Showing posts with label questionable parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label questionable parenting. Show all posts

Monday, August 17, 2009

"What's The Point?"

Or, alternate title: "The Gay Urinal". This is a retrospective of the Packers-Browns preseason game on Saturday night, including two pictures.

Richard, Mrs. Juice, Mrs. Juice's friend and I got to the stadium area around 4:30 (gametime 7). Started out the drinking (besides the two beers before we left) with some green water flavored substance that supposedly contained lime vodka, which almost certainly didn't. It was called a "Packer Backer" and it was a mere $5.50, which is a bargain. At least it was fucking hot, so it hydrated me.

Allegedly the country band "Big & Rich" were playing in the parking lot behind Stadium View. I'm unsure a) why anyone would pay for this when you could clearly hear them outside of the fence or b) if Big & Rich is really a big deal if they are playing in the parking lot behind a bar before a Packer preseason game. Have you HEARD some of the shitty bands that play in these tents before games? The only reason I even though to find out who was playing was that they had the gigantic ass stage that was clearly professional-type. We slug down a couple more beers and head towards the stadium, figuring if we blew $60 on these tickets (forced to by the organization through the "lottery" program by making you pay before you know what game you get) we should at least see the starters play.

On the way in, we see this guy:

Now I realize that this picture doesn't say a whole lot, so let me explain. As I said earlier, it was in the 90s and sunny. This kid was standing on a board, shirtless, with a weird wife-beater tan line, dancing to rather loud Michael Jackson music for tips. And he was dancing his fucking ass off, and just drenched in sweat. Did I tip him? Fuck no I didn't tip him. But I stood and laughed. This kid could not have been more than 14. My wife yells at him, where are your parents? He stops dancing, and yells back, "I'm 17! I can drive myself!" And the crowd roared with laughter. The picture above is him packing up his shit at around 10:30. We first saw him dancing at around 6:15. A little while later, we saw an even younger kid, who I presume was this kids brother, selling water out of a cooler, with no parents in sight. Who said professional football games aren't a family atmosphere?

The game itself was fun. We got shitfaced. Packers played well (especially the starters). Found out that they now have "bottomless" popcorn tubs at Lambeau. For $6, you get one of those giant movie sized tubs, and you can refill it as often as you want. Which for an NFL stadium that sells beers for $6.50, is a spectacular deal. We ate two of them between the four of us.

There was a group of 4 ladies between probably 65 and 80 years old, drinking heavily. One lady yelled at the beer vendor, "Hurry up! I'm on Medicare over here!" That was pretty awesome.

I learned another valuable lesson that I believe only applies to warm weather and preseason games. If you bring two attractive women to a preseason game with you, they are going to be hit on by a non-stop barrage of douche bags, and it doesn't matter that they are with other guys, are married, or have boyfriends, or if the douche bags are married. In fact, there was a douche bag in front of us who spent the whole second half turned backwards towards us and was hitting on my wife and her friend right in front of us, even though it was clearly stated on more than one occasion that we were married. Which led to Richard and I having this conversation for the first of many times that night "What is the fucking point?" "What exactly are these guys attempting to accomplish?" "Why are they wasting their time?" We were unable to come up with any answers. This conversation may have taken place in the men's room, in which the gayest photo op ever, was sadly missed. We go in, there are about 14 urinals or so. There are guys lined up in basically every other urinal so I am forced to go to the one right next to Richard, because let's face it, if I have to look at another guy's dick, I might as well be used to it. Anyway, as soon as we start pissing every other guy leaves, leaving Richard and I next to each other, with 12 empty urinals to my left, and no gay urinal between us. To make it worse, we were wearing near identical A.J. Hawk jerseys. That would have been the funniest shit ever. Especially if you know how gay Richard is and how bad he wants to nail me.

On the way out, we were jogging behind this fine thang trying to take her picture (which is why it is so blurry). The picture does not do it justice, but enjoy anyway. I suggest getting a Kleenex ready:


If you can't tell, that is a pink A-Rodg jersey, tight plad shorts, black shoes, a yellow pom-pom on her head, underneath a fucking hat. Couldn't make it up. It is just a small sampling of aboug 85% of chicks at Packer games.

So the game finishes up, and we decide to check out another new gigantic bar by the stadium "Tom, Dick & Harry's". Pretty cool place, gigantic concert area, no smoking, and fantastic pizza. Had a few drinks there and went over to Anduzzi's, where more douche bags needlessly hit on my clearly and audibly married wife and her friend who kept saying she had a boyfriend (even though that is questionable at best). Had half the bar chanting friends name to get her to take a shot (which she did). Richard referred to dancing to Michael Jackson to pick up chicks, and said "P.Y.T." instead of "Pretty Young Thing". It was classic.

Found some random (and by random I mean that I'm pretty sure the guy was a rapist looking for his next victim because his "cab" didn't have a meter) cab to drive us home. Everyone but me immediately passed out, and I quite frankly probably saved everyone's life as a result. Had a beer on the patio, Richard screwed wife's friend while she was passed out, and everyone went to bed. The End.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

"Bottoming Out"

Yeah, it is a few days late, but I have been fucking busy working, being hungover, and making earth shattering trades involving third string fantasy football players, so deal with it.

Without further ado, here is a recap of the 4th annual Orenthal James Simpson Football Association Draft/Drinking/Inappropriate Sexual Reference Extravaganza. (Special shout out to the future Mrs. Schmock for letting us destroy your house and for the incredible food)

FRIDAY

It all started off innocently enough. After a long ass, stress filled day at work, I headed to OshVegas to pick up my brother. My brother and I destroyed a few gyros and headed down to Stoughton.

Schmock was busy earning a living as a professional softball player, so we started drinking pitchers of beer and waiting for he and future Mrs. Schmock. A few pitchers, and a few drunken townies (one with super short jorts, and a leg spreading problem) later, our hosts arrived. So we had a few more pitchers and went to their house. A quick stop at the car for the essentials (booze, food, and Alka-Seltzer Wake Up Call) and it was on.

Drank some more. Bear, SportsBottle and Richard showed up. Drank some more. Played some Wii. Drank some more. Began to black out while playing Wii bowling. Took a hot (temperature wise) shot of Goldschlager, nearly vomited, went to bed around 4 a.m., which is the latest I've been awake in a long time.

I'm fairly certain that the phrase "Something, Something, Something, Dark Side" and "Something, Something, Something, Complete" were uttered between one and 10,000 times.



SATURDAY


I somehow slept until like 10:45, which is nearly fucking impossible for me. Typically, no matter how drunk I got, or how late I go to bed, I'm up by like 9 at the absolute latest. I was awoken by rain hitting my leg from the open window about 5 feet away, which means it was raining too hard to golf.

Sat around awhile, got the ball rolling with a screwdriver, got the avalanche started with a strong screwdriver, and decided to switch to beer before I died. Mark showed up and we drafted.

We were in agreement that next time we chose a station to broadcast the event, that we actually require them to bring video cameras, because it would be really fucking funny. However, I'm also quite certain a few of us would be fired from our jobs if anyone actually saw it, so maybe it is for the best.

The draft started out with a bang when Loaf Cobra, in spirit, controversially drafted Steve Smith (since injured) and Reggie Wayne. I say controversial because it left Loaf Cobra with Marshawn Lynch (suspended for three games) and Derrick Ward (not necessarily the starter) as his starting RBs. At least he has Ray Rice (not necessarily the starter) and Leon Washington (almost certainly not the starter) as his backups. Anyone see another 4-10 coming? Bear was almost as bad at drafting for Loaf Cobra as he is at not being a dick. Actually, looking at Loaf Cobras running backs make me feel a hell of a lot better about me having Anthony Gonzalez and Bernard Berrian at WR.

There weren't that many ridiculous picks. I guess if I had to choose, Jerome Harrison in the 11th round seems early. Especially since I will cut him prior to the regular season probably. Also recieving votes: Shaun Hill Round 12, by me, Darrius Heyward-Bey 13th Richard, and Michael Bush 15th by Duper. Anyway, we got drunk, drafted, listened to a story about Twinkie skipping the draft to see Taylor Swift's snatch, and repeated Family Guy lines (possibly the one in the clip above, about 100,000 times). (Ed. note: This was a fucking manifesto and took me two sittings to write. So appreciate its greatness)

After the draft, we headed over to the bar to mix Red Bull and hard alcohol with our beer, repeat Family Guy lines (possibly from the clip above) and everyone except Schmock and I looked at the guttersnipe with the knee high socks that was warming up for her shift at some unknown strip club or flop house. For some reason, I was allowed to "sample" various flavored vodka drinks before I ordered them, even though I didn't ask to sample them. These "samples" were about a shot each. So you can see where this is going. Schmock brought up ordering UFC 101, and within 14 seconds everyone ponied up $5, which is insane because we are all generally drunk and cheap assholes.

We head back, start watching the PPV, which is the first one I've ever seen in its entirety. Pretty good time. I especially enjoyed Anderson Silva making that dude his bitch. Out of nowhere some random people showed up with their two kids under the age of 5. (I apologize for what is coming up, because I'm sure Schmock and future Ms. Schmock knew these people, but I was a .64 at the time, and I may have been properly introduced, but I don't recall it. So I'm assuming for the sake of argument that these were complete strangers off the street looking for free entertainment.)

I have no kids, may never have kids, don't particularly like kids, and am definitely not qualified to give parental advice to anyone, but to plop the kids in front of the TV and 6 completely fucking annihilated/vulgar/perverse strangers, to watch dudes get their faces turned into hamburger at like midnight seems like curious parenting. And I don't know about everyone else, but I have zero filter when I'm drunk, so if I said "fuck" less than 54 times in the hour they were there I would be surprised. Good, clean, family fun. It was just a bizarre situation (no offense).

I hardly remember the title bout because I was blacking out. I do remember the title of this post being brought up out on the patio, and I just thank (Sports Bottle's) Christ that it didn't come out inside the house. I also hope the adult strangers weren't outside, because that would have been awkward. Although I'm not dead, so it probably didn't. I don't remember who brought it up first, but I'm choosing to blame Mark because it sounds like something he would say, and I would think was funny, and repeat a thousand times. And I'm not going to explain it either, because the FBI would be at my office in about five minutes.