THE Artist Cafe

This is not a story about AN Artist Cafe. This is not a story about some little Artist Café. This is a collection of stories, that I am not sure when they took place, at THE Artist Café.

See The Artist Café, known as TAC from here on out, is a classy little bar in New Orleans. This is the kind of place you would take your mother. If your mother was into herpes infested prostitutes that were trying to learn how to strip.

I wish I could separate the stories and tell you when they happened, but they happened either on my bachelor party, the worst bachelor party ever, or Duke’s bachelor party, one of the best ever.

It is kind of blurry, but Marcus was there, and he wasn’t at Duke’s bachelor party, and Mangina was there, but he was at both, and I was there, and I was at both, but Jimmy D. was there, and he only went to Duke’s. So it is confusing. Just a drunken blur to be exact.

I remember finding this place walking back to our hotel one late night from Bourbon Street. It is on one of those cross streets where the shady bars that the local drunks go to are located. Jimmy D. and I were minding our own business when a large African American stopped us and said, “Live girls inside. No cover. Why don’t you boys come on in?”

Who am I to turn down coverless naked lady bars? I am not so special that I have to pay a cover to see naked women. Plus this is the Big Easy. This should be fun…

When we walked in there was a smell…rather an odor…of stale urine and poop. That is the only way I can explain it. Jimmy D. and I sit down at the bar. Now this is a shotgun bar. 20 feet across with no end in sight. Where is the stage one might ask? Well behind the bar of course. So the first thing I noticed was the Miller Lite was luke warm at best. So I order a vodka red bull to only find that they use no ice. Just wow.

So this girl, mid forties, is dancing behind the bar, far from the reach of anyone to tip her. Of course if she was closer I would have tipped her to go away. Then the funniest thing ever happened. The music stopped, Ms. C-Section scar got off the stage, grabbed a metal bucket and went around asking for tips. A beaten up old metal bucket. This was just great.

Then a girl comes and sits on Jimmy D.’s lap. This was classic. Jimmy D. starts to small talk her. And I point out the needle marks in her arm. He starts to freak out and we decide to leave. We start heading down the street and I point out his leg. She left a poop spot on his leg.

Now this was just one time at TAC. Next up will be Mangina’s trip the TAC and a pot of lasagna.

The Buddha

Technically I have committed a lot of felonies. I have never been caught and the statute of limitations has expired on many of these but there are 2 that just stick out beyond any others. They both occurred when I was a freshman in college and pledging SigEp. One was a pledge dare and the other was to show our chapter just what they were getting into. I will start with the Buddha.

Now a Buddha is also known as Gautama Buddha, founder of Buddhism, clan name Gautama (Sanskrit; Pali: Gotama), personal name said to be Siddhārtha (Sanskrit; Pali: Siddhattha), epithet Śākyamuni (Sanskrit; Pali: Sakyamuni or Shakyamuni), commonly known as "The Buddha". He is a smiling fat guy that usually is depicted as a change collector in Chinese restaurants around the world. Usually these statues are positioned near a cash register at the front of these fine delicatessens.
My roommate and another pledge went to a Chinese gourmet restaurant in the heart of South Park Houston. Now South Park is known for a lot of things, crime, poor ghetto families and rappers that touch kids. What it is not known for is Chinese food.
My roommate, Spicoli, and his buddy growing up, Liar, were both pledging SigEp along with me. We had just started to pledge and were going to the pledge introduction at U of H that afternoon. Pledge introduction was neat rite of passage. All the fraternities showed up in a park to show off their new pledges and to show that they were the dominant chapter on campus. We had 15 pledges in our class. It was a sizable class considering that our chapter was still getting over having its charter taken away and was rebuilding. We only had 20 something active members so we were a dominant force within the chapter. They were about to find out that we were going to be uncontrollable and eventually be the cause of our downfall. Lots of foreshadowing here.
We were eating at the restaurant the day before the pledge parade. And Spicoli and I thought how neat it would be to take the Buddha as a trophy. So we returned the next day with Liar and his truck. We had a plan to swipe the Buddha and throw it in the back of the truck. At the time I had no idea how police work. I figured that every time that they got a call it was like a bank robbery and you had 60 seconds to get out of town and hide. I had no idea that a stolen Buddha call would probably take an hour before anyone showed up. If I had known this I probably would have walked home with Buddha.
We start the trip by smoking some fine herb. Well, it was probably shwag weed but at the time it seemed like it was the best stuff ever. Later in life I would have thrown it away rather than smoking it and getting a headache, but at the time I was not picky and weed was a new and neat thing.
We arrive in a single cab manual transmission ford truck. We back the truck into the parking lot and walk into the restarant where I say in a loud voice,”When is everyone else going to show up?”
See, I thought that I would be sneaky and take all the focus off of us by saying something like that and making the 2 staff members rolling silverware unaware of our intentions. But then Spicoli shouts, “Let’s get it”
So Spicoli and I pick up the Buddha. The Buddha stood about 5 feet tall and I thought it would weigh so much more. It was made of fiberglass and was painted gold. I thought it would be solid, but it probably weighed no more than 20 pounds.
We hit the doo with the Buddha and I look behind to see that the 2 staff member are just sitting there with a look of disbelief on their faces as their buddha is being lifted out of their store. It was surreal.
We take off spilling change all over the floor. We were making so much noise and I was thinking about what I was going to do in jail after we got caught. Well we took off out of the parking lot and headed down interstate 45 with a large Buddha in the back of the truck by my side.
No police. No high speed chase. Nothing. It was the easiest crime ever committed. I figured at that point I could take anything, and I would put it to the test through time.
We arrived at the SigEp house with Buddha standing up in the back of the truck much to the dismay of our new fraternity brothers. The rest of the pledge class was in disbelief as was the rest of the fraternity. The look of “oh shit, these guys are going to get us in a lot of fucking trouble over time” was on everyone’s face.
Buddha would celebrate many things with us. It became the pledge class mascot of sorts. He was at intramural games. He went to the pledge parade. He would be at Frontier fiesta and football games. He was an icon.
Buddha never had it so good.
And then there was the handcuff party.
See a handcuff party is a mixer with a sorority where you get handcuffed to a girl for the party. It is supposed to be an easy hookup. Shoot, the girl can’t get away.
Well Spicoli is about to get it on with an unsuspecting AXO member. Well, this was unacceptable to an active member and he took the handcuffs off Spicoli and handcuffed him to the Buddha. Spicoli almost cried. The girl was relieved. The girl that I was chained to thought it was hilarious. And just to let you know, I was unsuccessful at hooking up that night. Something about a liter of wild turkey and throw up just turned her off. Fuck her.
Buddha was eventually confiscated from us after Chucky passed away one night after leaving our party. Our alumni group thought they should confiscate anything illegal from the house in case of a police investigation. Now what the hell do you do with a confiscated Buddha?

Las Vegas Part 1

Time couldn’t pass by any slower than it did that Wednesday at the office. I was working for an investment company on the 41st floor of the Transco tower in the Galleria area of Houston. It was a giant 70 story building that stuck out in the skyline of Houston. I was 21 and was a glorified customer service agent. The pay was good and I thought it was like Wall Street. I partied everyday at happy hour and wound up keeping it going all through the night. When the coworkers left around 8, my later friends would show at the bar and we would start all over.

I was a fully licensed broker working in support. I was underachieving like I have always done. I go the job as a result of a great interview and knowing 4 fraternity brothers that already worked there. It was dream job at the time, and I would eventually piss it away due to my alcoholic drinking and behavior. I had a promising future with the company and pissed it away to bartend.

But that particular Wednesday was moving tremendously slow. My roommate Shorty was waiting for me to get off so we could go to the airport. We had tickets that night ot go to Vegas. This was my first trip to sin city and we had all kinds of visions of grandeur. We were going to go there and be all Swingers and be the big winners. The trip is no Max Tucker trip or anything like that, although we all thought it would be when we left. Actually there probably was a good chance that this trip was about the biggest dud of a Vegas trip that could have happened.

Two days before Duke and Jesus left for Vegas in Jesus’ car. Jesus was a late addition to the trip. Originally it was going to be me, Shorty and Duke. Duke decided at the last minute to drive to Vegas with jesus and their trip was filled with snow, New Mexico and tickets, but that is their story.

Shorty and I arrived at Hobby airport with dreams of Vegas riches in our eyes. We boarded the Southwest airline flight and started to party right then. This was pre 9/11 and the airline did not care that 2 drunk guys on their way to vegas are strolling the aisles small talking with everyone and buying drinks for entire sections. About 10 Wild Turkey and cokes into the trip and the back stewardess cut us off. But this is Southwest…and there is always a front stewardess as well. She cut us off about 5 Wild Turkeys later when the Wild Turkey ran out. We drank an entire planes worth of the shit.

When we arrive at the Vegas airport we were greeted by Jesus and Duke holding up a sign for us. They were drunk as winos. We exchanged our hugs and started to play slots at every opportunity at the airport. This place was a amazing. There were slots every 10 feet and they even had a Burger King which would be a big deal Sunday morning when we left. The slots were not that big of a deal 4 days later. This is some foreshadowing.

We get outside to find a New York New York limo waiting to pick us up. Duke explains that they have been winning ever since they rolled into town and the hotel sent a limo to pick us up. This was amazing to me.

We get to the hotel, New York New York and we are greeted by name as we check in. I felt like a big time gambler whale type fellow. Vegas knows how to treat you. We dropped our stuff in the room and met Duke down at the craps table with Jesus. We are laying out bets and could not lose. I took a meager $750 with me thinking that it would be enough. When I left that night I had doubled my money and it was time to go out.

Of course being the big girl that I am I had to check in with my girlfriend, the second Succubus, every hour. She stopped picking up saying that she hated it when she had to communicate from so far away and it made her feel awkward. That would be the last time I called the Succubus for the trip. Fuck her.

It was coming to an end with her anyway. She was going to be dumping me within the next few weeks and I had no idea it was coming but at this point I almost wanted to get caught doing something stupid so she would end it and I could feel sorry for myself.

I can be a big fag.

So we leave the hotel and roll up on the Paradise Club. This is the Vegas strip bar. Over 20 Playboy Playmates were on stage that night. We roll up and the pit bosses from New York New York had taken care of us. This city was awesome. Now I am no Duke in a titty bar. I am a bit of a prude. Something about paying for short term gratification has never seemed like a great thing to do. I am just too much of a Jew to pull It off.

Shorty the whole time is talking about getting in touch with Steve Wynn and opening a bar or club with the billionaire casino developer. Shorty always had a scheme and a plan to open a bar or club or restaurant. He always had a plan. One time he had a plan to import Faberge Clocks…the only problem is Faberge makes eggs…not clocks. He was always a step ahead in the bullshit department and in Vegas it was time for him to shine.

He never met Steve Wynn but he kept talking about it the entire trip.

We left the Paradise club with at least a thousand dollars less than we walked into the place with. Shorty even bought a shirt. We headed back down to the strip where we witnessed Duke eat 4 pounds of breakfast sausage. We went to the Holiday Inn buffet and watched as Duke finished an entire pot of sausage. To this day he still has some of that quality meat lodged into one of his intestines.

By this time we are just lit up and it was time to crash. I don’t think Duke ever went to bed the entire trip and he stayed down in the casino for some more playing time.

When we awoke it was day 2. We had a convertible Mustang that Jesus brought with him and we strolled the strip. We went on a few rides and hit a few buffets and then it was time to drink and head back to the casino. We played for awhile and then we played some more. Shorty and I put on suits so we could be real big players and so he could meet Steve Wynn. We were up more money and I wisely deposited a grand back into my bank account. We were comped into the piano bar at New York New York and promptly went to the front of the 100 person line waiting to get into it.

We arrived and the bouncers knew our names and let us right in. We went to the bar and asked him what our comp was and they said to enjoy the night and the bar tab was on the house. This was the best place on earth. We start putting back Wild Turkey and cokes with Jaeger shot backs. Duke pays $250 to hear American Pie, the full version and I actually kicked a shoe across the bar when the song flips off their shoes. I am dancing with a bunch of girls from Iowa that are just aching for some love…but I am at the too drunk to notice that they want me mode. This is a special level of drunk.

I wind up at the blackjack tables with no shoes and I keep spilling drinks on the table. This is no longer fun for the pit bosses. Duke and Shorty take me to the room where Jesus is passed out. Jesus is broke and is headed to Colorado the next morning for a bar gig. Never even heard him leave.

That night Shorty pulls Duke off a craps table to go get something to eat and to possibly talk to Steve Wynn…well at least to get something to eat. They are gone for 45 minutes and when they return to the table the same guy is still rolling on the table. He had a 45 minute roll. He had turned $500 into something like $50000. Duke just never got over it.

The weekend will even be better…to be continued…

The Fish Comes Out

There are some things in life that confuse the hell out of me. Why do people act the way they do when they drink? Specifically, why do I act the way I did when I drank? Why is the Mangina even a friend of ours? Why does Hooters serve a bunch of 14 and 15 year olds? Why is destruction such a common theme in my life? Why do friends crack under pressure? Why would you sneak out of your friend’s house to destroy your school’s property? I hope to answer some of these and more in the following entry.

This is the spring of 1993. I was still a freshman in high school and I was making it by alright. The days of being a socially awkward kid had turned into the days of being a social butterfly. I hope someone comes from behind me and hits me with a hammer for writing that last sentence.

The evening started out like any other Friday night. We had no sports to play and Easter break was coming up soon. So Duke, Kimbo, Lee and myself are all going out. Mangina was supposed to come as well.

Mangina to this day does not let us off the hook for ditching him on many occasions. There was Mardi Gras 1994 where he drove to Galveston by himself and we told him where to meet us and we never showed. There was this event where we told him we were going to pick him up and we never showed. And there is the infamous Whopper situation that he brings up all the time. Whenever he does bring these things up we bring up the New Orleans trip and he shuts up. Or we call him a stinky Mangina, his nickname, and he starts to pout. Or we make fun of his receding…no…bald head. Why he still hangs out with us is beyond me.

Mangina joined the army after high school. He was some kind of ranger or something. He went in to become a meteorologist but all that math and physics made him jump out of planes. He injured himself on a jump and had to have knee surgery. Now the V.A. loves to cut people open. It is practice hospitals for young surgeons. Well his surgery went bad or something and he started to get blood clots from this. One day in 2002 he was eating thanksgiving dinner with his fiancé, you know the one, and he felt a jarring pain in his gut. He wound up going to the emergency room where they found he had a blood clot in his lower intestine and something like 8 feet had died. He had to have emergency surgery. He went into a coma for awhile and when he awoke he had a giant cut across his belly. Now he has grown a bit outward and his belly has gotten bigger. This caused the giant scar that reaches from his lower sternum to below his belly button to look like a giant ass crack, or as we call it, the Mangina.

Mangina has done terrible things in his life as well so I feel no remorse making fun of his near death experience. Once in Lake Charles he throws down his cards in a Caribbean Stud game face up into the dealers pile keeping 2 people from collecting over $1000 a piece. He gets all angry that they are getting angry at him and pulls his shirt up yelling…”I got this protecting all of you from terrorists!” He did no such thing but the table bought it.

There was also the Whopper incident. A simple little incident that most people would forget, but not the Mangina. One day he sent me, Duke and Lee to the store to buy Whoppers. We had all been drinking the night before and he was the only one with money so we took his money and bought a bunch of Whoppers. Back then they cost $.99 and we bought 8 of them. 2 for everyone. The only problem was we ate them all before we got home and told Mangina that his were in the bag and all that was in the bag were a bunch of ketchup stained Whopper wrappers. He almost fought us all, and this was before he had an ass crack on his stomach so it would not have felt good. He also owned the Brown Beauty, and that alone is enough to fuck with him about.

So Lee came to pick up me in his 1984 Jeep Wagoneer. This thing was awesome. Lee had a Hardship license and was able to drive at 15 which made our adventures start a year earlier than they should have. We went and picked up Duke and stopped off to by some beer. This was the only time in my life I drank Miller High Life. We picked up a 24 pack and had to drive out to pick up Kimbo. Kimbo was from Maryland and was a snob. He really did not fit in with us but when there are only 200 kids at the school you tend to drift towards people that you normally would not drift to.

B y the time we got to Kimbo’s house there was no more beer. I was a bit tipsy. Kimbo was mad. See at 14 there were only so many places that would sell you beer, and the closest was far from this snobby neighborhood. So Kimbo is sober as a school girl. Lee and Duke are feeling fine and I am basically drunk.

We decided that Hooters would be a great place for a few underage kids to go so we drove on down there. Now growing up I had always heard from my mother that this place degraded women, and boy was she right. It wasn’t a strip bar, but as a 14 year old boy this was as close as I could be. Since then I have spent many evenings in Hooters. I enjoy their food, especially the Daytona Wings. I could care less about the scantily dressed women that are flirting with the customers for tips, as I was a man whore throughout the years as a bartender and waiter myself. If wearing tight clothes would have improved my tips, I believe I would have worn them.
Much to our disbelief they served us there. We actually got beer at this place and Kimbo was a bit more happy.

Kimbo then convinced us to see his girlfriend. His girlfriend would one day date all four of us in the car at some point or another. Let’s just say she had a morally casual attitude. We went over there and on the way it was coming down. Springtime rain style in Houston can be a tremendous storm. The water on the feeder roads came up to the doors of Lee’s Jeep. He had a 10 year old Jeep with 10 year old windshield wipers and we couldn’t see shit on the way to Kimbo’s girlfriend’s house. I leaned over and yelled, “What do fish eat…shit!” and bit Duke on the arm. Why? I don’t know. I thought it would be incredibly funny but it just was a dud. But then I kept making fish faces and pretended to swim in the Jeep. I am pretty sure this annoyed the entire bunch.

When we got to Girlfriend’s house we all went in. We were hanging out in the living room while Kimbo and the girlfriend snuck away to make out for awhile. Kimbo was the first guy I knew to lose his virginity and it was with this girl. What an amazing thing to accomplish when you are a dick from Maryland.

We left and headed back to Lee’s house to crash. Then around 3 in the morning we decided to sneak out and drive around. What could be cooler than that? Now for years I have blamed Duke for the following events. I have admitted to him that it was my idea in private, but never have I publically taken blame for the next hour of our lives.

We decided to drive down to our high school. When we got there I suggested we go and destroy the front lawn with Lee’s Jeep. We could drive around in circles and fling mud. Now I was still a little inebriated at this time and Miller High Life was kicking around screaming at me to push Lee into doing this. So I kept encouraging him. Peer pressure is a motherfucker. Lee finally caved in and we start doing donuts in the schools front yard. Then came the crash. We hit a cable fence and tore out 3 or 4 posts when we did it. The Jeep got stuck on the concrete post and we had to flip it to four wheel drive. This was amazing. I blamed Duke for years that it was his idea.

When we got to school on Monday it was the talk of the teachers. Who could have done something like this? Well it didn’t take them that long to figure out who since Lee drove the damn Jeep to school with a big painted dent on the bumper. Kimbo, Lee and I all blamed Duke and he took the fall. We didn’t even collaborate this. We just all figured the next guy was going to blame him so we all did. That was a pretty fucked up thing to do but at the same time Duke getting in trouble sucked a lot less than me getting in trouble.

Las Vegas, The Fish Comes Out, The Saltshaker and Fender and the Honeywagon are all Coming Soon

Very soon.

The Worst Bachelor Party Ever

Seriously…how did this even happen. I came to ask that as I stood on Bourbon Street. I stood there in complete shock as I was staring at my wife…at my bachelor party…500 miles from our house.

But that was just the middle of the party. Up to that point it was just a bad bachelor party…at that moment it became one of the worse…and by the end it had taken the first place gold medal award winning 5 star caliber worst bachelor party ever.

My bachelor party started the way so many did. With a sack of blow and a drinking adventure the night before we were to fly out. I was at the Timberwolf Pub working the door and drinking heavily when a buddy, Jason (All names from here on out will change to different names because these stories could contain details that would make someone ineligible to run for office), congratulated me on my upcoming nuptials and handed me a sack of blow. Now I was just starting to enjoy this stuff. The rush it gave me was incredible. And there is no better time to do it than at night in December when the weather is cold and the air is crisp. If you have ever done it you know what I mean.

I stay up most of the night working the door and high out of my mind. I knew our flight left around 12 the next day to New Orleans, and Me, Duke, Jesus, Gerald, Marcus and Mangina all were going to be flying out on Southwest airlines the next day. The only thing between now and then was a final exam I had to take in the morning.

So I am at U of H the morning of my bachelor party. The worst bachelor party ever. I take the exam geeked out of my mind and did surprisingly well on it. That is probably the best part of the trip. Duke and Marcus along with Gerald pick me up at the school in Duke’s Buick. We head to the airport to meat Gerald, Jesus and Mangina. We get to the airport, and start drinking. Now I haven’t slept since the day before and am coming down so I need to drink heavily./ Since we are not driving it is okay. Duke has a car ready for us in New Orleans to take us to the hotel he booked.

So we get on the plane, and how we did what we did after 9/11 is beyond me. I guess 5 drunk white guys and a Mexican that eventually get cut off on a flight that is less than an hour long is not as dangerous as shoebombers. Not like one of us would have tried to commandeer the plane and see if we could land it.

So we get to New Orleans. The Big Easy. Of course this is pre Katrina so everybody on welfare still lives here. The car that is supposed to take us to the hotel that Duke swears is the best in New Orleans is nowhere to be found. So we take a cab to the hotel.

Let me tell you about this winning situation. This place was straight out of the 19th century, with the electricity to prove it. It was on Most Haunted Places in New Orleans, and this place was just fail. Duke is scared of everything that goes bump in the night which explains why over the next 2 days he never showed up. By the way, Duke is married in this story, Mangina just proposed to his fiancé and Marcus is married as well. Obvious foreshadowing.

Well we drop our stuff off and head to Bourbon Street with a stop at the casino first. Everyone loses all their money the first 30 minutes in the door. And when I mean all their money, credit lines have been exhausted. No strip bars for this bachelor. This is heading in the right direction.

We party all night and head back home with the little money we can muster until we can ATM the next day when our limits have not been reached.

This is when the fun starts. We head to a little diner where Marcus all of sudden has to drop a deuce. He comes out about 20 minutes later with a horrible look on his face. He said there was no toilet paper and he had to use his undershirt that he then tried to flush and flooded te bathroom. Things are just starting to go bad again.

We make it through the day drinking 4 for 1 Jaeger shots at many bars. We are sloshed when the evening comes. And much to my dismay my wife shows up…out of thin air…with her bachelorette party. How embarrassing it was. The jeers from the guys could not have been worse. That was the last I saw of Duke and Marcus that night. My fiancé is drunk out of her mind and I have to take her back to the hotel room, which was about as nice as mine and in a worse part of New Orleans. 2 white kids walking down the street and she decided to fight traffic.

When I left her at the hotel I come back to the last bar where I knew people only to find Mangina making out with one of her bridesmaids. Hilarity then ensues.

Jesus, Gerald and myself make it back to the hotel around 5 and find Mangina and the bridesmaid doing the dirty. Now we could not just let this pass as we were sharing a suite with them. We barricaded the door that led to the room they were in with furniture and trash so that it would be awkward to say the least when they were finished. We also kept making noises until they we passed out. Mostly barnyard noises.

The next morning Duke and Marcus arrive and they have robbed two chicks from the night before of their dignity and petty cash. We are horrible people, but it bought us breakfast. Then the bombshell hit. They stopped making fun of me because my wife showed up and started to pick on Mangina for calling his fiancé and telling her that he hooked up with a chick and only kissed her. Why lie about it? Our waiter at breakfast made a great point. You had many cards to play if you got caught. Like the drunk card. The I was on at a bachelor party card and the I was in New Orleans card. And you use the I made out with a chick which made your fiancé suspicious of all events card? What the fuck is wrong with you.

These jabs did not stop. Not on the way to the airport. Not on the plane. We told everyone that would listen. We called it a public service announcement. Everyone agreed that he should have kept that to himself.

To this day Mangina is still with his fiancé, and we still poke at him when she is not around. Duke and Marcus both have had divorces but not for this, but other great things they did. Mangina bailed on my wedding party and so did the chick he hooked up with. Other than being drunk for 48 hours, the whole thing was a disaster.

The Great Pumpkin

Halloween. 1995. Seems simple enough. I am 17 and all my friends are the same age so why shouldn’t we do something retarded together. Duke came by with his little brother Chuck Woast to pick me up early that evening. It was a school night and we were going to go around picking up people to take them to Chucky’s birthday party.
Chucky was older than all of us but he was in the same grade. He had been held back years ago because I guess he wasn’t bright enough to pass a grade or something. Chucky has since passed on and left this world, and that will be another story another day.
Duke was driving an old S-10 Chevy pick up truck that had all kinds of little problems. The horn would stick periodiacally and the car would die when you turned corners sharply. This is obvious foreshadowing of the events that will follow.
We went into old Pearland to pick up Mangina. Mangina is the buddy that will eventually steal my girlfriend from me with promises of Bennigans and ice skating at the galleria. How could I compete. He also drove the notorious Brown Beauty that would have gotten us better results in the events that will follow.
We then went to pick up Chucky, and his brother Bucky. Yep, they rhyme. Now John Paul was the last to be picked up. Now I am a strapping young buck of 280 pounds and Duke was about the same. John Paul and Mangina were about 6 foot 4 and 250 themselves. Chucky and Bucky were average size folks and Chuck Woast was not the 6 foot 6 giant he would become yet. Now we are all in a single cab Chevy truck. Duke, John Paul and I were in the front seat and Bucky, Chucky, Mangina and Chuck Woast were in the bed of the truck. We were pushing that little truck to its limits. Now somewhere along the way we decided that since it was getting dark that we should start stealing pumpkins and putting them in the back of the truck.
Right before we left my father stood at the edge of the driveway and cursed us with the following, “I don’t want to get a call from the police tonight.”
Now why would he say that? Up to this point he had never received a call from the police, so why now would he say that other than to jinx us.
Now we have a truck load of meaty folks and pumpkins. We pass a house with a skeleton in the front yard and I tell Duke to stop and I get out of the truck, pick up said skeleton and swing it at a gas lamp in the front yard. Before that incident I had no idea the power of natural gas. But when that skeleton hit the top of that lantern it exploded into flames like a gulf war oil well. Hilarity ensued as we screeched out of my neighborhood with a burnt skeleton.
So to one up me Chucky and the guys out back start throwing pumpkins out of the truck bed and watched them explode. Some with candles lit others just plain squashed. And then a BOOM.
Chucky screams out, “I hit a car…GOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
So Duke starts to accelerate, but that is hard with a ton of people in this little truck. Now we are screaming down the road with a Honda in hot persuit with the windshield crushed in. We are screaming down the road throwing beer out of the car knowing if we get caught with beer that we will be in some shit.
Then the first sharp turn happened.
We were out ahead of this accord by at least a quarter mile when the car stalled going around the corner. What made it worse was the horn was now stuck as well. So we are being chased down by this Honda with our horn blaring and basically screaming, “ARREST US!!!”
We are in a high speed chase through Pearland, into the county and then finally stopped in Friendswood. Now we have a Brazoria County Sherrifff, Pearland police and Friendswood Police arresting us trying to figure out where to send us.
Pearland won. But during this whole arrest thing all I could here was the whining woman with the broken Honda screaming, “ My Baby…My Baby…My Baby has glass in her eye…”
And all I could think was Chucky had a great aim. This ain’t no saltshaker. This was a pumpkin, flying 60 miles per hour at her car. And this lady had glass in her baby’s eye. And all I could do was laugh which did not go over well with the police. A simple thump with a baton to the head made me stop laughing.
SO we get to Pearland Jail. They did not know what to do with all of us. Duke was the driver, Chucky was the hurler, the rest of us were witnesses.
At that point we realized that Chucky was not going to make his surprise party. SURPRISE!!!
But we did think we would get away with it, well all of us but Duke and Chucky. We got Lee to come pick us up. And right before he showed my father walked intot he department. Now in my defense, he did not receive a call, because he had explicit directions that he did not want a call from the Police.
I held up my part.