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.
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.
|Our jukebox buddies (Photobomb courtesy of Buddah)|
|We even ran into Matt Light and Joe Andruzzi|
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.
|Like I said.. I have a rep to protect|
|That was one hungry killer rabbit!!|