this story may or may not be true. it may or may not be based on historical events. and, it may or may not have happened in the glorious 80s. the names are made up, like i could remember the real names if this in fact actually happened.
the Buff lad took a road trip from boulder to Lincoln for the big game. he and the boys had 4 cases of naty lite and a bottle of jack. thet got them, barely, though the road trip. they arrived at the motel 6 around 7p on friday night. the lad was feeling randy and what better way to conduct an anthropologic evaluation than jumping right in and mixing with the locals.
as nearly everything in a flyover state like nebraska is located on the interstate, they made the bold choice to walk 25 minutes to a purported college bar so they could mingle with the natives and such.
some of the boys dropped off en route for "food"-- it was some kind of fried something or other. it might have been deep fried cow turds, as they were already in a questionable decision making state. the lad pressed on, only accompanied by his faithful wingman, spike.
arriving at the bar with their well earned buzzes starting to deprecate, it was time to refuel. in they went. it was a sea of red polyester big boned humans. as most were college aged, there were still an handful that had not yet expanded to their natural state. the frames were alll there but work still needed to be done to be fully initiated in the tribe of fuskerland.
the lad was feeling pretty good, spike went straight to the bar and ordered them shots. they were dispatched with expediency. the lad scanned the bar and set eyes upon penny. penny had cute pigtails and freckles and a down home country vibe to her. penny made eye contact and that was more than enough for the lad to saunter over (or perhaps weave, depending on one's POV) to meet her.
spike was animatedly discussing the game with a couple of larger girthed indididuals at the bar, perhaps male or female. the lad may have been just intoxicated enough to not discern to whom spike was speaking. penny was clad in fusker red of course, but the lad felt it was his duty to bridge divides and forward ecumenical feeling and such. penny bought him a shot of jack and they began to have one of those thought provoking college kid chats that would seem so meaningful in the moment but that neither would remember the next day.
the beer flowed, the shots were toasted and consumed, with great enthusiasm. spike seemed to be hypnotizing a band of fuskers at the bar with his tales of glory and revelry.
penny inquired if the lad would like to step out to the parking lot and partake of some of the local flower, home grown of course. out they went.
they sat with their backs to the side of the building on the ground and passed the fusker ditch weed back and forth. the stars were bright above them. it became somewhat intimate.
then the evening took a dark twist. penny paused and asked the lad to wait a moment. she reached into her mouth and the lad thought she was removing her retainer. it was not totally uncommon in this day and age for young people to be tormented by complex orthodontia well into their college years.
penny turned her head away and then faced the lad with a beaming smile, except now she had no front teeth. the lad tried but failed to hold back an astonished gasp. before things could turn even stranger, spike came flying out the bar door in a superman style motion. he was followed by a gaggle of jiggling red, squealing in anger.
as penny struggled to put her teeth back in, the lad jumped to his feet and ran toward spike. spike was now laying in front of the bar door, vomiting on the ground while the herd of huge people goaded him to get up and fight.
just then, the other boys rolled in, in a taxi. they had become disoriented and a helpful cabby hauled them to the bar. the lad grabbed spike and lifted him from his own vomit while the fusker mob surrounded them and threatened sodomy, bestiality and worse.
spike and the lad dove into the taxi, with the lad flinging a 20 (this was a long time ago) at the driver. go, go, go. they fled the scene to their dingy motel 6 and drank the rest of the night away. game time came early but they made it more dead than alive.
so, if any of you making the trip to stinkoln run into an older lady with a sparkle in her eye, freckles, pig tails, and fase teeth, tell her the lad has fond memories of their short time together.
the Buff lad took a road trip from boulder to Lincoln for the big game. he and the boys had 4 cases of naty lite and a bottle of jack. thet got them, barely, though the road trip. they arrived at the motel 6 around 7p on friday night. the lad was feeling randy and what better way to conduct an anthropologic evaluation than jumping right in and mixing with the locals.
as nearly everything in a flyover state like nebraska is located on the interstate, they made the bold choice to walk 25 minutes to a purported college bar so they could mingle with the natives and such.
some of the boys dropped off en route for "food"-- it was some kind of fried something or other. it might have been deep fried cow turds, as they were already in a questionable decision making state. the lad pressed on, only accompanied by his faithful wingman, spike.
arriving at the bar with their well earned buzzes starting to deprecate, it was time to refuel. in they went. it was a sea of red polyester big boned humans. as most were college aged, there were still an handful that had not yet expanded to their natural state. the frames were alll there but work still needed to be done to be fully initiated in the tribe of fuskerland.
the lad was feeling pretty good, spike went straight to the bar and ordered them shots. they were dispatched with expediency. the lad scanned the bar and set eyes upon penny. penny had cute pigtails and freckles and a down home country vibe to her. penny made eye contact and that was more than enough for the lad to saunter over (or perhaps weave, depending on one's POV) to meet her.
spike was animatedly discussing the game with a couple of larger girthed indididuals at the bar, perhaps male or female. the lad may have been just intoxicated enough to not discern to whom spike was speaking. penny was clad in fusker red of course, but the lad felt it was his duty to bridge divides and forward ecumenical feeling and such. penny bought him a shot of jack and they began to have one of those thought provoking college kid chats that would seem so meaningful in the moment but that neither would remember the next day.
the beer flowed, the shots were toasted and consumed, with great enthusiasm. spike seemed to be hypnotizing a band of fuskers at the bar with his tales of glory and revelry.
penny inquired if the lad would like to step out to the parking lot and partake of some of the local flower, home grown of course. out they went.
they sat with their backs to the side of the building on the ground and passed the fusker ditch weed back and forth. the stars were bright above them. it became somewhat intimate.
then the evening took a dark twist. penny paused and asked the lad to wait a moment. she reached into her mouth and the lad thought she was removing her retainer. it was not totally uncommon in this day and age for young people to be tormented by complex orthodontia well into their college years.
penny turned her head away and then faced the lad with a beaming smile, except now she had no front teeth. the lad tried but failed to hold back an astonished gasp. before things could turn even stranger, spike came flying out the bar door in a superman style motion. he was followed by a gaggle of jiggling red, squealing in anger.
as penny struggled to put her teeth back in, the lad jumped to his feet and ran toward spike. spike was now laying in front of the bar door, vomiting on the ground while the herd of huge people goaded him to get up and fight.
just then, the other boys rolled in, in a taxi. they had become disoriented and a helpful cabby hauled them to the bar. the lad grabbed spike and lifted him from his own vomit while the fusker mob surrounded them and threatened sodomy, bestiality and worse.
spike and the lad dove into the taxi, with the lad flinging a 20 (this was a long time ago) at the driver. go, go, go. they fled the scene to their dingy motel 6 and drank the rest of the night away. game time came early but they made it more dead than alive.
so, if any of you making the trip to stinkoln run into an older lady with a sparkle in her eye, freckles, pig tails, and fase teeth, tell her the lad has fond memories of their short time together.
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