in PA. Married to Kev’s younger sister (that courtship was fun for us) and has a 10-year old son.
Jer-Mac – Haven’t seen him in years. He got married not too long after this weekend, but his wife ultimately took off because he was so annoying (she literally said these exact words to me.) He made a ton of money working nearly around the clock for almost a year after 9/11 when the NYPD was giving unlimited overtime and now owns a house in North Jersey and a cabin in Vermont. He spends a lot of time up there snowboarding and is not on social media, so I very rarely hear from him anymore. Emerged unscathed except for the phone he lost and the $500 he had to give me for breaking the painting.
Beef- also emerged unscathed. Is now married with 3 kids and living in Philly, where he is a renowned surgeon and one of the leading proponents of cutting-edge technology in his field. He’s the one I see the most out of everyone from that trip as he usually flies down to FL once or twice a year to spend time with my brothers and me. We’ve now known one another for 35 years and he has been designated the honorary “4th brother” of our family. We still say “You’re the one that fell” and “F—k the Governor and f—k you!” to one another every single time we hang out together, without fail.
Rose – did not emerge unscathed. He faced a judge that Monday and was arraigned on multiple charges – indecency, assault, etc. He got himself a good lawyer and got a lot of the charges dropped, but still had to pay a hefty fine and serve probation for public intoxication and criminal mischief (or something to that effect) but no jail time other than the 2 days he spent in the Baltimore City lockup. I only saw him a handful of times again in my life after this, and not since I moved to Salt Lake about a year after this weekend. He probably wouldn’t even remember my name today if you spoke it to him. He’d remember this weekend though, that I can assure you. Whereabouts unknown to me.
Dan-O – aside from being down a pair of suit pants, he got through the weekend fairly intact. Some of the pictures taken that weekend while he was passed out made the rounds and he was subjected to a fair amount of ridicule for years after this. I would have given almost anything for photos from inside the women’s room stall, but no one had a camera with them. Here are a couple of photos taken while he was awake:
Unfortunately, Dan-O is no longer with us. A few years ago, he suffered traumatic brain injury in a skiing accident in Tahoe and passed away after spending about a week in a medically-induced coma. I miss his crazy ### every day.
Faz took it on the chin for this weekend worse than anyone. If only I hadn’t jokingly suggested making that one last stop, he would have come out of it none the worse for wear. He was ultimately convicted of assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and obstructing justice, even though (or maybe because) several of us showed up at his trial extremely baked and carrying hand painted picket signs that said “Amnesty for Faz!” (not kidding.) He spent a little bit of time in the hoosegow as a result of that night.
Not too long after this, Faz quit his job with TWIB and traveled around the country for a few years playing bars (he was a singer/guitar player) to earn beer money. One night, he was in Virginia after a gig and went to sleep and never woke up. Apparently, his body just finally gave up and quit working. Here is the Almighty Faz at my wedding, doing what he loved most, drinking beer:
Faz - The Great and Powerful
I miss that crazy SOB every day too.
In fact, part of the reason I wanted to really dig in and write this story is so that I could spend a few hours with my old friends, both the ones I still see and the ones I never will again. Part of the reason it took so long to do so is because this is possibly the last time I’ll ever tell/write the story of this weekend. Now I feel like Richard Dreyfuss at the end of “Stand By Me.”
Next time you have a drink, tip out a sip for Faz and Dan-O – they may be gone, but hopefully their spirit lives on through my keyboard. Godspeed, gentlemen.
The aftermath and “Where Are They Now?”
EG – Had to go to work drunk/hungover on Monday. Got billed $500 for the broken painting and took a month to get remuneration from Jer-Mac. Otherwise unscathed. Now posts drinking stories in the FFA. Sports a genius-level IQ and a magnificent penis that all of you would kill your own mothers to have been born with.
Kev – Also had to go to work hungover on Monday. Emerged unscathed. Continues to drink absurd amounts of beer. Now 47 and lives in Hoboken, still unmarried as multiple girlfriends have gotten annoyed at his life-long pattern of choosing to get hammered with his friends over maintaining relationships with women. Destined to die a bachelor with a keg of Budweiser hooked up to him through an IV. Works for a major brokerage firm in Manhattan.
Chad – Slept all day Monday. Curtailed his drinking somewhat after this event and another one shortly afterwards where he kicked a wall in a fit of drunken pique and broke his foot in 3 places, then left the party he was at and drove blind drunk and woke up the next morning in Kev's older brother's driveway. That one was a wake-up call as he didn't remember getting there and was awakened by Kev's menacing older brother pounding on his hood telling him to get the f--- out of his driveway so he could go to work. He came to and drove straight to the hospital, where they put a cast on him for 6 weeks. No longer drinks and drives and is now a successful executive with a Big Pharma company and lives in a huge house on a golf course in PA. Married to Kev’s younger sister (that courtship was fun for us) and has a 10-year old son.
Jer-Mac – Haven’t seen him in years. He got married not too long after this weekend, but his wife ultimately took off because he was so annoying (she literally said these exact words to me.) He made a ton of money working nearly around the clock for almost a year after 9/11 when the NYPD was giving unlimited overtime and now owns a house in North Jersey and a cabin in Vermont. He spends a lot of time up there snowboarding and is not on social media, so I very rarely hear from him anymore. Emerged unscathed except for the phone he lost and the $500 he had to give me for breaking the painting.
Beef- also emerged unscathed. Is now married with 3 kids and living in Philly, where he is a renowned surgeon and one of the leading proponents of cutting-edge technology in his field. He’s the one I see the most out of everyone from that trip as he usually flies down to FL once or twice a year to spend time with my brothers and me. We’ve now known one another for 35 years and he has been designated the honorary “4th brother” of our family. We still say “You’re the one that fell” and “F—k the Governor and f—k you!” to one another every single time we hang out together, without fail.
Rose – did not emerge unscathed. He faced a judge that Monday and was arraigned on multiple charges – indecency, assault, etc. He got himself a good lawyer and got a lot of the charges dropped, but still had to pay a hefty fine and serve probation for public intoxication and criminal mischief (or something to that effect) but no jail time other than the 2 days he spent in the Baltimore City lockup. I only saw him a handful of times again in my life after this, and not since I moved to Salt Lake about a year after this weekend. He probably wouldn’t even remember my name today if you spoke it to him. He’d remember this weekend though, that I can assure you. Whereabouts unknown to me.
Dan-O – aside from being down a pair of suit pants, he got through the weekend fairly intact. Some of the pictures taken that weekend while he was passed out made the rounds and he was subjected to a fair amount of ridicule for years after this. I would have given almost anything for photos from inside the women’s room stall, but no one had a camera with them. Here are a couple of photos taken while he was awake:
- Dan-O in his broken sunglasses, visibly plastered, while Beef chugs next to him. This was taken before noon. Dan-O, drunk already and awake after passing out while Beef catches up
- Dan-O at night in his “suit.” The top of this suit became his pants after he s—t the bottom of it: Dan-O on the train in his "suit."
Unfortunately, Dan-O is no longer with us. A few years ago, he suffered traumatic brain injury in a skiing accident in Tahoe and passed away after spending about a week in a medically-induced coma. I miss his crazy ### every day.
Faz took it on the chin for this weekend worse than anyone. If only I hadn’t jokingly suggested making that one last stop, he would have come out of it none the worse for wear. He was ultimately convicted of assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and obstructing justice, even though (or maybe because) several of us showed up at his trial extremely baked and carrying hand painted picket signs that said “Amnesty for Faz!” (not kidding.) He spent a little bit of time in the hoosegow as a result of that night.
Not too long after this, Faz quit his job with TWIB and traveled around the country for a few years playing bars (he was a singer/guitar player) to earn beer money. One night, he was in Virginia after a gig and went to sleep and never woke up. Apparently, his body just finally gave up and quit working. Here is the Almighty Faz at my wedding, doing what he loved most, drinking beer:
Faz - The Great and Powerful
I miss that crazy SOB every day too.
In fact, part of the reason I wanted to really dig in and write this story is so that I could spend a few hours with my old friends, both the ones I still see and the ones I never will again. Part of the reason it took so long to do so is because this is possibly the last time I’ll ever tell/write the story of this weekend. Now I feel like Richard Dreyfuss at the end of “Stand By Me.”
Next time you have a drink, tip out a sip for Faz and Dan-O – they may be gone, but hopefully their spirit lives on through my keyboard. Godspeed, gentlemen.
- THE END -
Last edited by a moderator:
Nathan R. Jessep
Footballguy
RIP Faz and Dan-O. :salute:
helluva story, EG
helluva story, EG
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
I kind of intentionally didn't describe the suit much because I knew I was going to post that picture. I figured it might be funnier that way.Bra-freaking-vo.
When I pictured it in my mind, I never thought that Dan-O's suit stripes weren't vertical. Perfect.
RIP Dan-O and Faz. Thanks to them and to you EG, for the laughs.
Ron Swanson
Footballguy
Great storytelling. I was picturing Faz as Jani Lane the whole time. Turns out I wasn't too far off.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
1) 6' 2" 175# *ding* (full disclosure : I did get up to about 235-240 at one point in my 30s, but I cut my beer consumption significantly and all but stopped eating sugar. I was down to my current fighting weight in no time.)
2) Tons of practice, plus I come from a long line of top-notch beer drinkers. My ancestors came over from Germany in the late 1800s and opened a beer hall in NJ. It was wildly successful and they opened a few more. What would have become a family fortune, however, disappeared as they quickly drank up all the profits. Eventually, all the beer halls closed. I never stood a chance. My (namesake) uncle used to regularly wipe out 2+ cases of beer a day just sitting around when the whole family would go camping. It's in my blood.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
My brief experience with Jani Lane (probably in the first couple of pages, maybe page 1, of this thread) wasn't entirely dissimilar to most of my experiences with Faz.
Jaysus
Good times!
I knew a Beef growing up; my Beef was also from the greater Philadelphia area. My Beef and your Beef look like they could have been twins if your Beef had more hair.
P.S. I witnessed my Beef kill a deer (that he had just hit with his truck) by slitting its throat with a pocket knife so he could "put it out of its misery"... and so that he could take it home and eat it. I wish I knew your Beef instead.
P.S. I witnessed my Beef kill a deer (that he had just hit with his truck) by slitting its throat with a pocket knife so he could "put it out of its misery"... and so that he could take it home and eat it. I wish I knew your Beef instead.
Evilgrin 72
Distributor of Pain
He used to, but homeboy started going bald before he even graduated undergrad and just said #### it and shaved his head.
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