I have had my fair share of bad moments, as wonderful as I am. From wandering alone around a park drunk at 4 AM, to, well, just my everyday activities, there's been some low-lights. This may be the lowest one (that I am willing to divulge relatively publicly). Back when I was working in baseball in the utopia of the 909 I had a tendency to drink. A lot. Frequently, too. I didn't really enjoy what I did for three dollars an hour, and, putting this as nicely as I possibly can, I didn't like my coworkers particularly too much either. Some of them I got along with alright. One I even dated. Though for the most part I hated the people I worked with. Mostly because they worked in minor league baseball and thought that the line of work was decent, and that I should "try".
There happened to be a bar/club thing next door to the baseball stadium and it was a fuck hole of humanity. I tend to hate clubs in general because I am a borderline sociopath, and this club especially was the worst of the worst. It was country themed. I am no fan of country music, but know plenty of people who are, and while I am sure there are plenty of decent country themed bars/clubs elsewhere in the world this one certainly was not one of them. No, this was a club full of rednecks from the 909. Complete with shitloads of plaid flannel, boots, and cowboy hats. It was the Inland Empire and Texas's lovechild.
Occasionally, this place would have college night so it made it bearable to venture over. Since we worked next door, we were always able to get in for free and skip the line. It may have been a shit pile, but it was one where I looked cool entering. And with drunk, stupid college girls that was important. Anyways, this tale does not involve such an evening. No, instead it was large group of coworkers, with a few who I was less than fond of, on a normal night going over to "hang out as an office". Which meant there was no redeeming qualities.
Naturally, I did what I do best: Got shit-faced. About thirty minutes in and I was probably the drunkest I had been since college, (education!) stumbling around, hurling insults at anybody that I came across. It was a wonder I didn't get my ass kicked. Long story short, I blacked out for a while and don't remember much. What I do remember is telling someone that I needed to puke. I left the place and looked for an alley to throw my guts out in. I found what I thought was a secluded spot, made a sidewalk pizza, and then was discovered by a homeless guy, which are the the fourth leading export of inland California (only behind meth, smog, and crippling depression).
The homeless guy, which I'm sure has seen assholes like me tossing their cookies behind a bar countless times, ventured over and gave me a napkin. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I said thanks and gave him a dollar, as is the law. He got out a water bottle and offered me some. This is 100% a bad idea to accept. Do not accept homeless people's beverages. I shouldn't even have to tell you. There are a billion reasons not to. It's like sleeping with a Tijuana hooker. You just don't do it. I said thanks, but no thanks. He said I needed it. Drinking and puking dehydrates you. He was an expert after all, presumably. I said no again, because even as drunk as I was, you do not ever take a drink from a homeless person. He said it was fine. He had plenty more water. This bottle hadn't been opened.
I said okay.
Turns out, the water bottle had been opened before. Turns out, it wasn't even water. Turns out, it was vodka. I vomited again almost instantaneously. The homeless guy laughed but was clearly very confused. This is the conversation we had at this point:
Me: What the fuck, man?!
Hobo: Ha, damn son, you sure is fucked up.
Me: That was fucking vodka!
Hobo: What? Really? Oh shit. How'd that happen?
Me: How in the fuck were you carrying this around and think it was water?! How the fuck did you get this much vodka?!
Hobo: Oh well. My bad.
Me: Fuck you!
I threw out some more insults at a guy that clearly already was pretty much fucked by the universe and took off.I walked back to the stadium, and slept in my car until the next morning. I somehow didn't wind up with mouth herpes, dysentery, or god knows what else. Just a hangover. And I'm now homeless. That too.
The Kings right now are me in this story. They hate life. They hate everyone. They're a mess right now and things just are not going well because it's their own damn fault. They are puking up losses every which way and the only end in sight is
sleeping it off briefly in a car the Olympics. Still, they have the deceptively pathetic Columbus Blue Jackets in front of them first. Except, instead of offering solace, the Blue Jackets are offering up more displeasure probably. Also, a homeless guy seems like a great metaphor for Columbus.
Thursday, Feb 6, 2014, 7:30 PM PST
Since Jack Johnson has claimed the title of Jerk of Columbus already, we have everyone's favorite franchise up: The Dallas Stars! Dallas has fallen on rough times, being a far cry from the days of Hull, Modano, Hatcher, and Turco. Gone are the times of Ott, Morrow, and Ribeiro. Even Roy and Lapierre are gone after a brief stint. But the Stars have a new crop of douche ready to go.
A real savy veteran jerk. He concussed Doughty a few seasons back, and really just seems to pull off sneaky, dirty little plays whenever he can.
His name is "Garbutt". He also knocked Dustin Penner out, but who cares about that? His name is GARBUTT.
The "steers and queers" tweet was kind of strange. Mostly because Seguin called himself gay. It would have been the oddest manner of coming out for a larger public figure that I could recall, but instead it was an attempt at humor that was pretty poorly planned, executed, and followed up. It didn't go great (obviously) and Seguin originally blamed hackers. Lying is bad, Tyler. Bad Tyler.
The world's richest man couldn't buy his way off of this list. Don't know what I am talking about? Well, there is this, this, and this. Also this. He does hate Mike Smith, which is pretty redeeming, but who doesn't fucking hate that guy? Plus, (and I swear to god this is true along with that entire sad story I just told) he flipped me off during an Ice Dogs game many years ago. That's a story for another time though.
Prediction: The Kings play bad again, and I drink more hobo vodka.
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