The Rico Chronicles
Rico is a guy I met while working at MBNA America. The fact that we met while working for one of the largest contributors to the George W. Bush campaign is in itself very ironic since he is Mr. anti-establishment, and very anti-corporate America. At that time, I was the quintessence of corporate America: young, clean cut, ambitious and climbing the ladder to middle management, which made our pairing as friends even stranger. One day we went to happy hour and found our common ground. Eventually, the bank relocated to Atlanta,GA and we all went our separate ways to other menial jobs. But we kept in touch, hung out every once in while and actually were roommates for three very hectic months. Whenever we got together and went out, a good ol' fashioned drunk-a-thon would brake out and hilarity would ensue. These are those stories.
The Hot Body Contest
It was a Saturday and I was sitting at work wondering what I was going to do that night. I had no plans yet so I was making calls from my desk to see what as going on. When Rico heard that I had nothing to do, he said "Let me call you right back." and hung up. Five minutes later, he called back, told me to get in my car and get over to his house, we were going to the hot body contest at Shooters. "Dude, I gotta work until 3:30." Seems he thought I had nothing to do right at that moment, which wasn't the case, it was 11:45am and I still had over 3 and a half hours to go. Dammit!! I couldn't leave work! I was responsible! I had things to do!
But there it was...out there...like a big fat juicy steak on a platter, just waiting for me to take a bite: hot...body...contest. I like bodies. I like hot ones even better than regular ones. And just imagine them engaged in competition, pitted against one another, the battle of good real boobs verses evil silicone boobs, fighting to the death!!! How could I resist? Well, as fate would have it, I coincidentally came down with a severe stomach ache and was forced to leave work at that very moment. Even more coincidental was the fact that the severe gastro-intestinal malady was cured by leaving the same stuffy office that hindered my afternoon of merriment. I get to the house where Rico and his friend Lindsay are waiting for me and already drinking miller (in a can, a tell-tale sign of a dirty afternoon). We jump in his car and make our way to Ft Lauderdale, pounding a few more miller lites (still in the can, mind you) along the way. We park in the parking garage, pay the meter for a few hours and head to the bar by the pool. Immediately, we order miller lites and shots of my old German friend Jagermeister (that bastard crashes every party I have! Dammit, why do I even talk you him anymore?). And so it goes for the next few hours: Beers. Shots. Beers. A half a chicken sandwich came out of nowhere and was consumed with reckless abandonment...I think a waitress lost a finger in the maylay. More beers. More shots. At this point, a water taxi dropped off about 30 guys, all from Boston, in town for the Dolphins-Patriots game, and I have an epiphany. Everyone knows Bostonians have a weakness for liquor and their own kind. It's their nature to want to drink with fellow New-Englanders. So I put on my best accent and start dropping "wicked-this" and "fuckin' chowda-that" and next thing you know, I'm drinking shots with a fellow Southie wondering "who woulda figyahed Tom Brady, a guy who looks like Matt Damon's retahded little brothah, would win 3 rings for our beloved Pats!" We drank for hours, then wandered into the street and started walking around. That's when the wheels fell off. We go to look for the car because Lindsay is still sober and willing to drive. Hmmm...it's not where we left it. Crap. In our drunken state, Rico and I decide it was towed, so I call my roommate to come pick us up. Good idea. Except that 5 minutes later I forgot that I called him and get into a cab with Rico. Lets' review that real quick: A) We get in a cab even though Lindsay has a friend there who will let us ride back home in her car. B) We get in a cab even though my roommate is on the way to pick us up. Yes, in spite of these facts, I state my belief firmly (yet rather slurringly) that we need to take a cab because "it's the only way home." So Rico and I pile into the taxi and yell to the Haitian cabby, "Take us to Crabby Jacks!" which was right next to Rico's condo and was where I left my car. I promptly pass out in the back seat. Time passes and I wake up to Rico yelling back and forth with Haitian Cabby about where we're going. As I struggle to get my wits about me, I realize we're heading back south for some reason. "No, no, no, this all wrong!" I tell Haitian Cabby, and we turn back around and head back to Crabby's. HaitianCabby is none too happy with us because we are drunk, we keep falling asleep and every time I would drift off, Rico would incorrectly give him directions somewhere else. No wonder a 20 minute cab ride cost $50 bucks. We finally get to our destination, where I realize that I left my keys in Rico's disappearing car. So we walk the one block back to his house and I pass out on the couch. Lindsay and her friend got there about 20 minutes later with a pizza, which I allegedly had a slice of. They allegedly woke me up by jumping on me and dancing around the apartment, acting like idiots. Then I allegedely made out with Lindsay. I say allegedly because I do not remember this at all, nor do I remember the pizza slice...it was all reported by eye witnesses. I do, however, remember waking up at 2:30am, eating my first slice of pizza (actually my second, but only the first that I am aware of) and watching an infomercial on rotisserie ovens. I get the oven, the rotating skewer, the enclosed vegetable cooking rack and a second rotating skewer, all for just 4 payments of$49.95? Wow, Ron, tell us more!!
I fall back asleep and wake up the next morning to find out that his car had actually been stolen, not towed. Luckily, all the thieves did was listen to some of his CDs, drive it around a bit, drink some beers (they actually left a miller lite tall boy in the back seat) and then left it a few blocks away from Shooters. The cops called Rico at 3am, but he was too drunk to go get it, so they towed it.
When we picked it up that afternoon, there was no damage, nothing missing and we were actually up one beer.
And people say today's criminals have no regard for civilized society. Nonsense, poopypants!
Move In Day
The day Rico became my roommate was an interesting one to say the least. We had been friends for a while through work and had a few long nights of drinking. So on the Sunday he moved into the apartment, we finished up around 3:00 and I suggested we go get a drink and a bite to eat.
Rico - "I don't know, I gotta go to work tomorrow at 8:00."
Woody - "So? I gotta work at 7:00! Don't worry, we'll have like 2 beers and go home. Just a little Sunday afternoon cocktail."
Famous last words. I'm sure Custer said something like "Guys, it's just a couple Indians...we'll be out there for an hour or so then we'll go hit up the strip club. Don't worry!"
Well, we went to the bar next to my house and had a slice of pizza from the little Italian restaurant next door. One beer turned into two, two into four, then a pitcher. Next thing you know, we're at Bru's room and they are kicking us out because they're closing. It's the middle of the night on a Sunday...we should go home, right? Wrong. The Ugly Mug for a beer and a shot, then north on to Benny's Ice House, open 'til 5 every night and full of all sorts of interesting individuals (remember the bar Obi-Wan takes Luke to in the beginning of StarWars? Yeah, kind of like that). We continue drinking there and find ourselves engrossed in a deep philosophical conversation with these two redneck barflies (the kind of girls who would be in a place called Benny's at 4 in the morning on a Sunday) when we see a seven foot tall New York Jets vinyl poster hanging behind the kareoke machine onstage. Now, let me bring you up to speed on Rico's favorite football team: He bleeds NY Jets green. Loves them. So when I lean over and point out the poster, he is instantly infatuated. And when I tell him that I'll have the car running out front...well, at that point, our fate was all but sealed. I walked outside, pulled the car up to the front and opened the passenger door, ready to speed away with my accomplice. Back inside, Rico said to the girls "Excuse me, ladies, but I have to do something extremely immature." And with that, he jumped on stage, ripped down the poster, and ran out the door, screaming "Fuck you guys!! Ha haaa!!" He jumped into the car and I immediately squealed the tires out of the parking lot with Rico's feet still hanging out the door, and raced back to the bat-cave, er, um, I mean the apartment.
By the time we got back home, it was close to 5 am, we had visited 4 bars, closed out two of them, and stolen something from the last one.
Yep. Just a friendly Sunday afternoon cocktail.
Rico is a guy I met while working at MBNA America. The fact that we met while working for one of the largest contributors to the George W. Bush campaign is in itself very ironic since he is Mr. anti-establishment, and very anti-corporate America. At that time, I was the quintessence of corporate America: young, clean cut, ambitious and climbing the ladder to middle management, which made our pairing as friends even stranger. One day we went to happy hour and found our common ground. Eventually, the bank relocated to Atlanta,GA and we all went our separate ways to other menial jobs. But we kept in touch, hung out every once in while and actually were roommates for three very hectic months. Whenever we got together and went out, a good ol' fashioned drunk-a-thon would brake out and hilarity would ensue. These are those stories.
The Hot Body Contest
It was a Saturday and I was sitting at work wondering what I was going to do that night. I had no plans yet so I was making calls from my desk to see what as going on. When Rico heard that I had nothing to do, he said "Let me call you right back." and hung up. Five minutes later, he called back, told me to get in my car and get over to his house, we were going to the hot body contest at Shooters. "Dude, I gotta work until 3:30." Seems he thought I had nothing to do right at that moment, which wasn't the case, it was 11:45am and I still had over 3 and a half hours to go. Dammit!! I couldn't leave work! I was responsible! I had things to do!
But there it was...out there...like a big fat juicy steak on a platter, just waiting for me to take a bite: hot...body...contest. I like bodies. I like hot ones even better than regular ones. And just imagine them engaged in competition, pitted against one another, the battle of good real boobs verses evil silicone boobs, fighting to the death!!! How could I resist? Well, as fate would have it, I coincidentally came down with a severe stomach ache and was forced to leave work at that very moment. Even more coincidental was the fact that the severe gastro-intestinal malady was cured by leaving the same stuffy office that hindered my afternoon of merriment. I get to the house where Rico and his friend Lindsay are waiting for me and already drinking miller (in a can, a tell-tale sign of a dirty afternoon). We jump in his car and make our way to Ft Lauderdale, pounding a few more miller lites (still in the can, mind you) along the way. We park in the parking garage, pay the meter for a few hours and head to the bar by the pool. Immediately, we order miller lites and shots of my old German friend Jagermeister (that bastard crashes every party I have! Dammit, why do I even talk you him anymore?). And so it goes for the next few hours: Beers. Shots. Beers. A half a chicken sandwich came out of nowhere and was consumed with reckless abandonment...I think a waitress lost a finger in the maylay. More beers. More shots. At this point, a water taxi dropped off about 30 guys, all from Boston, in town for the Dolphins-Patriots game, and I have an epiphany. Everyone knows Bostonians have a weakness for liquor and their own kind. It's their nature to want to drink with fellow New-Englanders. So I put on my best accent and start dropping "wicked-this" and "fuckin' chowda-that" and next thing you know, I'm drinking shots with a fellow Southie wondering "who woulda figyahed Tom Brady, a guy who looks like Matt Damon's retahded little brothah, would win 3 rings for our beloved Pats!" We drank for hours, then wandered into the street and started walking around. That's when the wheels fell off. We go to look for the car because Lindsay is still sober and willing to drive. Hmmm...it's not where we left it. Crap. In our drunken state, Rico and I decide it was towed, so I call my roommate to come pick us up. Good idea. Except that 5 minutes later I forgot that I called him and get into a cab with Rico. Lets' review that real quick: A) We get in a cab even though Lindsay has a friend there who will let us ride back home in her car. B) We get in a cab even though my roommate is on the way to pick us up. Yes, in spite of these facts, I state my belief firmly (yet rather slurringly) that we need to take a cab because "it's the only way home." So Rico and I pile into the taxi and yell to the Haitian cabby, "Take us to Crabby Jacks!" which was right next to Rico's condo and was where I left my car. I promptly pass out in the back seat. Time passes and I wake up to Rico yelling back and forth with Haitian Cabby about where we're going. As I struggle to get my wits about me, I realize we're heading back south for some reason. "No, no, no, this all wrong!" I tell Haitian Cabby, and we turn back around and head back to Crabby's. HaitianCabby is none too happy with us because we are drunk, we keep falling asleep and every time I would drift off, Rico would incorrectly give him directions somewhere else. No wonder a 20 minute cab ride cost $50 bucks. We finally get to our destination, where I realize that I left my keys in Rico's disappearing car. So we walk the one block back to his house and I pass out on the couch. Lindsay and her friend got there about 20 minutes later with a pizza, which I allegedly had a slice of. They allegedly woke me up by jumping on me and dancing around the apartment, acting like idiots. Then I allegedely made out with Lindsay. I say allegedly because I do not remember this at all, nor do I remember the pizza slice...it was all reported by eye witnesses. I do, however, remember waking up at 2:30am, eating my first slice of pizza (actually my second, but only the first that I am aware of) and watching an infomercial on rotisserie ovens. I get the oven, the rotating skewer, the enclosed vegetable cooking rack and a second rotating skewer, all for just 4 payments of$49.95? Wow, Ron, tell us more!!
I fall back asleep and wake up the next morning to find out that his car had actually been stolen, not towed. Luckily, all the thieves did was listen to some of his CDs, drive it around a bit, drink some beers (they actually left a miller lite tall boy in the back seat) and then left it a few blocks away from Shooters. The cops called Rico at 3am, but he was too drunk to go get it, so they towed it.
When we picked it up that afternoon, there was no damage, nothing missing and we were actually up one beer.
And people say today's criminals have no regard for civilized society. Nonsense, poopypants!
Move In Day
The day Rico became my roommate was an interesting one to say the least. We had been friends for a while through work and had a few long nights of drinking. So on the Sunday he moved into the apartment, we finished up around 3:00 and I suggested we go get a drink and a bite to eat.
Rico - "I don't know, I gotta go to work tomorrow at 8:00."
Woody - "So? I gotta work at 7:00! Don't worry, we'll have like 2 beers and go home. Just a little Sunday afternoon cocktail."
Famous last words. I'm sure Custer said something like "Guys, it's just a couple Indians...we'll be out there for an hour or so then we'll go hit up the strip club. Don't worry!"
Well, we went to the bar next to my house and had a slice of pizza from the little Italian restaurant next door. One beer turned into two, two into four, then a pitcher. Next thing you know, we're at Bru's room and they are kicking us out because they're closing. It's the middle of the night on a Sunday...we should go home, right? Wrong. The Ugly Mug for a beer and a shot, then north on to Benny's Ice House, open 'til 5 every night and full of all sorts of interesting individuals (remember the bar Obi-Wan takes Luke to in the beginning of StarWars? Yeah, kind of like that). We continue drinking there and find ourselves engrossed in a deep philosophical conversation with these two redneck barflies (the kind of girls who would be in a place called Benny's at 4 in the morning on a Sunday) when we see a seven foot tall New York Jets vinyl poster hanging behind the kareoke machine onstage. Now, let me bring you up to speed on Rico's favorite football team: He bleeds NY Jets green. Loves them. So when I lean over and point out the poster, he is instantly infatuated. And when I tell him that I'll have the car running out front...well, at that point, our fate was all but sealed. I walked outside, pulled the car up to the front and opened the passenger door, ready to speed away with my accomplice. Back inside, Rico said to the girls "Excuse me, ladies, but I have to do something extremely immature." And with that, he jumped on stage, ripped down the poster, and ran out the door, screaming "Fuck you guys!! Ha haaa!!" He jumped into the car and I immediately squealed the tires out of the parking lot with Rico's feet still hanging out the door, and raced back to the bat-cave, er, um, I mean the apartment.
By the time we got back home, it was close to 5 am, we had visited 4 bars, closed out two of them, and stolen something from the last one.
Yep. Just a friendly Sunday afternoon cocktail.
posted by Woody at
12:49 AM
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