|
|
Enron Mail |
I am cleaning out my saved personal emails. This is one you should always
save and pass on to posterity. It is the funniest email I have ever read. ----- Original Message ----- From: "David Holt" <holt@mail.motorfuels.com< To: "Jack Belcher" <jbelcher@phillips.com<; "Mark R. Pulliam" <mark.pulliam@sabre.com< Sent: Friday, December 17, 1999 1:24 PM Subject: [Fwd: Big 12 Championship Day] < I don't even send 'em unless they're real funny....now read it, and < remember back in the day.... < --------- Inline attachment follows --------- From: <c.childers@pentasafe.com< To: Big Jim Fulsome <bettis@hbs-law.com<, Cam <chappy21@mindspring.com<, Candy Clardy <cclardy@hwdinc.com<, David Holt <holt@mail.motorfuels.com<, Deana Galloway <deana_galloway@bakerbotts.com<, Don Porr <dporr@networkoil.com<, Doobie Mac <wizard2@flash.net<, Evan Dorries <edorries@russell-stanley.com<, Goose <mjvog99@cs.com<, Jeff Baker <bakerprod@aol.com<, Jill <jill.s.boeding@ac.com<, Karl Poirot <karl_poirot@kne.com<, Karla <mpoirot@mdck.com<, Laurie McNay <lmcnay@wcom.net<, Manny <mehos@coastalbanc.com<, McGillicutty <michael.guillory@telecheck.com<, Mike Pantoja <run4wine@aol.com<, Monte <mmartin@russell-stanley.com<, Pearlman <michael.pearlman@uchsc.edu<, Queen Brandiliscious <bnb1973@yahoo.com<, Steve Baker <slbdenso@aol.com<, Steve Blalock <eston@aol.com<, Tedd Hargett <tedd.hargett@mindcellar.com<, Tommy Wells <twells@situscos.com<, Fantasy Football <ffcommish@excite.com< Date: Friday, December 17, 1999 3:36:24 GMT Subject: This is long but it's damn funny. Just keep reading. I'd love to know who wrote it. Goose, did you pen this? << <<<< <<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 << << << <<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 ml 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. The band 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 every 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 now call 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 the Alamodome 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 $5 << <<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) cheer << <<of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were walking << <<back to the tunnel and Bevo 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 three 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 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 and 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 to << <<enter his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic laughter, << <<"I've been working this door for almost a 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. << << << <<9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's. << <<She is not pretty. << << << << << <<HOOK 'EM HORNS, BABY!!! Out-- << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << << < << <______________________________________________________ << <Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com << < < < < Gregg G. Gamble -------------- ggamble@onramp.net *******************Internet Email Confidentiality Footer******************* Privileged/Confidential Information may be contained in this message. If you are not the addressee indicated in this message (or responsible for delivery of the message to such person), you may not copy or deliver this message to anyone. In such case, you should destroy this message and kindly notify the sender by reply email. Please advise immediately if you or your employer does not consent to Internet email for messages of this kind. Opinions, conclusions and other information in this message that do not relate to the official business of my firm shall be understood as neither given nor endorsed by it.
|