BREW CREW HANGOVER
They might never win another game. At least they are playing on the road this weekend, when I will be there. They have a puncher's chance on the road. At home, they can't do anything right lately. It is becoming borderline painful to watch. Schizophrenic as always. At least they didn't replace Doug Davis with Soup, which shows you how ridiculous it was that he was ever starting in the first place. But if you've got a guy who is only the 8th (assuming Villa is done starting) best starter on your team wasting space in the bullpen, why is he still here at all? Best to Doug Davis. The Brewers seem cursed this year. That Brewer-Cub game in September is looking better and better.
OTHER HANGOVER
My (Sports Bottle's) god. It is painful to type right now. I'm in BAD shape. This is in the top 3 worst second day hangovers I've ever had. And I can't really give you a good reason why. Everything went sort of as planned this weekend. I got really, really drunk on Friday. I wandered away about midnight and got yelled at (probably deservedly so). I blacked out and forgot how I got back to Schmock's house.
Saturday, I woke up with a hangover, killed it with an Excedrin and a screwdriver, and proceeded to get super ass drunk. I had a nice mixture of beer/caffinated mixed drinks, and somehow (I think, I'll be honest when I say I don't remember) stayed away from vodka/cranberry. Spent somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 straight hours at Pack R Place bar, ate a huge greasy burger, a brat and a chicken sandwich. Told a bunch of inappropriate jokes. Good times were had. Then we went to Schmock's parents, and things are a total blur. The only things I remember from the two hours or so we spent there were as follows: I was introduced to Code Red and Vodka, I ate a piece of pizza, we tried to set up my wife's perpetually single friend with another of our perpetually single friends via text message when said girl wasn't there and had never met the guy who was standing there with a three fingered chew in his cheek. I have no clue how much I drank in those two hours. Then we went back to the bar, where the only thing I know for sure is that I had at least one shot. At some point, we walked three miles (or one) back to Schmock's house. I think I immediately passed out.
And then....I puked. Alot, and without warning. I shouldn't say no warning. I had enough warning to get most of it in the toilet. Then I puked again. This time, I almost didn't make it to the bathroom, but thankfully I did. I have no clue what prompted the vomit. It has been awhile. I didn't miss it. Oh, and I blew all the blood vessels in my face and my eyes are yellow, so I look really, really bad. I got all sorts of stares and comments at work, but nobody came right out and said "What the fuck happened to your face?" Although I know they wanted to. Somehow I didn't fall asleep at my desk, or wind up in a ditch on the way home.
Did I mention that I'm doing this again (less one day) on Saturday night? It is a good thing the bars in Minneapolis close at like 10:45. On a scale of one to ten on levels of excitement, with 10 being most excited. I'm a negative 3. And it is only that high because I haven't seen Richard's sweet, sweet ass in like 6 months. But I've got to do what I've got to do. You are only sort of young once. And at some point I'm sure some kid will come along and ruin the opportunity to be completely retarded. And I've got a contract with Richard signed in blood to get blacked out every time I see him. So there is that.
Showing posts with label puke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label puke. Show all posts
Monday, May 17, 2010
Monday, August 24, 2009
"They Are Watching Us"
I have somehow managed to survive weekend number 4 in the 4 weekend drinking marathon that has become my life in August 2009. Wisconsin Dells was a pretty cool fucking place to get drunk. The drunk bus that took us around free of charge was a fantastic touch as well. I managed to stay within budget somehow, and not get divorced in the process, which is a plus.
The only complaint I had about the weekend was the Nazi golf rangers that stalked us for the first three holes at the course we golfed at on Saturday. Perhaps it was that Richard and I were like 20 minutes late for our tee time. Perhaps it was that even though we were late, and the ranger was staring at us in disgust, we took the time to shove a case of beer into our golf bags right in front of him. Perhaps it is that we clearly sucked at golf. Whatever it was, it was annoying. Soon they went away, and a everyone got drunk. The round culminated in a sudden death playoff with another team after we choked away a one stroke lead on 18 in our best ball tourney. After we both birdied 18 (and ruined a wedding in the process) was lost on some bullshit putt off. Good thing we never paid up on the bet we lost.
So back to this wedding. Some moron (probably a FIB because there were somewhere in the neighborhood of 200,000 of them in the Dells this weekend. Why do they insist on coming to fucking Wisconsin?) decided it was a good idea to have an outdoor, Saturday afternoon wedding at a golf course, a mere 200 feet from the 18th green. As we are coming down the fairway on 18, we could hear vows being exchanged. Then someone (I think Sports Bottle) shafted one very near the crowd assembled at the wedding, and someone else knocked one off the bar and grill that was right past the wedding. We found the ball I would guess about 150 yds past the bride and groom, who were STILL giving their vows. These were seriously the longest vows ever. Then Sports Bottle hits a ridiculous shot from 75 yards out off this hill right next to the wedding, to get withing 5 feet or so of the hole, and leaving the team with a birdie putt. About 10 people screamed when he plunked the shot on the green (still vows happening). Some douche in a tux comes over and yells at me that "There is a wedding going over hear if you didn't notice. Do you mind?" My response should have been, "well there is a fucking golf match going on here, so can you keep that shit down over there? I'm trying to putt." But I didn't because I am a huge vagina. But it really took some fucking nerve to take that ridiculous position.
After golf, we went back to the hotel, ate, got more drunk, watched the Packers dismantle the Bills, and headed out to the bars/Crusin' Chubby's (which gets high marks). I don't honestly remember a whole helluva lot from the bars. Or afterwards. Schmock was forced to wear red suit pants and a leather vest. He insisted on wearing a t-shirt underneath.
All I know is that the room was fucking trashed in the morning, and if someone doesn't get a bill out of this, I would be shocked. I'm going on a limb and saying it was the worst shape I've ever seen a hotel room in. I was huddled next to the cum stained wall (I don't believe any of us came on the wall, but it is a hotel room, so there is dried up semen everywhere) on the floor, on top of my hat, on top of someones backpack, with my shoes on, and someone else's pillow. The bathroom was covered in vomit backsplash and vomit soaked towels. There was probably an inch of shit on the floor from various chips and crackers. Outside, there was a pile of hotel issued blankets, sheets and pillows covered in vomit. Also outside our room: one wet sleeping bag (which may have been wet with vomit or urine), about three tipped over coolers, a whole bunch of empty cans and bottles and shot glasses. Oh, and there was a hookers' severed leg shoved behind the TV (I couldn't find the rest of her).
The ride home yesterday sucked. And just because you had a bachelor party, doesn't mean you have to get married.
The only complaint I had about the weekend was the Nazi golf rangers that stalked us for the first three holes at the course we golfed at on Saturday. Perhaps it was that Richard and I were like 20 minutes late for our tee time. Perhaps it was that even though we were late, and the ranger was staring at us in disgust, we took the time to shove a case of beer into our golf bags right in front of him. Perhaps it is that we clearly sucked at golf. Whatever it was, it was annoying. Soon they went away, and a everyone got drunk. The round culminated in a sudden death playoff with another team after we choked away a one stroke lead on 18 in our best ball tourney. After we both birdied 18 (and ruined a wedding in the process) was lost on some bullshit putt off. Good thing we never paid up on the bet we lost.
So back to this wedding. Some moron (probably a FIB because there were somewhere in the neighborhood of 200,000 of them in the Dells this weekend. Why do they insist on coming to fucking Wisconsin?) decided it was a good idea to have an outdoor, Saturday afternoon wedding at a golf course, a mere 200 feet from the 18th green. As we are coming down the fairway on 18, we could hear vows being exchanged. Then someone (I think Sports Bottle) shafted one very near the crowd assembled at the wedding, and someone else knocked one off the bar and grill that was right past the wedding. We found the ball I would guess about 150 yds past the bride and groom, who were STILL giving their vows. These were seriously the longest vows ever. Then Sports Bottle hits a ridiculous shot from 75 yards out off this hill right next to the wedding, to get withing 5 feet or so of the hole, and leaving the team with a birdie putt. About 10 people screamed when he plunked the shot on the green (still vows happening). Some douche in a tux comes over and yells at me that "There is a wedding going over hear if you didn't notice. Do you mind?" My response should have been, "well there is a fucking golf match going on here, so can you keep that shit down over there? I'm trying to putt." But I didn't because I am a huge vagina. But it really took some fucking nerve to take that ridiculous position.
After golf, we went back to the hotel, ate, got more drunk, watched the Packers dismantle the Bills, and headed out to the bars/Crusin' Chubby's (which gets high marks). I don't honestly remember a whole helluva lot from the bars. Or afterwards. Schmock was forced to wear red suit pants and a leather vest. He insisted on wearing a t-shirt underneath.
All I know is that the room was fucking trashed in the morning, and if someone doesn't get a bill out of this, I would be shocked. I'm going on a limb and saying it was the worst shape I've ever seen a hotel room in. I was huddled next to the cum stained wall (I don't believe any of us came on the wall, but it is a hotel room, so there is dried up semen everywhere) on the floor, on top of my hat, on top of someones backpack, with my shoes on, and someone else's pillow. The bathroom was covered in vomit backsplash and vomit soaked towels. There was probably an inch of shit on the floor from various chips and crackers. Outside, there was a pile of hotel issued blankets, sheets and pillows covered in vomit. Also outside our room: one wet sleeping bag (which may have been wet with vomit or urine), about three tipped over coolers, a whole bunch of empty cans and bottles and shot glasses. Oh, and there was a hookers' severed leg shoved behind the TV (I couldn't find the rest of her).
The ride home yesterday sucked. And just because you had a bachelor party, doesn't mean you have to get married.
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