Pat's 2-Hit Shit 3.12.98 <> 3.15.98 <> 3.25.98 <> 11.24.98 <> 12.6.98 <> 12.21.98 |
(Huber, Senorsmar@aol.com) *selection updated 3.3.98 This is a story being sent to you from your faithful friend and family member travelin the country in search of merriment and joy. As I write this to you, I do so with the sincere hope that you will pass this hilarious tale to your friends, but mind you: This is not a chain letter. Only good luck will come to those who laugh with and at me. Our story begins in southern Florida, Miami to be exact, in a beautiful resort hotel called the Turnberry Isle. I highly recommend it if you are ever in the area. Anyway, there I am in Miami boarding a shuttle to the airport at 5:30 am to begin a day of airport duty that would last until 11:00 am. This was my last day of working for PaineWebber and so I had checked out of my hotel and am to begin a day of airport duty that would last until 11:00 am. This was my last day of working for PaineWebber and so I had checked out of my hotel and left my baggage in our staff work room. I couldn't carry four pieces of luggage around the Ft. Lauderdale airport, so two of my co-workers, Tina and Courtney, had agreed to bring my luggage with them to our next destination in Ft. Lauderdale. This was rather convenient for me since they would be working the next program with me, staying at the same hotel, thus, my luggage would await me in my room in Ft. Lauderdale. Nervous I wasn't. So I grabbed my business bag and headed out. I worked my shift and caught a cab to the hotel, began preparing for this new program and then showered for the night's festivities. You see myself, Tina, Courtney and another Tina, who had also worked for PaineWebber the previous week, were to attend the PaineWebber staff party that evening. We drove to Turnberry Isle and I walked into the staff room to see my tennis/gym bag was still there. I was a little upset it had been left there, but nonetheless glad it was still in one piece. After scolding the girls for their half-assed efforts to get my luggage to Ft. Lauderdale, I checked the contents of the bag to make certain all was well. All was not well. Missing from my bag was Curious George, my sleeping and traveling companion and good-luck charm. I was nervous. How do I, a grown man, ask a room full of co-workers if they had seen my stuffed monkey? They would have a field day with this one. I had already been teased for shopping on one of my afternoons off, so surely a childish monkey would bring my sexuality into question. Finally, I gatherd the courage to ask the room and they knew nothing. No harsh words were spoken against me and this seemed strange to me, but it worried me more. George was gone, perhaps in the hands of some fiendish couple that now occupied my room at the Turberry Isle. Mom always said I shouldn't travel with a monkey. Courtney noticed my panicked concern and pulled me aside. She assured me that George was safe and that she had kidnapped him in jest. He would be to me at turndown in Ft. Lauderdale. I thought nothing more of it and off we were to the staff party in South Beach Miami. The party was at Luck Cheng's, a restaurant noted for Oriental cuisine and transvestite male servers. It was a hoot. We were served plenty of Tsingtao beers, sushi, salmon, and rosemary garlic mashed potatos and then treated to lip synced songs from the various waiters (waitresses?) working the floor. The songs were typical disco, female-power anthems that brought the culturally diverse crowd to a roar. Some servers(waitresses?) working the floor. The songs were typical disco, female-power anthems that brought the culturally diverse crowd to a roar. Some servers even performed lap dances for the "lighter" males in the crowd. Some of the staff then decided that it would be funny to send our macho co-worker Jay on stage to have a little fun with him. No lap dance of course, but a little good-natured poking at his homo-phobic nature. We paid our server $20 bucks and the deal was on. We waited through several more songs and then, one by one, they started calling men on stage from the crowd whose friends had done a similar deal. We laughed knowing Jay was next and he was clueless. The spotlight came to our table and Moe, the outrageously funny emcee pointed to our table and said "Patrick get your fine white-ass up here." NOOOOOOO!!! I had been duped. The road-rookie was being screwed by the team that he had hoped was on his side. Naturally, I had to pretend this was okay. I had to be good-natured about it. The stage cleared and I walked up alone and ready to face Moe and his antics. He smiled, rather, he eyed me slyly up and down. I felt like I had been pantsed in front of the whole school by my best friends. The lights glared and there I stood, awaiting my punishment for being the new wise-ass on the road. My table cheered and jeered. Moe put his hand and my shoulder and said, " Honey I know you ain't guy but damn you abeing the new wiseass on the road. My table cheered and jeered. Moe put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Honey I know you ain't gay but damn you a fine whitey!" I let out a nervous laugh as Moe walked circles around me checking out the goods. PLEASE no lap dance. I wouldn't let that happen. Too cruel. WAY too unusual. Moe poured a shot on the table on stage called a ____ job.(You fill in the rest) I did the shot in the customary fashion, fixing my lips around the glass and tilting back my head. Nastiness, pure nastiness. Then Moe said I would make a fine gay. Terrific. Moe and me. What a team. This was ridiculous. Then Moe said he had a special surprise for me. Said my friends had really done me in and I had "super-special surprise." Oh joy. He said a special friend that I had once lost had now been found and from behind his back he whipped out George. I couldn't help but split with laughter. 300 people now knew that I slept with a monkey and he was here for all of them to see. George, in all his splendor, was placed on my crotch and Moe said I was sure to get a piece of ass tonight. High- pitched squeels and camera flashes were coming at me left and right. George and I sat on stage and let Lucky Chengs and the PaineWebber travel staff have a laugh at our expense. Drunk and, needless to say a bit relieved, I let Moe give me a big hug and send my sorry ass back to my chair with a little "mmm MMM" as I walked away. He (she) was giving me what for and the table loved every minute of it. So I guess I was a good sport about it. I didn't freak and I let the freaks have their fun. It was pretty harmless and a great prank. I'm just mad I didn't get to be in on it. The rest of the night my trips to the bathroom were a little more noticed and I had to secure the lock every time. Of course, my drinks were free from the table for the rest of the night and George is now a Maritz legend. As for Moe, he never did find love last night, but he never stopped trying. Someday I will get my revenge. No moral here just a classic road tale. J. Patrick Huber P.S. - I am NOT gay!! Just had to clear that up. Later. **from e-mail to me on 3.15.98 *selection updated 3.26.98 For those of you who will be receiving this as your first installment of the Tales of the Road, I welcome you to my simple mind. Here will not be found pontifications of scientific or literary merit nor will you find revelations of the spiritual nature. In general, these are the oft-blurred visions of a traveling man. My father, however, unlike Duane and Gregg Allman's, was not a gambler down in Georgia. All references aside and two-bit jazz excused, this story takes us 20 short minutes from our last excursion to South Beach Miami (of Curious George fame) to a an open-air locale called Beach Place. A creatively named hangout on the beach of Ft. Lauderdale frequented by lust- driven spring breakers and men over forty. If you have a fetish, your likely to be satisfied by the see-through nylon blouses and imported Italian polyester. Tight pants are the theme and neon tank tops a must for guys and gals alike. Cut-offs are too tasteful. Background nearly laid, you can see that Beach Place has much to offer. Several clubs operate the three booming floors of the neon mecca and I was called there not once, not twice, but three seperate occasions for indulgences. And these aren't the indulgences that release you from purgatory. The first night was fairly eventless with our hero playing cock block for most of the women in my group to the gentleman callers prodding their backsides with the one eye. No lie. Stiffy number one almost nailed me in an attempt to freak Miss Bischop of the group. This same night also introduced me to one of Florida's finest. A woman of 25 with legs thinner than my own and a lip radius to rival the Joker's. She asked for a good shot and I recommended the Kamikaze, a smooth shot for a sissy. She bought five, handed me one and walked away. Minutes later, episode all but forgotten, she returned with a grin. She wanted to do more shots. I could see these were going to be on me. Dos Kamikazes por favor. We talked for a minute about alcohol, a real thriller, and she blurts out, "I really like you!" Stunned by her ability to judge on my choice of liquor I laugh and she asks me for my number then comes the explanation that kills. "You see i have to go because I have to get my sitter home by 1:00am" BAM! Bomb dropped. "I also have to get up early and take a test in endocrinology. I'm a second year med-student and I have to do really well." Thank you, hey, thank you. This one's not only a winner, but a truth-teller too. Hot dog. Needless to say, I did not get freaky with Dr.Quinn. The second night at Beach place was too uneventful for mention, although I did have to suffer through countless Billy Joel covers at a dueling Piano Bar that was having open keys night. How bout "Only the good die young" a fifth time. I didn't get pissed off enough the first four. Third night. Big stakes. My program complete and a load of stress thrown into the waste can with the program manual, I was ready to kick it. Again to Beach Place, only now we bypass Howl at the Moon and head straight for The Iguana, something akin to The Grind. Bikinii tops are the norm and if you ain't showing belly button pierce get the fizuck out. Of course I had to dance and I was having a devilishly good time freakin. I use that term loosely, but it is the way to get down. Anywej, there I am when these two b- otches walk in and dance together. Mother and daughter a la Jerry Springer. Oozing with class and definite throwbacks to the 80's high-sprayed bangs. They are sporting colored jeans and are dancing awfully close to each other for family. I would imagine that their family weddings get nice'n' nasty. I decide it's time to step between and start a little competition for Vitamin Phatrick . They are very annoyed and obviously trying to pick up on the Mexicans in the corner. I have to back away, but Mama still gives me a little eye and a lot of encouragement. I stick to The Plan and a few thousand beats later we are grooving down low. I make her laugh with my King of Pop moves and dazzle her with my rolling shoulders (the hottest commodity in florida), but daughter is none to pleased and pulls Mama away. I am hoping for a slugfest and a future appearance with Ricki Lake, but all I get is a blown kiss and the finger from daughter dearest. Mom's just wanna have fun. The rest of the night was kind of a blur. Several sugary shots were gulped and I was thrown off the stage for not having breasts. I was still the sexiest dancer up there. The night was very similar to a debutante ball with a lot of spandex and lace. I woke up that night in the backseat of a Blazer under the port a cochere of the hotel with my room key in my mouth and the valet waiting for me to get out. A camera snapped in my face and I still had to finish packing that night for a 7:45 flight to Phoenix. Now in Phoenix I chuckle at the foolish behavior of Ft. Lauderdale and its many young visitors. There's nothing worse than rocking to Meatloaf at a crappy piano bar. I am still kicking and I probably won't drink for another week, but a little sneak peek at what is to come. Next week is a night on the town in Phoenix. The day starts with golf at a beautiful course (complimentary green fees of course) followed by a night at the Arizona Diamonbacks home opener and first game ever (tickets not comped of course). Until then, write often and I will respond with personal messages to all. Love, Big Phat Pat **from e-mail to me on 3.25.98 *selection updated 2.27.98 (Part 1) Hey bro, your last letter was "Gordo con a 'ph'". You are always using these fifty-cent words and here I am in the land of the nickels and dimes. I have been cursing a lot more lately, but only cause I'm around these bitches who keep fronting me. Peet is moving to California soon and I am sure he would like to hang out with you. You should call him at 725-XXXX or 725-XXXX. The second number is his parents and he would love to chill, will ill with you. I am going be home on April 1st and we will have to celebrate a Tar Heel national championship. E-mail as often as you can as I do have access from the road via other people's computers. Anyhoo, don't sweat the inspiration, because Habs always inspires me. I watched Happy Gilmore last night in honor of him and I liked it more with him in mind. Also, I saw the Wedding Singer the other night. Adam Sandler is a lot like Habs. Pretty funny guys. I suppose I would be the Chris farley only I am not yet at the obese stage (no death reference neccessary.) Peace. PhATRICK **from e-mail to me on 3.12.98 *selection updated 2.8.00 Hello. I am Andy Katzenmoyer of the Ohio State Buckeyes. I am writing to tell you about a buddy of mine, Stevo, that has a serious problem. He is suffering from a severe case of Swamp Ass, a condition incurable on this continent. we need to raise a buttload of cash to save him or he won't stop laying eggs. The smell is nauseating and he can't wear undershorts. Please send a bunch of cheddar to us and we'll send him to Mexico where he gets a medicine to make him better. Thanks and keep on tacklin, Andie **from e-mail to me on 11.24.98 *selection updated 2.8.00 Cool. The Drunken Sailor would like to congratulate Mark Wallace for completeing an 8-hour workday without sneaking away for self-stimulation (any such method thereof). He is clearly one of the best. I recently sat down with Mark and discussed the day and his fetid, rancid, putrid buttcheeks and their distinctive production. He spoke of his notorious swamp ass with fervor and pride and I was delighted. Spendid, Mark. Splendid. I recently had the good fortune to be cut off from drinking at a hole in San Diego. Too much pounding and hollering about rum. I don't know what the hell they're talking about, dude. Wasn't me. Taking a quality photo of the children in your immediate family makes for terrific gift giving during the holidays. I recommend black and white in a silver frame to accentuate the nostalgia and posterity. Sound gay? It is. GO LIONS Meet me in Vegas. December 31 at 11:00 in the registration lobby of Bellagio. I'll explain later. Phatrizio This isn't the news. **from e-mail to me on 12.6.98 *selection updated 2.8.00 Some people on the internet find it humorous to send out attachments with their e-mail messages that depict something sexual or bestial. I have funded several projects to bring you these images and I am happy that you are enjoying the horse, the dog and the candlestick maker. They are all pleased as well and wish all of you a Happy Hannukah and a festive Kwanza season. If I had world and time to write something intelligent I would not be online, but instead I offer the wisdom of Howie Mandel to any and all cyberbuddies. "Be dangerous and unpredictable and make a lot of noise." Not too shabby. It is ideas like that which have carried his talk show to the 147th highest rated show on television. A visionary whose talents bring to mind Galileo or Edison comes along but once in a lifetime. Don't miss the boat with Howie. If you haven't seen Mr. Show with Bob and David on HBO then you are a complete jackass missing out on the funniest new show since The Simpsons. Love that Teri Garr. Mr. Wendel **from e-mail to me on 12.21.98 |
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