12 May 2009

The Hamburgler, or why winning the Copeland is nice....

Sometimes i think back upon occasions and i wonder if other people would find the situation as entertaining as i did...Let's see...

...The Tournament of Champions, as i have described earlier in other posts, is a debate tournament held Kentucky Derby weekend, where some of the best high school debaters in the country come together and reach for the stars. but, as most events where hard work happens and then there's time at the end to unwind, people lose their minds at the end of the TOC, where partying and having a good time are at a premium. Even thought the TOC had another full day of debates, there was no debates left for my team, and not having to be the responsible party, i decided to hang out with some friends and have an adult beverage (being of age and all). during the evening, it became apparent that one of my boys, let's just call him R to the MF H, was in hot pursuit of a young, attractive woman from the fine state of florida.
R to the MF H was feeling fine about himself, enjoying the fruits of labor from his work in the classroom, the debate house, and the gym. having had a great season, and feeling like he was a good looking guy, R to the MF H begins making his move, but to his surprise, she was not as responsive as he would have hoped...apparently a young stallion of a debater from the University of California was also in hot pursuit, and he was somewhat of a debate wonderkund, achieving the highest full season goal, the Copeland (no, women in bars really don't care that you've won the Copeland in general, but maybe that's different in the IC). as powerless as the Copeland leaves you out in the real world, in the debate world in general, and the TOC in particular, the gloss of a Copeland winner takes you far...apparently it took my boy R to the MF H's possible conquest from the "i can get this done!" catagory to the "where is she? doesn't she know who i am? i'm R to the MF H!!" apparently this was to no avail, as our protaginist (that's R to the MF H, in case you forgot) storms around the hotel, in a bit of a rage and is in a fighting mood. the best way to resolve issues of bitterness and anger in the world i live in is obviously copious amounts of alcohol. So R to the MF H, my boy Steve, and a couple of Lexington locals went to some bar in town i couldn't find again if the place was actually on fire. On a tangent, and probably in my "charmed life" post that hasn't happened yet, my boy Steve had the day before hit the trifecta at the
Kentucky Derby, winning over 18K before taxes, and at one point during the weekend, he had a backpack FULL of $50 and $100 bills, something you really have to see to beleive. So we're all out, having some beverages, all the while R to the MF H is steaming, virtually on tilt with anger about the issue. My boy Steve is a lot of things, loyal, generous, smart, funny, but he is, under all that, a hater. a true, diabolical hater, probably the most diabolical hater west of the mississippi. and he can't pass on this great opportunity to just needle our boy...
"it's gotta be killing you, knowing you're here, drinking with us, and [the freshman] is at the hotel, beating up your girl. beating the pussy up....beating it up 'til it looks like hamburger."

yes you read that right...beat it up 'til it looks like hamburger.

but wait, there's more..."i'm giving your boy a new nickname...the Hamburgler. He's at the hotel, burgleing your girl, and making the coochie look like shredded meat."

there may have been 1000 funny things said post this, but i wouldn't know, because for about 10 minutes, i laughed hysterically. i laughed so hard i couldn't be contained. i had to leave the scene, and find a restroom, lest i piss on myself. it was a legitimate concern.

but wait, there's more. duringh the evening, the conversation from all parties was for our guy to move on, wealixze there are many more fish in the sea, and try to enjoy the rest of the evening. so our guy, following the nearest donut rule, turns and hits on the first woman he sees, the waitress from the bar, and as you can imagine, a drunk, salty, bitter, just shunned dude does not usually make for the best "pick up"artist, which meant he had no chance to pick up someone that didn't already want to fuck him, so he was once againe shunned. my guy Steve, partially as a demonstration and partially as a hater, decided to show R to the MF H how "a real player does it" and proceeded to get the waitress' phone number. even while all of this is going on, i'm having a hard time concentrating, as all i can imagine is the girl my guy was rolling up on, at the hotel, with the freshman, in full Hamburgeler costume, just Osama-Bin-Laden pussy terrorizing...it STILL makes me laugh when i think about it...


6 comments:

  1. fucking genius! I completely forgot how devastated R to the MF H was about this.

    A year later at the NDT he got really drunk and started flexing his muscles in the mirror while repeating "does [the hamburgler] have these?. does [the hamburgler] have these?!?!?!"

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  2. wow...i wish i had known about the mirror thing....

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  3. To this day, I still don't know how he pulled that off. I mean seriously?! How did that happen? So yes, crushing bronsons with DD and Steve was the next best alternative. While I don't recall the Hamburgler comment, it's awesome either way. And it's true...the Hamburgler does NOT have these...

    R to the MF H

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  4. Ladies and Gentlemen...R to the MF H...a true gentlemen, as he didn't even mention that i dropped him round 8 at the NDT that year...

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