Hangover Moon

Rick James, Bitch!!!

2007-02-03T14:03:00.000-08:00

48 hour drunkfest as the Bears become Champions in SuperBowl XLI!!!!!!!!

Drunky Puster and the Case of the Irritable Center Fielder

2006-12-07T22:26:00.000-08:00

For all you ladies out there looking for a man with real class...Check out a story from the Gentleman / Scholar known to bouncers all over as Drunky Puster:

My roommate from college was a huge White Sox fan (He drew a picture of Ron Santo being shot by Hitler and left it on my door when the Cubs made the play offs-Santo was leg-less), so he decided to have a birthday party at the Patio at Comisky Cellular Crapstain Park. We got in about an hour and a half before the game and for $40.00 we could have all the hot dogs and beer we wanted. Swearing allegiance to Wrigley Dogs, I never actually found the line for the hot dogs. On the other hand, the beer vendor and I were on a first name basis, meaning he knew the first name of the beer I wanted to drink (It was Darryl in case you were wondering).
After drinking too many Darryls I wandered over to the right field fence were I preceded to taunt the Detroit Tigers Center Fielder (this was when the Tigers sucked three years ago). At first the taunts were regular, "Hey are you guys a little league team, where can I sign up?" They then began to grow little more aggressive, "Nice Flip Sunglasses Mr. Rooney, Did Ferris cut class again you FAG." The whole time I was doing this there were two little kids sitting next to me and about eight of my friends surrounding me, and then I really got under his skin:
"Hey Asshole, what's Detroit famous for? Kidd Rock and Sucking Cock cause your sister sure loves both!" And this douche bag, a professional athlete, actually lets himself get bothered by this and starts walking over to the fence. When he gets there he says, "Hey man, there's kids around, why don't you watch your language."
"Fuck you, welcome to Chicago Asshole," replied Drunky Puster (at this point I had transformed) The children began laughing (or crying either way it had emotion). Then this man who is a professional baseball player begins calling for Security like a security guard could pop up from underground to his every whim. Our large group begins to taunt his calls for security by repeating them, "Security, Security, someone help me a fan has blemished the name of my sister and Kidd Rock. Get a fucking clue you pussy there is no security around!"
Now usually this is the part where a security guard comes and I place my Chuck Taylors in said mouth for two important reasons: 1) I said there was no security around 2) I am drinking underage at a Sox game with my brother's ID, taunting grown men wearing pinstriped PJ's. Around 90% of the time this would have been the moment I was arrested or removed from the ball park, but the booze Gods saw much more comedy ahead and allowed my story to continue...

After the Sox Game

2006-12-07T21:35:00.000-08:00

As we last left off, I was inebriated at the Sox game for my roommates birthday:
So I go and sit in my seat, not because I wanted to watch the Sox, but rather because I couldn't stand. After a few more Darylls (see previous story) I was feeling good. I actually ran into one of McDrunk pants friends Richie (always wearing Pittsburgh stuff) and we had meaningless drunk conversation. The game ended and a team won (I didn't really care who), so we decided to take the train back into the northside (or as I like to call it--not the south side). I met up with some buddies and we went to White Star--where the girls dress slutty and the guys throw around a lot of vowels (Ayyy, Ohhh, Yous-daygo talk). After being in this fine establishment for an hour or so (five drinks) I convince myself that I have lost all of my friends. What was the most reasonable thing to do? Call their cel-phones? Walk around and look for them? Wait by the bathroom (some one always uses the bathroom)?
No!!! These ideas of rationality do not exist in the world of Drunky Puster. The best idea that I could come up with was to go to my grandma's house in Park Ridge. How would I get there you ask? Of course I would walk along the expressway. I walked down the on ramp from Ohio and made it about a mile before a State Trooper pulled me over (in no car).
"What the hell are you doing?" said Angry Trooper O'Shannahan.
"I'm trying to get to my grandma's house," I said thinking he should already know this. The trooper told me I couldn't be walking on the expressway and that he would give me a ride back to the side streets. I thanked him graciously as I willing went into the back seat of his car. When I got in the car he asked me for ID so he could just run it real quick. I handed him my brothers ID, for I wasn't 21, and watched him look me up.
"Um, Mr. Mcdrunk Pants (name withheld), it seems you have a warrant out for your arrest in Champaign. Did you know about this?"
"Fuck!!! (I had forgotten about older brothers troubles) Yeah, that's because of Spooner (this was all I knew of the warrant)."
"Well, I gotta take you in for this," said Calm O'Shannahan. I thought this would be no problem, I would just pay a fine and get out of jail. However the officer brought me to Maywood Jail, where I was finger-printed, photographed, and bothered by the colorful gentlemen already staying the night at the Maywood Inn. The whole time, everyone thought that I was Mcdrunk Pants.
Then, at like five o'clock in the morning after a wonderful sleep on a steel bunk, I was brought a three inch thick Bologna sandwich and one of those red drinks that look like they are in a grenade.
"Champaign Police are coming up here to pick you up in a couple of hours," said the portly jail-keep. It was decision time.
"Excuse me, officer," I said in a kind voice, "I'm not actually McDrunk Pants, I'm his little brother (but I know where he is-LET ME OUT!!)". I did not want to take a two and a half hour drive to Champaign, but I wasn't going to rat Mcdrunk either. The officer took me out of my cage and re-fingerprinted me to fax to the FBI. At around six in the morning, they took me from my cell again and told me the FBI confirmed I was Drunky Puster and that the original arresting officer would be coming back to pick me up. Now you have to understand, this is at least five hours after I was originally arrested, so when O'shannahan (the original officer) showed up he was actually off-duty. He chose some key words for me because we had made such great friends on the drive to the jail:
"I rushed back here because I thought the only reason they would call me back was that you were dead...I fucking wish you were dead you little shit!!! Where do you get the nerve to lie to me as a police officer you fucking scum bag!!!" Other officers joined in the hazing, I have never seen the police so pissed. So, O'Shannahan picks up the phone and askes his commanding officer which forms he has to fill out for a false identification charge and finds it will be many forms. He looks at me all pissed off and hangs up the phone.
"Your punishment is that your walking home through Maywood you little shit, now get the fuck outta here!!!" He whips a plastic bag at me containing my belt, my shoelaces, and my wallet (which still has McDrunk Pants ID in it, unbeknownst to him). I sprint out of jail and hold that plastic bag like a badge of courage to every crack head that approaches me on the street. They have no clue why I was in jail or how long, so most of them leave me alone, but the real business savvy ones use it as an excuse to sell me something.
"Hey man, my names Chi-town, you gonna need something after being locked up. Whatchu want-chronic, smoke, blow?" Chi-town says.
"No thanks man, I gotta stay clean. I'm never going back (like I just got out of Oz).
Anyways, the moral of the story is that the longer you can hold the truth from the police, the better chance you have of making your story funnier (and being let off). Also, DON'T WALK ON THE EXPRESSWAY. Drunky Puster lives to see another day.

Don't Bring Me Down

2006-12-02T12:11:00.000-08:00

Wednesday night I went out boozing with my buddy from school. My roommate drove us to the bar at 8 and I knew I wasn't going to be leaving at 10 when he planned to. The group of guys there were either non-beer drinkers or going home so I ordered two pitchers (one of Miller Lite and one of Bass) that I ended up drinking by myself. So, feeling as if my drinking potential was not high enough, I ordered a couple of shots. My roommate went home and my buddy one upped me by ordering double shots. I was literally poured a rocks glass of whiskey. I slammed most of it and had to come back a little later for the rest.

The bar closed (or at least pretended to close to get us out of there) and we moved on to the trusty Irish Pub down the way. We parked in a Rockstar spot that only a couple of drunk guys could have found. It was hidden behind a building that you had to drive under to get to. The police cops would never have found us if we were hiding out there. It was beautiful.

So the standard happens at the Irish Pub, we weren't let in, I told the bouncer to go fuck himself, I probably blew my chances at ever getting a decent Guinness in this bastard state. So we walk down to T.J. Roberts or whatever the fuck that white trash bar is and have a couple drinks. Apparently I was charming some girl with anecdotes about nineteenth century German philosophy and my buddy was commenting on the industrial revolution's effect on productivity with the bartender (or at least this is how we remember it).

Anyway, we left or got booted or both and now we can't find the fucking car. We don't remember where the Rockstar parking was. We take a cab home. And we take it to my buddy's house instead of mine, which was closer and my car was there to get us back in the morning. We suck. We are dumbshits. The next day we pretty much figured the car was towed as we couldn't find it anywhere. We made a wrong turn and there it was, in the only non reserved spot behind a funky building you had to drive under to get to. We are drunks, drunks that protect ourselves by not finding our car when we are too drunk to drive. It’s a flawless system.

First Impressions

2006-11-21T10:49:00.000-08:00

I'm almost 2 months into my new job here. Some people were going out Friday night for some drinks after work. I thought this would be a good chance to get to know my co-workers outside of work. After all, sitting around the office all day talking about pension plans is nowhere near as exciting as sitting at a bar talking about why I decided to start Marc Bulger over Phillip Rivers in my fantasy football league.

One of my main concerns with drinking with my new co-workers is that I tend to be an obnoxious drunk. (Okay, replace "tend to be" with "am always.") So I was determined to be on my best behavior. I would limit my sarcasm as much as possible. I wouldn't tell any stories about getting blow jobs in seedy bathrooms. I wouldn't grab any asses. Nope, I was going to play it cool. In fact, I was even going to leave at 8:00 so that I didn't have time to get drunk enough to make a fool of myself. I'm telling you, the plan was rock solid.

So how did I screw up? I left the bar without paying a dime for any of my drinks. So now, instead of my co-workers thinking I'm an obnoxious asshole, they all think I'm a cheap asshole. So now I have to be super-obnoxious to make them forget that whole cheap thing. I'm pretty confident I can pull it off at the holiday party in 2 weeks. Especially if they have Jack Daniels.

Last Night At Jumbo's

2006-11-18T09:57:00.000-08:00

For some reason I ended up at Jumbo's Clown Room last night. For those of you that don't live in LA, Jumbo's is a strip club where the bitches strip to what ever is on the juke box. Also, due to a new law you can't put your money in the strippers g-string. You just crumple it up and throw it at her. It's degrading but awesome. I always try to keep it challenging for the strippers with my song selection. I picked Message In A Bottle by the Police, Where Is My Mind by the Pixies, and Piggy by NIN. The girls really did a good job with the first two songs but Piggy was the best of them all. The stripper get down in front of me and smokes a cigarette with her pussy. I immediately crumpled up a five and threw it at her. Best show ever! Now whenever I hear Piggy I'm going to think of a vagina smoking a cigarette. Fucked up shit but a good time was had by all.

Check Your Resources

2006-10-23T09:16:00.000-07:00

I've been going to my favorite Irish bar for over two years now. One of those were you are in love with the waitress, but never have the balls to do anything about it. So, finally I decide to find out exactly what her situation is. The guy checking i.d.'s has a cubs hat on so my drunken logic tells me that we are practically family. So, I inquire about her to him asking if she is impossible to get with and if I should try asking her out. He plays along for a bit and then explains to me that it isn't impossible to date this girl because she is his girlfriend. After removing my foot from my mouth, I spent the rest of the night apologizing and buying this dude shots. At least, now this girl knows who I am because I made an ass out of myself to her boyfriend. And actually, the boyfriend and I are friends as well so now I am just hoping that the waitress has a hot sister (without a boyfriend).

Ambulance Endings

2006-10-22T18:00:00.000-07:00

Friday night I went out in downtown Fullerton for some drinks. We were about 6 beers deep when we decided to wander into The Back Alley, a bar in downtown Fullerton. There was a regaee band playing and my friend Chris was feeling iti. He was dancing and decided to go on stage to show his love for the grooves. The bass player was happy that Chris was on stage dancing so he used his bass to jab Chris in the face. He went flying off the stage and landed half way under the pool table. Chris was knocked the fuck out with blood coming out of one of his ears and his mouth. There is also a puddle of blood forming from the back of his head. Luckily one of the bar patrons was an emt and sober enough to realize the situation. The emt came and stablized his head, when the paramedics came Chris had opened his eyes. Chris was disorriented and was taken to the hospital with a concussion. He needed 13 stiches in the back of his head. There were no charges filed against the bass player, as they said Chris should not have been on the stage.

Unkicked Out

2006-10-22T07:51:00.000-07:00

Can a bar really force you to come back in after they have physically kicked you out? Where is the precedent on this? I was at the Capital Lounge in DC last night and a very surly bouncer dragged me out by the hair on his way to the cab that was taking him home. He left and I had gotten about two blocks away when the manager of the place and a waitress chased us down. Apparently, they were unkicking me out long enough to pay my tab. They told me the bouncer has a problem with his temper and I had an off-duty police officer witness the whole thing and say it was pretty ridiculous. It's a shame you give up your ability to argue about anything once you have a couple dozen drinks in you. I would have liked to fight this one a little longer. Anyway, I got stuck with paying two tabs, one for $145 and another for $58. I was a little boozed up and I definately got taken for a ride. There are interest groups out there for everyone. Who is looking out for really drunk people?