The Pink Elephant Review

important information:barf jerky

2008-05-20T06:30:00.000-07:00

CAUTION: Refrain from eating jalapeno-flavored beef jerky when you are drunk, have had nothing else to eat and have a case of the munchies. It may seem like a brilliant idea at the time. But when your stomach starts to rumble and the need for immediate upchuck evacuation arises, don't be surprised if you forcefully eliminate jalapeno-flavored beer, complete with a nice burn that resembles the worst case of heartburn you have ever encountered and coats your mouth ever so efficiently.

Word.

are you an alcoholic?

2007-12-21T09:47:00.000-08:00

This easy test will tell you without the use of a breathalizer...

98%ALCOHOLIC

shocka the monkey

2007-12-14T14:00:00.000-08:00

I hooked up with a couple of friends of mine, Brooke and Sean, at Emmitts before meeting M at the United Center for a Peter Gabriel show. M had gotten tickets from a client and the seats were in a sky box, meaning a private party booth with free booze and food. I could only name one song of Peter Gabriel's and that was "Shock the Monkey", although I thought it was "Shocka the Monkey". Kinda like Chaka Khan. In any respect, you don't pass up a United Center sky box when it is offered freely.

So we are sitting at bar at Emmitts bullshitting with the bartender, and he is making really good vodka cranberries. So good in fact, that I am sipping them quite quickly. And this bartender is such a good bartender that once I am finished with one, there is instantly a full one in front of me. All of a sudden, I look at the time and we had 10 minutes to get over to the concert and I had to pee.

As soon as I hopped off the bar stool, I knew I was in trouble. I had been sitting there for two and a half hours, with nothing to eat, drinking God knows how many vodkas. The room was spinning as I staggered to the ladie's room.

Let's talk about the bathroom when you are wasted. There are times when I go in the bathroom, holding the wall, trying not to sit on the pee-splattered toilet and ask myself, gee, I think I ought to slow down with the drinking tonight because I am getting pretty buzzed. Then there are the times when I cover the toilet with toilet paper, pull my pants down and just sit there, thinking, oh fuck, it's already too late, I am wasted, what am I going to do now? This was the stage I had approached that night, and I was on my way to a sky box party with M's clients to see the Shocka the Monkey guy.

After peeing about five gallons of vodka cranberries, Brooke, Sean and I jumped in a cab and headed off. I can't remember much about getting there, although it was only a short cab ride, but once we did arrive, and Brooke and Sean went their separate ways, I had the unhappy task of trying to guess which sky box M was in.

Fortunately, I found the sky box and opened the door. M welcomed me with open arms and introduced me to some people standing around a giant lobster in the middle of the room. Hungry as I was, I was needing a bathroom. Urgently.

A shadow of concern fell across M's face as he realized I was completely drunk. He discretely ushered me out the door and towards the bathrooms. Once we got there, I ran into the handicap stall and collapsed to the floor, hugging the cool bowl to my chest, vomited and passed out.

Time passed. I am not sure how much. I woke up drooling on the floor. Where was M? Why hadn't he came and got me? Was he still waiting outside?

Feeling refreshed in a bizzare sort of way, I composed myself, washed my hands and face, threw on some lipstick and went back to the sky box, and tore into the lobster that everyone had been too polite to eat. Ten minutes later, the concert was over and it was time to leave.

the huge explosion

2007-12-12T12:01:00.000-08:00

Timmy was a friend of ours who had an insane love affair with alcohol. I do not think I knew Timmy sober, he was always wired on vodka. Always. And so he was a fun person to go out with because you never knew what would happen.

One freezing cold night, after hopping from one bar to another, we had just arrived at Lemmings on Damen in Wicker Park. It was me, M, Billy and Timmy - and he was way ahead of us on the intoxication barometer. As I got out of our car, another car pulls up next to us and rolls down it's window. Here's what occurred from then on...

Guy in Car: Excuse me, but do you know where the Explosion is?
Me: The explosion?
Guy in Car: Yeah, this new bar called the Explosion?

As I turn to ask the guys if they had heard of this place, Timmy lunges into the window of the strange car and screams in complete madness with spittle spraying out everywhere: EXPLOSION? THERE'S BEEN A HUUUUGGGGE EXPLOSION!

With this, the driver hits the gas, with Timmy still half way in the window, his legs kicking out into the air. After about ten feet, the car slams on it's brakes and Timmy gets pushed out of the window, onto the pavement, and rolls to the curb.

Timmy's vodka shots were on us the remainder of the night.

We have never stopped laughing about the HUUUUGGGGE EXPLOSION!

don fucking julio

2007-12-05T16:13:00.000-08:00

I was invited to an event featuring Don Julio Tequila. I had never heard of Don Julio. Or his tequila. But I figured, with a Mexican name, how could he screw it up. Besides, it was free. Enough said.

The event was held at Smith and Wolensky. Most everyone was dressed in work attire and acting quite conservative for a Thursday night. That is until an entourage of what appeared to be Mexican go-go dancers showed up, swarming around what appeared to be the Mexican Mafia (is there such a thing?). They were dressed in white suits, humongous belt buckles, a shiny shirt, a bolo and cowboy hats. I wouldn't be surprised if they had a big gun sticking out of their pants. At first I was like, "Fuck yeah, it's Don Fucking Julio in the flesh!". But it wound up only being his grandson and some other guy.

So the go-go dancers disperse and start making margaritas and then passing them out to everyone. And I might say, these were the best damn margaritas I have ever had. Okay, the twelve best margaritas I have ever had, consecutively, in an hour and a half. Everything was going swimmingly. Until I noticed the gift bags.

Up against a wall was a table that was surrounded by full-sized shopping bags that said Don Julio on them. As I was saying goodbye to one of my friends, I asked him what his parting gift was. Basically, promotional crap, but at the bottom were three mini bottles - one each of the Don Julio flavors.

So I started to look around. There were only about twenty people left and there were at least FIFTY bags left, and not everybody was taking one with them. I disclosed this information to M and we came up with a plan.

While M stood watch, I started filling one of the gift bags with the mini bottles from the other bags, until my bag was over half full. And heavy. Then we quickly exited the party, and headed for the door. M was running ahead of me to get a taxi, and I was close behind with my bag of Don Julio. As I went through the revolving doors, I was jerked to a halt.

My bag had gotten stuck in the door. I yanked it and the fucker broke, and all the bottles crashed to the ground, liquid and glass everywhere. M is yelling for me to hurry up, I yell back that my bag broke and he tells me to get the hell out of there.

I felt like I had won the lottery but lost my ticket.

the shittiest thing i've ever done

2007-12-05T07:19:00.001-08:00

It was Saturday night and the 20th anniversary of Kronies, the tavern I worked at on Bellevue and Rush. I was the assistant manager, and my duties that night were to co-mingle with the customers and do shots. My shot was Cuervo.

After about four of these encounters with tequila, my stomach started to churn. At the point that I could no longer stand straight from intense abdominal pain, I rushed up the stairs to the bathroom alongside the manager office. This bathroom was very private, and I hoped that no one would notice my absence.

So I took a nice dump. Nothing out of the ordinary...or so I thought. You see, this particular poop was a world record poop, the kind you want to gather your friends around and find wondrous. It was at least a foot or more long. As I stared down into the bowl with pride, I knew what I must do, and I sadly flushed. And that is when the panic set in. Because even though I had this truly fantastic foot-long floater floating there, I discovered that the toilet was broken. It would not flush. And I had been gone far too long and everyone would know that it was I who had left the giant turd in the toilet!

I had to get rid of the evidence. I thought, maybe I can just take the poop out and hide it until Monday morning, when I come back to work. But where do I hide it? I frantically looked around for something, anything that would conceal. As luck would have it, the bathroom was connected to a supply closet and in the supply closet were stacks of plastic cups sealed in plastic sleeves. I tore off some of the plastic, wrapped it around my hand and reached in. After making sure my package was closed up tight, I hid it behind the cups in the very back of the closet.

With the evidence gone, I returned back to the party.

Monday came and went. It was two months before my boss found the special little package while doing inventory. No one ever knew who left the enormous shit in the supply closet.