All right, I fixed your original attempt at a ribbon image.
And yes, as I mentioned to Rob and Whit this morning, I went to a wedding on Saturday where I knew about four people total, but did manage to earn the coveted "Drunkest guy at the wedding" ribbon, or so I think. It's all a bit hazy.
Nope - I was just filling them in earlier via the electronic mail system. I guess Rob really wanted me to get the fictional ribbon I mentioned in the email.
The last time I was the drunkest guy at a wedding was probably in 1999. That's depressing. I remember when Jerry was the drunkest guy at Carter's wedding, standing around the bonfire wearing a suit jacket with jeans and telling girls he was "a millionaire."
Drunkest guy at my wedding was Greg...by a couple of touchdowns.
i dunno, there were some other contenders at my wedding. pellicane threw a bottle of bubble solution at a horse. someone else had to be taken to the hospital after a dancing mishap.
I believe I took the honor of drunkest guy at Sam's 2006 nuptials. As a groomsman, I led a group that polished off all of the scotch at the reception. The night took a turn for the worse when somebody ordered a round of pint-sized Red Bull & Vodkas when we got to the post-reception bar. After chugging the drink, I successfully put $5 in the jukebox to play 15 songs. Every other song was One of These Days. My attempts to goatate the bar patrons were, unfortunately, less successful.
The night ended with me allegedly trying to play pool while blacked out, and then being stuffed into a cab to go home. I crawled into bed with my wife, and then realized I was going to be sick. I got sick and then tried to crawl back into bed, only to feel my wife pushing me out, saying "You have vomit on your arm."
At Rob's wedding I was quite loaded, but not completely over the top because his new bride, wise beyond her years, informed me early on that I would be giving my best man toast at 9:30pm. Very clever, that girl.
I may have taken the (dis)honor at a handful of weddings, but there's little doubt I won top billing on my sister's wedding day in NYC. (Very classy, big brother.)
After a number of car bombs, Cape Codders, and a crapload of what-not in the post-reception gathering at a bar, I performed a bit of Three Stooges face-slapping on my uncle, who immediately punched me in the face, blackening my eye. I then passed out on a table, where a few strands of my hair fell into a lit candle and caught fire. Members of the family kindly extinguished my head.
Sometime thereafter, my aunts convinced me to walk downstairs and out to a cab. The fresh air revitalized me, and I made a mad dash back into the bar. By this time, 4 or 5 of my relatives were descending the narrow staircase, and my aunt raced after me, yelling, "Stop him!"
Using a combination of speed, force, and bipedal dexterity not seen in New York since Freeman McNeil ran amok, I leapt over, darted around, and plowed through teen and twentysomething-aged cousins as I made my way back upstairs. The last obstacle, perched at the top of the stairs, was the aforementioned uncle. I lowered my shoulder and slammed his portly frame into the wall, skirting past him and seeing daylight.
The crafty veteran, however, would not be denied so easily. As he slumped to the top step, he reached out and took hold of my left ankle, holding on for dear life. Just before I slipped the size 13 patent leather rental out of his clutches, he opened wide and bit down on my ankle, breaking skin and drawing blood. I shrieked like a little girl, drew the ire of the wait staff, and was soon ushered from the premises by friends, family, and bouncers.
Another moment from the night that muses me in reflection... film actress Julie Bowen was in attendance, (you might know her as Happy Gilmore's girlfriend, but she was starring on Ed at the time) as her husband is friends with my sister. Someone pointed her out amid my stupor, and I turned with unexpected zeal, moved in her direction, and said, "Yes!" At which point several hands grabbed me by the shirt collar, yanked me backwards, and a chorus of "No!" rang out. A wise decision.
Oh, and as for epilogue... The wedding was 5 years ago. This past Thanksgiving the family returned en masse to NYC for a nice holiday weekend. Very late Wednesday night (after more car bombs) I punched my uncle in the mouth and he had a fat lip as he gave the blessing before the big meal on Turkey Day.
You'd have to decide on an angle for answering it, though. Stupidity can be personified in so many ways: destroying physical property, losing out on a chance for some loving, causing academic problems, fighting, etc.
Given the sample set that reads this blog, each person could probably come up with an event that fits each of these types of stupidity. I know I sure can. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the Teej can as well.
Mine probably involves falling asleep on the shoulder of the Fairfax County Parkway...I think...though there are a lot of nominees that warrant consideration. I also ruined a couples first dance by screaming "show it to her" in 1999 and later that evening urinated on the first tee of the golf course where the reception was held, in full view of the reception attendees (along with two other hammers). No one night in the 'burg sticks out over any others, though I did once fall on a broken bottle of Smirnoff, causing a shard of glass to lodge itself in my knee...and then I walked around for several hours with the glass protruding from said knee. After someone pointed out my bloody sock, I had someone remove the glass. Still have the scar to prove it too...
Oh yeah, the night I tried to hug Jerry in 2001 has to be up there too...
to each his own, timmy. answer in any way you deem fit. i can think of a doozy for me in the 'losing some loving' category that involved me, jimmy buffett, and urination on several of my friends and not-so-friends. story to follow after i stop laughing about it.
Sometimes these superlatives are best related by someone else. The drunkest I saw Rob might've been the "golf party" back in undergrad. In more recent times, I saw him grass-stain his mint green seersucker pants right outside a biker bar, heaving in the bushes. No damage to speak of, no ignominy, but very drunk, very stupid, very gay-looking.
Greg's Father's Day 2007 episode at the Arlington Sheraton is my favorite drunk story of recent vintage. When you expel waste from every possible human orifice on the grounds of a 2 and a half star hotel property...well, you are getting after it.
Well, obviously, my run in with the 5-0 on Colonial Parkway was a tremendously awful experience...but I think tossing that croquet ball through the windshield of my car was, as Jim Rome might say, epic.
But as Timmy alluded to, I have no shortage of choices here...I'll just have to start pulling excerpts from "Ketchup Only" for everyone.
You went retro-Teej in the Outer Banks last year, heaving a pint glass at a car in a parking lot. It brought "Croquet TJ" back to a few folks' minds. And yet you were only the second drunkest piece of luggage on the trip.
Also, many moons ago (probably my second or third year in DC), I went to a wedding for a co-worker...was overserved...was left at the after-party by my girlfriend at the time...and have NO recollection of how I got home.
However, I did wake up in the morning completely buck naked on my couch, my suit balled up in a corner of the living room covered in vomit...and with the bride's cell phone. Which of course I couldn't give back to her for 2 weeks because she was on her honeymoon in Mexico.
The TJ/croquet ball episode truly was epic. It's hard to even describe it, but you just rarely have the opportunity to watch someone purposely do $300 worth of damage to their own (parked) car.
Teej had a classic episode a few years back when I went down to DC to visit with some folks and participate in a DC-area Santa Stumble.
I met up with Broka, Denny and the Teej in Crystal City. We ended up at some weird strip club in a strip mall. The girls were wearing pasties and smiles. The Teej thought it would be a good idea to slap one of the dancers in the ass when she came over to our table. Needless to say, we threw him under the bus, letting the bouncers angrily toss him to the curb while we re-focused our attention on the woman.
We spent the rest of the night watching Teej from inside the club. He had found his way inside a convenience store next door and was trying to use his ATM card. It wasn't working, but he kept swiping over and over and over and over again. I think we left him in that store after watching try to swipe the card for about 20 minutes.
That said, people in glass houses probably shouldn't throw stones.
And people who are out of their mind at Sigma Nu parties shouldn't stand on the elevated brick railing on their outside porch and challenge the entire party to come fight you on the grass. It was a good way for me to let every person at that party know that I'm a tool - for the behavior and for doing that at a Sigma Nu party. I would've gotten a tougher fight out of Phi Mus.
Sometimes thinking of a different venue reminds you of terrible, terrible performances. En route to a bachelor party in Columbus, a bunch of us stopped off at a friend's brother's place in Pittsburgh. It was a room in a dorm at Pitt Seminary.
After a ton of bad beer in mason jars, I managed to throw up in the foyer of the seminary dorm. Stay classy, Pittsburgh.
While the friend's brother was cleaning up my mess, I wandered off and passed out in the wrong dorm room. The guys spent much of the night searching all over campus for me.
I woke up the next day in an empty room (thank the Lord, no pun intended), but one with boy scout uniforms tacked up on the wall. Pleased that I wasn't handcuffed to a radiator, and still a bit drunk, I wandered out in the hall and found the right room. A lot of unhappy faces.
Soon enough, I'd won them back over with my charm and wit, and we got ready to hit the road for Columbus. I decided to lighten the mood with a tomahawk dunk on the nerf hoop on the closet door. In doing so, predictably, I kicked over a table, one with a fairly full dip cup on it. Groans ensued.
Ah, but as one fellow noted, the cup had not hit the friend's brother's carpet! Nope, it had pretty much dumped its contents exclusively inside one open duffel bag. After a quick survey . . . yep, it was his brother's duffel bag. He rode with us to Columbus, and then drove straight back to get away from the drunk asshole.
The outline comment was for Timothy, not Whitney...I only post this out so Whit doesn't delete my comment, as much like Brezhnev, he doesn't tolerate dissent.
golf party, sure - that was a good one. i think, though, my efforts in support of the 1988 boston red sox were top notch.
after watching the sox lose the first 2 games of the alcs to the oakland a's and score a paucity of runs in the process, i vowed to drink two (not one, nooooo - that would be too few) shots of bacardi 151 for every run the sox scored in game 3.
and after the sox scored 5 times in the first 2 innings, that became one of the all-time bad ideas. by the time the game had ended (with the sox losing 10-6), i had: puked on myself, been carried to the dorm showers, puked on myself again, threatened my dormmates with a broom, broken said broom, puked on myself again, and passed out cold.
I think Burr is referencing my sister's wedding where I was also one of the guys urinating on the first tee of the country club where the reception was held. Not to be outdone, my sister garnered the drunkest bride award that night. When you are still drinking Jack Daniels with the wedding party on the roof of the hotel at 4:00 AM, then you've earned it.
Fast forward to my wedding in 2003 where a drunken Burr hooked up with a bridesmaid in a nearby pasture, covering his tuxedo in red clay. Geoffrey, I don't think you got your security deposit back.
I was also happy to hear that on the way back to the hotel, one of the other bridesmaids had to have her ride pull over so she could vomit in a graveyard. Fantastic.
I did get my deposit back on that tux. I was sharing a room with Essman and Sam at that wedding and when I got home from said hookup I put my clay covered tux in the tub and filled it up with water...as my drunken brain thought this was a good plan. When Sam woke up in the middle of the night to take a piss he thought someone had slit their wrists in our tub. And that's the last time I hooked up in a field behind a hotel...
heard herschel walker on xm public radio this afternoon. not saying this to be cleverly ironic or anything, but he is one interesting and complex dude.
I have never been a drunken tool. But Tim likes to tell the story about the time I allegedly tried to pick a fight with a bouncer at the world's seediest nudie bar after he frisked me with one of those metal-detector wands. Or any one of several anecdotes about my inability to hold my psychadelics. I like to tell the story about the time Tim rode his beach cruiser around campus in a thunderstorm buck naked smoking Marlboro Lights.
man, I wish that I had done more stupid things. those stories are good. Bravo to all. And I know that we have only seen the tip of the iceberg on dumb things with tim, tj, and whit. that would be good reading. maybe not as good as pip's book...
Gosh, I feel like I know y'all except... I don't really know y'all. A friend of a friend (yo, Quinn) turned me on and -wow- it brought back this total drunken wedding memory of my own... so I was in the wedding party and when we got up to the altar you could smell the rum. So I'm thinking, okay, how comfortable is this groom with getting married? But on to what turned out to be a six hour reception that ran out of scotch and vodka the first hour. The bride's uncle and best friend (he's a midget) run to liquor store to resupply but have to get a special license to buy that much, which they do, and the party rolls on. The mother-of-the-bride kept yelling at me to eat something and stop drinking so much champagne but finally got distracted by the groom taking off her daughter's garter with his teeth. Finally, with guests table dancing, the parents start pushing the happy couple out the door when the groom's cigarette cherry falls onto the bride's multi-layered, Static guard coated tulle skirt so now she's like, really smokin' hot! The bride now HAMMERED, dress extinguished, guests encouraged to 'please, really, there's no more liquor!' leave, they run through a buck-shot barrage of bird seed into the limo and return home to party with friends until the wee hours. So maybe I wasn't exactly the most blushing bride, but you'd think I would've seen that divorce coming! come visit us at www.queenbeaches.blogspot.com
Jesus man...how 'bout some formatting?
ReplyDeleteAll right, I fixed your original attempt at a ribbon image.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, as I mentioned to Rob and Whit this morning, I went to a wedding on Saturday where I knew about four people total, but did manage to earn the coveted "Drunkest guy at the wedding" ribbon, or so I think. It's all a bit hazy.
well done, sir.
ReplyDeleteI'm amazed my search of the interwebs did not yield even one real "Drunkest Guy" ribbon.
ReplyDeleteWere Robert and Whitney also at said wedding?
ReplyDeleteNope - I was just filling them in earlier via the electronic mail system. I guess Rob really wanted me to get the fictional ribbon I mentioned in the email.
ReplyDeleteI also would have accepted a plaque or commemorative gold coin for my efforts.
ReplyDeleteThe last time I was the drunkest guy at a wedding was probably in 1999. That's depressing. I remember when Jerry was the drunkest guy at Carter's wedding, standing around the bonfire wearing a suit jacket with jeans and telling girls he was "a millionaire."
ReplyDeleteDrunkest guy at my wedding was Greg...by a couple of touchdowns.
I'm not exactly going out on a limb here, but I bet the drunkest guy at rob's wedding was Whit.
ReplyDeleteWhat year is it - 1989? espn2 is airing womans college bowling.
ReplyDeletei dunno, there were some other contenders at my wedding. pellicane threw a bottle of bubble solution at a horse. someone else had to be taken to the hospital after a dancing mishap.
ReplyDeleteThis Wiz/Pacers game is dreadful.
ReplyDeleteBut not as dreadful as Steve Phillips.
ReplyDeleteVery interesting night in the American League...
ReplyDelete...And that was before Manny just hit a ball 500 feet.
ReplyDelete15 hours late on this thread....
ReplyDeleteI believe I took the honor of drunkest guy at Sam's 2006 nuptials. As a groomsman, I led a group that polished off all of the scotch at the reception. The night took a turn for the worse when somebody ordered a round of pint-sized Red Bull & Vodkas when we got to the post-reception bar. After chugging the drink, I successfully put $5 in the jukebox to play 15 songs. Every other song was One of These Days. My attempts to goatate the bar patrons were, unfortunately, less successful.
The night ended with me allegedly trying to play pool while blacked out, and then being stuffed into a cab to go home. I crawled into bed with my wife, and then realized I was going to be sick. I got sick and then tried to crawl back into bed, only to feel my wife pushing me out, saying "You have vomit on your arm."
Good times for her.
Well played sir...
ReplyDeleteAt Rob's wedding I was quite loaded, but not completely over the top because his new bride, wise beyond her years, informed me early on that I would be giving my best man toast at 9:30pm. Very clever, that girl.
ReplyDeleteI may have taken the (dis)honor at a handful of weddings, but there's little doubt I won top billing on my sister's wedding day in NYC. (Very classy, big brother.)
After a number of car bombs, Cape Codders, and a crapload of what-not in the post-reception gathering at a bar, I performed a bit of Three Stooges face-slapping on my uncle, who immediately punched me in the face, blackening my eye. I then passed out on a table, where a few strands of my hair fell into a lit candle and caught fire. Members of the family kindly extinguished my head.
Sometime thereafter, my aunts convinced me to walk downstairs and out to a cab. The fresh air revitalized me, and I made a mad dash back into the bar. By this time, 4 or 5 of my relatives were descending the narrow staircase, and my aunt raced after me, yelling, "Stop him!"
Using a combination of speed, force, and bipedal dexterity not seen in New York since Freeman McNeil ran amok, I leapt over, darted around, and plowed through teen and twentysomething-aged cousins as I made my way back upstairs. The last obstacle, perched at the top of the stairs, was the aforementioned uncle. I lowered my shoulder and slammed his portly frame into the wall, skirting past him and seeing daylight.
The crafty veteran, however, would not be denied so easily. As he slumped to the top step, he reached out and took hold of my left ankle, holding on for dear life. Just before I slipped the size 13 patent leather rental out of his clutches, he opened wide and bit down on my ankle, breaking skin and drawing blood. I shrieked like a little girl, drew the ire of the wait staff, and was soon ushered from the premises by friends, family, and bouncers.
My sister was so proud.
There are no words...
ReplyDeleteMy dad managed to find a few the next day.
ReplyDeleteAnother moment from the night that muses me in reflection... film actress Julie Bowen was in attendance, (you might know her as Happy Gilmore's girlfriend, but she was starring on Ed at the time) as her husband is friends with my sister. Someone pointed her out amid my stupor, and I turned with unexpected zeal, moved in her direction, and said, "Yes!" At which point several hands grabbed me by the shirt collar, yanked me backwards, and a chorus of "No!" rang out. A wise decision.
Oh, and as for epilogue... The wedding was 5 years ago. This past Thanksgiving the family returned en masse to NYC for a nice holiday weekend. Very late Wednesday night (after more car bombs) I punched my uncle in the mouth and he had a fat lip as he gave the blessing before the big meal on Turkey Day.
Well, it ain't Ozzie and Harriet.
I cried at my sister's wedding. I cried like a big dumb homo.
ReplyDeletei made my sister cry at her wedding. not exactly the same, i guess.
ReplyDeletehere's a question for you, whit (really, for everyone):
ReplyDeletewhat do you consider your number one drunkest episode - the very drunkest stupidity you've displayed?
That is the broadest question ever.
ReplyDeleteYou'd have to decide on an angle for answering it, though. Stupidity can be personified in so many ways: destroying physical property, losing out on a chance for some loving, causing academic problems, fighting, etc.
Given the sample set that reads this blog, each person could probably come up with an event that fits each of these types of stupidity. I know I sure can. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the Teej can as well.
The time I peed on my friends Labrador Retriever during a party in college comes to mind...
ReplyDeleteMine probably involves falling asleep on the shoulder of the Fairfax County Parkway...I think...though there are a lot of nominees that warrant consideration. I also ruined a couples first dance by screaming "show it to her" in 1999 and later that evening urinated on the first tee of the golf course where the reception was held, in full view of the reception attendees (along with two other hammers). No one night in the 'burg sticks out over any others, though I did once fall on a broken bottle of Smirnoff, causing a shard of glass to lodge itself in my knee...and then I walked around for several hours with the glass protruding from said knee. After someone pointed out my bloody sock, I had someone remove the glass. Still have the scar to prove it too...
ReplyDeleteOh yeah, the night I tried to hug Jerry in 2001 has to be up there too...
to each his own, timmy. answer in any way you deem fit. i can think of a doozy for me in the 'losing some loving' category that involved me, jimmy buffett, and urination on several of my friends and not-so-friends. story to follow after i stop laughing about it.
ReplyDeleteWow. I don't even know where to begin.
ReplyDeleteSometimes these superlatives are best related by someone else. The drunkest I saw Rob might've been the "golf party" back in undergrad. In more recent times, I saw him grass-stain his mint green seersucker pants right outside a biker bar, heaving in the bushes. No damage to speak of, no ignominy, but very drunk, very stupid, very gay-looking.
Greg's Father's Day 2007 episode at the Arlington Sheraton is my favorite drunk story of recent vintage. When you expel waste from every possible human orifice on the grounds of a 2 and a half star hotel property...well, you are getting after it.
ReplyDeleteWell, obviously, my run in with the 5-0 on Colonial Parkway was a tremendously awful experience...but I think tossing that croquet ball through the windshield of my car was, as Jim Rome might say, epic.
ReplyDeleteBut as Timmy alluded to, I have no shortage of choices here...I'll just have to start pulling excerpts from "Ketchup Only" for everyone.
You went retro-Teej in the Outer Banks last year, heaving a pint glass at a car in a parking lot. It brought "Croquet TJ" back to a few folks' minds. And yet you were only the second drunkest piece of luggage on the trip.
ReplyDeleteAlso, many moons ago (probably my second or third year in DC), I went to a wedding for a co-worker...was overserved...was left at the after-party by my girlfriend at the time...and have NO recollection of how I got home.
ReplyDeleteHowever, I did wake up in the morning completely buck naked on my couch, my suit balled up in a corner of the living room covered in vomit...and with the bride's cell phone. Which of course I couldn't give back to her for 2 weeks because she was on her honeymoon in Mexico.
Oh yeah, the bride was also my boss at the time.
I still can't believe my "the best way to hide is in plain sight" move worked. Kids that work at supermarkets = not very bright.
ReplyDeleteThe TJ/croquet ball episode truly was epic. It's hard to even describe it, but you just rarely have the opportunity to watch someone purposely do $300 worth of damage to their own (parked) car.
ReplyDeleteEven though said car had a transistor radio in the glove box for music and was started via a screwdriver in the ignition.
ReplyDeleteStop defending him.
ReplyDeleteTeej had a classic episode a few years back when I went down to DC to visit with some folks and participate in a DC-area Santa Stumble.
ReplyDeleteI met up with Broka, Denny and the Teej in Crystal City. We ended up at some weird strip club in a strip mall. The girls were wearing pasties and smiles. The Teej thought it would be a good idea to slap one of the dancers in the ass when she came over to our table. Needless to say, we threw him under the bus, letting the bouncers angrily toss him to the curb while we re-focused our attention on the woman.
We spent the rest of the night watching Teej from inside the club. He had found his way inside a convenience store next door and was trying to use his ATM card. It wasn't working, but he kept swiping over and over and over and over again. I think we left him in that store after watching try to swipe the card for about 20 minutes.
That said, people in glass houses probably shouldn't throw stones.
And people who are out of their mind at Sigma Nu parties shouldn't stand on the elevated brick railing on their outside porch and challenge the entire party to come fight you on the grass. It was a good way for me to let every person at that party know that I'm a tool - for the behavior and for doing that at a Sigma Nu party. I would've gotten a tougher fight out of Phi Mus.
Sometimes thinking of a different venue reminds you of terrible, terrible performances. En route to a bachelor party in Columbus, a bunch of us stopped off at a friend's brother's place in Pittsburgh. It was a room in a dorm at Pitt Seminary.
ReplyDeleteAfter a ton of bad beer in mason jars, I managed to throw up in the foyer of the seminary dorm. Stay classy, Pittsburgh.
While the friend's brother was cleaning up my mess, I wandered off and passed out in the wrong dorm room. The guys spent much of the night searching all over campus for me.
I woke up the next day in an empty room (thank the Lord, no pun intended), but one with boy scout uniforms tacked up on the wall. Pleased that I wasn't handcuffed to a radiator, and still a bit drunk, I wandered out in the hall and found the right room. A lot of unhappy faces.
Soon enough, I'd won them back over with my charm and wit, and we got ready to hit the road for Columbus. I decided to lighten the mood with a tomahawk dunk on the nerf hoop on the closet door. In doing so, predictably, I kicked over a table, one with a fairly full dip cup on it. Groans ensued.
Ah, but as one fellow noted, the cup had not hit the friend's brother's carpet! Nope, it had pretty much dumped its contents exclusively inside one open duffel bag. After a quick survey . . . yep, it was his brother's duffel bag. He rode with us to Columbus, and then drove straight back to get away from the drunk asshole.
That post could have benefited from the development of an outline prior to being drafted.
ReplyDeleteThe outline comment was for Timothy, not Whitney...I only post this out so Whit doesn't delete my comment, as much like Brezhnev, he doesn't tolerate dissent.
ReplyDeleteGreatest. Car. Ever.
ReplyDeleteI always considered myself more Stalin-like.
ReplyDeleteAh yes, Crystal City Restaurant...they make a mean pork chop.
ReplyDeletegolf party, sure - that was a good one. i think, though, my efforts in support of the 1988 boston red sox were top notch.
ReplyDeleteafter watching the sox lose the first 2 games of the alcs to the oakland a's and score a paucity of runs in the process, i vowed to drink two (not one, nooooo - that would be too few) shots of bacardi 151 for every run the sox scored in game 3.
and after the sox scored 5 times in the first 2 innings, that became one of the all-time bad ideas. by the time the game had ended (with the sox losing 10-6), i had: puked on myself, been carried to the dorm showers, puked on myself again, threatened my dormmates with a broom, broken said broom, puked on myself again, and passed out cold.
I think Burr is referencing my sister's wedding where I was also one of the guys urinating on the first tee of the country club where the reception was held. Not to be outdone, my sister garnered the drunkest bride award that night. When you are still drinking Jack Daniels with the wedding party on the roof of the hotel at 4:00 AM, then you've earned it.
ReplyDeleteFast forward to my wedding in 2003 where a drunken Burr hooked up with a bridesmaid in a nearby pasture, covering his tuxedo in red clay. Geoffrey, I don't think you got your security deposit back.
I was also happy to hear that on the way back to the hotel, one of the other bridesmaids had to have her ride pull over so she could vomit in a graveyard. Fantastic.
The new coach of Providence is...Keno Davis?
ReplyDeleteHe got really drunk at a wedding, threw up on the bride's father, and wound up coaching Providence.
ReplyDeletethat's a terrrrible choice.
ReplyDeletefor him.
I did get my deposit back on that tux. I was sharing a room with Essman and Sam at that wedding and when I got home from said hookup I put my clay covered tux in the tub and filled it up with water...as my drunken brain thought this was a good plan. When Sam woke up in the middle of the night to take a piss he thought someone had slit their wrists in our tub. And that's the last time I hooked up in a field behind a hotel...
ReplyDeletehoward schultz, showing a staggering amount of naivete. good luck with that lawsuit, dummy.
ReplyDeletehttp://sportsline.com/nba/story/10780740
also, i've never been drunk in a starbucks. to my knowledge. i was howlingly hammered in the old dog street coffee shop one homecoming, howevah.
ReplyDeleteheard herschel walker on xm public radio this afternoon. not saying this to be cleverly ironic or anything, but he is one interesting and complex dude.
ReplyDeleteand that's a badly-timed goal for the caps to give up.
ReplyDeletecaps game, hmmmm.
ReplyDeletewow, the late third period penalty shot call. don't see that very often.
ReplyDeleteI have never been a drunken tool. But Tim likes to tell the story about the time I allegedly tried to pick a fight with a bouncer at the world's seediest nudie bar after he frisked me with one of those metal-detector wands. Or any one of several anecdotes about my inability to hold my psychadelics. I like to tell the story about the time Tim rode his beach cruiser around campus in a thunderstorm buck naked smoking Marlboro Lights.
ReplyDeleteman, I wish that I had done more stupid things. those stories are good. Bravo to all. And I know that we have only seen the tip of the iceberg on dumb things with tim, tj, and whit. that would be good reading. maybe not as good as pip's book...
ReplyDeleteGosh, I feel like I know y'all except... I don't really know y'all. A friend of a friend (yo, Quinn) turned me on and -wow- it brought back this total drunken wedding memory of my own... so I was in the wedding party and when we got up to the altar you could smell the rum. So I'm thinking, okay, how comfortable is this groom with getting married? But on to what turned out to be a six hour reception that ran out of scotch and vodka the first hour. The bride's uncle and best friend (he's a midget) run to liquor store to resupply but have to get a special license to buy that much, which they do, and the party rolls on. The mother-of-the-bride kept yelling at me to eat something and stop drinking so much champagne but finally got distracted by the groom taking off her daughter's garter with his teeth. Finally, with guests table dancing, the parents start pushing the happy couple out the door when the groom's cigarette cherry falls onto the bride's multi-layered, Static guard coated tulle skirt so now she's like, really smokin' hot! The bride now HAMMERED, dress extinguished, guests encouraged to 'please, really, there's no more liquor!' leave, they run through a buck-shot barrage of bird seed into the limo and return home to party with friends until the wee hours.
ReplyDeleteSo maybe I wasn't exactly the most blushing bride, but you'd think I would've seen that divorce coming! come visit us at www.queenbeaches.blogspot.com