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Limbo Competition at the GAS PUMP? Count it!

Game, set, match.

I had just absolutely fucking destroyed my imaginary friend Sophie at a game of ping-pong. I say imaginary, because she has yet to come out with my big group of friends and they are doubting the existence of my stripper friend. I don't necessarily blame them -- after all, who would really believe that DAVE would go to a strip club at lunch, get a lap dance from a 'ripper, and then become her friend afterwards? Wait...okay...so maybe I WOULD do something like that...

But the irony in the whole situation is that I'm going out for her birthday in the middle of May...but HER boyfriend (who I also happen to think is imaginary, pictures notwithstanding) won't be there. Then again, maybe he doesn't want to meet me and maybe I don't want her to meet the rest of you. Why? Because this is the line and I usually cross it with Soph.

After body checking Soph into the wall (either I under estimated my weight, or I over estimated hers, because the force I exerted sent her flying), I got her to drop me off at Chad's.

I was the first one there, next to Chad and his bro. I survey all the free booze that we must consume before Chad and Robin have to leave. It is enormous...there is NO FUCKING WAY we'll drink all that -- and certainly not the shitty marguerita mix, or the bottle of tequila. But...just as the first man learned that eating whatever comes out of a chicken's ass is actually pretty tasty, I realized that we'll never know what we can accomplish unless we try.

I pour myself a rum and diet and settle in for a long haul.

Soon Cori shows up and I'm slightly buzzed. Shortly Garth shows up and I'm slightly drunk. Then I see Jody Blair and I run onto the deck and scream like Lil' Jon at him -- Yeah. I'm full fledged drunk.

More people show up. How many...is a blur to me. But I do know, that three hours later, we had to send Stav and Walls for MORE BOOZE. Huh? WTF? How in the hell did that happen...??? What happened in the meantime? Well...lets see what I can recall.


1. Watched the new Family Guy episode that is the premiere of the next full season on Fox (this SUNDAY). That's right, we got to watch a pirated copy of the show...

The producers make a not-so-subtle point to the audience to show what their animators can do, you know, when you ACTUALLY have money. Long live Family Guy.

2. Standing on the deck, waiting for Scabs and Mark to get back from Mac's. See this chick waiting at the bottom of the building. Decide it would be fun to moon all of them...so Jody, Moose and I drop our pants.

We are SO FUCKING COOL. Then it turns out that the chick we mooned actually was coming to the house party. We give her some feeble and weak excuse, a lame apology, and I'm pretty sure she fucking hates us.

3. Again with the deck. Cack! Chad plays Call on Me...and you know what that means!

Hey Soph...you're friends...how mean to me are they going to be when I ring the demon bell at your birthday...? Can I at least bring Felix? What about Val? My wife if already committed for that night...is it such a good idea that I show up with the knowledge that these harpies may tear me and my fragile ego to shreds?


Since we are good and liquored up, there is only one place to go. That's right...our most favorite bar in the whole world -- the GAS PUMP.

Now...I know that I speak highly of this bar, usually for no real GOOD reason. And though I have a flair for hyperbole, I can honestly say that last night was the BEST TIME WE'VE EVER HAD AT THE GAS PUMP.

Seems that friday nights are now "beach wear" nights, where you can win trips to...well...non-beach locations. I think last night was a trip...to Whistler...?? Sadly I can't remember. I check my coat and walk through the front door. This relatively hot chick -- no lying here...definately not the usual "ditch pig quality" we are used to -- asks me if I'll let her lay me.

"Pardon", I says? I weigh my options carefully...I mean, sure...there IS the broom closet close by; perhaps the bathroom stall. Oh, I know, I'll just tell me wife that I'm an FBI agent and that I must take this chick and PUMP HER FOR SOME MORE INFORMATION.

"No silly"...she laughs coyly and then wraps one of those god-awful plastic lei's around my neck and hands me a free bellini.

Uh...yeah...I wasn't fooled. No, not at all. Whoops, my bad...of course...ha ha ha...will have to laugh about this one in the morning...

I make a bee-line to the pisser. Not to hide my embarrassment, but because I've been drinking for a few hours at this point and really needed to take a leak! As I'm standing over the urinal, I wonder why in the hell bars now-a-days are hiring bathroom attendents. I mean...to say that these people are AGGRESSIVE is an understatement.

No thanks...I can shake it myself!

And what's worse, these people are usually black, thereby perpetuating every single fucking horribly wrong stereotype that exist in our society. We do we subject people to these kinds of torture and racism? It really truly makes me feel sick and disgusting. Besides, we all know that the attendent really should be a brown dude, I mean, if we wanted to get technical...

(Kee-rist, did I ACTUALLY type that...?). At this point, Sanch and Kunal want to knife me in the back.

Normally I just suck it up and don't even maintain eye contact with the attendent. I ignore all the fancy soaps and colognes, the free gum, the hand towels, etc. The reason why I'm able to do this is cause, again, the attendent normally is a really tiny, scrawny dude and you can just blow right passed him.

Not this time. The dude was a monster. As in..."Baby, I'm gunna butter your bread" variety. I tip the last three bucks to my name and pray that I don't have to go to the bathroom again for the rest of the night.

Normally when I get to a bar, I like to walk around to scope out the joint and to see who is there. (Read: stare at hot chicks in an innocent and casual way). Over by the pool tables, way at the back of the bar, my jaw hits the floor. Why?

1. There are three chicks wearing bikini's playing pool. And they are HOT. Again proving that the bar had to HIRE the girls to walk into that meat market looking like that. I chuckle to myself as I make up a little rhyme in my head: that sarong cannot hide your thong.

2. All the female bartenders and shooter girls are similarly in bikini's -- how the shooter girl was able to fit her enormously fake (but not that I was complaining!) rack into her bikini top, I'll never know. I think upon the degredation of female kind this environment breeds, but then I look at the overflowing tip jar and realize that "they'll probably get over it".

Because I am immune to the wiles of beautiful women, I head out to the dance floor so that I can once again confirm that I have more guy friends compared to gal friends. But luckily for me, I get there just in time to participate in a LIMBO contest. What do I know about limboing? Nothing. How many of my friends join me? Only a completely ridiculously hammered Patty.

We get to the semi-finals before losing out to these unnaturally flexible women.

It was FLAWLESS VCTORY. (But good god damn did my knees hurt after that).

Whatever you say about me and my friends, you simply cannot argue that we have a lust-for-life, as evidenced by the fact that we'll make complete asses of ourself for the sake of a good time.

I take my meagre winnings and purchase more drinks.

I get back to the dance floor to see Kunal in an "apparent dance-off" with this flaming homo from the limbo contest. The guy is acting like a fucking stain, and Kunal is getting a bit pissed off. (See last week's blog entry re: beaking off a cop). Kunal is about to push him when this fat black broad comes into the fray and attempts to kick Kunal. Well...that is what it looks like, but the chick was so heavy that she could barely lift her leg two feet off the ground!

(Oh yeah...now THIS is the usual quality of girl that we see in this bar).

In the end, Kunal never had to do anything as Patty storms in there like a bat outta hell and pushes the stupid mang onto the floor. I think the dude got the point and left the vicinity to go dance on the speakers. By himself. (I don't know that I've seen Patty that drunk in my life...) This leaves Kunal to go back to his first passion -- tearing the various inflatable beach toys from the roof and tossing them around the bar.

We go back to dancing. Moose and I ring the demon bell again (hey...the song was playing...what the hell do you want me to do?) and Chad and Robin go back to making out on the dance floor. FOR CHRIST'S SAKE...get a fucking room.

(See...they pull shit like this...and then wonder why I mention that they were practically screwing each other the time that Patty, Cori and I were forced to sleep in Chad's bachelor apartment with nothing to do but pull a pillow over our heads and hum a tune, praying that we would fall asleep soon enough).

Realizing that my time is almost done, I grab my wife. And then I ask her if she's ready to go. (Zing...! Oh wait...that's actually a double ZING!!! I've highlighted the double entendres in bold).

Were there more stories than this? Undoubtedly. For example, I got a call at 3:00 am from Sanchu explaining how they were at Keegans with all of the blow up toys from the bar. And no doubt Patty has some 'splaining to do after seeing how drunk he was -- if he can remember the stories, that is.

But that is for another time.

posted by Team Shawn Michaels @ 11:38 a.m.