|
|
Enron Mail |
I dont know...sounds like opening day to me....or my days in new Orleans.
It's several attachments down and long but you 'Horns boys will particularly enjoy C. ----- Original Message ----- From: Mike Wilson Sent: Wednesday, May 01, 2002 11:44 AM To: Trent Schiek; Stormy Knipe; Stewart Geldersma; Scott Birdwell; Russell White; riche crowell; Reisor Pickett; Pete Bell; John Shanklin; Jeff Krone; Chad Weigman; Chad Knipe; Bill Carlson Subject: Fw: Another day in the life... -----Original Message----- From: terry saenz <tsigns5@hotmail.com< To: aguerra@bigwaha.com <aguerra@bigwaha.com<; s_basedow@hotmail.com <s_basedow@hotmail.com<; brad.a.easterling@accenture.com <brad.a.easterling@accenture.com<; jsines555@hotmail.com <jsines555@hotmail.com<; mpreng81@yahoo.com <mpreng81@yahoo.com<; mot@pentasafe.com <mot@pentasafe.com<; richecrowell2@hotmail.com <richecrowell2@hotmail.com<; spreng55@hotmail.com <spreng55@hotmail.com<; mikew@cottonrestorationinc.com <mikew@cottonrestorationinc.com< Date: Tuesday, April 30, 2002 1:56 PM Subject: Fwd: Another day in the life... <this is long, but very much worth the time. very funny < < <<From: Michael Collier <mbcollier34@yahoo.com< <<To: tsigns5@hotmail.com <<Subject: Fwd: Another day in the life... <<Date: Tue, 30 Apr 2002 11:14:16 -0700 (PDT) << << << << Note: forwarded message attached. << << << <<--------------------------------- <<Do You Yahoo!? <<Yahoo! Health - your guide to health and wellness < < <_________________________________________________________________ <Chat with friends online, try MSN Messenger: http://messenger.msn.com < --------- Inline attachment follows --------- From: <stridernoone@yahoo.com< To: mbcollier34@yahoo.com, jason.tindall@whitakermedical.com, kkirk33@cs.com Date: Tuesday, April 30, 2002 1:29:15 GMT Subject: Note: forwarded message attached. __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! Health - your guide to health and wellness http://health.yahoo.com --------- Inline attachment follows --------- From: <jayson.w.russ@lmco.com< To: Noone Strider (E-mail) (E-mail) <stridernoone@yahoo.com<, Chad Shaw (E-mail) <Chad.Shaw@gecapital.com< Date: Tuesday, April 30, 2002 11:47:11 GMT Subject: Jayson Russ F-16 Estimating X54279 MZ: 8712 < -----Original Message----- < From: Holt, Benjamin J < Sent: Monday, April 29, 2002 4:43 PM < To: Russ, Jayson W < Subject: FW: < < < < I think this may have been some of my friends? Sound familiar? < < < < If you've ever been < < drunk < < < < at a sporting event, or been with someone who has, you can relate... < < < < < This is an e-mail from some guy named J.D. Horne, who, according to < the < < < < messages that were attached to this, is not a 21 year old frat punk, < < but < < < < an attorney of indeterminate age. He sent it to his friend and it < got < < < < forwarded around the country. You have to give the guy some props < for < < < < being self-deprecating...but I hope I ever meet him on game day - < heck, < < < < I'm hung over just from reading it. A chronology of events for < Saturday, < < < < December 4, 1999, and the early morning hours of Sunday, December 5, < < < 1999: < < < < < < < < 6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking < < blast < < < < < < < < 6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels < < < < < < < < 7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning) < < < < < < < < < 8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer) < < < < < < < < 8:53 Crack open second beer < < < < < < < < 8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea) < < < < < < < < 10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for < smoooooth < < 95 < < < < < < < < 10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome - Nebraska vs Texas) < < < < < < < < 10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities < < < < < < < < 11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a < < liquor < < < < store and buy the good ol' 750 plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam < < < < < < < < 11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud < in < < the < < < < sky. About 70 degrees. < < < < < < < < 11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the shit out of Nebraska. < < < < < < < < 11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go fuck himself. < < < < < < < < 12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the < < < < < second floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple < < hundred < < < < of us). We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. Theband doubles < back < < < < to the street right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and < The < < < < Eyes of Texas. AWESOME MOMENT. < < < < < < < < 12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping < < < < < chests with one another, each and very one of them now secure and < < certain < < < < of the fact that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska. < < < < < < < < 1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, < we < < < < hoot and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops < < < right < < < < below us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight < < < < < songs. Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we < remain < < < < convinced that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska. < < < < < < < < 1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff < the < < < < "Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants. < < < < < < < < 1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans.They are taunting me. < I < am < < < < taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the shit out < of < < < < Nebraska. I decide to challenge < < < < a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play what < < < < I nowcall and will forever be remembered as "Cell-Phone Flop Out." < < < < Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this < < < < Nebraska jackass that if he's so confident < < < < in his team, he should "flop out" his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make < < plane < < < < reservations to Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these < < < < memorable words: "And not < < < < those damn refundable tickets, either! You request those < non-refundable, < < < < non-transferrable sons-of-bitches!" He backs down. He is unworthy. I < < < call < < < < Southwest Airlines and < < < < buy two tickets to Phoenix,< non-refundable and non-transferrable. < < Price: < < < < $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in shame. I raise my cell < phone < < in < < < < triumph to the cheers < < < < of hundreds of Texas fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. < < < < I distribute the 11 beers in my pants to the cheering masses. I RULE < < < the < < < < pre-game kingdom. < < < < < < < < 2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour < < my < < < < first stiffy. < < < < < < < < 2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is < fast. < < < < Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas. < < < < < < < < 3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for < Texas. < < < < Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still < < < < talking shit. I pour another stiffy from the Traveler. < < < < < < < < 3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: The Traveler is a dead < < soldier. < < < < I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am < standing < < < < in line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and < < < < rolls out of the end zone. Safety. < < < < < < < < 3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another < < Traveler. < < < < < < < < 4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at < halftime, < < < < I attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend < bathroom: < < < < "Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice cock." He is unamused. < < < < < < < < 4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from theAlamodome merchants. I < share < < my < < < < beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, < they < < are < < < < equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase < < Sprites, < < < < so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. Nebraska < is < a < < < < bunch of pussies. < < < < < < < < 4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their < < < < lives. I purchase two more $5 beers from < < < < the Alamodome merchants. < < < < < < < < 5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. < This < < < < normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football < field. < < < < < < < < 5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have < < been < < < < confirmed and are non-refundable and < < < < non-transferrable." < < < < < < < < 5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession < < < < counter. As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer < can < be < < < < sold when there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am < enraged < < by < < < < this policy. I ask loudly: "Why the fuck didn't you announce last < call < < < < over the fucking PA system??!!" < < < < < < < < 5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a < < < < sudden, the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. "Whazzis?," I mutter, < < < < awaking from my coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?" Alas, the < answer < is < < < < no, we were not winning and we did not score. The largest (by far) < < cheerof < < < < the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were < walking < < < < back to the tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot) stopped to take a < < < < gargantuan shit all over the letters "S", "K", and "A" in the < "Nebraska" < < < < spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the empty < < < < Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty. < < < < < < < < 6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I < < would < < < < taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I < am < < too < < < < drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of < the < < < < evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in < < < < < October, they would be playing Florida State for the national < < < < championship. < < < < < < < < 6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the 8:00 < < < < Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the < < < < day! I crack open a beer. It is warm. I don't care. < < < < < < < < 7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store.I < walk < < < < past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder < < if < < < < it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and < < drink < < < < the Zima in swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the < < frig. < < < < < < < < 7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the< < < < < ingredients are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no < < one < < < < there. I lean over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black < < < < olives. I eat them. I am still hungry. I lean further over the < counter < < < < and grab approximately two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the < store < < < < grunting and eating Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear me. I < don't < < < < care. < < < < < < < < 8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and < singing < < < < Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my < < < < < singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other < < < good < < < < songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone" and "Neon < Moon" < < and < < < < that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times each was a < bit < < < < excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD play on its < < < own. < < < < I tell him to fuck off and restart "Neon Moon." < < < < < < < < 8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud < and < < < < profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking < < garage. < < < < I tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out.I tell < him < we < < < < may as well pitch a fucking tent here. He ignores me. I think he's < still < < < < pissed about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle "Neon Moon" < loudly. < < < < < < < < 8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're < going < < < < to kick the shit out of Arizona. < < < < < < < < 9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the < < < < < bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because < of < < the < < < < new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona < fans < in < < < < the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I < have < a < < < < "Niiiiiice cock." No one is amused but me. < < < < < < < < 9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can. < < < < Needless to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center,much less < < Bud < < < < Light out of a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get < that, < < < < sir?" < < < < I tell him (no shit): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up < with < < < < those little plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away < for < < < < me?" I take< the last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I < pretend < < < < I'm going to the bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck < into < < < < some entrance to avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak < into < a < < < < large group of people and sit down. < The usher walks by harmlessly. < I < < am < < < < giggling like a little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light. < < < < < < < < 9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my < bearings. < < < < I have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing. < < < < < < < < 10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have < cleared < < out < < < < the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the < < < < surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and < perhaps < I < < < < shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to fuck off. < < < < < < < < 10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst fucking call I have EVER < < seen," < < < < I attempt to remove my hat again to < < < < begin beating inanimate objects. However, on this occasion I < < miscalculate < < < < and I thumbnail myself in my left eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch < < < gash < < < < over my eye. I am now bleeding into my left eye and all over my < shirt. < < < < Perhaps," I think to myself, "I'm taking this a bit too seriously." < < < < < < < < 10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am < swaying < < < < and grunting. I have a bloody napkin < < < < pressed on my left eye. My pants are bloody. I have my (formerly) < white < < < < shirt wrapped around my waist. I look< like I should be in an < episode < of < < < < Cops. < < < < < < < < 10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body < and < < make < < < < my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good < < < < samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, < but < I < < < < merely grunt incoherently and keep moving. < < < < < < < < 10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I < walk < < up < < < < six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will < punch < < him < < < < in the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the < truck, < < < < and < < < < collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice < < < that < < < < traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole < flights, < < and < < < < no one is moving. I take a nap. < < < < < < < < 11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I < lift < < my < < < < head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is < lined < < up < < < < all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is < moving. < < I < < < < am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid < cocksucker." < < < < < < < < 11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice < that < < < < traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole < flights, < < and < < < < no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker." < < < < < < < < 11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice < that < < < < traffic is lined up all the way around the < < < < garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a < < < < "Stupid cocksucker." < < < < < < < < 11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice < that < < < < traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole < flights, < < and < < < < no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker." < < < < < < < < 11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out < the < < < < bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the < < < < < second floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the < parking < < < < facility, and pee off the sixth floor onto the< street below. My < friend < < < < looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn < around < < < < pee on the front of his truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon < Moon." < < < < < < < < 12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and < go < < from < < < < vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I < < return < < < < to my vehicle. < < < < < < < < 12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to < my < < < < apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened < bottle < < of < < < < Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to < die < < < < tonight. < < < < < < < < 12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We < < < < < decide it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. < Ed < < has < < < < to pee. He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into < the < < full < < < < length mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of < < pieces. < < < < We giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's. < < < < < < < < 1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts < < < < toenter his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic < < < < laughter, "I've been working this door for almosta year. I've been < < working < < < < doors in this town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I < < < < < ain't< never seen three drunker mother fuckers than you three. < Sorry, < < < < can't let you in." We attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder. < < < < < < < < 1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door < and < < < < hear "Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See, < dat < < < < wasn't that fuckin' hard. Day don't fuckin' do that at the < Awamo...the < < < < awaom...the alab...fuck it, that stadium we was at today..." We < order < 6 < < < < shots of tequila and three beers. < < < < < < < < 2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the < two < < < < and one half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him < $10 < < and < < < < tell him to keep it. < < < < < < < < 2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are < seated < < < < immediately. < < < < < < < < 2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of < soup, < < < < two orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a < hamburger, < < two < < < < cheese stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion < rings. < < < < < < < < 2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the < table. < < < < The waiter wakes us up. We eat every < < < < fucking bit of our food. Most of the restaurant patrons around us < are < < < < disgusted. We don't give a fuck. The tab is $112 with tip. < < < < < < < < 2:46 I'm sleepy. < < < < < < < < 12:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at < Katz's. < < < < She is not pretty. < < < < < < < < HOOK 'EM HORNS, BABY!!! Out- <
|