My Steak Dinner [Prologue]
What I’m about to tell you is completely true; it’s just a matter of fucking remembering it all.
My night was supposed to be a nice leisurely one, spent at home. I was calmly finishing a steak dinner on my couch when the celly blew up. It was Madd and I wasn’t going to answer, but Erin somehow cajoled me into doing it.
Moneypenny: “What’s crackalakin?”
Madd: “We on the 280, bitch! And we headed to San Fran for the night. You wanna come?”
Moneypenny: “Eh, why are going to the fucking city?”
Madd: “Tucker Max, Bi-atch!”
I tell Erin this and she encourages me to go. I sit there and think about how I said I didn’t want to go originally, but there is one rule that I follow pretty closely these days. That rule is that whenever I’m presented with attending a function that, on first thought, I don’t want to go to I instead try to appraise the situation and determine how high the You-Should-Have-Been-There will be. The more likely it is that I’ll be called the next morning and get the You-Should-Have-Been-There speech, the better the reason to go. Why? Because life is too damn short not to see Madd Scientist flossing his way around San Francisco with an up-and-coming internet star and Scott molestering anything that moves.
Note: If the The Rule ends up with an answer in the negative, I sometimes go to the Backup Rule, which states “If I go to this [whatever], will enough things happen to entertain me that it will be worth it?” If the answer to The Rule is “no” but the answer to The Backup Rule is “yes”, then I’m still going. For example: Rock Chalk said last week that her co-worker invited us to her Family Reunion. At said Family Reunion, there would be such things as food, drinks, people, and… a mariachi band. This situation failed The Rule test, but passed The Backup Rule with such force that it shattered windows 10 blocks away. C’mon: a mari-fucking-achi band.
So, going out in the city with a Scientist willing to pay for everything, Tucker Max, Frenchy, and 3 of Madd’s current/ex girlfriends passed The Rule so hard that sparks started shooting out. The Backup Rule also stated that I had absolutely no recourse but to go with and find out just what the hell was going to happen.
Madd, Frenchy, and Rachel showed up at my house with travel mugs filled with vodka. We chatted a bit, they refilled their mugs, I made myself a mug out of Red Bull and Belvedere, and we were off, but not before Madd and Scott hit on sourdoughsam for awhile.
Several times in the car on the way to the city Madd took his hands completely off the steering wheel so he could “dance”.
By the time we get to downtown proper, my pea-in-the-end-of-a-slide-whistle sized bladder was begging for release. French was pinching off to not piss in the car. We’re supposed to meet Heidi and Kristine at the Holiday Inn. We drive past it twice before me and Scott just jump out of the car and make a run for the hotel. What must have looked like 2 hobos ran through the lobby and you probably could have heard the “AAAAAAHHHH” from room 1202. It is Madd’s bright idea, after driving around for an hour trying to park somewhere, to get back in the car (with 6 people this time) and drive to the first (of many) bars for the night. I tell him he’s an idiot and we take two cabs. Madd, French, and Rachel take off in a cab. I flag another one and me, Heidi, and Kristine get in. The cab driver calls me a pimp. I tell the driver I’m married, too. He calls me an extra-large pimp. So we’re having a nice conversation, and all of a sudden he jerks the wheel left, Hill Street Blues-style, and now we’re flying through a back alley in San Francisco. There’s a hobo at 12 o’clock, dead-center in the alley. The cab does not slow down, and the hobo dives out of the way, Jerry Bruckheimer-style. We come out the other side of the alley and pull up safe and sound in front of The Red Room. Madd and the others are nowhere to be found, so we go in.
The Red Room
Don’t let anyone tell you different, this place is fucking Red. Arr-eee-dee. Red. I immediately see Tucker talking with a big guy. We go to the bar and get some drinks. Big cup of Belvedere was $7, not as bad as I thought. Tucker is entertaining 2 girls at once, and I’m not about to be the cock that walks up and breaks up that shit. I wait until things have died down a bit before saying, “Tucker, what’s up man, I’m Moneypenny…” *semi-confused looks* “…an associate of the Madd Scientist.” Now everyone is pretty fucking excited. I tell them that Madd took the non-death defying cab, and he should be here sometime soon. Speak of the devil, the Madd Scientist rides in at about that moment. Him and French talk to Tucker for awhile and I sit with the ladies. Madd either is told to or decides to go spit game at a bunch of very very good-looking women at the bar. I wasn’t there, but I can only assume failure.
In what would become a night-long occurence, we put down our drinks and got the hell out of there. Another whirlwind cab ride and we’re at the corner of Broadway and Columbus (other things at this corner: City Lights bookstore, and the shitty garlic-loving Stinking Rose restaurant). I arrived at Condor (the first time) having consumed: 5 or 6 High Lifes, 1 Red Bull & vodka, and 1 large gimlet.
Pretty dumb, vanilla sports bar-ish place. They have large sliding windows that conveniently turn into doors for people who don’t want to walk the extra 10 feet to go through the front door. So everyone but me just went in through the window. As soon as we get our drinks Tucker says “This place sucks, finish your drinks. We’re leaving.” The girls are not happy with this arrangement. I slam another gimlet and yell at Tucker to fucking finish his shit and he yells something back at me, then I drink some of Kristine’s cosmopolitan while pretending I’m gay, and then I drink some of Rachel’s Alabama Slammer. Scott takes the Alabama Slammer and puts it up to my face and tips it over to make me drink. I am now covered in Alabama Slammer. About this time I pretend to punch Scott in the face, but through a mixture of alcohol and my misunderstandings of physics, I actually pop him in the nose. Hard. I am instantly scared due to the fact that a non-attacked Scott usually finds a way to hurt me over the course of a night. A revenge-driven Scott is not something you want on your night’s guest list. I apologize to him over and over, but Madd insists that I will be killed before the end of the night.
Everyone finishes up and we head out the door with absolutely no one knowing where we are headed. Tucker Max friend drunkasaurusrex hails a cab and asks directions. In the meantime, we completely and utterly lose Frenchy. He just disappears into the warm night with extreme prejudice. We won’t find out he’s gone for another 30 minutes or so. There’s a bar on the corner up the street called Fuse, so we head in there. The bouncer at the door said something like, “He can’t come in here like that.” I think he was refering to Madd and his Bling-Blau. Madd threw about $50 at him, and we’re in the door, bling intact. The score at this point is 5 or 6 High Lifes, 1 Red Bull & vodka, 2 large gimlets, some Cosmopolitan, and 1/2 an Alabama Slammer.
One of Tucker Max’s ladies starts dancing by herself by the DJ. Tucker seems more interested in the other girl. Madd is ordering drinks for the whole crew. Someone puts a drink in my hand, and it’s Belvedere and club. We discover Scott is missing, and shrug our shoulders.
Madd attempts to dance with the girl dancing by herself. He is rebuffed. Neil/Neils/Niels attempts to dance with the girl dancing by herself. He succeeds for awhile. Tucker decides the place is lame and we move on. To where? We don’t know. We’re still searching for the mysterious “open-air bar”. Add a Belvedere & club soda to my score. Now we’re strolling along Columbus Street.
Kristine is on the cell with Scott trying to tell him where we are. She must have said the words, “WE’RE ON COLUMBUS STREET” about 20,000 times. Tucker is being felt up by both girls with him, and Madd and drunkasaurus are arguing and/or bonding while trying to find a goddamn bar. Eventually, Tucker has had enough and just walks into the street, hails a cab, gets into it with the 2 girls, and speeds away into the night. Note: that would be the last time I saw Tucker that night with his pants on.
Now we have no idea what to do, but while we’re walking back in the other direction, we pass the Hustler Strip Club. Light bulbs come on over many peoples’ heads, and we stroll up.
The Hustler Honeys Strip Club
Madd immediately takes charge. He walks up to the bouncer and tells him that we’re there for a bachelor party. Drunkasaurus is the bachelor, and I’m the best man. We get in for free. The guy tells Madd it’ll be $10 each for the rest of them, and that the girls (Rachel, Heidi, and Kristine) were free. From god knows where, doing god knows what, Scott walks up and joins the group just before we head in. Madd and Scott make 2, but Madd has a $100 bill. He starts pointing to other guys in the line and says, “Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. They’re all with us.” He hands the guy a $100 and everyone’s in. Before we descend to the club, the guy tells us to “take care of the guys downstairs.” Drunkasaurus looks at me and says, “I’m out of money, you got any?” I take out my money clip. He grabs all of my money out of it and gives it to the bouncer downstairs.
At this point I am walking into a strip club completely broke.
Madd buys some drinks while women of every imaginable size and color try to get my non-existant money from me. I got a Coors Light, I think. The girls (the ones with us) were sort of excited to be in a strip club. I can’t remember for certain, because this is the point in the night where I started to get so stinko drunk. The rest of the strip club tour was uneventful, but I do remember drunkasaurus turning to me and saying, “I can’t put all these drinks on my credit card, try to get Madd Scientist’s card so he’ll pay for it.” I was unable to wrestle Madd’s card from him. My attempt was classic though:
Moneypenny: “Hey, Scientist, let me see your credit card right quick.”
Moneypenny: “I just wanna see what it looks like.”
Oh well, I tried at least, huh? So we bounce out of there with no known destination . I’m really bobbing and weaving all over the place now. We walk and walk and walk and walk until we’re right back in front of that awful Condor bar. So, with the score evened up at Zach: 5 or 6 High Lifes, 1 Red Bull & vodka, 2 large gimlets, some Cosmopolitan, 1/2 an Alabama Slammer, 1 Belvy & club, and 1 Coors Light, Liquor: Winning, I do the only thing that could be expected of me: I go into another bar and order another gimlet.
I think everyone used the door this time, though some may have used the convenient window entrance.
This part of the night is where it gets really hazy. I know only 2 things for absolute postivity:
1. I happened to be glancing out the window when I saw a cab pull up outside the bar. Tucker emerged from said cab with the sweater he was wearing earlier, but instead of pants he had on what appeared to be grey running shorts. Then one of the two girls he had left with emerged from the cab. Then they walked away. I nudged Madd, and said, “Hey, Tucker made it back.” Madd and drunkasaurus disappeared instantly. Now I’m alone with Scott and the ladies in a dumb bar.
2. There was a taqueria next to this dumb bar.
Sometime later Madd came back to the bar. I remember seeing him all the way across Broadway. He just drunko-walked across the street while traffic was whizzing by him everywhere. He said he’d had dinner with Tucker. At midnight. And he paid for it. I went out the window to call Rock Chalk to come pick me up.
She said she’d be there in a little bit and that I should just wait on the corner. I saw quite a unique slice of humanity sitting on that little corner. Mostly mexicans in modifed Escalades, but a few asians here and there too. It was around the time when Erin was about 12 blocks away that I decided some Mexican food would be nice. I went into the taqueria and quite possibly made the drunkest order of two tacos ever. I was very very very explicit about there being no sour cream used in the contstruction of my tacos. Just as they put my order up for me to get, my phone rings from Erin saying she was in front of the bar and where was I? I ran out the door with my taco payload and hopped into the front seat.
My tacos were in those little styrofoam food containers. I was shoving it in my mouth so fast that I didn’t realize there was a piece of paper underneath the taco. I commented to Rock Chalk that I felt the taco was too papery. It was then that I found out the horrible truth: I had eaten paper.
I passed out shortly after smearing guacamole and lettuce all over Rock Chalk’s car.
This Morning [Epilogue]
I woke up so shitty that I actually didn’t remember going out last night and wondering if I had the flu due to the bad taste in my mouth, the hot and cold flashes, the headache the size of a fucking mushroom cloud, and my contacts still in. Then I remembered what happened (sort of). I could only surmise what ended up happening to Madd and Friends. I’ve included Madd’s version of things from the previous post as a way to showcase what he remembers of the evening.
So, overall a very entertaining evening with the Madd and French Show with special guest star and internet celebrity Tucker Max. I went golfing with Cla this morning and gave him a good beating. And now I want to sleep the sleep of the dead. Don’t wake me up.
By: Madd Scientist
holy shit. last night i went up to san francisco to see a couple of visiting hos and take them to play with tucker max. i spent most of the night with my friend $500, but he ditched me at some point and i think he is lost.
bottom line, i don’t remember much. hopefully this post will serve to remind me of what happened.
a few notables…
kristine said “the only thing cool about tucker max is his friend niels.” zing.
i slept naked on the floor of the hotel. after waking up and realizing this, i ran through the room yelling “WE’RE GOING STREAKING!!!”.
i went to the hustlers club, and didn’t see a single tittie.
tucker left to fuck a bitch and came back in shorts. gangsta.
i stole 3 shot glasses.
i stole a blow up doll from some dude.
i stole the vail off a tiny chinese bachelorette.
i took SF’s traffic problem into my own hands by running through busy streets.
scott bought cigarettes… you know… for the group.
i walked through a window to get into a bar.
i ate no fewer than 2 dinners. both of the chinese persuasion.
zach punched scott.
i don’t know… all in all, crazy fucking night. i’ll leave it at that, time to sleep.