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Drunken Ramblings: Mormons in the Rain Edition
Get to the bar just after noon. Kind of an odd combo trendy gothic sports bar type place, with TVs everywhere and live music and lots of low self esteem whores. The place also has couches everywhere, which is a nice touch. Much harder to fall off a couch than a stool. Had a buddy drive because I knew Smiff would drive me to assaulting my liver. Commence drinking. Pretty toasty by 4PM for a 7:30 kickoff. Slow my roll so I don’t fall off the couch and black out before the shit show. During my pre-lube, notice there are actually several good looking women at this bar, and it's still early. Good sign.
Begin chatting up woman #1. Brunette. 30ish. Great tits. After 30 minutes it is obviously going nowhere. I assume she is a racist whore. Fuck her. I’ll just watch the game instead.
1st quarter. First drive looks great. After that it was like getting a dildo so big rammed in my ass it would take a shoe horn to fit it in. Couple less than profound thoughts:
1) When it is raining like ‘Nam, Charlie is in the trees and you probably ought to be smart. But we have Smiff. So fuck it, throw it all over the yard with a true freshman Cobra. FTG.
2) Throwing on first down every time is what losers who are trying to be clever do. Smiff, you are not clever, but you are a loser. Kill yourself.
2nd quarter. Not much to say. By the middle of the quarter I was so fucking pissed I stopped watching. Didn’t hurt that a cute bar slut with finger tattoos was shooting her best “come hither” glances in what I assumed was my general direction, but was probably for some dude behind me. Whatever, I’m going in.
I wish Sven was here to not flag me.
Saunter over to chick and begin the appropriate “please make a bad decision for yourself with me” games. Pay zero attention to the Huskieieie disaster until she says she has to go to the shitter somewhere near the end of the third quarter? She was gone for a long time. Bored came through that the two most likely possibilities were she took an enormous truck driver shit, or she climbed out the window and ran like hell for a safe house. My red ninja skills pointed to the former, and sure enough she came back. Since she did come back, and I was reasonably sure she dropped a 3 pound load, my extensive knowledge of slut mating rituals told me I was green lighted, because chicks always clean out the pipes at the bar if they think this encounter might end up in a backseat, a couch, or behind a dumpster.
Because UW and the football Gods hate me, we started showing some life at this exact moment, so I had to tell the phantom shitter, and her friends who were actually pretty cool and never tried to cock block even once all night, that I was sort of into the game and wondered if she would mind watching with me. To my surprise she was into it, though turns out she was an artsy NYU grad, so she knew about as much about football as I know about woodchipping for ecological reasons.
4th quarter. I always hate people who blame shit on the refs. I hated myself last night. What a goddamn joke. That said, if you can’t stop a 9 play drive, all on the ground, to give yourself a chance to win at the end, you are fucking losers and don’t deserve victory. And we? are huge fucking pussy losers. And one more thing, if you think the Wild Swede Vanilla Hammer formation serves some functional purpose, you should be napalmed till you are an ash pile.
There isn’t much else to say. Dwayne Warshington is still garbage, Cobra is still a freshman, Smiff is still mentally one step slower than a retarded gerbil, the stadium is still in default mode, Pac-12 refs are still the worst in the country, we all wish the Vanilla Hammer was at Stanford, Peterman is still to blame for all of it, and we have a fat rainbow colored water buffalo cunt for a President so nothing will ever change. Just blow it up already. Fuck.
UW Football: Where Dreams Go To Die
Oh yeah, almost forgot. So we end up back at her place around midnight, takes me all of 23 seconds to get her out of her panties, then 81 seconds to finish from there. But don’t worry degenerate faithful, I rallied on all your behalf and knocked the back out of it until 3AM, at which point I called a cab and got home by 4AM. Two hour nap and up to type this shit and have some delicious coffee, because unlike UW football, I earned it.
Begin chatting up woman #1. Brunette. 30ish. Great tits. After 30 minutes it is obviously going nowhere. I assume she is a racist whore. Fuck her. I’ll just watch the game instead.
1st quarter. First drive looks great. After that it was like getting a dildo so big rammed in my ass it would take a shoe horn to fit it in. Couple less than profound thoughts:
1) When it is raining like ‘Nam, Charlie is in the trees and you probably ought to be smart. But we have Smiff. So fuck it, throw it all over the yard with a true freshman Cobra. FTG.
2) Throwing on first down every time is what losers who are trying to be clever do. Smiff, you are not clever, but you are a loser. Kill yourself.
2nd quarter. Not much to say. By the middle of the quarter I was so fucking pissed I stopped watching. Didn’t hurt that a cute bar slut with finger tattoos was shooting her best “come hither” glances in what I assumed was my general direction, but was probably for some dude behind me. Whatever, I’m going in.
I wish Sven was here to not flag me.
Saunter over to chick and begin the appropriate “please make a bad decision for yourself with me” games. Pay zero attention to the Huskieieie disaster until she says she has to go to the shitter somewhere near the end of the third quarter? She was gone for a long time. Bored came through that the two most likely possibilities were she took an enormous truck driver shit, or she climbed out the window and ran like hell for a safe house. My red ninja skills pointed to the former, and sure enough she came back. Since she did come back, and I was reasonably sure she dropped a 3 pound load, my extensive knowledge of slut mating rituals told me I was green lighted, because chicks always clean out the pipes at the bar if they think this encounter might end up in a backseat, a couch, or behind a dumpster.
Because UW and the football Gods hate me, we started showing some life at this exact moment, so I had to tell the phantom shitter, and her friends who were actually pretty cool and never tried to cock block even once all night, that I was sort of into the game and wondered if she would mind watching with me. To my surprise she was into it, though turns out she was an artsy NYU grad, so she knew about as much about football as I know about woodchipping for ecological reasons.
4th quarter. I always hate people who blame shit on the refs. I hated myself last night. What a goddamn joke. That said, if you can’t stop a 9 play drive, all on the ground, to give yourself a chance to win at the end, you are fucking losers and don’t deserve victory. And we? are huge fucking pussy losers. And one more thing, if you think the Wild Swede Vanilla Hammer formation serves some functional purpose, you should be napalmed till you are an ash pile.
There isn’t much else to say. Dwayne Warshington is still garbage, Cobra is still a freshman, Smiff is still mentally one step slower than a retarded gerbil, the stadium is still in default mode, Pac-12 refs are still the worst in the country, we all wish the Vanilla Hammer was at Stanford, Peterman is still to blame for all of it, and we have a fat rainbow colored water buffalo cunt for a President so nothing will ever change. Just blow it up already. Fuck.
UW Football: Where Dreams Go To Die
Oh yeah, almost forgot. So we end up back at her place around midnight, takes me all of 23 seconds to get her out of her panties, then 81 seconds to finish from there. But don’t worry degenerate faithful, I rallied on all your behalf and knocked the back out of it until 3AM, at which point I called a cab and got home by 4AM. Two hour nap and up to type this shit and have some delicious coffee, because unlike UW football, I earned it.
Comments
How come nothing like this ever happens with Husky Football? We don't ever get shutdown, regroup, and WIN BIG. The corner is never turned. A bad beat never turns into a sea change in the other direction. Because like @RaceBannon says, losers lose. And UW Football is run by losers, for losers.
Preposterous and appalling.
Your story telling is up they're with dr Seuss.
Getting way ahead of myself of course as I have a pretty hard and fast rule to never take any steps that could result in marriage at any point in the future, but who knows. When she was laying on me naked and asked me if she could draw the artwork for my next tattoos, I thought uh oh, this could be trouble.