This one is for you, The Democrat.
So, about a week after the infamous Philly Taco Bonanza of 2009, I am planning on leaving Philly on Sun morning, and The Democrat invites me to hang out before I leave. I set it up so that I have a hotel room in Philly which makes my commute to the airport on Sun morning so much easier, and we decide that after dropping off someone at the airport, I will pick her up, check in to my room, and then we will go out after that.
I drop off another employee at the airport and drive straight to Pat’s King Of Steaks. Now I have only had Pat’s cheesesteaks two times before, and both times I stood in line for less than 5 minutes. Assuming that would be the case, I find a liquor store parking lot about 2 blocks away and park my car there. I am driving a small house known as a Ford Expedition, so I decide that it is best if I don’t attempt to parallel park this behemoth, and instead walk into the liquor store and purchase a small bottle of Jager, figuring that I will want to pregame later anyway. As I’m leaving, I notice the sign says 30 minute parking. I think to myself that it should be fine since I’m only walking 2 blocks and plan to eat in the car anyway.
I arrive at Pat’s to see the line wrapped completely around the building. Undeterred, I walk to the rear of the line and begin the wait. It is around this point that I notice I have metal shavings all over my body, dirt all over my shirt and hands, and generally smell like 7 flavors of ass left in a dumpster outside a 7-11. I start to think that maybe I should have cleaned up a little bit, and then realize, fuck it, if these people don’t like it, they can leave, because I am not leaving until I have a “whiz with” in my hand.
Not having talked to Fluffy in a few hours, I send him a message that says the line is wrapped around the building. He promptly replies with, and I’m paraphrasing, “Oh, poor fucking baby. Fuck your life. Leave me alone or I’ll kill you.” So Fluffy and I have a little tussle over text messaging, which is probably the queerest way to fight, but whatever, it worked. Right about the time we have made up, and rekindled our bro-mance, these fat people in line behind me start talking about the dumbest shit I have ever heard in my entire life. I generally make it a habit of eavesdropping on everyone around me because you never know when they might start talking about killing the guy in front of them to advance the line, and frankly, I don’t want to be caught off guard.
So I’m sitting there listening to this stupid crap that is spewing forth from this bitch’s mouth, and then she drops a line that makes me want to fall to the ground laughing and openly acknowledge that I heard everything she said. Let me paint you a picture before I divulge what she said. Imagine Rosie O’Donnell, but about 3 inches shorter, and she has an inner tube wrapped around her waist. Now imagine that inner tube is actually just a fat factory that has lapped over not only her belt line, but I’m pretty sure her vag and quite possibly her kneecaps. To sum it up, she is fat as shit, and is clearly on the see-food diet (If I see it, I eat it). She tells her husband (who is not exactly a winner himself and kinda looks like a mix between Chewbacca and Homer Simpson) that he can’t tell anyone she had this today, because she has been so good on her diet, and has lost 7 pounds. But that’s not even the end of it! She then recounts what she has eaten that day, and it makes Michael Phelps look like a damn Ethiopian. I wish I could remember everything she had, because it would feed most small countries for at least a week or two.
I start Tweeting and Facebook posting on my Blackberry about how annoying this bitch is and wishing that she would shut the fuck up. I then decide to look up Pat’s on the internet. I then find an article about Barack Obama eating a Pat’s steak. I’m livid now because it just ruined my whole outlook on life. So I do what every sensible person would do, I start bashing on The Democrat. Of course, she pulls out the trump card and informs me(even though I just found out on my own) that Pat’s is a Democratic leaning establishment. The mixture of this and the fat people behind me combines into a cacophony of anger and rage that makes me start seeing red and wishing that I could be certain the fat chick wouldn’t eat me if I told her to shut up. Then, about 2 minutes later, this old guy drives by a car, and the fat fuck behind me comes up with this glorious line, “Wow, he must be 150.” Now, just the ignorance of this pisses me off, but the next line made me want to scream out to the God’s of cheesesteaks to please strike down these unworthy ass holes that are ruining my Pat’s experience. Fat fuck turns to his blueberry looking wife and says, “I bet he was 21 when he started waiting in line.” Thank God for my cell phone and the ability to completely bash these people to my friends, otherwise I would have inevitably started bashing them to the people in front of me which would have led to a confrontation in the Pat’s line and all I wanted was a FUCKING CHEESESTEAK!
Finally I get up towards the front, and the fat people behind me are reading the sign that tells you how to order. Which is fine. Frankly, it helps the process along, so I am ok with that. I literally follow along as the read the entire thing (in my head, not out loud) because there is nothing else to do. When it’s my turn, I step up and order my steaks, and get them off to the side. I am wrapping them both up for the walk to the car, and I hear the fatties try to order fries at the window, even though they read, OUT LOUD, the part of the sign that says fries and drinks are at the SECOND window. I chuckle to myself as I walk off realizing that I have just been graced by the presence of the two stupidest people on this planet.
So I get back to the liquor store and hop back in to the bling bling that is my rental, and begin to back out. At this point someone comes out of the store and asks if I was a customer. I tell them that yes, I was, and show them the bag. The guy then tells me that there is a 30 minute limit, and that I might have exceeded it. I am dirty as shit, exhausted, stinky, and all I want to do is indulge in my Pat’s steak and get drunk so I tell him that I don’t fucking care, and tear out of the parking lot.
I then head to
After purchasing our drinks, we head back to Philly and check in to my hotel room. We stand there waiting for the elevator, and when it arrives, we are greeted with a scene straight out of a silent movie. At least 20 douche bags pour out of this elevator trying to act cool. I happen to have been lucky enough to have watched “The Naked Man” episode of “How I Met Your Mother” so I knew that these homos were members of the “Wooo” group. Whenever a group of douche baggy guys or girls get together and have nothing to look forward to in life, they shout “Wooo” about everything. We get on the elevator and as the doors are closing, The Democrat asks me to please make sure we go nowhere near those “douchy guys” tonight.
So after I shower and we watch some baseball, we head downstairs to meet Turtle. He is a friend of The Democrat and Fluffy, so I figure he should be a good time. We start to head to this bar, and along the way, I see some chick in orange sitting in a window as I walk past. It feels like a scene straight out of
We get to the bar, and watch as the Phillies win in the bottom of the 9th. Pretty exciting stuff, so everyone’s happy. After the game, the news comes on. It starts with a news story about a swim club that made some racially charged remarks. The Democrat tells Turtle that it is all blown out of proportion and for once, I am actually playing the other side of the card as I debate her on it. What was said is not important, however the highlight of the conversation was when the drunk, homeless looking vagrant starts muttering something about “niggers.” I was almost unable to keep my beer down as this douche bag starts mumbling more unintelligent bullshit about the Pirates(who were playing the Phillies) and arguing with the bartender about whether she charged him or not.
Turtle leaves the bar, and shortly afterwards, we do too. At some point it starts raining and The Democrat and I both have to urinate profusely. I tell The Democrat that if she doesn’t find me a bathroom I am going to drop kick her tits across the street. Finally, we arrive at a Ruby Tuesdays which happens to be still open. We sit down and order drinks and The Democrat gets up to use the bathroom and when she returns I go. We sit there for about 5 minutes while the bartender cleans up her shit. The Democrat and I realize that I already paid for drinks, and our mouths are dry. What the fuck is going on here? We ask the bartender where our liquor is and she replies with, “Ooops”. Ooops? Ooops? Make me my drink and be quick about it. About this time, we notice that it is POURING outside. Like torrential downpour. Finally our drinks get delivered, and The Democrats is in a weird glass, and after pointing this out to her, she informs me, laughing, that it is a carafe. Well la di fucking da. I inform her that I am a Republican and a war veteran and therefore do not need to know simple details about wine.
We finish our drinks and head out into the rain, which soaks us completely through in about 2 minutes. We walk to the hotel and then The Democrat gets this awesome idea that we should go to this diner she’s been to once before. Luckily for her, she finds it on the first try because if she didn’t, I probably would have punched her in the kidney. We sit down and look at the menu, and the waitress who I fittingly nicknamed, “Bertha” arrives to take our order. I jokingly ask her if they have alcohol and am pleasantly surprised to find out that yes, the do indeed have beer. I order food and beer and The Democrat orders food and liquor drinks. Then we realize that there is a jukebox at our table. I immediately get 5 dollars in quarters and start feeding them into the machine. We select a few songs and then choose the entire “Trapped in the Closet” album. Our songs start playing mixed with some queer shit selected by the other people. After I go to the bathroom, I come back and inform The Democrat that the jukebox is playing at every table, and if the entire “Trapped in the Closet” album plays, we might get shot. Convinced that we are facing an imminent threat to our well being, we eat our food and book it out of the diner.
After walking back to the room, The Democrat changes into some dry clothes and I pull out the couch bed only to find that there are no fucking blankets for it anywhere in the entire room. So I do the next best thing and steal one of the sheets off the big bed, wrap it around me Superman style and dive onto the bed, passing out in the process.
Some memorable things that happened that night that didn’t fit anywhere else:
The Democrat hugged a window at Macy’s and expressed her undying love to a faceless mannequin in the window.
A bachelorette party at Ruby Tuesdays involved the bride to be puking on the table, and some dumb blonde falling between the booth and the window.
Some dude totally wiped out in the rain while trying to run.
Some chick wrapped her hair inside a Wal-Mart style bag.
The Democrat and I called Fluffy about 15 times trying to get him to talk to us. He was severly pissed and threaten to rip out my trachea if I didn’t leave him the fuck alone.