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Day 3: Saturday, September 17th
So the MegaPlayboy and Firecracker woke me up early on the 17th (the wedding day itself) with the promise of conquering a mountain that made Stone Mountain (pretty much the only mountain in Georgia [North Georgia doesn't count... Damn hillbillies!]) look like the pimple on the ass of the Earth that it truly is.

I then cleaned the dried vomit off my face, caught a quick continental breakfast in the lobby (i.e. Froot Loops, a bagel and a soggy banana), and jumped in the back of the MegaPlayboy's already trashed out rental. He did a couple of donuts in the parking lot, and we were off! It was about a 25 minute drive to the Solar System Trail (where we were hiking), but it went by quickly thanks to me passing out a few times (I can do it on cue. It's a gift). When we got there I was like a little, excitable lap dog, running around the car, jumping up and down, and peeing myself with glee (I drank a lot of rehydrating water that morning, plus I was really looking forward to the walk). Then the three of us started the hike. The point of the Solar System Trail is that you start out at a plaque with a yellow globe about the size of a basketball painted on it (representing the sun), and then you hike from plaque to plaque to see how far away from the sun each planet in our system would be if the sun were that size. Pluto was about 2.6 miles away, on the top of a mountain, and it was represented by a dot the size of a grain of sand. Kind of made me feel insignificant... That booze REALLY must have worn off by then if I was starting to feel THAT.

The hike was really pleasant. It was easy at first, but then after about a half a mile we started moving more vertical than horizontal. Still, it wasn't a bad journey, EXCEPT for the unusual amount of horse droppings smack dab in the middle of the path. Seriously, the narrow, cliff-ridden, crumbly trail was littered with giant piles of horse shit. MOUNDS of the stuff! We had to walk single file up the narrow trail, so whoever was in front would have to warn the rest of us of upcoming equine crappola. That was like every 15 seconds.

"So the Colonel was saying that his fiancee really had no problem with the fact that he only
has one --"

"HORSE CRAP! Coming up, right in the center of the path. Look alive, people!"

"Wow! That's really big of her. So I take it HE has no problem with the fact that she has fake --"

"Holy SHIT! What the fuck are they FEEDING this beast! Beeferoni?! Here comes another batch, guys!"

"Of course he doesn't have a problem with them! If you can touch 'em, they're rea--"

"CHRIST! This pile's as big as a small child! Do horses even eat children?... Would they if you tried to make them?... Oh, more CRAP!"

And so on and so forth. After making it the last hundred yards to the top of the mountain, home to Pluto (that last hundred yards being made up of nothing but crumbly, rock-slide ready boulders, on a 70 degree angled slope), we got an incredible view of the entire valley below. We could see our parking lot waaaay off in the distance, and we could see tons of mini-wineries perched on the sides of nearby mountains all around us like marijuana crops hidden from the authorities on South American rugged peaks. It was a sight to behold... But then we started bitching when we remembered that we eventually had to descend back down through the horsey minefield -- and soon the fresh mountain air was replaced with that of once eaten oats. I fucking hate horses now. And jockeys... But I've always hated jockeys.

The reception after the wedding was fun, but confusing. See, I got to sit with a ton of fun people whom I never met before. Got sloshed, ate good food, and joked around how we were all glad that the Colonel finally bagged himself a fine filly... Or was it the bride we were talking about?... Whatever, good times. But the confusing part had to do with all the waiters there. They kept dropping things in my lap and then they'd apologize and spend a good 5 minutes fishing around for whatever piece of food they lost. I'm normally used to this kind of gay behavior, but thank god for Hot Gimp that night. After Horacio the waiter accidentally fumbled a piece of chicken between my legs for the 4th time, Hot Gimp shoved the effeminate moron away and attacked the problem of "lost food" head on... Literally.

After a while I found that I was dropping stuff in my lap without Horace's help (can't remember if it was because I was drunk, nervous, or if I made a bet with the MegaPlayboy as to how many times I could get Hot Gimp to go for it. Final count: 27 times. Not one crumb was missed either). Hot Gimp had got it GOIN' ON!

After barely making it back to the car (I almost died twice; once from almost falling off a cliff after slipping in giant mammal shit, and another time from when Firecracker tried to murder me when I laughed too hard at her after she almost fell off a cliff after stepping in horse shit), we decided to celebrate life by eating out before getting cleaned up and ready for the ceremony later that evening. I voted for Carl's Jr (fuck you, naysayers! Carl's is NOT just another face of Hardee's, and it's Western Double Bacon Hyper Cheeseburger Deluxe is the greatest fast food burger ever fucking made... Hallelujah, holy shit!), but the MegaPlayboy and Firecracker out numbered my vote and made us go to the In 'N Out Burger nearby. Yeah, that place is great for a punchline to a racy, sexy joke, but fuck me, I just don't like 'em. Well, I guess I don't hate the In 'N Out (Hell, I could do with just the "In" [see, it's GREAT for a punchline]), but if there's a Carl's Jr nearby, then there's no real choice in my mind. I think they'll even cover your tray with chili if you ask at Carl's. I'm creaming my jeans just thinking about it.

Aaaaanyway, so we did the In 'N Out, then the MegaPlayboy dropped me off at my hotel to get all cleaned up. I begrudgingly agreed to meet them at the wedding (I guess it WAS the reason I flew the fuck out there in the first place), and shaved and showered and put on my brand new shirt and tie. I am one sexy beast when I polish myself off, let me just say that. A fucking sexual dynamo sexy beast. GrrrrrrrrRRRRROOOOOoooowwwwl!

After the clean-up I grabbed my wedding gift (It wasn't what I had ordered... They must have goofed up the item IDs on the website. They sent me two sterling silver dildos/strap-ons with two sets of studded collars, whips and thigh-high latex boots.... Those bastards! I ordered the flesh-toned dildos!) and zoomed on over to the Manor House (the wedding was in the gorgeous gardens in the back) with time to spare.

I won't cover the wedding itself on this page because, well, because I'm not THAT much of an asshole as to mock a joyous occasion such as this. But I will say that things went even better than I hoped since Firecracker and I were able to talk the caterers into opening up the bar well before the ceremony even began. Good times.

Right after the "I do's" is when things started to get really good. The bride made damn sure that I sat next to her just arrived, hot friend (Hot Gimp) at Table 7 at the reception, and... Well really that's all I needed for it to make things really good. It seems that Hot Gimp broke her foot while chasing down skateboardin' aborigines midgets on the Outback during some hot new competition in the X-Treme Games, but she made it worth her while by actually landing on 4 midgets and a koala bear before being disqualified. Hot Gimp was definitely all her name led you to believe! Wait, what?

Table 7 ruled that night. Most of the alcohol coming out of the kitchen never made it past us. The company at the table was great too, and thanks to the drinks I heard tons of great stories involving lots of people I know and lots of glorious felonies (all that blackmail material will keep me from having to find a job for at least 3 years!). But not all that night was rainbows and puppies. Yeah, Spike showed up, but I was able to avoid the asshat for the most part, so it's all good. Oh, and the mother and father of the bride were so fucking awesome! They actually hung out with all us fun drunks, and kind of ignored all their own boring relatives that night.

After the toasts by the father of the bride, the best man and the maid of honor, some drunk mongos got it in their minds to stumble over to the bride and groom table and make long winded, boring and unfollowable speeches of their own (and no, surprisingly enough I wasn't one of them! Imagine that). Oh my god... That one drunk chick rambled on about how she loved the groom, but then proceded to feel up the bride as she went on and on about planning to try and steal the groom away from her. But no... She was "just kidding... Unless the bride wouldn't mind... Hey! Would you two like to get together for a little something, I think it's pronounced 'menage a--'" That's when I borrowed Hot Gimp's crutch and clotheslined the speechy skank across the throat with it to the thunderous applause of the guests. Then the bride's fork accidentally fell and severed the skank's subclavian artery while she was passed out on the ground. Hey, just because it's a wedding doesn't mean that nature had to stop killin'.

After the reception, all the alkies piled into a few cars and flew on over to Zeke's again. That's when Hot Gimp and I started playing shuffleboard (and kicking quite a bit of shuffle-ass, I might add... Mostly because the other team passed out and then died of alcohol poisoning, but I take it when I can get it!), and then something called the "Cheeto Game". That part of the night was a little fuzzy, but I don't seem to remember many/any rules to this so-called "game". But being the sport that I am, I played it over and over and over again until I think I got the hang of it. It had something to do with holding a Cheeto in one player's teeth, and then the other player had to get it out?... Eat it?... Suck on the first player's tonsils?... I dunno. Anyway, after I became a master of the Cheeto Game with the Groom (lucky bride!), I challenged Hot Gimp to a few knock-down drag-out rounds... I never got the Cheeto once. By gum I tried though. By the end of the night it was Hot Gimp: 57, the Rossman: 0. We had to run out to a 24 hour supermarket to get more bags at one point.

The wet 'n wild reception came to a close at the all too early hour of 10PM, but the party raged on. Without a second thought, all of the partiers took the fiesta over to Zeke's Bar and Shuffleboard Palace, where we all hung (hanged?) out the night before. Zeke didn't know what hit him. We packed the place, all dressed so formally and stylin', and the bride was still in her gown! It was a fucking blast! What was hilarious was all the attempted break-ins that the Colonel and I tried in order to sneak his underage sister into the place as well. The bouncer was the world's (at least Northern California's) biggest dick. He utterly refused to let her past him. At first we played up the bullshit that she just forgot her ID, but that she didn't even plan to drink... So could you just put a big "X" or something on her hand or forehead so that she can go in but not order alcohol?... Nope. We tried bribes and then death threats to the bouncer and his family. He didn't budge. Then we tried to sneak sis in the back way, but that failed because Zeke apparently didn't believe in fire codes as there was no back exit. Then we got the Colonel's other sister to give us her driver's license and we told the bouncer that some friends were swinging by to drop the younger one's ID off. The next car that pulled up had the Colonel's younger sister at its rolled down window in no time, telling the drunk sorority girls inside the whole abbreviated story just to kill some time in order to pretend that they were handing her her forgotten license. It worked perfectly (mostly because the bouncer had the IQ of Forest Gump and Corky's love child), and soon we were all inside getting even more wasted.

There was a disco dancing bride, guys in tuxes shooting pool, drunk morons (like me) playing shuffleboard, and pints of beer flowing from the bar and being passed around like buckets of water by an old-time fire brigade. Camera flashes were going off all over the place giving the tiny bar the impression of some low-rent, slimy and divey Studio 54. It was wicked sweet. Then I learned the Cheeto Game. Life was good. All in all it was enough to break me of my attempt to go full-on gay. Dammit! Now I'll never disappoint mom and dad!

Gay, I mean DAY 5 is down yonder >>

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