Sunday, February 5, 2017

MessFest 2017: And I Will Bring You Beer

You shall cross the frozen ice pond,
but you shall not die of thirst
You shall try to find your warm friends
Though you do not know the way
You shall call a fukkin' taxi and to the Spoke you go.
You shall see the cleavage of God and drink!

Be not a dick
We'll go before you today
You follow us, and
She will give you beer!

We did it again... our annual traipse through the tulips of gluttony and sloth, aka MessFest, aka Cronin Weekend, aka Pond Hockey Classic ended without tragedy, unless you count the deer who lost a foot race to a hungry predator on the ice under the moon.  Some say it was a coyote, others say it was a bobcat.  I say it was the Killer Rabbit from the Holy Grail.  When the sun rose over the frozen tundra of Lake Winna Piss In My Sockies, there was nothin' left of Bambi except bones and fur!   LOOK AT THE BONES!!

I will once again change the names to protect the guilty because some of us muthafukkas have reps to protect.  There was me, Podunk.  I rode up with my brother Big Balls Buddah.  When we got there, Tiny was in the kitchen', in full Jackin' Coke swaydom, broilin' ribs and singing Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.  A hundred beers deep, there was also Jimmy Weedbalm, Halfsack, Frogger, Tits McDoo, Cap'n Billy and Pot Pipe Pete, our token Democrat - he had the weekend off from marching.  A little later, Boner, Stoner, PJay and Dinkus arrived.  And soon after, Pauly Wingnut and Rapid Roy rounded off the Magnificent 14!!  Wait... that's 15.

I don't know where to begin...

Before me and Buddah even got there, we stopped by the Broken Spoke.  There, we met Bobby O'Neil, a Santa Claus lookin' muthafukka originally from Summahville, who proudly told us of his time in Okinawa as a Marine before coming home to open up two porno stores, one in Summahville and one in Mahlburo.  He apparently made enough money sellin' videos and dildos to buy 12 acres in Meredith and move up here some 20 years ago to farm chickens and work for the town.  Bobby's signature expression, by the way... Fuck me to tears!

This was the 15th annual Sloppy Bowl (as years go by, this muthafukka has had many names).  Literally a collection of mostly Irish pricks from Christian Hill in Lowell, although we often throw in a smatterin' of French and Portuguese because someone has to bring the big dicks.  Friday night, the bunch of us drank enough beer to leave Milwaukee dry for months.  Weedbalm had just come back from a trip to Vail, Colorado and pulled out his THC Lip Balm.  "Put a bunch on your lips and rub some on your temples," he says while stuffin' his gullet with a double stacked Ring Ding.  And by 3 am, Wingnut, Cap'n, Halfsack, Dinkus and me were wanderin' around the frozen lake looking at the stars like they were talkin' to us.  Serenaded to sleep by a cacophony of snores, day 1 was in the books.

Saturday is Mug Day!  After a breakfast of Twinkies and icewater while Caddyshack was on, we were off to The Mug for some lunch and bubble hockey.  However, this year a few of us also decided to spontaneously rewrite a few church songs because that's what we do..  Come follow me, and I will bring you beer!  So after harassing our wikkid sassy bartender Ashley for a couple of hours, it was off to watch some pond hockey... the Labatt Blue Pond Hockey Classic is 26 rinks in which you get to see teams like Shut Yer 5 Holes play against Tuukka Dump!


They sell beer.  There is live music.  And a shitload of people.  Three carloads left The Mug for Meredith Bay, but one car drove right the fuk by it.  Ya see, while the rest of the idiots chose to walk around freezin' their Irish asses off, me and Buddah went straight to the cozy stools at the Broken Spoke where we hung out with another sassified bartender, this one named Alicia.  Within 30 minutes, with Buddah controlling the jukebox and making friends with every fukkin' person in the place including the owners, Tiny was calling for us to come pick him up because he was fukkin' freezin.  He said the other guys did not want to leave because they had such a good parking spot.  Of course, we said no thanks.  But Tiny being the smart one called a cab and joined us in the happiness of shelter and booze with his little friend, Cleo Taurus.

Then it was Wingnut's turn to start calling looking for a ride out of pond hockey hell.  So being the good friends that we are, we said no and proceeded to send him pictures to rub it in that we were having much more fun than him.  We made a sign to Pauly that read "Fuck pond hockey!  It's much warmer here."  And then we got Alicia, Sweet Melissa and a bunch of other people to hold the sign so we could text Pauly pictures.

 CLOCKWISE:  Alicia, Dawn, Sweet Melissa and 
Random Guy in argyle sweater

Our jukebox buddies (Photobomb courtesy of Buddah)

We even ran into Matt Light and Joe Andruzzi
From the Spoke, we had to make a stop at The Looney Bin so some guys could buy sweatshirts.  It was there were we met Angie, who was wearing some kind of pelt on her head and told us all about her beaver that went to below her knees.  That's a mighty long beaver you have there, Angie!  Alas, we had to leave Angie and her long beaver behind for it was back to the house for the night... it was gonna be beers around the fire for the Magnificent 14 Tallywacker Choir's performance of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.  But not before a little round of Pizza Parlor Football.  Sorry Stoner.  But Wingnut did have perfect form.

So... we all survived, even the twin bunk beds.  Titsy McDoo did not fall down the stairs even once and we filled four garbage bags of beer cans.  Not bad for 48 hours.  Until next year.

Ribs....  perfect

Like I said.. I have a rep to protect

That was one hungry killer rabbit!!

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