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December 14, 2005

One Long Night

Several years ago, Scottie and I took a 1st class 7:00 am. Saturday morning flight to Orlando to go see the greatest rock and roll band in the world in Tampa that night. We had 8th row center seats, a designated driver, and the drive to Tampa later that day was just long enough to get a major one going before show time. Trouble was, we had a major one going on by the time the plane landed.

We started doing double Bloody Mary’s as soon as we boarded, and by the time we touched down, we were approaching rare form. We were all caught up in the moment I suppose.

Upon our arrival in Orlando, we were handed the keys to a brand new Lotus Turbo Esprit, the fastest production 4 cylinder ever made. It was like driving a fucking slot car, or video game, or whatever. We made it to our friend’s house, as sirens wailed in the distance, with instructions…If I were you, I wouldn’t open the garage door for at least a week. That was fun…crazy, but fun. An awesome piece of machinery…that LTE is.

As my friend was preparing the nono, he asked if we’d like a screwdriver. We both said yes, and he handed us a shot of vodka and a vitamin C. I kid you not. We spent the rest of the morning and afternoon, drinking, smoking, and sniffing…and then it was time to head on over to Tampa. We were fucked up.

Nine of us (including the driver) climbed into the van, and headed for Tampa. This was no ordinary van, it was more like a small bus; it had sofas, a refrigerator, televisions, etc. It was more of the same during the trip, and we were all really fucked up by the time we arrived. We even had extra tickets so we could leave the stadium mid show, return to the van, get more fucked up, and then get back in. I kid you not. This shit was planned out to the max. It was the first time I’d ever been to a concert where we had sixteen seats for eight people. We had our own intermission or halftime, if you know what I mean.

Needless to say, the Stones brought the house down, and by the time we returned to Orlando…we were all really really fucked up. More of the same all night long. Hell, there was even one girl who showed up later with the Stone’s Lips Logo tattooed on her ass. Right cheek to be exact. I think that was planned as well, but who cares? She did have a cute bottom, and she knew it, and she wanted everyone to know it…and they did.

I’m telling you…it was fucking wild…and getting wilder. There was no off button.

The next thing I knew, it was daylight, no sleep, and those special screwdrivers were making another appearance. By this time, we were really really really fucked up.

We postponed our flight, and decided to ease in the back door of Disney World. My friend had the means, and so we did.

We went to every land in Disney World, and sampled all of the liquid refreshments each land had to offer. We were drinking tequila in Mexico, wine in France, and beer in Germany…,etc, you get the picture. We were on one, and were really really really really fucked up by then.

We made the last flight out, and were raising hell on the plane-ride home, not abusing anyone, just having a good time. At least for us…we were…we thought. Wrong.

The pilot radioed ahead, and the police were waiting for us at the gate. We disembarked into their waiting smart-ass arms. As of now, we hadn’t had any sleep since five o’clock Saturday morning, and it was now eleven pm. Sunday night.

We were really really really really really fucked up by this time.

How we managed to do this I’ll never know, but we talked the officials into letting us take a cab home. We should have quit while we were ahead, but there was a wheelchair just sitting there, so I put Scottie in it, and broke full speed through the terminal. I admit I failed to negotiate the “Checkpoint Charlie�, as we came to know it, and knocked the damn scanner, detector, and everything else, completely down.

We were still rolling on the floor laughing as they handcuffed us.

The next thing we know…we’re being booked…

…and then we’re in with the dirtballs, and by this time…we were bulletproof.

Once in the community cell, an inmate made the mistake of telling me I had a nice ass, and he was going to fuck the shit out of me. Big mistake…he came at me and I turned sideways with my left foot forward, put all my weight on it, lifted my right foot and spun clockwise, cocking and extending my right arm in order to deliver the perfect spinning back fist to that assholes nose. He was down like potatoes, and what was left of his nose was on the other side of his face. It was a clean hit…I didn’t feel a thing. I hit him as hard and fast as I could. That fucker was down, and his nose was mush. Blood everywhere. The last thing he said to his faggot friend was, “watch that one over there, he’s fast�. You know how they say, never hit a man when he’s down? That’s bullshit…I kicked that motherfucker as hard as I could in the nuts…but missed and got ‘em in the stomach…no matter…he was down for the count, so to speak. I then turned my attention to my buddy; I thought he might need some help. Remember, I was wild by now…wild…I mean wild. Scottie played semi-pro hockey, and he needed no help with the other one. He was banging that fuckers head into the bars until I pulled him off. I swear to the Maker, he would’ve killed that bastard.

This didn’t take as long as you might think, and the jailers were there in no time. I believe they were actually happy we did their work for them, at least what they had all along wanted to do.

Anyway, they said come out. I said I'm not coming out until you put me in a private cell. This fucking place is full of queers. The huge jailer said, come out, or I’m going to come in and drag your ass out. I said, come on in.

He did, and I didn’t have a chance, but I did end up in a private cell. He actually, more or less, thanked me for fucking up that piece of shit child molester, wife beater, and car thief, whatever. He had it coming. I can say for certain…That is the hardest I’ve ever hit anything in my life, and I didn’t feel a thing.

We were in jail for almost 48 hours, but all said and done…we walked…all charges dropped.

But, as it turns out, my buddy Scottie knew the Judge.

Funny how shit like that happens.

More later.

Posted by Yabu at December 14, 2005 05:50 PM | The Past

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Posted by: Catfish at December 15, 2005 01:07 PM