-----Original Message-----
From: 	"scott crowell" <scott_crowell@hotmail.com>@ENRON  
Sent:	Monday, October 22, 2001 9:08 AM
To:	Giron, Darron C.
Subject:	Fwd: FW: Are you ready for some football?




>From: "Laurence, Andrea" <alaurence@kpmg.com>
>To: "Adam Devine (E-mail)" <adam_devine@hotmail.com>,        "Alex Stopka
>(E-mail)" <astopka@hotmail.com>,        "Alice Hurley (E-mail)"
><alicekhurley@aol.com>,        "Andrea Weimeyer (E-mail)"
><andreaw@homemail.com>,        "Andreas Neuffer (E-mail)"
><Neuffer.Andreas@bcg.com>,        "Grossi, Anthony L" <agrossi@kpmg.com>,
>      "Bob Helbing (E-mail 2)" <robert.helbing@mortgage.wellsfargo.com>,
>     "Diana, Christopher J" <cdiana@kpmg.com>,        "Cory Hartquist
>(E-mail)"  <chartquist@yahoo.com>,        "Dana Schroeder (E-mail)"
><rdaschroeder@yahoo.com>,        "Gerard Devine (E-mail)"
><gfdevine@hotmail.com>,        "Graham Johnston (E-mail)"
><graham.e.johnston@us.arthurandersen.com>,        "Woodson, Granville M"
><gwoodson@kpmg.com>,        "Frates, Gretchen" <gfrates@kpmg.com>,
>"Hugh Brown (E-mail)" <brownhm@excite.com>,        "Jean McHugh (E-mail)"
><jeanm@donohoe.com>,        "Jeff Ottenbreit (E-mail)"
><ottenbrj@sacredheart.edu>,        "Myles, Joanne D" <jmyles@kpmg.com>,
>    "McGlothlin, Julia J" <jmcglothlin@kpmg.com>,        "Krista Pearl
>(E-mail)"  <Norton94@aol.com>,        "Marc Laurence (E-mail)"
><marclaurence@hotmail.com>,        "Michael Laurence (E-mail)"
><kingarthurman@yahoo.com>,        "Michael McCall (E-mail)"
><Michael_McCall@hud.gov>,        "Kelleher, Michael P"
><mkelleher@kpmg.com>,        "Weisfeld, Michael" <mweisfeld@kpmg.com>,
>   "Michele Farley (E-mail)" <Michele_Farley@yahoo.com>,        "Mike Ibay
>(E-mail)" <mikeybye@hotmail.com>,        "Patty McKenna (E-mail)"
><patriciamckenna@netscape.net>,        "Paul Rude (E-mail)"
><rude.paul@cnrsw.navy.mil>,        "Rashida Mitchell (E-mail)"
><ragirl99@hotmail.com>,        "Russell Sole (E-mail)"
><RSOLE@us.oracle.com>,        "Scott Crowell (E-mail)"
><scott_crowell@hotmail.com>,        "Rodiger, Stephan"
><srodiger@kpmg.com>,        "Sue Tafrate (E-mail)" <SusanT@bchands.org>,
>     "Stoltz, Suzanne" <sstoltz@kpmg.com>,        "Arcona, Teresa"
><tarcona@kpmg.com>,        "Morley, Thomas" <thomasmorley@kpmg.com>,
>"Todd Edwards (E-mail)"  <jte38@hotmail.com>,        "Todd Lantor (E-mail)"
><Tlantor@steptoe.com>,        "Tom Stolpman (E-mail)" <tstolpman@home.com>
>Subject: FW: Are you ready for some football?
>Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2001 11:29:04 -0400
>
>
>-----Original Message-----
>From: KurtHelwig@aol.com [mailto:KurtHelwig@aol.com]
>Sent: Friday, October 19 , 2001  9:52 AM
>To: alaurence@kpmg.com
>Subject: Fwd: Are you ready for some football?
>
>
>this might be guy humor, but it is one of the funniest damn things i have
>ever read
>
>
>-----Original Message-----
>From: JimmyLynn1@aol.com [mailto:JimmyLynn1@aol.com]
>Sent: Friday, August 31, 2001 12:36 PM
>To: t.butler@rane.net; KurtHelwig@aol.com; Wiedis@aol.com
>Subject: Fwd: Are you ready for some football?
>
>
>
>this one should remind you guys of our sojourn to new orleans last fall ...
>it takes a while to read, but it's worth it.  j --
>
>
>
>
>Fan on Game Day--- (apologies if you've seen this before...worth another
>
>look)
>
>This is pretty long, but it's HYSTERICAL! If you've ever been drunk at a
>
>sporting event, or been with someone who has, you can relate.
>
>++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
>
>+++
>
>This is an e-mail from some guy named J.D. Horne, who, according to the
>
>messages that were attached to this, is not a 21 year-old frat boy, but an
>
>attorney of indeterminate age. He sent it to his friend Brian Brice and it
>
>got forwarded around the country. You have to give the guy some props for
>
>being self-deprecating...but I hope I never meet him on game day.
>
>A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early
>morning
>
>hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999:
>
>
>6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast
>
>6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels
>
>7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning)
>
>8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)
>
>8:53 Crack open second beer
>
>8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea)
>
>10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth 95.
>
>10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome - Nebraska vs Texas)
>
>10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities
>
>11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor
>
>store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam
>
>11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the
>
>sky. About 70 degrees.
>
>11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.
>
>11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go fuck himself.
>
>12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the second
>
>floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of us).
>
>We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the
>
>street right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of
>
>Texas. AWESOME MOMENT.
>
>12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping chests
>
>with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of the
>
>fact that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.
>
>1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we hoot
>
>and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right below
>
>us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight songs.
>
>Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain convinced
>
>that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.
>
>1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the
>
>"Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants.
>
>1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I am
>
>taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the shit out of
>
>Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play
>
>what I now call and will forever be remembered as Cell-Phone Flop Out."
>
>Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this
>
>Nebraska jackass that if he's so confident in his team, he should "flop
>out"
>
>his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the
>
>Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words: "And not those damn
>
>refundable tickets, either! You request those non-refundable,
>
>non-transferrable sons-of-bitches!" He backs down. He is unworthy.
>
>I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix, non-refundable
>and
>
>non-transferrable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in
>
>shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers of hundreds of Texas
>
>fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. I distribute the 11 beers in my
>
>pants to the cheering masses. I RULE the pre-game kingdom.
>
>2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour my
>
>first stiffy.
>
>2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast.
>
>Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas.
>
>3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for Texas.
>
>Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking shit. I pour another stiffy
>
>from the Traveler.
>
>3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a dead soldier.
>
>I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am standing in
>
>line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and rolls out of
>the
>
>end zone. Safety.
>
>3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler.
>
>4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime, I
>
>attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend bathroom:
>
>"Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice cock." He is unamused.
>
>4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share my
>
>beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they are
>
>equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase Sprites,
>
>so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith.
>
>Nebraska is a bunch of pussies.
>
>4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their lives.
>
>I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants.
>
>5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This
>
>normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.
>
>5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been
>
>confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferrable."
>
>5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession
>counter.
>
>As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be sold when
>
>there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged by this
>
>policy. I ask loudly: "Why the fuck didn't you announce last call over the
>
>fucking PA system??!!"
>
>5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a sudden,
>
>the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts.
>
>"Whazzis?," I mutter, awaking from my coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?"
>
>Alas, the answer is no, we were not winning and we did not score. The
>
>largest (by far) cheer of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the
>
>handlers were walking back to the tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot)
>stopped
>
>to take a gargantuan shit all over the letters "S", "K", and "A" in the
>
>"Nebraska" spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the
>
>empty Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty.
>
>6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I would
>
>taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am too
>
>drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the
>
>evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in
>
>October, they would be playing Florida State for the national championship.
>
>6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the basketball game.
>
>8:00 Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a
>
>beer. It is warm. I don't care.
>
>7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I walk
>
>past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder if
>
>it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and drink
>
>the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the
>
>frig.
>
>7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the ingredients
>
>are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no one there. I lean
>
>over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat them.
>
>I am still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately
>
>two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating
>
>Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear me. I don't care.
>
>8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing
>
>Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my
>
>singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good
>
>songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone"
>
>and "Neon Moon" and that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times
>
>each was a bit excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD
>
>play on its own. I tell him to fuck off and restart "Neon Moon."
>
>8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and
>
>profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking garage. I
>
>tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we
>
>may as well pitch a fucking tent here. He ignores me.
>
>I think he's still pissed about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle "Neon
>
>Moon" loudly.
>
>8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're going
>
>to kick the shit out of Arizona.
>
>9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the
>
>bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of the
>
>new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona fans in
>
>the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I have a
>
>"Niiiiiice cock." No one is amused but me.
>
>9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can. Needless
>
>to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center,much less Bud Light out
>of
>
>a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get that, sir?" I tell him
>
>(no shit): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those little
>
>plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?" I take the
>
>last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I'm going to the
>
>bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance to
>
>avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of
>
>people and sit down. The usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a
>
>little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light.
>
>9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings. I
>
>have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing.
>
>10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared out
>
>the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the
>
>surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps I
>
>shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to fuck off.
>
>10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst fucking call I have EVER seen," I
>
>attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects.
>
>However, on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left
>
>eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into
>
>my left eye and all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think to myself, I'm
>
>taking this a bit seriously."
>
>10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am swaying and
>
>grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are
>
>bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look
>
>like I should be in an episode of Cops.
>
>10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and make
>
>my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good
>
>samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I
>
>merely grunt incoherently and keep moving.
>
>10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up
>
>six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will punch him
>in
>
>the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the truck, and
>
>collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice that
>
>traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and
>no
>
>one is moving. I take a nap.
>
>11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I lift my
>
>head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up
>
>all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I
>
>am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>
>11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
>
>traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and
>no
>
>one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>
>11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
>
>traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and
>no
>
>one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>
>11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
>
>traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and
>no
>
>one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>
>11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the
>
>bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second
>
>floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility,
>
>and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below.
>
>My friend looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn
>
>around pee on the front of his truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon
>
>Moon."
>
>12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go from
>
>vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I return
>
>to my vehicle
>
>12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my
>
>apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened bottle of
>
>Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die
>
>tonight.
>
>12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We decide
>
>it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. Ed has to pee.
>
>He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full length
>
>mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We
>
>giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's.
>
>1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to
>enter
>
>his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic laughter, "I've
>
>been working this door for almost a year. I've been working doors in this
>
>town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I ain't never seen
>
>three drunker mother fuckers than you three. Sorry, can't let you in." We
>
>attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder.
>
>1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and hear
>
>"Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See, dat wasn't
>
>that fuckin' hard. Day don't fuckin' do that at the Awamo...the awaom...the
>
>alab...fuck it, that stadium we was at today..." We order 6 shots of
>
>tequila and three beers.
>
>2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the two
>
>and one half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and
>
>tell him to keep it.
>
>2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated
>
>immediately.
>
>2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup,
>two
>
>orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two
>cheese
>
>stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.
>
>2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table. The
>
>waiter wakes us up. We eat every fucking bit of our food. Most of the
>
>restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a fuck. The tab
>
>is $112 with tip.
>
>2:46 I'm sleepy.
>
>9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's.
>
>She is not pretty.
>
>
>
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