This is Hall of Fame material
Glenn Tanner
masterpiece, and I have no idea who did write it:
---------------------------
A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early
morning
hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999:
6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking
blast
6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunsfel for golf.
7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning)
8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)
8:53 Crack open second beer
8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea)
10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth
95
10:35 Headed for San Antonio
10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities
11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a
liquor
store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam
11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in
the sky.
About 70 degrees.
11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the s**t out of Nebraska.
11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go f**k himself.
12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the
second
floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of
us).
We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the
street
right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of Texas.
AWESOME MOMENT.
12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping
chests
with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of
the
fact that we are going to kick the s**t out of Nebraska.
1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we
hoot
and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right
below us
to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight songs.
Although
somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain convinced that
we are
going to kick the s**t out of Nebraska.
1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the
"Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants.
1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I
am
taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the s**t out of
Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to
play what
I now call and will forever be remembered as "Cell-Phone Flop Out."
Remember
flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this Nebraska
jac***s
that if he's so confident in his team, he should "flop out" his cell
phone
RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl.
And then
I spoke these memorable words: "And not those dang refundable tickets,
either!
You request those non-refundable, non-transferrable sons-of-bi***es!" He
backs
down. He is unworthy. I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to
Phoenix, non-refundable and non-transferrable. Price: $712. He is
humbled. He
lowers his head in shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers
of
hundreds of Texas fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. I
distribute the
11 beers in my pants to the cheering masses. I RULE the pre-game
kingdom.
> > > > > > 2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler
and
pour my first stiffy.
> > > > > > 2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska
is
fast. Nebraska is very pi$$ed off at Texas.
> > > > > > 3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total
offense for
Texas. Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking s**t. I pour
another
stiffy from the Traveler.
> > > > > > 3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a
dead
soldier. I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am
standing in line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and
rolls
out of the end zone. Safety. > > > > > >
3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another
Traveler. > >
> > > >
4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime,
I
attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend > >
bathroom:
"Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice c**k." He is unamused.
4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share
my
beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they
are
equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase $5
Sprites,
so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. Nebraska is a
bunch
of pu****s. > > > > > >
4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their
lives. I
purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants. > > > > > >
5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This
normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.
> > >
> > >
5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been
confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferrable." > > > > > >
5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession
counter.
As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be sold
when
there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged by this
policy.
I ask loudly: "Why the f**k didn't you announce last call over the
f**king PA
system??!!" > > > > > >
5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a
sudden,
the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. "Whazzis?," I mutter, awaking from
my
coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?" Alas, the answer is no, we were not
winning and we did not score. The largest (by far) cheer of the day from
the
Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were walking back to the
tunnel and
Bevo stopped to take a gargantuan s*it all over the letters "S", "K",
and "A"
in the "Nebraska" spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick
up the
empty Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty. > > > > >
>
6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I
would
taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am
too
drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the
evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in
October,
they would be playing Florida State for the national championship. > > >
> > >
6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the 8:00
Texas-Arizona tip
off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a beer. It is warm. I
don't
care. > > > > > >
7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I walk
past
the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder if it's
any
good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and drink the
Zima in
three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the frig.
7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the
ingredients
are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no one there. I
lean
over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat
them. I am
still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately two
pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating
Pastrami. The
patrons in the store fear me. I don't care. > > > > > >
8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing
Brooks
and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my singing.
He
suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good songs
besides
"You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone" and "Neon Moon" and that maybe
listening to only those two songs, ten times each was a bit excessive.
Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD play on its own. I tell
him to
f**k off and restart "Neon Moon." > > > > > >
8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and
profane
protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking garage. I tell
him
he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we may as
well
pitch a f***ing tent here. He ignores me. I think he's still pissed
about the
Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle "Neon Moon" loudly. > > > > > >
8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're going
to
kick the s**t out of Arizona.
9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the
bathroom
to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of the new
opportunity to do "the bathroom Bernice." There are no Arizona fans in
the
bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I have a
"Niiiiiice
c**k." No one is amused but me. > > > > > >
9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can.
Needless to
say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center, much less Bud Light out
of a
can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get that, sir?" I tell him
(no
s**t): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those little
plastic
footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?" I take the last
swig and
hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I'm going to the bathroom, but
I run
away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance to avoid the usher, who
is
now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of people and sit down. The
usher
walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a little girl. I crack open
another
can of Bud Light. > > > > > >
9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings.
I
have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing. > > > > >
>
10:09 Texas is being sc***ed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared
out the
seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the
surrounding
chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps I shouldn't
take it
so seriously. I tell him to f**k off. > > > > > >
10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst f**king call I have EVER
seen," I
attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects.
However, on
this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left eyelid,
leaving
a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into my left eye
and
all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think to myself, "I'm taking this a bit
too
seriously." > > > > > >
10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am swaying
and
grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are
bloody.
I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look like I
should
be in an episode of Cops. > > > > > >
10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and
make my
way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good
samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I
merely
grunt incoherently and keep moving. > > > > > >
10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up
six
flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will punch him in
the
face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the truck, and
collapse
in a heap in the of the bed of the truck. I look around and notice that
traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights,
and no
one is moving. I take a nap. > > > > > >
11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I
liftmy head
to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all
the
way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I am too
tired
to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid c******ker." > > > > > >
11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic
is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one
is
moving. I call my friend a "Stupid c*******er." > > > > > >
11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic
is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one
is
moving. I call my friend a "Stupid c*****cker." > > > > > >
11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic
is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one
is
moving. I call my friend a "Stupid c*****cker." > > > > > >
11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the
bed of
the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second
floor. I
jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility, and pee
off
the sixth floor onto the street below. My friend looks at me like I just
anally violated his minor sister. I turn around and pee on the front of
his
truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon Moon." > > > > > >
12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go
from
vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I
return to
my vehicle.
12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my
apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened bottle
of
Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die
tonight. > > > > > >
12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We
decide it
would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. Ed has to pee.
He
walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full length
mirror
at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We giggle
uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's. > > > > > >
1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to
enter
his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic laughter,
"I've
been working this door for almost a year. I've been working doors in
this town
for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I ain't never seen three
drunker mother f******s than you three. Sorry, can't let you in." We
attempt
to reason with him. He laughs harder. > > > > > >
1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and
hear
"Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See, dat
wasn't that
f**kin' hard. Day don't f**kin' do that at the Awamo...the awaom...the
alab...f**k it, that stadium we was at today.." We order 6 shots of
tequila
and three beers. > > > > > >
2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us one and
one
half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and tell
him to
keep it. > > > > > >
2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated
immediately. > > > > > >
2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup,
two
orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two
cheese
stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings. > > >
> > >
2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table.
The
waiter wakes us up. We eat every f***ing bit of our food. Most of the
restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a f**k. The
tab is
$112 with tip. > > > > > >
2:46 I'm sleepy. > > > > > >
9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's.
She is
not pretty. > > > > > >
HOOK 'EM HORNS, BABY!!! Out-
Mike Dahmus
and our short skinny friend had 44 beers on a tubing trip down in New
Braunfels.
This was the posting I made when I got back:
http://x44.deja.com/[ST_rn=ps]/getdoc.xp?AN=510094471&CONTEXT=947880097.982777892&hitnum=0
(We did an accouting later and figured it was actually 44. It's amazing how
well this posting stands the test of time.)
Here's the story as I told it at Hooters:
"WE HAD 44 BEERS!!!1 W00000000!!1 The end."
HTH,
Mike Dahmus mdahmus at I O DOT COM
http://www.io.com/~mdahmus/
"No one likes a pedantic smartarse..."
By Archie Leach
[...]
> 10:09 Texas is being sc***ed by the refs. I am
> enraged. I have cleared out the
All that, and he feels compelled to "*" out three letters in the middle
of "screwed"? I don't get that.
Otherwise............hilarious. Hope the fellow doesn't feel too
remorseful when he's waiting in line for a liver transplant come 2007.
Archie Leach
Live, from Lansing, MI
========================
"Things will not break down all at once in early January unless the
power grid goes down and stays down. But the domino effect will create
ever-increasing institutional noise and confusion throughout January and
beyond. Your check will not be in the mail."
Words of fear and loathing from Gary North on the front page of his
website, www.garynorth.com
http://community.webtv.net/stucopeland/WELCOMETOARCHIE
hughkeller
Glenn Tanner <gt...@swt.edu> wrote in message
news:387F35B9...@swt.edu...
Beep Beep!
Now THAT, my friends, is a sports fan. All together now, hats on yer
chests, a moment of silence... thankee.
Let's Go Or-r-r-range,
--Jeff
http://Jeffrey.Tindall.Com
"The best way to get a drink out of a Vogon is to
stick your finger down his throat."
--The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy
Scott Harper
harp
austin,tx
David Sharp
both fucking games, and having to sit through both of them.
David