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The concrete jungle
 
 
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Old 28 Jun 2005, 02:57 PM   #1 (permalink)
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Default The concrete jungle

It was just a bag of concrete. Quikrete 4x. It dries faster and harder than anything else on the market. Or at least that’s what the box says. It had been sitting outside the dorm for about five days now, and there was no sign that construction workers would come back for their long lost bag of concrete. Shane had stopped by and told me the girls were ready to go. I had no idea where we were going tonite. I walked downstairs to meet the rest of the group. There were eight of us in all. Four hastily organized couples, all looking for fun on a Friday nite in Lexington. The bag of concrete was sitting right there by the front door, so I picked it up and put it on my shoulder. It was a heavy fucker, weighing fifty pounds. But being a stout man of the earth that I was, it was no problem.
“Why do you have a bag of concrete on your shoulder?” asked Jenny.
“Because I need this for protection, if someone comes after me, Ill be ready for them. It’s also good defense. Would you hit a man carrying a bag of concrete on his shoulder after dark?”
The group was in agreement that no sane god fearing man would ever be carrying a bag of concrete after dark. So with the muggers, rapists and Jehovah’s Witnesses in place, we headed out for a night on the town.

I decided I wanted a Hot Dog. There was only one place to get them at this hour and that was at The Tenth Inning sports bar, about three blocks away. Everyone else was in the mood for beer, but not me. I wanted a Hot Dog, then I would require a night of strong drink. Hard liquor and plenty of it, perhaps a cigar or two. No ganja tonite. No, with the ladies and the bag of concrete, there would only be disaster if that rotten stuff got involved…

The Tenth inning is a small sports bar that is shaped like a baseball diamond, so that the front door is at home plate. Capacity for maybe forty. Its an incredibly tight fit and the bar is on the home stretch. We were standing outside the front door when one of the girls spoke up: “Your bag is leaking” she said.
“What’s that? Oh…Oh the bag, it has a hole in it. Hmm, that’s no good. Well, we’ll only be a minute and the bag will have plenty of concrete when we get back, so don’t worry. There’ll be enough to go around…”
“What would I do with concrete?” she asked me.
“Good question, and it deserves an answer…but first, I must have a hot dog or will kill the next Chinese man we see” I responded as I began walking away, suddenly realizing that Whit’s date was, in fact, Chinese. I spun around quickly. “Oh, god, I apologize where are my manners? What I meant to say was that if I don’t get a hot dog, I’ll kill the next Lesbian I see. Okay then…Shall we gentleman?”

As it turned out, everyone but Shane decided to go across the street and have coffee. They wanted no part of my hot dog expedition. They were communists, I knew it. Only a red communist would take coffee over a hot dog and beer. And only the most desperate of men would follow their communist date to precipice of the coffee shop. It was the Chinese girls fault. She had brought her Chinese rhetoric with her and because her family had made my shoes, she though I owed her something…woops…I seem to have rambled a bit here. I have no unnatural desire to kill Chinese, nor do I have a unique phobia of them. She just happened to be Chinese. Back to the story…But there are a billion of them and if I killed one here and now, no one would now about it until the statute of limitations was up. That’s all…Okay, here we go…

The hole in the bag had gotten worse as we walked into the front door. We had made it about ten feet into the bar when the dust cloud started to form. The dry concrete was pouring out everywhere and it was only getting worse. At first people didn’t seem to notice.
“the bar is this way” I said as we walked to the home stretch. At this point the bag was really opened up good and people noticed, the air in the bar had become rife with dust. People began coughing and screaming.

“JESUS! WHAT IS THIS?…IS THIS?..GOOD GOD THEY….THIS IS CONCRETE! WHY THE HELL?”
“HEY, IT GOT IN MY…WHAT IS THIS? ASHES? WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND…GOD ITS IN MY THROAT!”
“Maybe we should turn back.” Shane commented.
“Nonsense, we have come to far to turn back now. The hot dogs are right up here…”

The screams began to get louder and angrier. “IS THIS LYE? IS THIS CORROSIVE…HEY, ITS IN MY DRINK, FOR FUCKS SAKE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT DAMN DUST”

another one was shouting. I realized halfway between the door and the bar that I was in over my head. People began leaving and scuffling around attempting to get out of the way of this demon and his bag of powder. I didn’t even get to order a hot dog by the time I got to the bar. People were moving around in such a fashion that there was no more order. The Tenth Inning had descended to the level of bestiality. It was strictly survival of the fittest now. I found a hot dog sitting on the bar that someone had ordered and I took a bite. It didn’t taste very good, be it from the concrete in my lungs or the fact that it had relish on it, I ‘ll never know.
“WHERE ARE THEY? I’LL KILL THEM!”
“Time to go!” Shane shouted. Judging by the state of the bar, he was right, we had five seconds before they would rush us and kill us both with their frosty mugs of beer-mud. We began moving toward the door with our backs to the gathering crowd at the other end. Punches were being thrown at us from all directions. Shane was firing off lefts and rights and making contact with a few unlucky bastards that got in his way. I was just looking for the door, and swinging my left arm with hopes of clearing a path to the door. We found the door and made it into the street. We looked like we had barely escaped the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. Horrible ashy tourists, with no respect for the white mans culture…The patrons of the bar were starting to file out as well. And they wanted blood. The Tenth Inning had exploded and there was no way around that. I grabbed the bag by the corners where it forms the tit-like indentions and swung it hard. I was monster reincarnation of Hank Aaron, except I was white and covered with concrete, It ripped all the way opened about halfway around my swing and covered the first wave of attackers. The second wave was upon us though and there was nothing left to do…

Oh they kicked our ass. They kicked it good too. It was worse than any I had ever experienced or seen. It was Rodney King in the streets of Lexington. A lesser observe would have thought that the dust people had come to earth and they had begun attacking. Everybody wanted some. ..

I never did get that dammed hot dog. But I learned the most valuable of all life’s lessons…never get between a man and his drink. Because for that man, in that time and moment, that is the most important thing in his life, he will kill for it. It doesn’t matter if your Chinese or not…
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Originally Posted by The Glue
I dunno...it's the"I'm better than you and I'm not even gonna shout it, yell it or overstate it, I'm fuckin Naitch goddamn it and all I really got to say is ......wooooooooooo!!!!!" pic of Ric
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Old 29 Jun 2005, 11:28 AM   #2 (permalink)
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I read that story about you in the bar with the bag of concrete, Dr. Thompson. That was funny. Thank you for sharing the story from your point of view.

Perhaps in the future you could share with us your coverage of that regatta way back when. Remember?? Steadman was with you and he took those pills?? I read Ed Perry's account in your biography (Fear and Loathing: The Strange and Terrible Saga of Hunter S. Thompson)

Great stuff.

Late.
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Old 29 Jun 2005, 01:07 PM   #3 (permalink)
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Yeah, Ill do that one next...Just for you Glue.

Although the story I just shared was something I did in real life, as inspired by teh real HST. He used a bag of Lyme, I used concrete, He wanted a beer, I wanted a hot dog. The chinese thing was my little addition to the story, though.

I just read that he had done it, so I thought Id give it a try. I got my ass kicked too...
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Originally Posted by The Glue
I dunno...it's the"I'm better than you and I'm not even gonna shout it, yell it or overstate it, I'm fuckin Naitch goddamn it and all I really got to say is ......wooooooooooo!!!!!" pic of Ric
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Old 29 Jun 2005, 01:12 PM   #4 (permalink)
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Hunter S. Thompson
Yeah, Ill do that one next...Just for you Glue.

Although the story I just shared was something I did in real life, as inspired by teh real HST. He used a bag of Lyme, I used concrete, He wanted a beer, I wanted a hot dog. The chinese thing was my little addition to the story, though.

I just read that he had done it, so I thought Id give it a try. I got my ass kicked too...
Just don't go trying to roll w/ the Hell's Angels...although they're probably much more tame now than when they beat his ass down...

Late.
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