From Sea to Shining Sea

bprize with the assist.

Social Drinking Excellence: Carolee Bildsten

I have no clue how I missed this story when it first broke. I'm actually a little upset with my crew for not bringing it to my attention sooner (especially TJ, who I know will see this and say "Oh yeah, I read about that a while back"). Not only is Bildsten clearly a Rummy Award winner, I may have to create a lifetime achievement Rummy just for this one tale. This one reads so well, I have to quote nearly the entire article.

From the TribLocal:

A Gurnee woman charged with aggravated assault for threatening a police officer with a sex toy was supposed to be reaching into a drawer for money, but instead pulled out what a department spokesman described as a “clear, rigid feminine pleasure device.”

Carolee Bildsten, 56, was with the officer at her apartment on Nov. 9 when she allegedly “approached the officer in a threatening manner,” according to Gurnee Police Cmdr. Jay Patrick.

Police had been called when Bildsten allegedly left a nearby Joe’s Crab Shack without paying her bill for a second time in a few weeks, Patrick said.

The officer saw her lying in the grass along Grand Avenue near the entrance to Six Flags Great America, Patrick said.

When the officer told Bildsten she’d either have to pay her bill or be arrested, she told him she didn’t have any money with her, but she had some cash at her nearby apartment, Patrick said.

The officer escorted her there, where Bildsten went into her bedroom, saying her money was in a dresser drawer, according to Patrick.

But instead of pulling out money, she pulled out the sex toy, and went toward the officer with it held over her head, Patrick said.

The officer was able to knock the device out of the way before being struck with it, and placed Bildsten under arrest. She was transported to the Gurnee Police Department, where she was processed.

She was charged with aggravated assault against an officer, a misdemeanor.

Bildsten was also charged with theft of labor or services for walking out on the Crab Shack bill, Patrick said. She was also charged being under the influence while walking on public roadways.

Yesterday, Ms. Bildsten told the TribLocal that she acted in self-defense. And I'm sure there are many women out there who truly believe that nothing will scare off a man more than a dildo (ladies, if that's the case, all I'll say is this: You ain't fucking with the right one). But let's apply a little logic to this self-defense argument:

1. She says that a recent report of a Gurnee officer being convicted of sexual assault had made her nervous, and led to her fearing the same of the policeman with her in her apartment. But, if this is true, then why did she even invite him into her place at all? Without her permission, he would've needed a warrant to get in there.
   
2. If the man in your bedroom is there to sexually assault you, the last thing you want to do is encourage him. Producing a sex toy from your dresser wouldn't be a deterrent, it would be an announcement that you're ready to "get this party started".
3. Bildsten says that she didn't charge towards the cop, as was originally reported. Instead, she claims, "The officer walked over to her, grabbed her arm, and the toy fell to the ground." So let me see if I've got this straight: Your attacker, standing several feet from you, sees you raise a dildo over your head, and instantly rushes toward you to knock it from your hand? Why, exactly? (In fact, this version of events wouldn't even make sense if Bildsten were to openly admit to being on the offensive. If you're a cop and this drunk woman suddenly raises a rubber dong in the air, your first reaction has got to be laughter, followed by confusion. Panic and fear don't enter the equation until she starts explaining how she intends to pay off the Crab Shack tab.)
4. Your "attacker" has clearly identified himself as a police officer. Police officers carry guns. And you never bring a dildo to a gun fight. That's just "Thugging 101".

Her side to the story, though, does seem plausible, up until the point at which she and the cop get to her apartment. In the end, I think Bildsten would be better off if she were to (a.) admit that his description of events in the second half of the incident are accurate; (b.) confess that she's a crazy drunk who loves a good dildo; and (c.) plead guilty, apologize, and move on with her life. Hell, maybe she could even get an endorsement deal with Adam & Eve. "When I'm playing 'Cops & Robbers', I beat them off with Adam & Eve."

Carolee, your Rummy's in the mail. It may not be very useful in the "feminine pleasure" department, but at least a potential attacker will take you seriously when you brandish it.

Weird Science

Pouring beers is soooo 2010...




My boy T.C. with the assist.

Drunks Say the Darndest Things 3

I may be the only one who loves these quote posts so much—and I don’t care. I’m totally fine with the fact that this is all for me.

Pulling these together is never as easy as it would seem. There’s a wealth of material, sure; but often I neglect to make note of quotes as they happen, and therefore don’t have it at the ready when writing out the story (it may be shocking to read, but sometimes I tend to forget things when I’ve been drinking). Of those I do remember, I try to save some for a DSTDT post, but inevitably a lot of quotes are told as parts of other narratives. Typical of this new age of social media, though, I did manage to collect a couple from my friends’ Facebook status updates (that’s right folks—nothing’s sacred anymore). And, as usual, I have also included one of the many random moments of brilliance from years past that have sat in my crew’s vault, dusty and unpublished—until now.

• During our pre-Brewski, Friday-night-on-the-town in Johnstown last April, Dupa was in rare form. He put on a one-man show, dancing with the girls, wearing Shannon’s earrings, and spitting out zingers left and right. Far more than the alcohol, though, what seemed to inspire his verbal mastery on this night was our favorite doctor’s revealing attire. During one pause in the group’s convo, he turned to Dr. Kelly and—saying, “Let’s pretend I’m an ostrich and your cleavage is a sand pit”—buried his face in her chest.
  
  The best of his best, however, came not much later. The girls and guys had momentarily dissolved into separate conversations, and during a small break in ours Dupa looked over again at Dr. By then he was merely the dummy to the booze’s ventriloquist act, and didn’t seem to realize that his thoughts weren’t being restricted to his head. Barely loud enough for her to hear, he said, “I’m BP, and you’re the Gulf Coast; wanna see my oil spill?”
  
  
• The following night at Seven Springs, after a long day of Brewski pregaming, Brewski Festing, and Brewski after-partying, our cast of characters found themselves pushed to their limits. By the end of the night we were a broken and battered platoon administering battlefield triage throughout the sprawling mountain resort. When he dragged himself over to the bar to get a beer at last call, Entertainer found LRG standing there alone, finishing a drink.
  
  Within seconds they were approached by a bouncer who was visibly unhappy. Pointing at LRG, the bouncer barked, “He’s cut off!” Entertainer, stunned, assured the bouncer that he would keep LRG from causing more trouble. “Look, it’s last call, so he’s not drinking more anyways,” he argued. The bouncer relented, and walked off. Despite the confrontation, LRG had remained decidedly unfazed.
  
  Entertainer: “What did you do?"
  LRG: “I don’t know. Kicked a table? Hit a girl? *shrug*”
  
  
• My manager may be a grandmother, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hang. I’ve seen this firsthand on a few business trips; the years, however, may finally be catching up to her. Last month her daughter got married, and among the dessert items at the reception were cannolis filled with a cream made with three different kinds of liquor. And it seems the baker used a liberal amount of each alcohol in the creation of these On the Rocks-worthy pastries, to the point where my manager told me, “I didn’t drink much at the wedding; but then when I went to bed…the ceiling fan wasn’t on, but it was moving.”
  
  
• Last Memorial Day, TD was out of hand. She bounced around without stoppage at her and Baby Joey’s annual party, dancing, yelling at people randomly, and kissing her girlfriends in true barsexual spirit. Late in the night, she and her friend Leah were the subject of a fantastic picture, in which Leah sat in shock as her friend performed an impromptu lap dance on her. Leah’s facial expression as TD’s sundress is thrust at her in the photo is priceless. After I showed them the picture, TD summed up the moment captured by the digital eye. “Everything Leah does with her face, I do with my crotch.”
  
  
• One weeknight last spring, her girl 2Ls popped up in my Facebook news feed with a quick message to a dear friend. “hangover, I'll meet you in the morning, 8am, give or take... until then, have a good night..”
  
  
• How in the name of Jack Daniels do you ever begin a serious drinking session knowing you haven’t eaten within the last several hours? I just can’t imagine another drinking rule as clear-cut and painfully obvious as “drinking on an empty stomach will destroy you”. And yet, one recent Tuesday morning I had the following conversation with a friend who had been sending me drunk texts at 6 pm the day before.
  
  Me: “So how you feeling today?”
  Him: “All good. A little lightheaded this morning, but I think that's because I haven't eaten in 24 hours. I puked twice, and I should not have driven home last night.”
  Me: “So, explain to me exactly how you say to yourself, ‘I haven't had any food all day. I should ingest some alcohol.’"
  Him: “Silly... I didn't start talking to myself ‘til drink #8 or so.”
  
  
• Pakistanimal’s birthday was last June, and we decided to keep it somewhat reserved. TJ, Dupa, and Pak pregamed at my place, and then we all hit the ‘Side to make the blurry happen. We were soon joined at the William Penn Tavern by a murderer’s row of LRG and a few of his homies, Jay Swag, and Mitch Canada. After several rounds of birthday shots and various drinks, Pak was dazed, and found himself in a moment of defiant truthfulness while staring at a random bar slore nearby. “Yeah, I’m fucked up,” he announced to her, “and I’m looking at your tits.”
  
  
• A few days before St. Patty’s Day 2010, my buddy Weatherman was looking for a pair of smiling Irish eyes on Facebook. “Any Irish girls want to hang out? I'm drunk off Captain, and we could make one hell of an Irish pirate.”
  
  
• A couple of Fridays ago, several of us took part in a bar crawl organized by one of TD’s friends. TJ and his girlfriend, who was in town visiting, were in attendance. Since “Racktacular” (TJ’s own turn of a phrase, not mine) lives in Tampa, it took until that night for her to finally be introduced to TD. It wasn’t long, though, before she and the crazy little blonde girl had become good buddies. At the second stop on the tour, a moment of beer-fueled jubilation took hold of TD, as she said to Rackt, “We just met—let’s bump boobs!”
  
  
• Tony, also taking part in the crawl (by the way: all proceeds were going to charity, so it would’ve been socially irresponsible of us to not get sloppy drunk that night), found himself engaged in conversation with two random guys at one of the bars. After he finally pulled himself away from his new fan club, Tony then had to deal with TJ, Dupa, and I, who of course made many comments and unfounded insinuations about his true sexual orientation and the intentions of the two strangers. His immediate response, though, did little to halt that line of thinking. Waving off our jokes, he countered, “Dudes fucking love me.”
  
  
• One night several years ago, BlahBlahBlah, myself, and a few others met up at Hooters in Station Square (which has since closed) for happy hour drinks and food. The Hooters Girls were running a sports trivia game, wherein each table competed against the others to be the first to correctly answer questions. Midway through the contest, the sexy waitress in charge of it read aloud a question involving Earvin “Magic” Johnson. BBB found himself unable to hold back his mouth, instantly (and quite audibly) shooting back, “I’ll give you a ‘magic’ Johnson.’”

No Good People -- "Chug"

I think On the Rocks may have just found a new theme song.

*sigh* I miss college.

Mainstream Moonshine

I may live in the North, but I'm no stranger to moonshine (and, let's not kid ourselves; Western Pennsylania's a lot more "Kentucky backwoods" than "uptown Manhattan"). For some time, Finn & Genoa kept a large jug of moonshine in their basement. When we would occassionally convene at their house for a night of beer pong and drunken fun, the jug would inevitably be passed around, and then we'd all wake up on the floor the next morning. And no matter how many times this happened, the amount of moonshine in the jug never seemed to lessen. It was like a bottomless pit of hangovers and sorrow.

This past Xmas Eve Eve, Dupa brought a mason jar of homemade hell with him. True, it tasted like apple pie, but it was not the stuff of sweet little grandmothers. When I awoke the following day, I found the mason jar sitting in my fridge, with some of the brew still left in it. That jar has sat in the same place ever since. We have an understanding of sorts: I don't disturb it, it doesn't lead me to wake up naked in the woods next to the carcass of a freshly-killed deer.

There are now micro-distilleries popping up all around the country, where drinking "moonshine" is not only legal, it's given the same treatment as a wine tasting trip to a vineyard would. Which is giving me a great movie idea—think Sideways meets Road Trip. NBC's "Today Show" took a look at this new take on the good ol' boy staple (bonus lol's come at the end, when the reporter starts taste testing, and is about a shot and a dare away from dancing on a table).

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Wifey Material: Scarlett Johansson

There's irony in announcing Scarlett's wifey qualifications, seeing as she just recently filed for divorce from Ryan Reynolds. But her phenomenal attributes don't disappear just because he failed to make it work (or, more likely, realized he would be insane to limit himself to just one woman—ridiculously hot though she may be—at the pinnacle of his career). On the contrary, I think those of us not annually named to People's 50 Most Beautiful list would play a game of Russian Roulette with an Uzi for the chance at spending some quality time with Miss Johansson's attributes.

And now she's the new face of Moët & Chandon, which only inflates her stock higher. After all, if you have to be wifed-up at a party, who better with than a gorgeous chick who can get a free case of the best bubbly with a mere phone call?

Social Drinking Excellence: Paz de la Huerta

You know, I typically like to space these out by a week or two. But this is the third great display of public drunkeness in the past week (and this time with video, no less!), and I feel it's my duty to share it with you. Though I think I also may be in danger of spoiling you.

This is a rare case of the Rummy recipient being a pseudo-celebrity. Seems the "Boardwalk Empire" vixen was de la Hurtin after the People's Choice Awards ceremony, to the point where she was denied entry to the after party by the bouncer. Then, after visiting another party, she (a.) tripped and fell while trying to walk towards a cab, and (b.) walked around with her titty out like she was on the video set for a Janet Jackson and Lil Kim collabo [I'm sure the fellas will be disappointed to find out that the nudity in question is blurred out in the video; but luckily, Paz shows much less modesty on "Boardwalk Empire", having shown her fine form in many of the first season's episodes].

From the Daily Mail (which gives a fantastic full account of the events):

The doorman is seen saying to her, 'I can't let you in', to which she replies, 'But my friends are in there.'

He then helps her into her waiting car, where, from the looks of the video, she is driven to another party.

The video then cuts her to leaving another venue as she holds on to a male friend for support, who is trying to guide her through the cameras.But moments later she slips and falls into the [curb], as one photographer is heard saying, 'yep, that was the one I was waiting for.'

However, despite her drunken state - and exposing her left breast - she still managed to sign an autograph and tell a waiting reporter that she thought Ricky Gervais was funny.

According to reports, Paz was said to have been drinking steadily right the way through the Golden Globes ceremony which might explain why she didn't join her castmates on stage as they posed with their two [awards].

What a trooper. Drunk as a sorority girl at a formal, she still signs a fan's autograph and defends Gervais.

Paz, I typically hand out these Rummy Awards as sort of a boozing dunce cap. But I'm almost proud of your antics here (the fact that you're hot and have more curves than the letter S is helping you with the judges, of course). Your award's in the mail, along with a box of Alka Seltzer and knee pads.

Panamanians Like it in the Can

"It" being scotch, of course.

Panama-based Scottish Spirits (that alone should make you weary of drinking their product before you even bother considering their packaging ideas) is now selling "Whiskey in a can." Yep, that's a cold 12 oz. of the (South American) highlands' best.

From the Daily Mail:

Scottish Spirits launched the tins last week, the first time straight whisky has been sold in a can.

Chief executive Manish Panshal said: ‘We are really thrilled with the idea – it’s going to be a part of every lifestyle and occasion.

‘The can is the perfect size to be shared between three people who can mix it with other things like cola.

This idea is so manically stupid that I don't have any contempt left in me to focus on their suggestion that scotch can be mixed with cola. I do, however, instantly see a marketing angle for this in the US. You can't tell me you'd be shocked to see some backwoods yokel sitting on top of a motorhome, pouring a can of this stuff into his Pepsi in the Talladega infield.

[Calm down, NASCAR Nation; I'm not suggesting that ALL of you fit this description. Most of you? Sure. But certainly not all of you.]

I'm already mentally preparing myself for TV ads featuring Larry the Cable Guy. "Whisky-in-a-can. Get 'er dunn at yer local Walmart liquor aisle!" *shivers*

Social Drinking Excellence: Franck Lebrun

Sometimes the stories, well...sometimes they just write themselves.

From CNN.com:

During the flight, the crew suspected that someone had been smoking cigarettes in one of the lavatories. Other passengers said it was Lebrun, so the crew confronted him once, and then a second time when he again headed for the bathroom. Lebrun looked intoxicated and smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, according to the complaint.

He then approached a flight attendant "in an aggressive manner" and pushed her away, according to the complaint. When she told him not to touch her, Lebrun pushed her away again, court papers say.

After more tense moments, a federal air marshal identified himself to Lebrun and told him to return to his seat.

As Lebrun walked toward the back of the plane "he continued to shout and waive [sic] his arms in an excited manner," according to the complaint.

Two other air marshals identified themselves to Lebrun and asked him to show his passport.

Lebrun continued to scream and yell expletives and then "aggressively positioned himself toward one of the federal air marshals in a fighting stance," court papers say. The marshals then handcuffed him and seated him in the back of the plane.

"Lebrun continued to verbally abuse individuals around him, yelling in substance 'I'm French, f*** you!'" according to the complaint.

Where do I begin? Rude, drunk, arrogant, chain-smoking—Lebrun is so stereotypically French that I can practically smell the B.O. I wish they'd included his mugshot in the article, because without one I can't help but picture him as Jean Reno.

Air travel can test your patience, even when you're just taking a quick Atlanta-to-Savannah connecting flight. A trans-Atlantic flight? The airline should give you free booze and a happy ending just to endure 7+ hours in the sky. All of which excuses Lebrun for his attempt to be the first person since the shoe bomber to smoke on an airplane. But once he's been caught and warned, that's where drunken stupidity takes over. You're locked in an aluminum tube in the sky with the same 500 people—the flight attendants aren't exactly going to forget your face. Then, after three different air marshals have identified themselves and joined the fray, Lebrun actually squares up with them? I know a US Air Marshal; trust me, these are not the guys you want to fight. And a 1-on-3 rumble with them is just suicidal for anyone short of a Special Ops commando. [You have to love the stereotypical Frenchness continuing: Lebrun takes his "fighting stance" and is immediately subdued without an actual fight. I'd almost swear this was written by the folks at Funny or Die.]

So how did Reno Lebrun get so mind-erasingly hammered to suddenly think he was the French Jason Bourne?

After Lebrun was detained, the crew found a one-liter bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream liquor in his carry-on bag that was almost empty, according to the complaint.

He was drunk off of Bailey's Irish Cream? Are you serious? Lebrun's just gone from Léon to Pepe Le Pew. I rarely advise sobriety, but... If you can't handle Bailey's, then you might want to stick to Evian.

Franck, your Rummy's in the mail. It comes with a secret compartment filled with Zima, if you want to try something a little more manly next time.

Seeing's Believing

Fellas, the next time your morning after includes a surprise visitor—the kind that puts the "shame" in "walk of shame"—and your boys start preparing their Last Comic Standing auditions, remind them that you're the victim in this tragedy.

From Delish:

The study, which was published in the journal Alcohol (yes, it's real and academic), was conducted by scientists from Rochampton University in England. The study questioned why heavy alcohol consumption increased levels of attraction in people. The scientists theorized that this could be due to impaired perception of bilateral asymmetry in faces.

...As they expected, the scientists found that the inebriated students were unable to detect symmetry as well as the sober students. The drunk young Brits did not consistently prefer the symmetrical faces to the asymmetrical faces, unlike the sober ones. The unexpected finding was that men made fewer mistakes than women when determining facial symmetry - even when under the influence of alcohol.

So, while we guys have been conditioned to be ashamed of ourselves for letting the multiple rounds of Jager Bombs lower our standards, it's been the girls who've been using us for cheap and shameful mattress aerobics.

*curls into a ball in the shower, sobbing* "It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's not my fault..."

Researchers say the study gives evidence that lowered inhibitions aren't the only cause behind beer goggles. Our ability to perceive instinctual visual cues of attraction is compromised, and this misleads the sloshed brain to see attraction where the sober brain doesn't.

Which sounds to me like...the classical definition of beer goggles. Exactly how much time and money did they waste on this research? This sounds like a big excuse to get a bunch of strangers drunk and horny. A few of those test subjects may be sobbing in their showers, too.

Don't worry guys. It's not your fault.

Social Drinking Excellence: Chris Heuring

Those pregnancy cravings are no joke. And forget the days of a husband being sent to a store in the middle of the night for pickles and ice cream—that's old school. Nowadays they get sent straight to the Mickey D's drive-thru, even when they're hammered.

From the Southeast Missourian:

Scott County Sheriff Rick Walter said his department received a call at about 11:40 p.m. Saturday regarding a man with a shotgun at the drive-through window of the McDonald's restaurant on Highway 77 at the Interstate 55 interchange at Benton.

"They had told him the store was closed," Walter said. "He demanded one of the employees to open the window."

The employee reportedly responded by advising only the manager could open the window.

"He told the employee he wanted food and pointed the shotgun at that time," Walter said. "He said, 'If I don't bring some food home for my wife, she's going to kill me.'

It almost feels unfair to give this Rummy Award to Mr. Heuring without hearing his wife's side of the story. Did she really send him there for an Extra Value Meal, under the threat of life and limb? And, if so, was the shotgun her idea? Or was it just the extreme to which a desperate and terrified man will go?

Oh sure, you might say, "D.E.F.I., don't be silly. Even if Heuring's wife DID order him to go all 'Fun with Dick and Jane' on the local Mickey D's, she'd never confess to it." Not true, I say. This is the South, remember. She could give an interview on the steps to her trailer, 8 months pregnant and spitting tobacco between mispronounced sentences, shouting, "Yur damn raht ahs tol'em to do it! Dat goodfernuthin summabitch needa post bail ahriddy sos he cin make a Pahpeyz run! What, ahre me & da babay suhposa do, live on just frahd Twinkees?!?"

[Crooked Straight is not responsible for the offensiveness of D.E.F.I.'s terrible and stereotypical print impression of a Southern accent...But you know any woman married to this guy HAS to talk like that.]

Either he's a drunken idiot blaming his pregnant wife for his decision to use the threat of deadly force to score some McNuggets, or he's put his seed in a woman willing to risk his freedom and safety in return for her McRib sandwich [okay, that's just hypocritical of me—who among us hasn't been similarly tempted by a McRib?]. In either case, Chris, you've earned this Rummy. Take a long hard look at it the next time you're in the mood for a late-night snack. ...Or procreation.

Four Loko Saves the World

As On the Rocks has methodically investigated Four Loko—a.k.a. the Drink That Will Live in Infamy—we have learned first of its dangers, and then later of its culinary merits. Now it seems there is yet another facet to the wonder lurking in these camouflaged 24 oz. cans.

From The Huffington Post:

RICHMOND, Va. — Truckloads of Four Loko and other alcohol-laced energy drinks are being recycled into ethanol and other products after federal authorities told manufacturers the beverages were dangerous and caused users to become "wide-awake drunk."

Wholesalers from Virginia, North Carolina, Maryland and other East Coast states started sending cases of the high-alcohol, caffeinated malt beverages to MXI Environmental Services in Virginia after the U.S. Food and Drug Administration announced a crackdown on the sale of such beverages in November.

...MXI distills the alcohol from the drinks, then sells the fuel to be blended into gasoline, Potter said. It sells the aluminum cans to a recycler. Potter estimated it takes "30 days until it's back on the shelf as another beer can." It also recycles the drinks' water, cardboard packaging and shipping pallets.

"These are actually things that could go directly into a landfill or incinerator or some other waste process that's not as environmentally friendly, so I think it's a good thing," he said.

Sometime soon your car, powered by Four Loko, could take you to a store to buy a case of beer cans made from recycled Loko cans; the pizza you buy while blacked out at 3 a.m. could be sold in a box made of cardboard recycled from Loko cases; and bottles of water you chug the next day could also be recycled from Loko. Now that's a harmony of existence.

I tangled with the Loko again on New Year's Eve, and I can attest to its effectiveness as an energy source. It fueled me through five or six hours of madness before I crashed into a brick wall disguised as Shannon's couch. And here I was thinking I'd been reckless with my intoxicated antics that night; turns out I was actually being environmentally-responsible.

Wifey Material: Angela Yee

Angela Yee, I think I love you. From her Twitter feed:

"You ever be at work and you just need a drink? #morebelve"

Viva Bill Murray!

This is a bit of an interesting turn on the old "be kind to strangers" fable.

New York City bargoer Mike Impollonia and his friends were kicking it at a karaoke bar one recent night, doing their thing. And then they spotted the one and only Bill Murray. They made some smalltalk with him, and graciously invited the legendary actor and his female companions to join them in their room of the bar. Mike and his buddies didn't really expect Murray to take them up on the offer, though. I mean, he's a famous guy out on the town with two chicks. Why would he hang with some young guys he doesn't even know?

Well...because Bill Murray's a bad mother-shut-your-mouth, that's why. From The Chive:

"About 15 minutes later we get a knock on the door... IT'S BILL F@#KING MURRAY! We were all shocked of course but at that point we were already pretty trashed so the party just kept going. He was super nice and they all fit right in. His girl was really cute, and as far as i remember, from Amsterdam. She sang a bunch of random French songs!

At some point he bought us all a round of some weird green drink and wouldn't tell us what it was. I later found out it was Chartreuse some French liqueur made by monks. Apparently you are supposed to sip it ... like an idiot I just shot it down.

The high point was when Bill and I sang a duet of an Elvis song called, "Marie's the Name." Random I know, but so was the night. We were all drinking and dancing and screaming our asses off.

We tried not to make him feel uncomfortable though of course later we all joked about picking the Ghostbusters theme. Amazingly, they stuck around the entire night, about 4 hours. As you can imagine it was all pretty surreal. Something I will never ever forget…Viva Bill Murray!"

Along with this tale at The Chive are several pictures of Mike, his peoples, Bill, and his French-speaking lady friend kicking it NY karaoke style. Sounds like a sick night. I typically hate karaoke, but I think I'd look past that to be able to say I drank all night with Bill Murray.

Smooth Off

I consider it a major failing of my life that I'm not hanging with Diddy and Aziz on the regular. Maybe then I could be this smooth. Or at least have a bangin Italian chick on my arm.