Monday, July 31, 2006
Draft #130
Weekend Review
Friday: After work, Haus arrived to my apartment with a Sarios pizza in hand and we devoured a good chunk of it before heading to the Brewers/Reds game thanks to the tickets provided by the roommate. As is customary for any Friday activity, we found our way to the nearest beverage procurement stand to purchase the largest single serving size of alcohol available. And like any good concession stand employee, Mr. daylate and a dollar short asked for my driver's license to verify that I was indeed 21 years of age. Myself, being a man (a term used to describe most adult males but rarely used to describe me) of honest stature, a large chest, and 25 years of living experience in the field of breathing, am usually not hassled when it comes to verifying my age in regards to the purchasing of alcohol. But this paticular twit behind the counter was really working my ID over like it was the rarest of all the Pokeman trading cards he had ever seen. So when he surpassed the usual 4 seconds it takes to verify an ID card at a Brewer game, I became worried. And then my worries were drastically heightened as Chunky McWaddlesworth maneuvered his way to the backroom behind the stand with my ID.
Finally, the Turdly Twinkie returns only to explain to me that he cannot serve me alcohol. I'm like, " Why the f#ck not?" He's like, "Well you have a red outline around your photo and it says under 21 above it." At this point, my response could have gone in a couple of different directions:
-Listen Mr. Goodtime Charlie, I've got half a mind to put a foot up your chubby ass if you don't pour me a beer, pronto!
-I probably should have told you this earlier but I'm friends with Nate Filzen, reigning pig wrestling champion.
-You will rue the day you denied my patronage you foul piece of pig fodder! Rue the day I tell you!!!
-The way I see it, you've got two options. You can either pour me that beer, OR I can climb over this counter, remove your trousers infront of your equally incompetent co-workers, and flog your bottom in such a fashion that will cause your nipples to bleed for nine consecutive days . What will it be?
But unfortunately my actual response was to tell him, "Yeah, it says I'm under 21, but then it also says directly under that until 00/00/2002, and incase you haven't noticed, we are currently operating under the year 2006. I tried to be as big of a prick as possible since that is the most sure fire way to get whatever you want in any walk of life. But he wouldn't budge and claimed that this order was coming from his manager and there was nothing he could do about it. I told him he and his fascist operation could all go to hell and we went back to our seats where the ID scanning process isn't so rigorous among the vendors who go section to section carrying their product in 90 plus degree weather while sweating so terribly that they've decided to incorporate wrist and headbands into their work motifs. To Chuck and your mullet, I say thank you, thank you for delivering the ice cold refreshment that others in that stadium weren't willing to sell. You're a good man Chuck, a damn good man.
The game itself was entertaining even though the Brewers lost, and afterwards Adam and I turned to Friday's Bar and Grill for some post game libatons. We were enjoying our Jack N' Cokes when a member of a bachelorette party approached us and asked if we would pose for a picture with them as they danced around us. Thinking this would lead to a mass orgy of sorts, we willingly accepted. It turns out that they misrepresented their request though. Having sent one of the hotter women in their party to recruit us, they went ahead and successfully pulled the old "bait and switch" maneuever. Turns out they didn't want to all take a picture with us, but rather I had to have my picture taken with a raspy voiced, southside of Chicago, White Sox fan who I don't remember the name of at this time. But they were playing a game and I had to pretend like we were dancing (since the bar wasn't playing any dance music) as they took our picture. She turned out to be pretty cool though after talking to her for awhile. She congratulated me, as a Brewers fan, on the recent acquisition of Tony Graffanino and reminded me of how much of an important piece of the puzzle he was to the White Sox winning the ALCS last season. Or was it the ALDS? I can't remember, but she did know the abbreviations to the American League Championship Series or the American League Divisional Series (whatever one she was referring to), and that kind of language makes almost any girl a bit hotter in my book.
As we were mingling, a couple of young male Brewers fans no more than 1-3 years younger than Adam and I joined the group. One of the guys, a tall, brown mopped fella in a wife beater was completely shit canned. Probably the top 5 drunkest people I've seen in public, ever. We was trying to pick up every girl in the group and was trying to do so using a speech so slurred that nobody knew what the hell he was trying to say. Everyone in the place was watching him, he was just an absolute wreck. He finally made his way to where the Chicago girl and I were standing, and it was much of the same. He could have been speaking Russian for all I know, he wasn't making any sense. At least that was until he told the girl from Chicago that he wanted to shit in her mouth. Now I'm not much of a Casanova in the way of the ladies, but I'm pretty sure asking a girl if you can shit in her mouth is the not the route to take when trying to procure a young lady's digits. Unless that's what he's actually into, then his approach is very well planned. If there was a quicker filtering process than his out there, I'd like to see/hear it.
The other guy, a way more sober friend of the drunk guy but still drunk in his own right, started talking to us and he was an OK guy. Apparently they started their day out playing beer pong at 6am, or so he says. He could have told us his friend was double fisting bottles of peppermint Scope all day and I would have believed him. This guy kept trying to make bets with us and finally he convinced Adam that he could finish his Jack N' Coke (which was only a couple of sips into it) before Adam could finish his beer (which was almost more than half way finished). Both drinks were in the same sized cup and wouldn't you know it, Adam got his ass handed to him. Before they started, Adam was talking trash to the guy, "You might as well just give me the 5 dollars because I'm gonna waste you" type talk. That kid tipped his neck back and the drink was gone. Adam's eyes just got huge as he was left to choke down his last couple of swallows of beer in utter astonishment. Adam spent more time watching his opponent drink their drink than he spent focusing on his. Adam's glass never even broke a horizontal plain, it was like he was sipping tea or something. I was never more ashamed to be called his brother in my entire life. I told him next time that glass better be at a complete vertical position with your head tilted back if you ever want to win another bet, none of this Nancy boy crap. The guy coupled his winnings with his last five dollars to buy us a round of shots, and then we said our goodbyes.
On our walk back home to my apartment, we spotted Andrew Strachota, his wife Jamie, his sister Cassy and her husband Chris out in the lot playing bags, AKA cornhole. They welcomed us with open arms, offered us a beer, shared some laughs, and we even got to watch Andrew throw ice at a guy collecting empty beer cans in the lot. Definitely a good night had by all.
# posted by hucklebuck @ 8:26 AM 
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