Fucking drinking and fucking cycling

We are legion.

Or Corey is anyway. I’m a fat fuck in a stupid redneck mountain town.

From: Corey the Courier
Subject: Fucking drinking and fucking cycling
I didn’t have internet for a while. I’m still keeping it real… surreal, actually.

Friday night and out with NYC couriers for messenger appreciation day. It began with Sparks, the caffeinated malt beverage and from there it all went blotto.

Somehow I got separated from the crew on the way from Manhattan to Brooklyn. I met them in front of a bar in the home of the hipsters, Williamsburg. There were two dudes nagging the bouncer about some navy pin he wore on his shirt. Being a former Marine (once a marine always a marine) I stepped up to stop the madness. The military lingo they were spouting went over the head of the civilian bouncer. I cut through the mumbo-jumbo and told them they were wrong. The more belligerent of the two tried to ignore my attempts at sensibility by telling me to talk to his buddy while he got in the face of the bouncer. I asked which branch of the military they serve(d)…. Merchant marines. Not even the Coast Guard. They weren’t to pleased about me calling them pansies and telling them they had no right to force their bullshit on unsuspecting civilians, but they continued to berate the bouncer. After about a good 15-20 minutes of the senseless argument, the bouncer tells me not to worry, go inside and drink up.

Inside I talked to a dude who’s dad was a Navy Commander. He agreed with my assessment of the “clowns” talking trash outside. A loud thump behind us interrupted the conversation. A woman fell out from too much of whatever good time she was having. Her limp body was dragged outside. Her departure reminded me that I needed to meet up with my buddies who were whooping it up somewhere else. When I hit the night air the woman was sitting on the ground passed out in front of the bar. One of the bartenders mentions that it’s bad for business for someone to be sprawled out near the entrance. I picked her up and carried her down the street placing her gently upright against a wall. Her friends wanted to give her pizza and water to possibly help her condition. I took the pizza away from them because I knew that tomato sauce has way too much acid and would induce vomiting. Same with water. I left Ms. Drinky in their care and walked off with a free slice of pizza.

Strolling down the street munching on a hot slice of pizza on the way to my bike, I pass the bouncer who is amazed at my 30 minutes of action at his bar. He and the Navy Commander’s son began joking about me getting a job working the door. I am now “that guy” and can never ever do any wrong in their eyes. For sure I’ll be back to redeem the free drink offers.

I meet up with the drinking buddy at another bar. He finds a hot chick with a girlfriend. Immediately, I am the wing man. Me and the third wheel played pool well as a team. Eventually the four of us rode two bikes to her place. My buddy’s date was frisky. While I was naked in the shower thinking I was going to get lucky, my date became Ms. Sleepy. We laid down for a night of sleep. Believe me when I say I really wanted her to be more “awake”. My buddies date comes into the room wearing panties and bra talking about how she needs her sexy underwear. She then called us boring. After she left I decided to get some revenge for the insult. I stripped down naked and went to the other side of the apartment with just her little purse dog for a cod piece. I opened the door and let her know that if fireworks weren’t happening in the other room, it wasn’t because I am dull. My buddy was quietly laughing while his date kept asking for her dog. I went back to sleep in the other room. My buddy scored with the target.

My mission as wing man was a smashing success. My temporary unpaid gig as a bouncer was a success. The ridiculous, the drinking and the cycling all converged like a great constellation in the sky. There will be more stories for sure…

Corey the Courier

PS Philly Phorever. Damn shame about the Mets.

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About big jonny

The man, the legend. The guy who started it all back in the Year of Our Lord Beer, 2000, with a couple of pages worth of idiotic ranting hardcoded on some random porn site that would host anything you uploaded, a book called HTML for Dummies (which was completely appropriate), a bad attitude (which hasn’t much changed), and a Dell desktop running Win95 with 64 mgs of ram and a six gig hard drive. Those were the days. Then he went to law school. Go figure. Flagstaff, Arizona, USA

3 thoughts on “Fucking drinking and fucking cycling

  1. Eh. Nobody is that cool.

    That “Bond. James Bond” horse-shit only works in the movies.

    Hey Corey. You need to toss in a little self depreciation to make your fantasies more believable.

  2. Story Corey is consistently one of my favorite people I’ve met in the past year. Make sure to look us up when you stop through Chicago.

  3. Sounds like a large time was had for sure. Drinking and cycling is always fun. Too bad no fucking for you though GI…