I am cleaning out my saved personal emails. This is one you should always
save and pass on to posterity. It is the funniest email I have ever read.


----- Original Message -----
From: "David Holt" <holt@mail.motorfuels.com>
To: "Jack Belcher" <jbelcher@phillips.com>; "Mark R. Pulliam"
<mark.pulliam@sabre.com>
Sent: Friday, December 17, 1999 1:24 PM
Subject: [Fwd: Big 12 Championship Day]


> I don't even send 'em unless they're real funny....now read it, and
> remember back in the day....
>

--------- Inline attachment follows ---------

From:  <c.childers@pentasafe.com>
To: Big Jim Fulsome <bettis@hbs-law.com>, Cam <chappy21@mindspring.com>, Candy Clardy <cclardy@hwdinc.com>, David Holt <holt@mail.motorfuels.com>, Deana Galloway <deana_galloway@bakerbotts.com>, Don Porr <dporr@networkoil.com>, Doobie Mac <wizard2@flash.net>, Evan Dorries <edorries@russell-stanley.com>, Goose <mjvog99@cs.com>, Jeff Baker <bakerprod@aol.com>, Jill <jill.s.boeding@ac.com>, Karl Poirot <karl_poirot@kne.com>, Karla <mpoirot@mdck.com>, Laurie McNay <lmcnay@wcom.net>, Manny <mehos@coastalbanc.com>, McGillicutty <michael.guillory@telecheck.com>, Mike Pantoja <run4wine@aol.com>, Monte <mmartin@russell-stanley.com>, Pearlman <michael.pearlman@uchsc.edu>, Queen Brandiliscious <bnb1973@yahoo.com>, Steve Baker <slbdenso@aol.com>, Steve Blalock <eston@aol.com>, Tedd Hargett <tedd.hargett@mindcellar.com>, Tommy Wells <twells@situscos.com>, Fantasy Football <ffcommish@excite.com>
Date: Friday, December 17, 1999 3:36:24 GMT
Subject: 

This is long but it's damn funny. Just keep reading.
I'd love to know who wrote it. Goose, did you pen this?



>> >>>> >>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
>> >>
>> >>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
$5
>> >>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 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 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 and 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.
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>HOOK 'EM HORNS, BABY!!!  Out--
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>
>> >
>> >______________________________________________________
>> >Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com
>> >
>
>
>
Gregg G. Gamble
--------------
ggamble@onramp.net















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