Sunday, February 6, 2011

MessFest 2011 - U G S! Because They Have To

"I knew this trip was a bad idea. Everytime I hang out with you man it's a shitstorm. I got guilted into coming onto this trip and now I'm back in the 80s and I hate this decade."

"You're the patron saint of the totally fucked, you're completely toxic, there's nothing you can't kill, you're the Violator. You can do this. You can get us the fuck out of here man. You can be the hero."

MessFest is in the books.  And never was a weekend so aptly named than this shitstorm that has become one of the highlights of my year.  This 2 or 3 or 4 day bender is so freakin' awesome, it deserves a tshirt or a logo or a fukkin koozie or something.  It also warrants an early escape on Sundays before the 8am blackberry brandy omelets start coooking.  In a nutshell, this is about 15 to 18 guys from Lowell who are too old and fat and baked to realize that drinking for 3 days is a baaaaaaaaad idea... that rearranging the firewood while wearing fleece ski gloves is a baaaaaaad idea... that bacon burger dogs at 1am is a baaaaaad - nah, fuck it - that was a GREEEEAAAAT idea Froggy.   If this year had a tshirt, this is what it would say on it:

TwoNut and I arrived late Friday night to a house full of buddies - some leaning on the back of the couch trying to focus on ANOTHER FUCKING SHOWING of Jim Gaffigan's stand up routine.  One more high pitched bacon joke from this Woogie lookalike and I was gonna splode.  There's 45's going on at the table and the familiar white board weight chart on the window sill.  In the interest of protecting the fat and the fluffy, I will not disclose any personal information about what we weighed in at this year...  a couple of curve busters pushed the team average to just over 222 pounds per drunk.  Like the DOW, we are going up!!!   Beasley and TwoNut were the all nighter champs this weekend with the Jerry Lewis Cup going to Beasley in the end for 39 STRAIGHT HOURS of stand up drinking.  TwoNut gave it his best, but conceded the championship with an impressive, gravity defying coma sleep at the kitchen table.  How the fuck he did not fall over forward on his head, I have no gawram idea.  Beasley was strong until the end, when, in mid play, he fell sound asleep with card in hand.  The time was 11:49 pm and the marathon was over.  And then there was Elroy... wife beater tshirt with ketchup and mustard stains and around his neck like a St. fukkin Bernard, a flask of medicine from Dr. McGillicuddy. 

The Mug:  Got there early and overtook the joint.  Our maturity continues to exceed expectations because not one guy blew chunks in the mens room this year and Angel never once considered kicking us out for scaring the little kids.  Yours truly recognized the value of bellying up to the bar and opted to join ZigZag at the bar for a closer look at the television and to ask the bartender where we could find a copy of Smokey and The Bandit.  From the Mug to the Looney Bin for Homewreckers, T-Bombs and beers.  TwoNut spent the time shittin' his drawers and getting the dirty ass lecture from Michele, the bartender with kaleidoscope eyes.  Funny thing is tho, the stench from his ass did nothing to scare away Peg.  You see, Peg is 74 years old and out on a Saturday afternoon slinging back some gin and juice with her retirement community friends.  And TwoNut took to her immediately - and she to him.  It was love at first sight and as they twirled around the dance floor to Tight Fittin' Jeans by Conway Twitty... and credit to TwoNut for not once stepping on Peg's titties.  Floyd made a few "Hooray" calls to our pussified friends who could not make it up this year and the crowd at the Bin were certainly amused with the "Him.  Fuck Him" ending... so much so that we made a "Her. Fuck Her" call to Peg's friend Cammy at Peg's behest.  All the while, the snow was piling up outside and the slide home was gonna be a treacherous one.  But we couldn't leave yet....we had to wait for the Pinnacle Whipped promo girls.  I had no fahkin idea what Pinnacle Whipped was.  But I know what promo girls are.  So we waited.  And that's an hour of my life I will never get back.  Whatever happened to the days of promo girls who wear next to nothing?  These girls were dressed for a snowstorm and the teeth... the fukkin teeth!  We're talking Ross from Friends white.  We're talking it looked like they painted their choppers with crosswalk paint, fahchrissake.  Distracting, yet strangely exotic at the same time.  I believe it was Froggy who told one of them that she had the greatest teeth he has ever seen.  But no pics with these chicks... next to them, the group of us would look like we had just brushed with a mustard toothpaste.

Back to the house to drink ONE MILLION BEERS.  Threw that F1Fiddy into 4 Low and buried the passenger side in two feet of snow to park on the road.  Sorry about that TwoNut.  The Creature Double Feature of the night:  Hot Tub Time Machine and Me, Myself and Irene.  Never did get a copy of Smokey and the Bandit.  Next year's promise!    Much thanks to Beasley and Mudbone for playing the generous hosts.  Looking forward to next year already.

AND REMEMBER THIS:  U G S, Because They Have To!

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