The end of the 2007 baseball season will go down in infamy. The rockies has started a winning streak against the beaten up LA Tapouts, the Arizona Douche Bags, and then kept the magic alive to get a shot at the wild card against the San Diego Dude-Bros. Naturally we had to attend this once in a lifetime event. Immediately following the Arizona beat down I raced to the ticket office in a drunken stooper along with Meat. I get us 4 tickets in the club box seats behind home plate somehow, no problem. The rest of the metro area hasn’t seen the team worthy enough to drive down and buy up all of the tickets yet. Worked great for me.

Game starts like any other monday afternoon, beer, lippers, and proud girlfriends. We settle into our seats to find out that we really do have good ones. Tons of marrieds and stiff old people sitting around us. Oh well, didn’t fuck my night up. It turned out that you could really get a lot more beers sitting in the club seats than downstairs. I was double fisting that shit all night sending the women out to get more about every half inning. I don’t remember this at all but I had even wandered down to the good ol Sandlot to meet the boulder crew for some good ol shots of Jamo.

Well, after literally losing track of all awareness I start going in on Mr. Barrett.

“Hey Michael! Carlos is going to come kick your ass again.”

“Barrett, get off your knees, your blowing the game!”

And various other standard chirps…turns out I was being pretty obnoxious for the married crowd. Lots of dirty go kill your self looks. A few of the old men even told me to shut up. Apparently they didn’t find me reminding everyone about Zambrano punching Barrett in the face as amusing as I did. Some geriatric even got another usher to come yell at me. 

Turned out, my friends, DSC15 and Ethan were sitting right below me cheering me on. Up to DSC form I’m sure they were as canned as I was. I of coarse continue to keep yelling at Peavy, Barret, fuck, anyone I could. I get a phone call from DSC15 telling me to get outta there quickly. Apparently they were going to remove the drunken guy with the cubs hat on(Thats never happened before, really narrows it out). Well I immediately take off my blue shirt and cubs hat and give it to the woman. I grab my beers, very important, and start running down the hall. I literally run straight past the team of security guards that was coming to boot my ass outta there. Good thing I have experience in these sort of situations. I get away completley free. The rest of the night is pretty blurry. I faintly remember walking around by myself on the main concourse for a while “hiding out”. 

They stop serving beer in the 7th. Lame, but what can I say, we apparently don’t run the joint. I had ran short and needed some more. This is when I make the brave move of returning back to my seats. Thankfully the woman hadn’t guzzeled the 5 or 6 beers we had stock piled and I was still on my way. I keep yelling but by this time the game had gone into extra innings and the lead had changed a few times. You can read about it in sports illustrated or something, as my recollection is vague. I do however, remember Holliday’s famous play at the plate where Barrett fucked up the tag. Boy I felt so much better about my rants earlier on.

Finished the night up with a DSC standard bottle of DD champaigne. Except I made the woman sneak it out in her purse. Still have the bottle.

Denver 1, Dude-Bros 0

I am normally a calm boy, especially when I am about to enjoy a fine Chipotle dinner, but not calm for 17 minutes standing in line! As some of you know, I am no longer living in Denver, which is a very very stupid thing…actually this post is proof you should never leave Denver, NEVER!

I know this doesn’t have the classic touches of a DSC story, but Chipotle is an official sponsor of the society, it started in Denver, and they serve booze (can’t go wrong with that). I know I am partly pissed off because I had to drive to Chipotle, and driving in this town is so fucking stupid, but that is an entire book on its own. So I’ll start as I pull up to Chipotle.

Pull into Chipotle parking lot, blasting Techno, all the high schoolers at starbucks look at me, the must be thinking…badass! Well maybe they aren’t, but fuck em, they don’t own a kick ass new car and they have to take a math test tomorrow, and i bet they pray they get to talk to Sexy McCheerleader in the hall, haha sucks to be them! Chipotle trip starts out sweet!

Walk in the door…there is a line, shit! O well, it is Chipotle. Those girls can wrap a burritto faster than Sexy McCheerleader can wrap up a dick on prom night (that simile might not work for you if your hot high school cheerleader didn’t use a condom and got prego’s in high school). Like 6 people in line, that is like 3 minutes tops…WRONG!!!!! What the fuck are you fuckers odering up there, a Pizza! Big girls, asian people, more big people, and pull up your fucking pants kid… that is who is in front of me. Big girl 1: “I want tacos, one beef, one chicken, and one pork.” She then proceeds to slowly pick the most random toppings for each taco, all of them are different. “O wait, I want beans on that too!” FUCK, KILL ME NOW… I just want the girl to make my damn food so i can leave!

Girl two: “I don’t know what I want?” What the hell was she doing while her friend was tring to create the largest possible combination of chipotle ingredients in one basket? 3 minutes go by, seriously I timed it nothing happened for three minutes! It was like a stare down in a poker match. “I know what I want, a burrito bowl.” WITH EVERYTHING ON IT…no wonder your ass is so big, you should have to pay for 4 people. She was sneaky too, she would wait for the girl to put all the meat in the bowl and then say, “O i want half chicken and half steak.” Which actually doubled the amount of meat. The thrid time she tried this, the illegal behind the counter  said she was going to have to pay for extra meat… “No that is ok then,” big girl 2 says.

Asains next. Not too much here, they still don’t know what they want though. Seriously, you couldn’t read the menu? Chipotle has like 4 words on its menu, how long does it take to read that? O and yeah order your burrito  while talking on your cell phone. You know that girl behind the counter doesn’t speak english that well, so when she asks if you want black or pinto, your cell phone better not make you say, “what?” FUCK you said it didn’t you. I want to stab you in the eye!

I could go on, but I will just end it. I finally got to the counter, I knew what I wanted, I knew what they were going to ask me, and I was done so quickly I could have lapped everyone if front of me a million times. Luckly, my cock is bigger than there’s. Got in the saab, bumped the techno and went to get some booze.
God I hate this town. I went with the recommended soft taco, CARNITAS, Hot Salsa, Cheese, Guac…sour cream might have been tops. I just kinda tried to make an American Psycho illusion, I don’t know if it worked or not.

This night started out to be pretty innocent, my boss had offered tickets to the Avalanche-Red Wings playoff game 3 in the Pepsi center. As we all know Red Wings fans are douche masters. Touting their passion for a team that has imported players from anywhere but North America for as long as I can remember. I guess they have to root for something since their city is such a piece of shit. Why else would they all be here?

Meat and I start out what seems to be a normal night. Get dinner at the D, drink some margs, walk to the game. The whole time I’m getting excited to heckle what I believe to be the worst fans ever to emerge from a city that resembles my last dump. As we are walking we can hear a lot of other Avalanche fans expressing the same feelings that we have.

The game starts and is SOP is in effect……get some beers. As we walk to our section we notice that we are completely surrounded by douche bags in red. This can’t be good I think to myself. Avs score one and take the early lead. This gives us ample room to talk shit. Shortly after, the lead was taken away, we wouldn’t get it back for the rest of the game. I resort to third grade behaviour at this point. Meeting up with a friend and his dad resulted in shots and more beer……..I am now a little more cocked. I realize I cannot stand these plugs sitting around me. Its like all the crap that didn’t even play hockey growing up because their parents thought they might get hurt, yet somehow they are huge hockey fans. Douche! Plug! I start chriping…….as we all know how I love to do that. I raise a scene such that the usher has to scold me. I calm down for a few and am right back at it.

Well, the game ends with unfavorable results and I start going at it real hard at this point. So much that I put 2 and 2 together and realize I have beer in my hand and there are douche bags all around me, so I pour the remaining contents onto one of their heads. He didn’t really like that too much, neither did the entire section. Ground zero douche tries diving after me through Meat. Meat grabs him quickly and puts him in a headlock. Meanwhile I am laughing my ass off shoving what seems like 10 people off of me. Basically a fucking melee of red coming after 2 guys that find the entire scene hysterical. Some chick does manage to elbow me in the face, makes me laugh harder and infuriates her more. HAHA! This goes on for a little while before the usher decides to step in and give us and escort outta there. Probably a good thing. I run into a few people I know, Colorado is small, I haven’t grown up a bit.

Night wasn’t over yet, I had managed to throw up on one of the statues off of Spear in front of the convention center while peeing and waving at traffic. Also managed to walk home the 2.5 miles somehow. Puked again in the comfort of my own home.

At the time I failed to see much humor in this particular story, however now that some time has passed, in hindsight it is worthy of a post.

The night started out pretty simple, MJ and the woman had stopped by to make some dinner and partake in some pre-drinking before the real pre-drinking started. Typical Saturday night at the Clamidia House. Dinner was great, MJ showed off his cooking skills from working at an Italian restaurant for a good part of high school. Had a nice bottle of wine, basically the night was starting out pretty innocent. I must admit, that was one of the better meals I had in a while. Filling, as this will become important later.

Post dinner the boys start rolling in. Being DSC material everyone is lock step in the code of bringing way more booze than anticipated. DSC002, Smiley, Stein, Ari, and the rest of us all keep following standard DSC SOP by breaking out the bottle of vodka, and mixing it with liquid crack jail juice.  As any good night starts, we leave for some new club already halfway blacked out. Following our DSC credo, we also decided to wear suit jackets out that night. All this really managed to accomplish was to add a sense that we can do no wrong if we are dressed nice. Right? Well made sense at the time, still does. And just to add to the mix everyone was all over the college kid free coke program, commonly known as Adderall. So before we leave the apartment, we have now managed to create a good mixture of booze, two uppers, testosterone, and arrogance. No wonder the night ended up where it did.

Smiley’s brother was the bartender at this new club above the strip joint downtown. We will call it Tabu. Once again, other than being blacked out, nothing was really too out of the norm here except the fact there were strippers doing their thing right in the middle of the dance floor. We had a grand time showing dollar bills down the woman’s tits and watching the stripper fish them out. Some things never get old, kind of like masterbation. DSC002 was ordering drinks like it was his job, not to say the rest of us didn’t either. I really don’t remember much other than shot after titty after shot. At one point in the night DSC002 convinced a girl he owned the club by telling her she should get out and then waving his hand at Smiley’s brother behind the bar. Convincing enough right?

After a heavily discounted $300ish tab we leave to head back to my place. I do not have any clue how we got home that night, and am going to tell this story how I remember it…….blurry. 

Since for some awful reason we didn’t finish all the booze that had been brought over we keep drinking, I think. I remember going into my room and taking a phone call from my old man, who also happened to be wasted at the time. He was going on about how my sisters friends drank his whiskey and filled it back up with water. Hmmm, what high school kid would do that? Anyways it didn’t matter. Next thing I remember is laying out in the hallway, still on the phone. Later on I will find out why I am out there, and why it was too loud to talk in the apartment. My building manager who happened to live 3 doors down the hall came out to yell at me in her moo moo. I will never forget that sight. It was enough to scare a person sober, almost. I hang up the phone, go back inside, and………..time passes…….Someone starts knocking on the door. I go answer it, its the cops. With no hesitation whatsoever, they drag my out of my place, shirtless, and throw me to the ground and slap on the cuffs. One cop holds me down while the others go into my place. The building manager’s father, yep, they live together, was beating me with his cane while I was on the floor. Thats right, the cops allowed this. After pulling the woman from puking in the sink, and Ari from the toilet, they proceed to take us into somewhere. The cop at this time is taking my head and beating it against the elevator wall. The woman is screaming. Turn out white kids that grew up in the burbs never dealt with police brutality, well Officer Montoya was about to teach the “White boys” a lesson as he kept saying. (lesson learned, we are all professionals now, he is still a cop). We get out front of the building and as we are thrown into the cop car. My head is slammed a few more times into the nice officers fist, and the side of the car just for good measure. He lets the woman go, and takes Ari and I god knows where at this point.

First stop, detox. I am thinking detox won’t be so bad, I’ve done that before. But no, only Ari is lucky enough to get to do to detox. They throw his ass out and I ask “where am I going?” The officer tells me that I am going to jail at this point. Now is where I start freaking out a little. I only have pants on, nice designer jeans at that. No shirt, no shoes. I have no idea what crime I have committed  other than being drunk, and possibly a little loud. The cop pulls away, and drives the shortest 3 blocks of my life into the basement of the police station. This is where he decided to stop, before dropping me off, in a dark corner of the garage, and beat my face a few more times. Lovely. Good thing I was small hockey player growing up used to taking a beating, otherwise that might have really sucked. I finally get dropped off at jail.

I sit in a holding cell, the only white boy in there that hadn’t decided to make the street my permanent residence. Tons of gang members, literally, and not too much english went on there. What seemed like the longest hour of my life only got worse when I finally got a hold of my mom, thats right my parents. Turned out you couldn’t call a cell phone from jail, only landlines. Also turned out that the only land line number I knew was my parents. They were proud to get that phone call. I was pretty much ready to break down at that point, but couldn’t since all the coloreds in there acted like it was a party. They actually knew people in there. After finally being processed I get brought upstairs to my cell.

Inside the cell was some dirty bum on the floor, and a pull start indian on the bottom cot. I climbed into the top cot and try my best to fall asleep. I have no idea why I have been arrested, still, no one would tell me. I couldn’t call anyone either at this point. I was doing my best not to talk to my new friends by keeping pretending to sleep while my skin stuck to the metal cot. They had pads, but not for the white boy. I wasn’t given any food, the spics in the cell block would take it. I wasn’t allowed near the phone either. Basically I stayed in my cell the entire time. However, I was elated to discover that inside my 5th pocket of my jeans I had an adderall. That helped keep my mood in a little better spirits. After about 6/7 hours of ignoring the indian he started talking to me. He told me his entire life story. It included a lot of beer, peyote, bologna, and wondering from place to place. Honestly it was the worst corner job ever. The only free, safe, pass out of my cell was when the priest came to give a sermon. Typical Christian bottom feeder trying to help the lost souls by luring them into his church. It was gods way of pimping. I make friends with the one spanish speaking accent that sounded south american. He was about as white as they got in there. I really don’t remember what he told me but I do remember he didn’t look at me like he wanted to kill me.

13 hours later, 6:30 pm the next day my name is called. I get to go home. After what seemed like a century they process me. The woman had paid my bail, it literally just took that long for them to “put the paper work through”. They bring me quiznos, best sandwich of my life. Don’t even remember what kind. Ari is telling me about his experience in Detox. “Some fat bitch stole his eggs”. Being the little skinny white boy he is, he gave them to her without a fight. Apparently while the woman, MJ, and DSC002 went to get Ari from detox, Smiley was on a balcony of a condo nearby cheering them on…..still drinking. God forbid jail and detox stop any DSC member from continuing the bender. 

I start asking questions as to why I have the following charges against me:

1. Trespassing??? I was at my own apartment
2. Throwing missiles?
3. Disturbing the peace
4. Destruction of private property

DSC002 and MJ fess up and tell me they had been throwing beer bottles out of the 5th story window of my kitchen. They must have done this while I was on the phone. This is how blacked out we were. Apparently once they ran out of beer bottles they stormed the fridge and threw jelly jars, knives, who knows? Sounds fun for them right? At least by then I was clear on why I had gotten arrested, however I was still blurry as to why only 3 of us were around when the cops came. Well, they had left to get pizza. Gotta have pizza with a good one tied on.

About 2 months later, sweating balls the entire time, I pulled the white boy move and had DSC002 consult a lawyer. He wanted to be one after all, and is good with this sort of shit. We got notarized letters from everyone that was there, including the building manager that had evicted me that week. The pre-trial lawyer dropped the charges pretty quick when he saw a suit, legal backing, white skin, and shoes without concrete on them.

DSC002 and I celebrate with a ton whiskey shots at the bar across the street from the courthouse, we learned nothing, except mexican cops lose in the end. Thanks Uncle Tony!

Don’t really understand how this seems to happen time after time. Maybe its just gayness, I don’t know, but when Hamilton and Smalls have a few too many drinks together, their bodies tend to collide in a sort of distorted wrestling/love tangle filled with laughter and akwardness in front of a small gallery. Its exactly what happened in Vail a few years back. Sprawled out in front of the fire giggling on the carpet 90% naked (just boxers), meat on meat. And that’s how the night started. It ended with Hamilton fully naked in his bed, people yanking at his comforter, and Smalls falling off the top bunk, crawling to the bathroom, puking, then gracefully passing out on the heated tile floor.

It all started on one of the many cold nights in the great white north, back when I was with that whore of an ex-girl friend of mine.  You all know the one.  Anyways one of her friends came up to visit so we decided to get shit faced.  I invite my cousin over, you all know him as the guy who got lost in Denver a few news years ago, as he is always down for some drinking.  We proceed to drink a 30 rack of High Life Light and a bottle of vodka while the whores talk.  The rest of the story is based off what I could piece together the next day.  I wake up the following morning hung over and minus my glasses and I get a whif of what smells to be shit.  I decide its me so I got up to take a shower.  As I get into the shower I put my knee on the tub and see a chunk of pooh stuck to my knee.  I walk back into my room and being half blind at this point I get on my knees to investigate and find a smear of pooh.  I deduce that it is in fact dog poop and I go back to the shower.  I finish up, put my contacts in and walk back into my room to find a log of pooh on the carpet and a whole bunch more in the jeans of the whore I was sleeping next to.  I look in the trash can and see what looks to be remnants of improvised toilet paper.  The first thing I do is wake the whore up and blame the pooh on her.  Being defensive and most likely not guilty she creates a scenario of me being naked in my room and not wanting to walk through the living room to the bathroom to take a shit, so you decide to poop in the trash can and ended up pooping on the floor and in the jeans.  Since I had tried pooping in a drawer my freshman year this seemed like a reasonable explanation.  I still blame the whore for shitting on my floor but if I did I am glad I shit all over her $100 pair of jeans.

Not really sure how it got to this point, but when I showed up at 914 after playing the Rapids, Quo had succesfully yanked DSC006 penis through a pizza box. It was a glorious moment for DSC006 as he was pucking laughter. Maybe someone else can elaborate and fill in the details.

Well, my pooped ‘em story isn’t as cool, but does go further back in time. I was like 13 and I threw up so hard i pooped em, but i guess that doesn’t really count because it didn’t involve alcohol. So I will go with the story that qualifies me for the pooped ‘em category. 

KO = Kicked out
Hamilton with 2 KOs - one for “sneaking in underagers”, another for being friends with Coco
Coco - 1 KO for adding a chair to his victory face
Hamilton + Coco = crab cakes and a digery doo at 4:00AM.

As we all know Edays happened to be the one time in a Mines dorks’ year where they let loose and pretended that we partied like a real school…kind of.  Well one of my favorite stories happens to be me retelling it in the third person, as I don;t remember any of it. Our infamous gambling addict friend had won somewhere in the ballpark of a few grand that week so naturally he went shopping at the liquor store(he also loves to shop at bars)…with a cart. Naturally I “started” at his house. My reaction to the amount of his liquor was basically the same as a 12 year old with his first playboy…..jerked it till it was raw. Here is where the next few hours goes blank. I was told I went to a party, fireworks show, chugged a half bottle of jack. Somewhere towards the end of the night I want to go have sex with my woman at the time. Well I tried to do this in the car parked out front with no avail. However, I did manage to get only my pants off. Apparently I was chased around Golden wearing nothing but a sweater and shoes(I am confused too) while being told to put my pants back on for a good half hr. Eventually I was corraled into her car to go back to Denver. Here is where it gets real blurry. Apparently I was throwing up so hard out the window while driving down sixth that I SHIT MY PANTS. Well, about 10 miles later I had taken my pants off completely (yes ass naked again except the shirt) and tried to get into my building. Good thing my keys and wallet were back in Golden (as I would find out the next day). Also a good thing the doorman called as many people as he could to verify that I in fact did live there and he should let me in. Keep in mind this nice innocent woman has been standing there enduring all of this shit.