A weekend to remember. Or at least try to.
When old WWII buddies get together, they typically don't run around the hillside randomly shooting people and lobbing the occasional grenade to rekindle "the good old days". When the 1972 Miami Dolphins recently reunited to celebrate their undefeated championship season, they didn't butt heads and smash each other in the mouth for 60 minutes. So why in the hell does the BDS drink like it's 1989 every time a bunch of these idiots find themselves crammed together over the course of a weekend?
The Roadtrip (Friday)
Ever hear a rendition of Journey's couple-skating classic "Faithfully" sung with a voicebox held to the throat? Think Darth Vader with a tender side. And when you do, it'll send beer flying out your nose. For those who dream of seeing Debbie Gibson nude, check out this month's Playboy. It's a good one; just ask Queenie 'cause she obviously liked it. Every soda fountain between the Red River and Le Compton was hit - both to keep the driver on his toes and everyone else off theirs. "Jet City Woman" was the sing-along song of the night, with all parties discarding any form of decorum to scream "Fortunes are lost on the women I've seen" off-key. While playing the Question Game, we learn someone has the hots for a BDS wife other than his own and that some questions simply can't be asked. An unsuspecting Krispy Kreme driver comes dangerously close to having his rig, with glazed booty still warm in the back, hijacked at a rest stop east of Topeka. And certain Seal Team Six members should remember to wear water wings the next time a mud-laden ditch needs to be crossed under a darkened highway overpass to take a midnight pee.
The Arrival (Saturday Morning)
Imagine the look on Jeff's face when he answers the doorbell at 1:30 am only to find Casey wearing high school gym shorts that conjur up images of Coach Jones yelling "lift with your legs, son!" and a white sleeveless t-shirt that's one pair of flip-flops away from making a guest appearance on the next episode of Cops. As if on que, a bottle of Cuban rum magically shows up in the basement and the next four hours are spent killing Fidel's little bottle of hate between field goal attempts on a Playstation football game. By 5:30 am, we're down for the count along with one poor couch cushion. In retrospect, we basically set the human race back 40 years in the first 17 hours of the trip.
The Game (Saturday Afternoon)
We leave the house bound for Lawrence minus one team member; you could say he was "stuck to the couch". Eventually we step onto the hallowed ground that is Allen Fieldhoue to watch the Hawks play in person for the first time in a decade. Seriously. It's been 10 years since we last went to that church and, as luck would have it, everyone showed up for the service but our team. We'll dispense with the play-by-play heartbreak, but let's just say THE REFS SUCKED! THOSE BASTARDS COST US THE GAME AGAIN! IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL TO PRESS AND PLAY ZONE IN THE SAME HALF! THEY CRUSHED MY WILL TO LIVE! But the slice of pizza we had at the game was good. Thanks for the tickets, Jeff.
The Reason (Saturday Night)
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight to witness a couple that loves to party so much they threw not one but two wedding receptions. Not content with getting leied in Hawaii, the newlyweds threw a midwest version of Fantasy Island at a nice little reception hall surrounded by little buildings that look eerily similar to Wichita's Cowtown in the dark. Blue-colored alcohol scared a few folks, K-State cookies battled it out with Jayhawk chocolate and the chicken-thingy tasted damn good. Free wine, free beer, free wall decorations (uh, we were allowed to take those things, right?) put everyone in an old-school state of mind. Hell, even a few BDS grandparents went for a spin on the dancefloor. A few took the party in stride, while others saw this as a grand opportunity to escape the pressure of life by pressing on their livers extra hard. Two guys even stole a keg, but the typical adrenaline rush that accompanies the occasional theft disappeared when told it was theirs to take. As the clock struck 12, coaches changed into pumpkins and the convoy rolled them on to the next crime scene.
The Afterparty(Saturday Night/Sunday Morning)
Ever take a bath in a tub filled with mashed potatoes? You could have at Jeff's house after the reception. That's how much food there was lying around the kitchen. You could bathe in mashed potatoes and that damn-good chicken thingy, and then towel off with a side of beef. As the party leftovers were eventually found and dispatched in typical "fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life" style, several of the boys (surprise) found a deck of cards and quickly lost money. Others (surprise) rarely left the keg strategically placed in the garage next to a propane heater. By 3:00 am, the previous 36 hours started to show its ugly head and most of the gang mysteriously vanished into the night.
The Return (Sunday Morning)
Hands down the most unanticipated event in the boring life of the BDS is the Bataan Death March back home after a weekend of immature adolescence. After six hours on 35, it seemed as if the great state of Texas was running from us; as if the entire state was now south of Mexico. Gatorade, as usual, saved the body but not the tattered spirits of the wayward travelers. One was so tired he didn't even put up a fight when a good portion of his Peppercorn Burger was accidentally inhaled by another. Unlike the trip up, this one had few questions, no sing-alongs and a solemn vow to "freakin' fly up next time".
That's right. We're all dumb enough to pull this crap again. And thanks for giving us an excuse for our childish behavor this time, Jeff. Congratulations, man. Like the rest of your idiotic friends, you definately married up.
The Roadtrip (Friday)
Ever hear a rendition of Journey's couple-skating classic "Faithfully" sung with a voicebox held to the throat? Think Darth Vader with a tender side. And when you do, it'll send beer flying out your nose. For those who dream of seeing Debbie Gibson nude, check out this month's Playboy. It's a good one; just ask Queenie 'cause she obviously liked it. Every soda fountain between the Red River and Le Compton was hit - both to keep the driver on his toes and everyone else off theirs. "Jet City Woman" was the sing-along song of the night, with all parties discarding any form of decorum to scream "Fortunes are lost on the women I've seen" off-key. While playing the Question Game, we learn someone has the hots for a BDS wife other than his own and that some questions simply can't be asked. An unsuspecting Krispy Kreme driver comes dangerously close to having his rig, with glazed booty still warm in the back, hijacked at a rest stop east of Topeka. And certain Seal Team Six members should remember to wear water wings the next time a mud-laden ditch needs to be crossed under a darkened highway overpass to take a midnight pee.
The Arrival (Saturday Morning)
Imagine the look on Jeff's face when he answers the doorbell at 1:30 am only to find Casey wearing high school gym shorts that conjur up images of Coach Jones yelling "lift with your legs, son!" and a white sleeveless t-shirt that's one pair of flip-flops away from making a guest appearance on the next episode of Cops. As if on que, a bottle of Cuban rum magically shows up in the basement and the next four hours are spent killing Fidel's little bottle of hate between field goal attempts on a Playstation football game. By 5:30 am, we're down for the count along with one poor couch cushion. In retrospect, we basically set the human race back 40 years in the first 17 hours of the trip.
The Game (Saturday Afternoon)
We leave the house bound for Lawrence minus one team member; you could say he was "stuck to the couch". Eventually we step onto the hallowed ground that is Allen Fieldhoue to watch the Hawks play in person for the first time in a decade. Seriously. It's been 10 years since we last went to that church and, as luck would have it, everyone showed up for the service but our team. We'll dispense with the play-by-play heartbreak, but let's just say THE REFS SUCKED! THOSE BASTARDS COST US THE GAME AGAIN! IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL TO PRESS AND PLAY ZONE IN THE SAME HALF! THEY CRUSHED MY WILL TO LIVE! But the slice of pizza we had at the game was good. Thanks for the tickets, Jeff.
The Reason (Saturday Night)
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight to witness a couple that loves to party so much they threw not one but two wedding receptions. Not content with getting leied in Hawaii, the newlyweds threw a midwest version of Fantasy Island at a nice little reception hall surrounded by little buildings that look eerily similar to Wichita's Cowtown in the dark. Blue-colored alcohol scared a few folks, K-State cookies battled it out with Jayhawk chocolate and the chicken-thingy tasted damn good. Free wine, free beer, free wall decorations (uh, we were allowed to take those things, right?) put everyone in an old-school state of mind. Hell, even a few BDS grandparents went for a spin on the dancefloor. A few took the party in stride, while others saw this as a grand opportunity to escape the pressure of life by pressing on their livers extra hard. Two guys even stole a keg, but the typical adrenaline rush that accompanies the occasional theft disappeared when told it was theirs to take. As the clock struck 12, coaches changed into pumpkins and the convoy rolled them on to the next crime scene.
The Afterparty(Saturday Night/Sunday Morning)
Ever take a bath in a tub filled with mashed potatoes? You could have at Jeff's house after the reception. That's how much food there was lying around the kitchen. You could bathe in mashed potatoes and that damn-good chicken thingy, and then towel off with a side of beef. As the party leftovers were eventually found and dispatched in typical "fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life" style, several of the boys (surprise) found a deck of cards and quickly lost money. Others (surprise) rarely left the keg strategically placed in the garage next to a propane heater. By 3:00 am, the previous 36 hours started to show its ugly head and most of the gang mysteriously vanished into the night.
The Return (Sunday Morning)
Hands down the most unanticipated event in the boring life of the BDS is the Bataan Death March back home after a weekend of immature adolescence. After six hours on 35, it seemed as if the great state of Texas was running from us; as if the entire state was now south of Mexico. Gatorade, as usual, saved the body but not the tattered spirits of the wayward travelers. One was so tired he didn't even put up a fight when a good portion of his Peppercorn Burger was accidentally inhaled by another. Unlike the trip up, this one had few questions, no sing-alongs and a solemn vow to "freakin' fly up next time".
That's right. We're all dumb enough to pull this crap again. And thanks for giving us an excuse for our childish behavor this time, Jeff. Congratulations, man. Like the rest of your idiotic friends, you definately married up.
posted by TheBDS at 9:00 AM
2 Comments:
Congratulations, Jeff!
To answer the question "what is your favorite road trip", my answer is- this one!!!! By far one of the funnest! Yes, that is a word. FUNNEST!! And, I am proud to say I can still hang with the boys!!
When's the next trip?
Loch's wife
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