Gainesville
“Fuuuuuuuck.”
My cell phone’s alarm rattled my ears like a thousand empty beer cans falling on concrete. I mashed at the keys to shut it up. The three hours that had passed since I set it seemed more like three minutes. My head ached for more sleep and my body ached from dehydration. Through a pained squint I spied a half full water bottle on our hotel room’s table. I sat up before stumbling to the bottle; each step sent my brain crashing from one side of my skull to another.
The only good news on this sorry morning was that the drive to Gainesville was only two hours. I called Bill’s room to reunite the reporter girl with her ice queen friend from the night before. Bill answered the phone sounding like he was enjoying the day’s start as much as me.
“H-hello.”
“Bill, is that girl in your room?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Her friend is looking for her.”
“She’s sleeping. What should I do?”
“Wake her up, man. Tell her we’ve got to leave. Her friend will meet her outside your room.”
I took a two minute shower hoping it would freshen me up, or at least wash away the self-loathing. I tossed on some new shorts and a t-shirt and walked out to see Bill standing in the hallway with the girl. I gritted through an awkward hello before Bill lightened the situation by describing the girl’s snoring problem.
“It wasn’t so much snoring,” Bill put a hand on her shoulder, “as it was me thinking you were going to die.” He reenacted the girl’s breathing fits by combining a seizure with pig snorting. I managed a laugh without puking or shitting myself.
A good measure of a comedian’s talent is making a guy laugh at eight in the morning in the throes of a hangover.
In the hotel lobby, I grabbed a bagel and downed eight small glasses of orange juice. I took a bite of the bagel before tossing it out in disgust. I made my way to the bus where I ransacked the fridge for caffeine. There wasn’t any Red Bull so I settled for a couple of vitamin waters and four organic energy shots I found in a box. Jaimee squeezed past me with her bunk’s blanket in hand.
“Jeff says I’m riding with you,” she said, less thrilled than I expected at the prospect of being graced with my presence for the following two hours. I followed her to the van cradling my drinks.
It was a dreary morning. The ashtray sky reflected my mood. I entered our next hotel’s address into the GPS while Jaimee reclined the passenger seat into an almost horizontal position. She laid back and tucked the blanket under her chin.
“Hey. You’re supposed to be the navigator. What kind of scam is this?” I tugged at her blanket.
“Fuck off. You’ll leave me alone if you know what’s good for you.” Ahh, Jaimee, all the world’s sweetness crammed into a Jersey girl accent.
As I drove out of Tallahassee, catching the occasional morning traffic, I couldn’t help but admire Jaimee’s cozy situation. It would be so nice to lay back with a blanket. Put my head down. Just for a second. A quick nap to recharge… the… batteries…WHOA, I jerked the steering wheel away from the curb shaking my head violently.
“Are you alright to drive?” Jaimee sat up.
“Oh yeah. I’m fine. I just have this thing when I drive. Sometimes I’ll start to drift asleep and once it happens, it’s a bitch to get rid of it.” I popped the caps to all of the energy shots, pouring them into my mouth. I checked the label at a red light. No caffeine or any other ingredients with artificial, laboratory ‘qxyz’ sounding names. “Goddamn hippies even managed to ruin energy shots,” I muttered knowing that “organic” and chemically-induced wakefulness were mutually exclusive.
Five minutes later I was pulling up to another red light. I watched as the bloodshot circle blurred before splitting into two separate but identical lights, gradually moving away from… each… other…
“RED LIGHT,” Jaimee sat up again.
The van jerked as I hit the brakes, “Yeah, yeah, I saw it.”
“Are you sure you’re alright to drive?”
“Of course.” I slammed my head back against the head rest a few times. The minute I saw a convenience store, I pulled in and bought two large energy drinks. Absolutely terrible for you, people tell me – that’s how I know they work. I chugged one and felt my blood glow radiation green.
Jaimee slept through most of the drive. She woke up about forty five minutes out, good timing because I was crashing from the energy drinks. “Wow. You haven’t killed me yet,” she rubbed her eyes.
“You were so concerned that you passed out from exhaustion, huh?”
“Shut up. Seriously, you were driving with your eyes closed. It was scary.”
I sighed as I rotated my shoulders and neck to keep the blood flowing. “Like I said, it’s a weird thing I’ve always had. I’ve fallen asleep at more red lights than I care to admit. Once I feel it coming on, I am powerless to stop it short of an adrenaline shot to the heart. Talking helps though. I was starting to zone out again. I feel better now that you’re awake.”
“Keep talking then. Tell me about your life.”
“Well, I drink a lot. Never alone, but in social situations I am always the last one standing. The craving is insatiable and I don’t pass out or throw up. Part of it is for the energy and to loosen me up. Though, the main reason I enjoy drinking is it slows my brain down. My inner-monologue tends to run a million miles a minute, just this endless barrage of thoughts and considerations. I don’t mind it most times, but put a restaurant menu in front of me and I’m paralyzed for half an hour. I’ll pore over every option, considering them in such detail you wouldn’t believe it. The booze brings the thoughts down to a manageable level, kind of like sitting in a hot tub after extreme physical activity. Unwinds the tension, comfortably numb, as they say. Booze, it’s the one thing I’m good at. That and acting like a dumbass.”
Jaimee turned on her side to face me. “There’s got to be more than drinking. And you’re not a dumbass.”
“I didn’t say I was a dumbass, I said I act like one. There’s a difference.” I reached over and tapped her on the nose.
“Fuck off,” she swatted my hand. “Why would you want to act like a dumbass on purpose?”
“Underselling. It’s a great strategy if you pick your moves carefully. It creates the opportunity for improvement. The dumber you appear the more people notice when you get things right. Besides, in a situation like this tour with so many strong personalities forced into close quarters for six weeks, somebody has to be the fall guy. Having a village idiot balances the dynamic. And being called one doesn’t faze me in the slightest so it might as well be me. We don’t need any nervous breakdowns. Most guys are concerned with status, sort of that chimpanzee social rank instinct. For whatever reason, I don’t have that built into me. I couldn’t care less about alpha, beta, all that shit. Sure, if somebody calls me a douchebag to my face for no good reason, I’ll take a swing at them, but any of the hierarchical jostling that takes place between males unfamiliar with each other, well, it only irritates me. Too transparent.” I rubbed a palm over my face and through my hair. “As much as I enjoy the spotlight in life, this trip isn’t my show. I’m driving a van for christ’s sake. All I can do from my position is learn. It’s much easier for me to absorb information as I sit there unassuming and apparently uninterested. Rest assured, every move is calculated, unless I’ve had more than eight drinks. Then, fuck it all. I’m running on impulse.”
“Whatever you say,” Jaimee stretched her hand onto the seat before resting her cheek against it and closing her eyes. I lectured some more until I heard a slight snore emerge from her.
I paused a second before continuing, “Now let me tell you a little bit about loneliness…”
When we arrived in Gainesville, I took the hotel room keys from the front desk and put everyone’s luggage in their respective rooms. The bus arrived just as I finished. Jeff hopped in the van’s passenger seat to help me with the trip to the UPS center. The 10 minute drive turned into an aggravating 30 minute ordeal because it was the first day of school in Gainesville. School buses and minivans crammed the streets at every turn. Over-protective Suburbanite parents grinding to be the first to pick up their stupid shit kids and hear about how little Timmy shoved a lego up his nose for a Gold Star. Get the fuck out of the way. I’ve got a movie about midget strippers to show! Worse yet, when we pulled up to the UPS warehouse at 2pm a sign on the front said the hours were 3:30-7pm. Upon reading the hours, Jeff’s eyes narrowed, “What the fuck kind of hours are these? Drive to the back.”
I drove around the large warehouse building until we saw movement inside an open bay door. I pulled the van up. We both jumped out. Inside there was a middle aged woman, average in every way, brown hair, brown eyes, neither fat nor fit, unkempt, pleasant but unfriendly. Further in the back was a man that looked like he was on the business end of a nuclear explosion. His liver-spotted skin melted down his face and his white hair grew in random patches like someone had thrown it on him from across the room. Jeff motioned the woman over. “Hi there, your store hours say you don’t open to 3:30. Problem is, I have a show to run tonight, and that’s not going to work.” He pointed at a pallet in the back with our boxes on them. “Those look like our boxes right there. Is there any way we can load them up now?”
The lady looked back and then at Jeff with a hand on her hip. “I’m sorry sir, we can’t do that. I need to punch them into the computer.” She held up her scanner.
“You can’t punch them into the computer now?” Jeff’s voice was exponentially more irritated.
“I am working on something else right now, when I get…”
Jeff cut in, “There’s a few ways this can play out, but one way or another I’m leaving here with those boxes. If that means we walk in there and take them, then so be it.”
There was a hint of panic in the lady’s otherwise empty eyes. She called the mutant to bring the boxes to the door. She scanned the boxes as we loaded them. Driving back through the horrendous traffic, I was glad Jeff had come along. I probably would have just left and came back later.
Now that I had my second wind, I spent the next hour in the hotel parking lot unboxing swag and putting it into plastic bins. It was the hottest day on tour yet. I took my shirt off in hopes of evening out my farmer’s tan. I noticed how loosely my shorts hung from my waist. At the tour’s start my belt was notched four holes in. Now, after skipping breakfast and lunch everyday coupled with a ton of labor, even on the tightest notch, my belt hung loose. I realized I had two options. One, buy a new belt. Two, drink enough beer to bloat my belly up to sufficient levels of awesomeness. I leaned my head back, clinched my fists and screamed to the gods, “OPTION TWO” before kicking and punching the empty boxes into a mangled cardboard mess. Then I saw a butterfly the size of a pterodactyl, let out a high pitched shriek, grabbed my shirt and ran to hide in the bus. Goddamn, the bugs are big down south.
I slid open the beer cooler to calm my nerves. Supplies were running low, as they always were before I did the day’s beer run. I had to dig around in the back corners. I stretched to the very back and pulled out a bottle. It was a Yuengling Light that had slipped aside. My first instinct was to pound it before somebody noticed. A better idea emerged. I reached in and tucked it back where it had been.
At the theater, I did a beer run and topped the bus cooler off with ice. Tucker and Nils were discussing pre-show material. They each asked me to pass them a beer. Afterward, I took a seat and kept a close eye on Tucker’s beer level. When he had a few sips left, I went over to the cooler and fished around until I found the Yuengling Light. The rest of the beer was covered by the ice. I positioned the Yuengling Light so it stuck out a good three inches and made sure it was right underneath the cooler door. I sat back down.
A minute later, Tucker finished his beer. He got up for another. I acted calm even though I wanted to rapidly stomp my feet on the ground in anticipation. Tucker slid open the cooler door and reached in. He pulled out the bottle as planned. His face contorted in anger and disbelief. “What the fuck?” He spun around holding the beer out. “I thought I told you to finish these fucking beers? Please tell me you didn’t buy more.”
I opened my eyes extra wide, pleading innocence, “No, I didn’t. I… I don’t know…”
He walked over and shoved the beer at me. “Drink it you dumbshit Canadian. Jesus Christ, if I never see one of these beers again, it’ll be too soon. Actually, if I see one more on this trip you’re fired. Even if some random person is drinking it on the street, you’re fucking fired.”
“Okay.” I looked at the floor while opening the beer. Meanwhile the guy inside my head was laughing and engaging in repeated fist pumps.
I kept a steady enough drinking pace that when it came time to pick up Jerry the driver after the show, I was breathing through my nose so he wouldn’t smell the booze. If he asked me a question, I’d only talk while inhaling. On the way back, Jerry told me to keep going straight after I put my turn right signal on. I listened to him since I get lost finding the kitchen in my own house. As soon as it was too late to turn, Jerry realized he was wrong. He slapped his knee. “Golly, I’m sorry. Gosh I can’t believe I told you to do that.”
“No worries. I’ll pull a u-turn. It’ll only take an extra second.” I didn’t see a point in Jerry beating himself up. He’d saved me on at least three wrong turns by this point. One minor mistake didn’t seem like a big deal at all. It must have had something to do with bus driver pride.
He slapped his knee a second time and said in his thick southern accent, “I feel like a Kentucky Fried Idiot.”
“You’re not a Kentucky Fried Idiot, Jerry.”
Pulling up to the bus, it was clear Tucker and Nils were still doing press because the rest of the crew was lounging around outside. Jace walked up to me. We had been teasing him earlier on because he elected not to come to the bar in Tallahassee and missed a really good time. Of course, I may have exaggerated a bit saying “dude, there were so many young sluts you couldn’t even turn around. Just hot college girls grabbing my junk at every turn. Taking their clothes off NON-STOP. You wouldn’t believe it.”
Jace hit me in the chest, “Yo, Tucker said we’re going to the bar after. Are you coming?”
Lack of sleep and the next morning’s six hour drive made me think no, but my alcoholism said yes. “Depends, are they taking the bus there?”
Jace grinned like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, “no, Dave says the bus will be too hard to maneuver. And Jerry has to rest for the long drive tomorrow. You’re driving us in the van.”
“Great.”
“There’s going to be tons of chicks there, right?”
“I’m sure there will be. You better not cramp my style and scare the girls off. You also better have more than one beer, you pussy.”
“Dude, I’ll have like ten beers. I don’t give a shit.”
Just then Tucker came walking off the bus toward the van. “Griffin, we’re going to the bar. You’re driving.”
I jumped in the driver’s seat and braced myself for a berating. Charlie, Ben, Jeff and Greg decided to hang back at the bus. Nils, Jaimee, Jace, Bill and some random girls filed into the back. Tucker took the passenger seat.
“What’s the address?” I asked with a finger on the GPS.
“I’ll use my phone for directions,” Tucker replied. “Just start driving.”
I drove forward with maximum aggression. Tucker shouted out directions while looking at his phone. At one point, he looked up. “Alright, you’re going to want to make a left at the next light.” I snapped over into the left lane and put on the signal. “NO LEFT” he said pointing to the right.
“That’s right,” I said now driving half in each lane.
“Errr… fuck it, Whatever. This way.” He pointed to the right and I veered the van around the corner. “Yeah, I can never process right or left. It always fucks me up. Just drive the way I point.” This only added to the stress because I had to watch Tucker’s hands to know where to go. I started to relax when we approached Ben Hill Griffin Stadium (named after my uncle Ben Hill). I knew the bar was a few blocks away. “This road should take us straight to the place,” Tucker said.
One of the girls in the back mentioned how it’s not that difficult to sneak into The Swamp.
“Really?” Dawes asked.
“Oh yeah, I know a bunch of people who have snuck in to drink or even to fuck in the stadium. You just have to jump a small fence.”
“That’s awesome.” Tucker said without looking up from his phone.
I cruised down the left lane until a median appeared separating the left from the right. Tucker saw it coming and consulted his phone. “Shit, we need to be in the other lane.” I checked my mirrors. There was a truck directly beside me and a car behind the truck. That meant I could either brake and wait or try to beat the truck. I stomped the gas so hard I lifted my ass off the seat. The van bit into the pavement, propelling us with enough momentum to squeeze between the truck and the median with a foot to spare on either side. A few “holy shit” type comments came from the back while the truck driver laid on the horn.
“Hey look at Griffin actually learning how to drive.” Tucker called out.
One illegal left turn later and I pulled the van into a Do Not Park zone beside a dumpster. The bar we were going to was astoundingly packed with people spilling out onto the large patio as if they were being poured in through the chimney. A line up fifty people deep snaked down from the door. We went to a bar across the street instead. Tucker and Nils knew the bouncer who was there but not working that night. Jace skipped along beside me asking something about “what do girls’ boobies look like under their shirts?”
The new bar wasn’t any less busy than the first. Tucker walked to the front of the line and waved down his friend inside. The bouncer pulled us to the front of the line and motioned us through the door way. We walked in. Or, we tried to walk in. Two steps and we hit a wall of people. A solid mass of sweaty college students crammed into a bar like it was the front rows of an outdoor rock concert. There was clearly no such thing as a fire code in Gainesville. Somebody could have lit a candle and everybody would have burned alive before they got out. Fortunately, we had Nils. He took position in the front and bowled a path toward the bar. We followed in his wake. The bouncer was already at the bar passing over jugs of beer to drink. I waited a minute for glasses to follow but when I realized that each crew member got his or her own jug and I saw Nils sipping directly from his, which looked like a coffee mug in his hands, I knew the jug I was holding was all mine. I took several large gulps and when I was done the level of beer had hardly changed.
“Fucking awesome,” I shouted spraying beer all over Jace’s face. He wiped it off with his shoulder because he had both arms wrapped around his pitcher like a mother carrying her baby. He kept getting swept away in the current of people walking this way and that. Every few minutes I’d hear “nyyaaaah” and see him go floating by hugging his giant beer for dear life. When I finished my beer, I grabbed onto Jace and pulled him behind the wall formed by Nils and the bouncer. I took his jug and started drinking it. As soon as his arms were free he clung onto Nil’s leg.
Jace looked up at me, “”When are all the chicks going to come talk to us?”
“I don’t know, man. Looks like you picked a bad night to come out. It’s hard to meet girl when you can’t even move.”
Tucker was over near the entrance calling for the bouncer’s attention. A tall blond girl was waiting at the door. Listening to the shouting, it was easy to determine that they weren’t allowing her in because she was twenty and the drinking age was twenty-one. Letting the girl in was one rule the bouncer wasn’t willing to bend. Tucker isn’t a fan of rules. I could tell from afar that he was already considering pulling her in anyway. Before he acted, Bill put his arm around him and started talking. Whatever he said, brought a huge smile to Tucker’s face. I turned back to chat with Jaimee telling her that one good thing about driving with me earlier is it meant she didn’t have to do the six hour drive with me the next morning.
I heard a shout behind me, “Griffin! Griffin!”
I spun around. It was Tucker still standing at the door. “Griffin. Keys,” he made the car starting motion.
I reached in my pocket and tossed them over the heads. Tucker snatched them out of the air, took the girl by her hand and disappeared into the night. Not a second later, a terrible thought entered my mind. “Shiiit. Is he going to fuck her in the van?”
Jaimee cringed, “Ewww. He better not.”
“You’re damn right. I practically live in that van. He wont do it in the driver seat, right? I mean, there’s so much space in the back. There’s no way he’ll fuck in my seat. Doesn’t make sense.” I was trying really hard to convince myself. Jaimee pointed and laughed at my visible distress. I told her that I’ll be pointing and laughing when there was a wet spot on her butt after the ride home. We both frowned. I dunked my head neck deep in my jug of beer. When I came up for air, Jace was rolling around on the floor grasping at Nils’ shoelaces. I picked him up by the back of his neck and put him on his feet.
“Chris, you idiot. You said I’d be rolling in pussy, not rolling on the bar floor.”
Twenty minutes later the bar’s collective attention turned to Tucker at the door. He kissed the tall blond girl goodbye and walked inside. I mourned for her dignity. Tucker weaved his way over to us, handing me the keys. I took them, saying “Please tell me you didn’t fuck in the driver’s seat.”
“What?” Tucker was alive with a manic energy I hadn’t seen in him before. “I’m Tucker Max. I don’t fuck in vans, I fuck girls on the goal line of the Swamp!” As soon as he said it, I remembered the discussion in the van.
“No fucking way.”
“Yeah dude. I got pictures and everything.”
I congratulated Tucker and he took off to spread the word. Within ten minutes, the story had come full circle. His fans from the show were coming up and telling me. Tucker had been worked into a corner by people wanting to take pictures and talk to him. Eventually he got fed up, and signaled to everyone that he wanted to leave. You know the line up of fans is relentless when Tucker Max gets tired of talking about himself.
Outside I was grateful to see the van hadn’t been towed. Tucker had parked it back in the same illegal spot after his Swamp adventure. Everyone piled in. I recalled the hotel address in the GPS to avoid another left/right fiasco. Traffic was non-existent since we were well into the morning hours. I cruised along at ten or twenty over the limit. The van was bustling with conversation including many jokes involving Tim Tebow and Tucker’s jizz. Among all the shouting, I zeroed in on a pair of headlights advancing in my rearview. I was already going fast. This car was gunning it. The noise drained into a faint buzzing as I made out the silhouette of police lights on the roof. I let off the gas immediately, not wanting to touch the brake, since hard braking around cops is equivalent to shouting “Guilty” out the window.
“Shit. Cops.” I said loud enough for everyone to hear. My heart was racing. I stopped at a red light. The cops switched lanes at the last moment and pulled up in the lane to our left. I played it as cool as possible, glancing over at them. The officer in the passenger seat stared back at me. I held eye contact for a second, then looked forward. The light changed green. I took the van up to a few over the speed limit. The cop matched my speed staying a little behind me.
“So, do you think they’ll deport you?” Nils laughed.
“Christ. I don’t know. Probably.” I watched my sideview mirror more than the road.
Tucker yelled, “if you get a DUI, you’re fired,” before mocking my Canadian heritage. “Oh sorry aboot this officer. In Canada all we do is drink and drive, eh.”
The cop drove along another two blocks before finally hanging a left. “Holy fuck. Thank god.” I tilted my head back, my body weak from the spent adrenaline.
“They’re cops in a college town,” Nils explained. “As long as you’re not careening from curb to curb, they wont pull you over. I can’t imagine the shit they deal with on a nightly basis.”
When we reached the bus, I didn’t even bother going up to the hotel room. I climbed into my bunk, pulling the curtain shut. A moment later, Jace pulled it open, “What the hell?” he said. “I didn’t get to talk to any chicks.”
I lifted myself up on an elbow, “if it makes you feel any better, it’s only a few hours before we drive four hundred miles to Columbia, and it’s your turn to ride with me in the van.”
“Fuck,” Jace kicked the wall before walking away. “This sucks.”
“Hey Jace,” I called and waited for him to come back. “Sorry about tonight. I feel like a Kentucky Fried Idiot.” I swung the curtain closed.
“Now let me tell you a little bit about loneliness…”. This was great. The fact that the end was so long – well, you’ve addressed this already in other comments.
All in all, I think it’s your best so far. Take that for what it is worth…
Griffin: I’m glad to see you picked up on that line. Was one my favorite part too. You’re right about the end. I posted this one without a thorough edit on the back half. When I get home tonight, I’m going to take a nap and then tighten the entry up. Hopefully I can kill 500 or so words.
Meanwhile all need to sit back and wait to see how Jennifer’s post-Christmas party Monday morning went (see last comment of last post for details).
Jennifer, what’s the 411?
Funny and very descriptive! I felt like I was there. Can’t wait for the next piece. Will we learn more about Jace since he’ll be riding the van w/ you on the next one? Also,thanks for the great advice earlier. You were dead on. Time for this “good girl” to be a little “bad” this year! BTW, how old are you Griffin?
Griffin: Thank you again. And yes, Jace will definitely play a large roll in the next entry. So how did your workplace encounter play out? Did you show him your boobs again?
Despite my rampant immaturity, I am 28 years old. But, my make-out abilities are totally that of a 31 year old.
Pimp.
Probably my favorite entry so far, some great fucking imagery in this one. And I’m shocked at the level of detail you managed to retain, drunken and sleep-deprived, through all this – you’ve definitely got what it takes to do the gonzo journalism thing.
Griffin: Thanks Tremble. I do have an odd ability to remember details months after they happen, especially if the situation is out of the ordinary, which was basically the whole tour. On the downside, there are other things my memory completely fails me on, like directions. I can drive somewhere one day, go home, and the next day when I drive back I will have retained none of the knowledge as to how to get there.
Great post Griffin. I do have a question for you that you may or may not be able to answer. I know Tucker had mentioned how he was going to keep his blog going and put up all this shit about he and Nil’s thoughts on why the movie did what it did, but he hasn’t updated it in forever. Do you know if he plans on continuing the blog or is it pretty much done?
Griffin: It’s been a while since I talked to Tucker at length. I can’t say one way or the other what’s happening with his blog. He has said in various interviews what he thinks happen (though not in a ton of depth). I know he’s had a few commitments lined up over the last couple of months. My guess is he’s laying low for the time being and preparing for the launch of the Beer in Hell DVD in January.
I’m sure he’ll explain his thoughts in the near future. Keep in mind that he basically had been going full tilt for almost 2 years to get that movie made and promoted. It consumed his whole life. So he probably is using the time to collect his thoughts, unwind, and plan his next move.
If there’s one thing I learned about Tucker, it’s that he doesn’t get dissuaded. He wakes up every morning and works at something. Perhaps after creating overly high expectations for the theatrical release, this time he’s going to try a more subtle approach.
Hahaha! No didn’t show him my 34C’s again since I was at work, although I wore a lace camisole that showed a little cleavage. I don’t want anyone knowing at work what’s going on and since there was already obvious flirting going on at xmas party, I knew people were watching us like a hawk! So you were right. I had to reach out first,via email but he was really excited about it and I threw in that I just wanted to hang out casually and have fun. He immediately threw me his cell and talked about us getting together this weekend. I’ll keep you posted on how my monopoly game goes. 28 huh? So you would have reached out to me first I bet.
Griffin: A Kate Beckinsale look alike with 34C’s. Well, it doesn’t appear you’ll be having any trouble with the boys. I would definitely have reached out to your first. I’d have came up to you first thing and said “remember when we, like, did it. I was pretty awesome wasn’t I?”
Gris, it has been a pleasure being able to read stories of yours again.
Almost as funny (sad) as the fact that Ballsack actually followed you here… and stalks you like a wet dog needing nourishment.
I met you on one of the premiere tour stops and (although obviously a bit worn) you were extremely funny and gracious.
My girlfriend and I love the stories and hope you keep them coming.
Griffin: Thanks for readings to both you and your girlfriend. I say she’s a keeper but I might be biased. I was certainly worn pretty much the whole tour. When I got back home my friends kept saying I look liked I’d aged five years, which was disheartening. Then I slept for a week straight and got my youthful good looks back.
What stop did we meet at? Was there anything remarkable about the encounter that I might remember?
And yeah, Ballsack is around here and there. No comments so far on this post. He’s probably in the boardroom with his mom trying to think up a witty retort that has nothing to do with anything and most likely doesn’t make sense at all. After that I bet he necks with his mom. Gross.
Loved the part about why you drink, I’ve always felt like those are the same reasons I drink.
Griffin: Fellow drinkers are always welcome around here. It’s reassuring to find out people share similar traits. Makes me feel less insane.
definitely one of the best posts so far, if not the best. i wouldn’t cut anything out of it.
Griffin: Thanks Tom. Every time I write a post, it ends up being double the word count I predicted and that’s after doing a lot of cutting. I keep thinking if I’m going to run out of things to write about, but most times the opposite happens.
your stories would be a lot cooler if they had more of me in them.
Griffin: Cooler and funnier, though also faux-gayer.
Hahaha, trouble with boys, no. I’ve just been a serial monogamist up until now. I think men look at me and think “the marrying type.” Trying the other way for a few months. No real commitment, no heart involved. OK, so agree…more stories about Bill, he’s a whore, maybe I’ll learn something from him??!!
Griffin: Bill is a nice lady. I’m pretty sure he mostly likes to cuddle the girls he meets. Good luck with your un-monogamy. Have fun, but make sure you check in with your heart once in a while.
“The ashtray sky reflected my mood.” – One of my favorite lines. I couldn’t help but laugh at your description of Jace at the bar. You made him sound like a lost kitten which is fitting, considering that when I met him on the bus I thought he resembled a cat.
Griffin: He does have feline features… kitten, cat, pussy, all the same. But Jace is misunderstood. He’s sensitive and likes hair products.
Griff:
I love your writing man. It is good to see someone (you) get something positive out of what I, and many former TM fans, consider an epic failure of a project. After turning tail and hiding from the world by shutting down his messageboard nearly instantaneously at his film’s point of total demise, I lost all of the little respect I ever had for TM. His writing ability was always suspect at best, but at least he claimed to “keep it honest…”BS. Just BS. His 15 min are done, but yours may just be starting. Keep at the craft! Unlike TM, you can actually write.
Goats
Griffin: Many thanks, Goats.
It is true that by all standards the theatrical release of Beer in Hell was epic fail. But, I wouldn’t count it out yet. It’s still got a shot at the dvd market. There’s a lot of ground to make up, but who knows, a smart marketing plan could pull it off. It may take a while to build momentum. The movie really isn’t that bad. The internet is weird for over-scrutinizing what is supposed to be an offensive comedy. Of course, Tucker’s boasting contributed to that.
People have a short memory. Bowing out of the limelight for a few months is probably a smart strategy. It’s possible most people (aside from the haters) will have forgotten all the theatrical drama come January and it’ll provide somewhat of a fresh start. As we know, dvd success and theatrical success are two different beasts.
One variable that I haven’t seen mentioned before regarding Tucker’s success is that he has a renewable market. Every year hundreds of thousands of kids begin college. And inevitably they are introduced to Beer in Hell. Many buy the book, which partially accounts for its consistent NYT bestseller performance. This same phenomenon could happen with the DVD.
I’m honestly a neutral party in this whole thing now, but having spent those weeks watching Tucker work, I don’t think he’s done quite yet.
That bouncer sounds really handsome. Like, unbelievably good looking.
Griffin: I have to say, after serving up a steady flow of 1/2 gallon beers without any lining-up in a bar packed to the rafters, he was looking awfully handsome. I encourage all the Gainesville hot sluts (and dudes?) to find this man from the clues in my post, and when they do to offer him my gratitude in the form of sexual favors.
God, you’re a fag. There’s no bones about it anymore, you fucking Canadian fanboy.
And I hate to point this out, fagboy, but 1/3 of the comments on here reference me. People are coming here to see what I write….on YOUR WEBSITE…..and how you react. They couldn’t give a fuck less about your Tucker fanboy shit. How’s that make you feel, anyway?
Wait…wait a minute….WAIT JUST A GOD DAMN FUCKING MINUTE…now I know what it is: You want to fuck me, don’t you Chris? Ahhhh, God damn, it’s so fucking clear now. You’re upset that the whole hairbrush incident didn’t happen to YOU!!!!!
It all makes sense now. Just look:
1. Follow Tucker et. al. around like a bitch, doing what they say, never getting any female ass.
2. Talking about Brad Pitt looking at your abs.
3. Admitting the bouncer was hot.
HO. LY. FUCKING. SHIT. You’re fuckin’ gayer than AIDS, Griffin. I’m sorry, buddy, I’m honored and all, but I don’t dole the pole. I’m busy getting more different pussy than a rental car seat. I hope things work out for you.
Fag.
Griffin: Oh man, that looks like two eight-balls worth of typing. 1/3 of the comments are about you because you write 1/3 of them about yourself. And why are you so concerned with Brad Pitts abs?
Jesus, a God Damned Canadian Faggot. Was “CanadianFaggotWritesBoringBullshit.com” taken?
Griffin: Stop hitting on me, dude.
The first comment on here has me in mind. THE FIRST ONE!!!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHA
Griffin: You realize that comment is about your obsessive desire to stalk me and try to be me? I’m glad that brings you so much joy.
My only comments this time involve me wearing my self-important bearded tosser hat.
You’re playing around a lot with metaphors, and obvious sign that your skill as a writer is growing. Some of them are great, while others are a bit awkward, but overall they improve the piece – keep going with it.
The introspection at the beginning was brilliant. I could really tell that you were being honest; and this is coming from someone who knows how awful it is to write honestly. It adds another level of depth to your writing, and allows the reader a certain amount of catharsis. Although your primary focus is humour, a bit of introspection improves things. I think you’ve found a good balance.
When you started writing this blog was nothing but amusing narratives; it’s started turning into something could maybe be called ‘art’. I really enjoy seeing the steady improvement from post to post.
[/self-important-bearded-tosser]
LULZ Ballsack!
Griffin: Self-important-bearded-tossers are always welcome around these parts. It’s reassuring to have somebody notice that I’m trying new things. I’ve got a ways to go, but the writing is coming more naturally even as I struggle to pound these things out on an almost weekly basis.
Well I don’t know about anyone else but I know I sure come here to read about what a fag you are. Matter of fact, I live for it.
Griffin: If anything makes this writing gig worthwhile, it has to be the frequency of the word “fag” in my comments.
cool story.
Griffin: Sweetness.
If anybody is waiting for my next post, go check out Rocket van Buuren’s latest kick-ass posts at http://www.lifeat160.com in the meantime. Part one is here. You’re all smart enough to find part 2.
Out of curiosity, how old are you Griffin?
Griffin: I am a grossly under-mature 28 years old.
You get the sense that he’s around 19 because of how he followed these fuckin’ strikeouts around on a bullshit movie and let them treat him like a bitch, because there’s just no fucking way that anybody with an ounce of self-respect would take that kind of abuse. That makes me think he’s young and looking for an identity.
At least that’s what I hope, anyway, because if he’s a day older than that, he’s a complete fucking loser. No way would anybody worth their salt go through that.
Oh, yeah. Fag.
Griffin: In Ballsack’s fantasies I’m a 19 year old boy or a 13 year old girl. You sick, sick fuck.
If you’ve been following, he’s in his late 20′s. And its funny to me that people who claim they don’t enjoy his reading or appreciate/understand his reasonings for joining this tour, KEEP coming back and reading his stuff. Doesn’t make sense to me.
Griffin: Worse still is Ballsack calling me names in my comments and then repeatedly asking me on dates via email. Dude, I don’t swing that way and calling me every homosexual slur in existence is not going to change that.
Griffin: If anything makes this writing gig worthwhile, it has to be the frequency of the word ‘fag’ in my comments.
Well, we all know you’re not making any money, so it has to be SOMETHING, right?
Griffin: Very true.
Hey thanks for throwing up that link with Rocket van Buuren’s latest post.I have never heard of him before but it was quite entertaining.
Griffin: Glad you liked it. There’s some pretty great stuff over at Lifeat160. If you haven’t checked it out, the on-going Billed Hourly story is also awesome. There’s a banner for it near the top right of the webpage.
Oh, for fuck’s sake….is the only path to retort you have with me putting up jayvee shit like “Ballsack e-mails me for dates?” God damn, man, you dissappoint me every time I stop by….and NO, Jennifer, I do not read his bulshit anymore. I read a couple posts back at the beginning (hell, I gave him the benefit of the doubt). But I don’t have to read them anymore. Know why? Because I know what every one is goin to say. Here, let me go ahead and sum up EVERY post he has every made in his career, here goes:
“Tucker treats me like a bitch. That still makes me cool, right?”
There you have it, Jennifer. You can call it “Ballsack writes”
Griffin: For the last time, NO I will not go out with you. And stop asking me to send you nude pics you weird fuck.
Hey, speaking of worthless, what’s story with the IHTSBIH DVD? I guess I assumed that someone who was going to “revolutionize” advertising and marketing would be able to GET THE FUCKING DVD OUT BY CHRISTMAS!!!!
Jesus, every fucking one of you is a failure, right on down the line. Like I said, every time I visit, it’s just another dissappointment. Now I know how your parents feel.
And you can stop with the date bullshit. We all know that No really means yes. But I’m sorry, Chris, you can’t keep playing these games like this, especially to yourself. It’s like fat people holding a cake and saying “OH, you’re so delicious, but….NO, NO I won’t do it…” WHatever, fatass, you know you’re going to eat the fucking cake. And you’re going to keep sending me nude photos, Chris, stop lying to yourself.
But don’t worry, I haven’t filed the restraining order just yet. The last shot I sent of fisting my own ass was pretty gross, but I chalk it up to pent up frustration from watching the above mentioned movie get bombed like Tora Bora.
But the thing I don’t get, Chris, is why return pics aren’t being sent to me and being cc’d to NAMBLA from your e-mail address? You’re fucking sick, you Canadian failure. Utterly fucking sick.
By the way, I probably won’t be on here for a while…it seems I have too much god damn money and need to spend it on SOMETHING, so I’m going in on beachfront down in Florida for the rest of the year. I’m not sure how Santa will feel about me doing pure Columbian blow off of beach-bodied women and then skull-fucking their throats, but I guess we’ll find out.
Griffin: tl;dr
Another good post. It’s good to hear about another underseller, couldn’t of explained it better myself.
Griffin: Underselling is a good strategy in a lot of situations, especially long-term, reiterated games scenarios.
If you’ve been following, he’s in his late 20’s. And its funny to me that people who claim they don’t enjoy his reading or appreciate/understand his reasonings for joining this tour, KEEP coming back and reading his stuff. Doesn’t make sense to me.
I haven’t been following. Thanks for the baseless assumptions.
As to the rest of this hot mess…? When’s the last time I posted here aside from asking Grif his age? That’d be over a month.
We can’t all be regulars on a random board. Some of us are working.
Griffin: I think Jennifer was actually responding to Ballsack. He responded to your question going off on how I’m 19 years old and having a seizure all over the comments section. Don’t worry though, Sack is off in Florida now snorting coke with prostitutes. He flew his space shuttle there. It’s powered by unicorn kisses.
Another great post Griffin. I did not like it as much as the last one. Your prose is still very solid, I just did not see as much happening events wise. But that’s just my own humble reader opinion. Sorry about Ballsack, he’s a scene.
To Jenn, that guy sounds tired! I’d blow my paycheck just to fall asleep next to you, shoulder to shoulder in front of Wii monopoly and a 5th of vodka on a Friday night.
To Griff, sorry Griff, it’s a cold-ass game.
Griffin: Yeah, the next one for South Carolina is another mostly uneventful post. But the one after that, North Carolina, is action packed.
And holy shit, you’re upping the ante with electronic monopoly. Damn Johnny.
WEll fuck, griffin, I didn’;t think I’d have the chance to stop by your faggoty website while I’m down here on vacay, but we just left the bar and rendezvoused back for here for a couple pick me ups and a drink before we go over to thios house party. I was checking my mail and I figured “fuck it, why not see what jerk-off fanboys of Tucker MAx are doing on christmas night>” So here I am, sorry I don’t have my A game with me right now, as days of drugs and sex are starting to take their toll on me. I only have a couple minutes so I’ll keep it short, but I wish you a merry christmas, I hope you can get Tucker his coffe and dry cleaning on time, I’ll be busy getting whacked and shooting some ropers into this bitches mouth tonight, but it’s all goodf, Griffin…i KNow you have a lot in life and it’s that of a punk ass fool on a Q list DVD movie scene, but, listen, I don’t have any anger and shit…it’s all good, it’s the season for giving, nigga, and I’m in a giving ass mood right now…first, I’m going to give this line of blow my direct attention, then I’m going to give my seed to some unsuspecting freak in a ,little bit here. You’ll be on here. writing bullshit stories about a life noone gives a fuck about. It’d bee cool to meet you someday, Chris, I need a good day of laughter.
Merry Christmas, you fucking cnanadian…fuck, they’re brigning out the mirror. This isnt good…this is NOT good. I will say this…I;m pissed its not alittle sunnier, I got all tanned and shit so I wouldn;’t burn and its not as warm. fuckin gay
Griffin: Finally Ballsack… a post where you make some sense and don’t come off as a rambling whacko.
Hope everyone had a nice holiday! Nicey, I was responding to Ballsack not you; Johnny Doe, you are a sweetheart; Griffin, keep writing!!
Griffin: Thanks Jenn, same to you. I will keep writing. Hopefully I can my next update before 2011.
That was my post, btw!! My girls are here for wine. Started one glass too early, hahaha!
Griffin: Don’t drink too much wine and then start making out with each other. Or do. Yeah, actually that would exemplify christmas spirit.
Whoa, I just read my post that I didn’t even know I left. Buncha garbled gibberish that doesn’t make sense. But as we all know, that fits right at home on this website.
I need rehab.
Griffin: My mommy said go to rehab and I said “no, no, no, and do my laundry I need to play make-believe lawyer today.”
Glad you admitted that Ballsack. Honestly, you’re starting to scare me. You will end up dead, you know that, right?
Griffin: Ballsack was starting to scare me about 2 years ago. Now I’ve moved on to refuse he exists. I believe the internet has become conscious and now its fucking with me before it destroys us as a species.
If there is a God, Jennifer…if there is a God.
Griffin: Is Ballsack seeking help proof that there is a god? Or is very his existence proof that a benevolent god could never exist.
Shit, do you all realize how BORING this place would be without me? I appreciate your concern, Jennifer, but if my heart explodes during a coke fueled sex party (like it damn near did Christmas night), there’s not much I can do….gotta go when you gotta go.
I’d be more worried about Griffin. I mean, do you have any idea how fucking vacant, utterly insipid and otherwise outstandingly BORING this website would be without me? Most of the people that are on here are here to see me punk this fucking mountie like the talentless piece of Canadian bacon that he is.
If I go, you’d have to, ugh, actually read his posts. I read half of one and felt sorry for myself for reading it, let alone for him being treated like a bitch for a movie that got YANKED from theaters because it was so fucking bad.
Well, I guess I’m being too hasty…if you want to feel better about yourself or something that is going on in your life, then you should read them. For example, if you recently were caught jacking off into the sink at McDonald’s, read his posts and you’ll realize there are people out there who are worse off than you.
Griffin: I see the post-coke wallowing has worn off. Back to super-insecure hiding it through
the same contrived insults Ballsack. Didn’t you mention something about going to Florida and not coming back to my website until the new year? I haven’t been on my own website for three days but I’m glad to see you’ve made the time to comment every single day over christmas. I don’t know how you fit that in between sex-fueled dude parties and flying your spaceship car to lawyer land, but we do appreciate you coming and punking me and talking about jacking off into McDonald’s sinks or whatever.
Next year its gonna be blowing my paycheck to fall asleep next to Jenn AND a $200 bottle of Jameson! Ohh Snap!
Griffin: $200? If I’m paying that much for booze it better be hangover proof. Oh man, when they invent that booze, it’s going to be the best 30-day bender of my life. Sure, I’ll die from it, but it’ll be one helluva way to go out.
Until then all I can offer Jennifer is 1/4 bottle of gin and all the penis jokes she can handle. Guess I’m an old school romantic. Like courtly 1800′s knight type bullshit.
Dude, it ain’t no thing to stop by here and remind you how average you are. Think about it, I have to check e-mail multiple times a day otherwise I’m fucked. If I miss some shit and don’t reply, I’m fucked. Flat out fucked. It takes me a grand total of 30 – 90 seconds to type something on here. Like I said: Ain’t no thang.
You, on the other hand, were able to be away from this shithole for more than 3 days and it still, uh, plods on, I guess. Says a lot, methinks…
I did come back early from Florida, though. I saw the writing on the fucking wall. WHOA…..
Ballsack: Awww thanks for thinking of me Ballsack. I appreciate you keeping this website afloat.
lol, I mite hv to steal that one bro. . .
but yeah i was actually more infatuated w/the idea of purchasing a $200 bottle than kicking it with Jenn (not that you aren’t awesome).
Though well over one hundred thousand dollars has passed through my bank account in the last 7-8 years, possibly more, I never once though to ask the liquor store owner to go to the back, and get me an aged bottle of Jameson. I’ve heard great things about the gold reserve, 2007 edition, which runs around $250.
Hangover proof requires 4 things:
1) don’t drink cheap hard liquor, ever. That’s just out of the question. If that means drink less, so be it if you are a quality matters to you. Cheap alcohol just sucks if you think about it, though looking for alcohol thats actually better than the brand-names is always fun. I think Jameson is the best example of that, though I have yet to find out.
2) Always stick with one liquor for the night, and then eventually switch to beer. DON’T go overboard on either.
3) When you begin drinking, the one everyone is too lazy to do, bring 3-4 chaser tablets. They do sell them specifically for wine or for just alcohol in general, so buy accordingly, pop em as you begin to drink. Cranberry supplements help too.
4) Eat some pho (vietnamese noodles) and pound some cranberry juice the next day to really seal the deal. And of course, pour yourself a shot! =)
Being a so. cali boy, the ONLY time you see people shell out $500 for a bottle here is at a damn nightclub that kicks everyone out at 1:00 a.m., though nobody gets there before 12:00 a.m. This state and drinking in public do NOT go together, at all.
Jesus, what is this bullshit? No new comments, no new posts about being a fanboy bitch, nothing…
Fuckin. Pathetic.
Griffin: Happy New Year!
Griff, No making out w/ girls…I don’t go that way but we were comparing bra’s and talking about which thongs are the most comfy! JD, all I need is tequilla and a FEW penis jokes and btw…I am waaayyy better than a $200.00 bottle of liquor. My blow job alone will send your eyes to the back of your head, and my ‘Rock Band’ skills kick ass, hahaha. Ballsack, it’s nice to know you are amongst the living…I think. Have a great and safe new year everyone! Ringing out the new year w/some great friends and tequilla, xoxoxox.
Griffin: Enjoy the boozing. Tequila can be a cruel beast. Hopefully it leads to more talking about/comparing bras and thongs.
So wait, it costs more than $200 for a blowjob? I’m sure if I had stopped at the stripper truck stop, I could have gotten one (a toothless one at that) for $6.
What is my charm is worth $5,000?
In any case, I’m sure fitting blowjobs and rock band into one sentence just garnered you a few marriage proposals.
Hey Griff, have a happy new year, and keep the posts coming! I think your writing will continue to evolve, and its pretty good as it is, and I’ll keep posting input.
Goes w/o saying, if u hook up with Jenn, that offer is void and I’ll be gone.
Jenn Jenn. . .how does a guy respond? I try not to be a one-upper, but I’ll be as honest as possible, in a way I never would be in person. . .
You are certainly worth more than a $200 bottle. . . but the bottle is so I can do me on the couch, while you do you. And by you, I’m guessing Patron. What is it with girls and tequila anyway?
Your talent is quite impressive, but I don’t fantasize about getting head. Never asked for it, didn’t mind it, but was always impatient to fuck. Getting serviced in a dressing room or while I’m driving lights up in my head when I flashback the same way an erased sex tape does, but I’d really just want to preciously and softly, drill the shit out of a girl.
Right after I get down MY knees to pleasure a girl with high expectations. And pass. With flying colors and rainbows, and that look on your face.
J/k. I begged a girl for YEARS to let me go down her. Never transpired, though she always insisted on handling me before I could spin her around, and well, I don’t have to draw you a map from here. Some fucked up shit huh?
Happy new year, muah.
Griffin: Happy new year to you too, Johnny. That’s some pretty elaborate sex descriptions right there. Jenn, ball is in your court.
Also, Ballsack emailed me to say he’s pretending the kiss at the end of your comment was for him. Goddamnit Sack, why you always gotta make shit weird up in here?