I felt pretty good about our chances against the 1-4 Dawgs as I showered and went to the grocery store with Brent in preparation for game viewing at his house. We decided on barbecue tacos for the Gameday menu, and after a Kroger/Toddy’s run, we got to his place and started cooking. The usual suspects were all there, Twon, D-Bo, Mandy, Good Neighbor and children, and various others. The game started at 12:20pm and in time the Vols were down big. Tennessee cold not do anything right, especially things like tackling and catching kicks. The mood was lifted by a long Big Orange touchdown, but it was soon wiped out by yet another turnover. I made my first whiskey at about 2. The tacos were great, as was the company, but it could not stop the flood of whiskey that is brought on by terrible Tennessee defeat.
The Tennessee game over, the gang turned our attention and rage to the South Carolina-alabama game. I am fairly sure there have never been so many orange-clad Gamecock fans in the history of football. Our thinking was this; “If Tennessee loses, FUCK BAMA. If Tennessee wins, FUCK BAMA. Basically, FUCK BAMA.”
As the Dickel wained, our cheers for Cocks waxed and we carried the Garnet and Black to victory over the number one team in the land. Yes, bama lost to the Cocks. The entire SEC, minus a million or so miserable, crooked assholes, rejoiced at the defeat of the Evil Empire.
Memory fails me at this point, as indicated in the photo below.
I believe we went across the Pike to Greekfest. I say this because there was a wine stain on my pants and dried yogurt in my beard. The more I think about it, the more I hope we did, in fact go to Greekfest. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I was accosted by gypsies. After who knows how much time and horrible behavior, I awoke in Brent’s sons’ room. I believe it was around 11pm. A look at my outgoing call log the next day would indicate that I was looking for feminine companionship. Luckily, these calls went unanswered, and I went home to pass out for the night.
Sunday was very low-key, as it often is after horrible Large losses. I watched football on the couch and porch with a couple friends and hit the hay early.
Brent and Dixon, on the other hand did not. In a truly brilliant display of Southern Decadence, they took Sunday Funday to a whole new level. The bar has been set, the state of the art is now in place. Reprinted, with permission, is the email I received from Brent on Monday morning.
“I am going to attempt to account for the absolute buffoonery that was yesterday, but it starts and ends with Dixon Greenwood.
The day started with a pull of Johnny Walker Blue out of the bottle at Dixon's urging. It was 10:45 am. While discussing lunch, I mixed a banana rum and OJ in a mason jar. When we left, he was delighted to find out that his Showbiz Pizza tee had come in the mail along with his long-awaited documentary of the Rock-afire Explosion band. (I'm not joking - http://www.amazon.com/Rock-afire-Explosion-Brett-Whitcomb/dp/B002QTL48A).
We then ran up a $68 tab at Sam and Andys West (a deli), before noon. When we went to pay, the old man at the register asked "so what did yall have," to which Dixon replied "well, to start, 10 beers". AK Vogel then asked to be taken home because she had not showered since Saturday and wanted to change clothes. We declined her request, and instead I proposed that we take her to Burlington Coat Factory where she could purchase new clothing. She consented to this idea, but also requested that she be allowed to shower at the Fort Sanders West healthclub. This request was also declined.
Knowing that shopping was going to take awhile, Dixon and I bought Natty light tall boys at a gas station and tailgated on his truck bed in the B.C.F. parking lot. At some point Dixon and I decided we wanted to shop, so we went in as well.
While there, Dixon was scolded for trying to go into the women's changing area to make AK put on a peach colored jacket/skirt combo that was a size 14. I decided that I was going to purchase and wear for the rest of the day a knock-off Affliction tee. Dixon selected a woman's jacket that had the word "Seven" in rhinestones on it. Amanda chose leopard jeans. AK purchased an entire outfit that was too ridiculous to describe.
Dixon wore his jacket to the counter and demanded that they scan it while he was wearing it. The fat tard sales lady and he had the following exchange: "Is there any reason why you are purchasing a woman's jacket?" "Seven is my favorite number and I love rhinestones." She shrugged, and scanned the jacket. A problem arose, however. This jacket had one of those clips that sets the alarms off when leaving the store, and it had to be removed via a magnetic square that is bolted to the counter top. She asked that he remove the jacket so she could accomplish this task. Dixon said he simply could not take the jacket off and proceeded to lay across the counter, trying to align the clip on his chest with the magnetic square. His behavior prompted yet another scolding, this time from the horribly disfigured manager.
So we then went to Bailey's next door for the NFL games, all in our fresh new gear. Anthony met us up there, and he was wearing a nice suit from church. The suit sitting with the B.C.F. crew really threw off the patrons and staff. Dixon proceeded to ice me by having a waitress bring a single bottle of Smirnoff in an enormous bucket of ice while wearing a towel draped over her arm, sommelier-style. I iced Anthony by having the waitress cover a bottle with chips and serving it to him as "free chips and salsa". The staff declared this the most sinister icing in Bailey's history. After the first round of games, during which Dixon kept calling the guy behind him Steven Burroughs (local lawyer with his face all over billboards) and after testy exchange with a dickhead in a Bears jersey, it was off to Roosters.
Roosters is where the wheels came off. Dixon could not sit still, and he kept throwing rolls of paper towels around the bar. He was cutoff, and I was as well, I believe primarily because I was in his general vicinity. He was then thrown out because he kept up his ridiculous behavior. As he was leaving, he gave to double bird to both the patrons and the staff of Roosters, and apparently has been given the death sentence. I was allowed to resume drinking once he left.
By this time we had put together a slightly bigger posse of 6 or 7. We decided to go eat at Wasabi. I feel deeply sorry for the two guys on my end of the table and the portly couple stuck on the other end. I doubt they were anticipating the disaster that swooped in on them at 8 pm on a Sunday. My memory of Wasabi is a bit hazy, mainly because Dixon ordered 4 bottles of sake. I do recall AK getting the birthday drum from one of the employees and aimlessly walking around the dining room drumming for the other patrons in the restaurant. I also recall Dixon getting behind the grill and looking around for something to cook.
After dinner and apologies for those caught in our wake, we left Wasabi. I could no longer function. The night definitely needed a big sendoff, however, as at this point I could only describe it as the 4th or 5th most ridiculous day in my drinking career. But Dixon found a way to give it a proper send off. You see, Wasabi has a goldfish pond...
All on a Sunday.”
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