The Macho Man Ed Fizzle ME Craig & BRian Ripley Ian Urqhart
The Big East Tourney Re-Cap
This weekend, I had the unspeakable pleasure of hitting up New York Shitty with a rag tag group from CAC, which included the Macho Man, Ed Fizzle, The Ripleys (and their hair lids), ICU and select friends of friends who made memorable cameos. We intended to watch every single game at MSG, but fate had something else in store for us…..
Friday Fung Wa-hoooo!
I almost didnít make this trip due to all the red ink in my bank account but I was assured I would be taken care for, so basically a couple hand jobs for a hotel room and being someoneís coke mule for a bus ticket was all it cost to make sure I had a ride and a roof.
The Fung Wa is a surprisingly uneventful ride….until I am about to step off the bus and the woman in front of me blows chunks all over the bus steps. Isnt that like breaking a mirror, walking under a ladder, or picking up chicks at an AIDS clinic ñ Forecasts of bad things to come?
Prelude to a Fishhook
After a 5 mile hike to meet up with Fizzle, and thanks to all New Yorkers (dueshes!!!) who couldnít give us accurate directions on how to get to this upscale luncheon, we finally set up shot at Otto (Italian restaurant) and I get the low down on how everyoneís Thursday night was.
The crew was getting their drink on right outside Madison Square Garden as the Cuse and Uconn battled in what some CAC heads have referred to as the ìgreatest game of all timeî ñ definitely debatable. However exciting as the game was, nothing was more exhilarating as when the Fizzle negligently yawned, exposing his mouth to the many dangers in NYC. We may not have been down by the docks but the Fizzle caught a MEAN fishhook from BRip. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fish-hooking
Fizzle took extreme exception and shot BRip continuous ìSquirrely looksî despite being separated for the better of the night.
After a night of celebrating 6OTs and Fishhooks, everyone decides to call it a night and head their separate ways. ICU and Fizzle are feverishly trying to track down a cab. Fizzle approaches a cab and explains where he is going. Now, maybe it was the Fizzle hair due that scared him off or the fact they were trying to get a cab to take them 4 blocks, but either way the cab tries to drive off. Now I compare what happens next to some of the stuff we use to see Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, do when he would randomly just jump on wild animals and shit.
As the cab tries to drive off and leave Fizzle and ICU cab-less, Fizzle, obviously channeling Stallone, Schwarzenegger, or Jason Bourne, decides to become a man of action and jumps, head first through the back passenger window. ICU described the event as seeing the cab drive off with Ed hanging out the back of the cab with his legs wildly kicking. The cab turned the corner and stopped. Fizzle had wrangled the cab into driving him and ICU back to the hotel. Truly a man of action
Just Write it Off
Everyone meets me and Fizzle at this Otto restaurant for some booze and some inadvertent learned culture (I thought tellagio was something you got from a prostitute for $10. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taleggio_cheese), the hot topic is Machoís new business proposal. As I understand it, he wants to have a company that does nothing, and employs only him, for which he would do nothing as well. When asked how he plans on making money doing nothing, Macho says simply, ìIíll just write it off.î He swears its been done before and although Fizzle will go back and forth with him on this Future Fortune 500 possibility, I just got to get the drink on because the games start in a couple hrs and I apparently need to get blacked out and think of business ideas.
FYI ñ Macho will be offering his IPO (Initial Public Offer) for his companies stock within the next 6 months. You donít have to do anything to buy them either, just write them off on your taxes.
You Need a Beating Pretty Boy
After pre-gaming for a few hrs, we head out to a notorious Villanova Bar per ICUís friends request. It is set up as a sports bar, but after the games, they toss out all the tables and we got ourselves a dance floor that I can tear up. Fizzleís sis makes an appearance and BRip makes a joke about her that Fizzle takes exception to. Maybe Fizzle still wanted payback from the fishhook or maybe he wanted to defend his sister but all that happens next is a series of expletives, standing headlocks, and Fizzleís battle cry of ìYou need a beating pretty boy!!!î In response, BRip exclaims, ìI aint no joke. Iím like Roy Jones, dude.î (of course I tried to ease the tension by stating the obvious – ìYouíre like Roy Jones? So youíre past your prime?î- to no avail)
In between the headlocks, which were occurring every 15 minutes or so until they kissed and made up, my boy Ariel from NU and Fizzleís boy Marty had a Latino dance off which captivated all the white women on the dance floor. My boy always brings his Latino heat where ever he goes.
As the night dwindled down, me, ICU and his boy from Law School must have spilt 83 drinks (at a certain point in the night they should really stop letting drunks get tap beer), creeped on every girl on the dance floor and didnít even notice the Rips, Macho, and Fizzle had flew the coup for another spot.
Me and ICU retreat back to the hotel, but not before I had to straighten some dude out at the Food Cart outside our hotel for trying to cut ICU. I donít play when I have my courage in me. Always respect the line etiquette or I will talk like I can check you.
St. Pattyís Day
Nothing cures a hangover like some more tellagio and regurgitating every line from Zoolander at the local ìfromagerie.î That and the over/under on how long it takes for BRip and Fizzle to get into another tiff over something. And talk about irony, here we are talking Zoolander and Rip announces he cant turn left after the 100 headlocks Fizzle threw on him. After another stellar meal, we take the subway down to Seaport and hit up some bars. We get into this one bar that is a glorified frat house. Water on the floor near the bathrooms, bras and one manzier I believe, are hanging from the ceiling and best, 32oz Styrofoam bear cups. Nothing like killing the planet when you kill your liver.
We mosey over to a sports bar so we can watch the championship game and again, drink ourselves stupid. BRip, when asked if he blow dries his hair, admits, ìOf course I blowdry. I donít get my lid cut in Revere like you do OCal. Theyíve heard of hairspray, gel and tweezing, guy?î
ICU and Fizzle are drinking out of some random dudeís 100 oz glass. The think is bigger than me and is reminiscent of Das Boot from Beerfest.
I learn a valuable lesson: If you literally have to tell a girl that ìIím a f*cking catch,î she is not going to take your word for it and sleep with you. Why would I lie about something like that? Cmon now, take your clothes off already, Jesus.
ICU snatches some girlís scarf and now we have our in…except I proceed to ridicule everything about this girl, from her being from NY, to why the Yankees suck, to whether she was hit in the face with a two-by-four or a brick.
Smell His Dick!!
After the championship game, it was every man for themselves. Me, Fizzle and Fizzleís boy Marty head up to my buddies bar, which I reference in my last blog about New York Shitty. AGAIN I dominate the dart board and smoke 2 random kids with a walk off bullzeye. Thanks for the free beer dueshy!
So after the walk off, I was feeling froggy (or cowy) and started to talk to two heavyweights at the bar. After 12hrs of drinking, I was my witty self and talking my man Marty up (like we needed to. All we needed to do was smear a cheeseburger behind our ears and they would have been all up on us.) After my rant about how awesome Marty was, heavyweight one had the audacity to ask him if he was gay. Like cutting in front of my friends at a food cart, I take extreme issue with this and declare, ìMy man gets vagina every hour, on the hour, especially today. Go ahead SMELL HIS DICK right now. It wreaks of vagina.î
Iíd say they never heard that one before and after careful Monday morning quarter backing, Id say that may have been the reason why we werenít knee deep in chubby vagina by the end of the night.
I donít know if it was the rough seas from whaling or the 73 wine coolers I downed in the day but when I get back to the hotel I am not feeling too well. I take the elevator to the 11th floor. We are staying on the 9th floor. After 20 minutes of looking for my room that didnít exist on the floor, I dove behind the ice machine and threw up a combination of Big Girl/Prostitute spit, mini burgers and alcohol.
It was like a religious experience because after the upchuck I realized I was on the wrong floor and safely retreated back to my hotel room.
Just as my trip starts with someone blowing chunks, on the ride home, all is calm until ICU proceeds to empty out his stomach on I-84. Thankfully, my window was up, but it looks like the Fizzle will be taking his car to the wash a little sooner than he had planned.
I get dubbed ìLeft ñEyeî bc I got some weird s#it going on with my left eye. (and those who saw me Monday noticed it) Rash, VD, I donít know but the next time a stripper says she will fart in my face for no extra charge I am going to pass no matter how enticing it sounds at the time.
Today (Monday), CRip is on his way to work and has to pull over to puke. A cop stops to make sure he is alright. Once the cop establishes its merely a sever post St. Pattys day hangover, he dueshily rights Craig a ticket for a cracked windshield. Insult to injury.
All in all, CANT WAIT FOR NEXT YEAR. Who knows, with some actual planning maybe weíll actually go to a game.