Friday, June 02, 2006

Small town nightmare... 

"Sir, I'm going to need your membership number." - Bartender at the country club
"Here's my membership card. Benjamin Franklin." - BigMike as he handed over a c-note.

That's just how we roll.

The afternoon had made it's expected turn from casual gathering into the drunken mess we've come to appreciate. You would have thought that turn would have occurred during the funeral luncheon as we struck a mortal blow to their Southern Comfort inventory.

A handful of us had moved into the country club bar after the amazing luncheon BigMike had set up following his mother's funeral. On 24 hours notice, he managed to convince the only decent place to eat to double book their banquet room so he could feed 60 freeloaders. That meal will be the epicurean highlight of the year for most of them. And anytime BigMike can pull a line from the Sopranos on a staff member ("What? No fucking ziti?") it's going to be top notch.

After two hours of the luncheon, the chippy operating the open bar had to tell us there was no more Southern Comfort. Not just in the banquet area, but the entire country club. Mike had warned them to stock up extra but they just didn't realize. 2 hours and 2 bottles. A perfect warmup. We just shrugged it off and continued on.

We moved into the bar area reserved for club members and continued the binge. What to do when your amber beverage of choice is unavailable? Big honkin' vodka martinis. We weren't treating these in the BadBlood-pinky-in-the-air "here taste my drink" kind of way. We just considered them really big shots of vodka served in goofy looking shot glasses. The half dozen of us who were illegally squatting in the club bar were throwing them back and telling stories from the past. Another story, another drink. The legitimate club members (also known as the old men in really strange pantalones) were staring at us as we became increasingly intoxicated.

At one point there was a friend passed out at the bar, a drunk chiropractor doing minor adjustments to the bar staff, and a brand new deck of copags sitting on the bar for a rousing game of toothpick poker. And this is 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

We managed to make a couple sound judgments by finding the still sober amongst us for a mass exodus back to the hotel. Pizza, water, and a horrendous Hillary Duff/Heather Locklear cinematic abortion prepared us for the rest of the night. The hill billy bar was going to get the boathouse treatment.

I can't say I remember the exact name of the bar but it did have the words "bandit" and "roadhouse" in the there somewhere. They were advertising "Live Band!" on the cheap sign out front. The "Live Band!" consisted of one guy with a guitar and a sound machine replacing the drums, bass, and back up vocals. I suspected he was also using it for lead since the guitar solo of the Lynyrd Skynyrd rock anthem sounded exactly like the album. Mr. "Live Band!" also managed to pull off a unique double-play in the hair category. He was sporting both a mullet and a spectacular case of hat head.

I spent the evening making sure BigMike was properly lubricated and entertaining the mouth-breathing masses. The entertaining part was easy up there. All you need is a couple knockknock jokes and be able to make fart sounds with your arm pit. Funny lot, these Berwickians. Their word, not mine.

I did make one error in judgment that might have cost me a trip to the local hospital. Apparently they worship that comedian that always says "Get R Done!" (and I refuse to google who the hell he is). "Get R Done" must have a twin because he walked in the bar that night with a handful of upper echelon local girls. Which is to say they had all their teeth and their clothes didn't involve tube tops, tassels, or sequins. He was taking turns between trying to make the girls laugh and drinking from his Bud Longneck.

I made the brilliant play of yelling across the bar "GET R DONE!" and the world came to a screeching halt. Just like you see in the movies. I could almost here the sound affect of the record needle scratching across vinyl.

BigMike gave me the "jeeeeesus h christ" look and I thought I was in trouble. In times like these I only have one fall back option. Booze. Completely on instinct I raised my shot glass high and yelled again "CHEERS!".

It worked! Holy shit, it worked. I'm not dead! That's what popped into my head. Glasses clinked and all was right with the world. As right as they could be in that town, but good enough.

2am rolled around and the ugly lights came on. These bars are where the term "ugly lights" was created. We were still two fisting our drinks but mainlining RedBull between Soco's. It shouldn't have been a big surprise when we walked out to the truck and found a huge puddle of alcoholic afterbirth next to the truck. We should have known.

That's how they roll.


Thursday, June 01, 2006

Aloha Mr. Hand 

As you're reading this, I'm probably half in the bag sitting at the bar. Hopefully in the early afternoon (get back to work Miller!) and well into the evening.

You see, tomorrow is my last day at my position. After a decade and a half, I'm moving along. Adios. That hippy is "outta here" (to be done with the appropriate drunken Harry Kalas voice). And they're taking me out boozin'. I know I know, like we need an excuse to throw back mass quantities. I'll try my hardest to not piss off upper UPPER management as we ply them with much booze to extract tiny tidbits of inside information.

Cheers. God help the hangover tomorrow.


Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Big Ho's and Big Pimpin' 

Still working on that long ass post from this weekend. You don't understand just how god damned hard it is to explain in words how bizarre these weekends end up being. Christ, I almost got beat up by the guy who says "Get 'r done", watched a fat sow dig in the back of her drawers for some mystery and then she drove away with her feet up like she was at the gyno's office, and a stripper wanna-be hip checked me into the fried foods shelf.

Instead I present you with three pics from Brandon's picture dump of his ballpark tour. The picture on the right is of Eva drinking her "Big Ho" at Eulogy after the game. Things started to get a little fuzzy around that time. The other picture below is Brandon, myself, and Nat standing in front of the Connie Mack statue which was moved over from Veteran's Stadium. I think Citizen's Bank Park was on the verge of running out of Soco at that point.

It also seems that he has started to get his soco rolling along nicely...

Since I mention Nat, King of The PokerDB, feel free to stop by and check out his site. I know a lot of players use pokerdb but check it out if you haven't. He's a blogger, poker player, helluva nice guy, and he hung with us in Philly while we got ripped so he makes the team.


From Pokerati I see that Southern Comfort, the official drink of the ACHE crew and bloggers around the world, is now the official drink of the Celebrity Poker Showdown.

As ScurvyDog says, "So who's up for mounting a grassroots campaign to get Al on Celebrity Poker, now that SoCo is an official sponsor? I mean, hell, Jason Bateman has been on there, how high can the celebrity bar be? Don't poker blog celebrities count?"

Hell yeah! Get 'r done!

God damned hill billies. Still stuck in my head.


HOLY SHIT! He's alive!


Pimpin', new blogs, old blogs, and blogs that I've completely forgotten to link.

Quest of a Closet Poker Player - CC has some good shit on his blog. I just realized that I have him in my bloglines but never pimped or linked here. My mistake.

Poker and Liquor - The undercover members of G-Vegas. TeamScottsmith and Shep. The tree jumping, shot drinking, canoeing, camping, partying, poker playing crew that rules all.

What're the Odds - A fine new blogger of the fairer gender. Great stuff and even Felicia likes her!

Tao of Poker - I don't know if many people have actually gone to this seldom read blog. It seems like he doesn't get any traffic and that's a shame. He's an up and coming blogger that I expect great things from. Next thing you know it he'll be live blogging from crazy places like the WSoP tableside or the Playboy Mansion. nah. That's just crazy talk.

Seriously though, you should go read his current series "Born to Gamble".

Pokerati - I'm putting this here just because I know Dan is a whore for website hits. Go get 'em!


Soberiety sucks the big left nut of God's own lap dog.


No idea what that means.


In honor of the good Doctor, my top five six favorite Google search hits from the last week...

Boobs n Beer Appreciation Day - every day, my son, is Boob and Beer Appreciation Day

who's the girl in warrant's cherry pie video - Bobby Brown, pictured here.

Babe Heffron - very approriate since I spent Sunday and Monday watching the final episodes of Band of Brothers. A friend's grandfather happens to be the one and only "Wild Bill" Guarnere.

long hair is out of style - screw you.

reasons why the ring tailed lemur dies - because he flat called my all in with T8o.

hooker in Berwick PA - that is a story for tomorrow.


Finally, you really want to see me in a pissed of mood, make me read this article again. Friggin' cheese eating surrender monkeys.

Paris suburb names street for Mumia Abu-Jamal


Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Good readin' 

Somewhere between the run-down-hill-billy-bar Friday night and the run-down-hill-billy-bar Saturday night sit the stories I want to tell from this weekend. BigMike likes to tell people that I secretly love that crappy little town. It does amuse me. But in the same way I'd be amused if you dropped me in the middle of the monkey cage at the zoo. Funny for the few seconds before they began flinging their poo at me. Or worse.

I'm writing it up as we speak, but while waiting for that turd to drop, go check out Pauly's latest Truckin' publication.

1. Kentucky Waffle House by Tenzin McGrupp
That Waffle House was the late night magnet for the lowest strata of society which included raccoon-eyed meth dealers, repugnant hookers, Glock-packing pimps, drunken frat boys, and several deranged members of the local homeless population... More

2. Losing Grip by Sigge S. Amdal
The skin around my nails was always hard and white. You could pull off chunks, but it wouldn't bleed noticeably, and another layer would grow. I could never stop picking it... More

3. Ten Years Later by Novice
The stage is almost bare. There's just a couch, with some hideous print upholstery. I walk out, sit on it. I realize that it's the same couch that once had the moss green velveteen... More

4. Violent by Sean A. Donahue
I couldn't stand him for whatever opinion he misspoke he infuriated others and drove me crazy. All Ken did was pick at people and give them a reason to hate him... More

5. Sheet Lightening by John Beck
Sheet lightening. Rippling waves of black blank black blast. What the fuck is that cat trying to tell me... More

6. The time trials a poem by Barrett Crawford
Obscure and misunderstood
If you only knew what I know
of the fibers of time
I have been trapped in thought of these... More