These Thirteen Things I know Are True

Maybe it's just me...but...

I don't care who you are, what you do, or where you come from...if you're a man and can't work a book of matches....I do not want to know you.

It doesn't matter how hard I try...I will never have more fun than I did when I was 21.

It's weird...I've gone to church only twice in the last two years, but I refuse to eat meat on Fridays during Lent...as if that will be my "get out of Hell free" card upon my demise.

My "Mike Shannon #19" StL Cardinals jersey will be THE coolest jersey at Busch Stadium this summer.

You think you don't like:
Bruce Springsteen? Listen to "Does This Bus Stop At 82nd Street
"Elton John? Listen to "Mona Lisa and Mad Hatters"
U2? Listen to "One"
All preconceived notions will be changed.

Hey Hardees...not every sandwhich has to be a "Monster" something.

Smashing Pumpkins...overated? or Underated? You decide.

Bob Marley was right.

Americans wearing other countries soccer jerseys...that's going to be huge in '05.

I will probably never be happy with anything I do in life...but if I ever see a poster of me for sale at "Spencers"...I will disapear forever. Nothing beats that.

What was Bob Marley right about? Try everything.

It's official...talking about "Napolean Dynamite" is now better than actually watching the movie.

If it's 1:30 in the morning and you're thinking about your ex...yeah, that's a bad night.



In The Face! The Face!

I'm driving back from class yesterday and there's a young fella named "Spinmaster" on the local sports radio station talking about how he and his friends will be in town for the next few days playing a little basketball.

Perhaps you have heard of them.
With names like:
"Half Man Half Amazing",
"The Pharmacist",
"High Octane", and
"The Professor"

Yeah, that's right And1 is coming to my town.

No fouls. No traveling. Streetball.

So I'm hearing this knucklehead (Spinmaster) talking about how they've got a game Friday night at the Keil (er, Savis) Center. The radio DJ's (Howard and Malcolm, ESPN 1380 3-6 cst.) started saying that they would be giving away two tickets for the game on their show tomorow.

One thought entered my mind: "I'm winning those mother-f'n tickets."

Today's show rolls around and they say that the big e-mail of the day will win two tickets for the And1 game tomorow night. Now this was all fine and dandy until they said what the topic of the day is :

1) Why would Prince Charles leave Princess Di for Camilla?


2) Who is the sexiest couple in sports?

Are you fucking kidding me? That's THE weakest topic I had ever heard. I don't give a fuck about the royal fucking family...and hottest couples? This is ESPN Radio, not VH-fucking-1.

So, I give myself and hour to sizzle down and think of something to write these guys. I hit them up with this little beaut:

Prince Charles? Are you kidding me?
The only royals you guys should be talking about are Mike Sweeney, Jose Lima, and Jose Lima's wife.

Speaking of the Lima's ...

The hottest couple in sports...put me down for Jeff Garcia and his two hot fighting girl-friends.
So what if that's not technically a couple?

Nothing says sexy like a drunken bar-room cat fight.

Alex Fritz

Two hours later...BOOM...Big E-Mail of the day...it's being read on the air and now...well, now I've got bad ass seats to watch the modern day HArlem Globetrotters.

I'm thinking about challenging "50" to a game of horse.

Rack It!



Big Trouble In Little East Dubuque

Yes, Mardi Gras was a blast, but I was reminded by my buddy Damon (when he gave me the bail money which he has owed me for three and a half years) about a little trip we took up to Loras College in the Summer of 2001. And thinking back about that weekend, I do not have a story from Mardi Gras (involving myself) which tops that weird weekend on the Illinois/Iowa border.

So I'll spin you that little yarn:

Dateline...late August, 2001:

Although what you are about to read may sound fabricated and unrealalistic at first, I assure you it is 100 percent true.

And will make on hell of a movie.

Saturday, August 25, 2001:
While driving Nate back to his new house in Dubuque, headed North-by-Northwest from Peoria, IL to the Iowa state line in a packed to the gills Dodge family minivan, we (Nate, Joe, D-Rit, and Myself) flipped though the radio and learned from one Casey Kasem that the immortal Eddie Money was once Sgt. Money of the NYPD. Yup.

Things only get stranger from there.

At a truck stop, I gave Nate a "Yellow Jacket" energy pill. After a few minutes, he told me that he "felt like a hummingbird." Wuss.

Once we got to Nate's house, we hopped out of the van and into the street to toss the 'ol pigskin around and yell at passer-by's that we were "giving it the old college try!" After about five minutes of playing catch, we were all out of breath. We helped get all of Nate's shit into his house and showered up. D-Rit, while he was in the shower, heard the Blu Cantrell song "Oops..hit 'em up style" which contains the line "Hey Ladies..." It would become a rather odd theme song for the evening.

After everyone got cleaned up we decided to go to Bodeans (no relation to the bad band) for the "Double Bouble" (two drinks for the prioce of one)...since both Nate and his brother Joe's IDs had the same info on them (Joe was underage at the time and using a duplicate of Nate's ID), Joe and I held back on the "Double Bubble" at Bodeans so things didnt look too suspicious at the door.

So Joe and I went down to a little shit-box of a bar called "Jyms" (no, that's not a misspelling) and ordered a pepporoni Tombstone pizza and a pitcher of Busch Heavy. We ended up getting the pitcher of Busch, but a supreme pizza in return, or "a pepporini with everything on it" as Joe said.

At this bar (again, called Jym's), there were dudes watching a NASCAR race, and they were very focused, too; and next to Joe sat a man with a full sized metal-neck halo, which was tucked in to his flannel shirt. Normally, I would say to each their own and revel in such an enviroment, however I was looking to have a make with a hot lil' coed that night, not watch NASCAR and drink canned domestics.

We ate our pizza in silence and left for Bodeans. We got to the bar and things were fabulous for an hour or so. Post that first hour, though, the "Double Bubble" ended and D-Rit was broke as it gets. He ended up doing random chores for the drunk-Australian bartender in exchange for the promise of free drinks.

And, in payment, he was given eight shots at once.

A little later, when some fat kid ordered four drinks and pulled out only 3 bucks, the bartender didn't care once Rit vouched for him. Also, Rit was caught staring at some girl named Tera's chest and he didnt seem to care. He just kept saying to her "Hey! I've never met a Tera before...your my first!" (Ala Caddyshack) and got away with all of this playahatin'.

Needless to say, D-Rit was running shit at Bodeans by 9 in the evening.

We were all pretty much hammered once 9:30 pm rolled around, so it was decided we'd switch bars and go to a sweet little spot known as The Whiskey.

First, however, we stopped off at Nate's to pop some Yellow Jackets and to sit out on his front porch while the entire group ate only one piece of Chicken, which for some reason was being passed around like a joint.

With the chicken gone, we headed down to The Whiskey. That's where things start getting hazy: Joe gets gruff from the bartender for supposedly paying for his drinks with her tip money. D-Rit screams Caddyshack and Swingers lines while shoving a camera in peoples faces. And I think I might have fell down while playing Golden Tee, explaining a large bruise I now have on my ass.

Since we were all by this point, medically speaking, absolutely fucking hammered, we set off for:

The Coliseum, East Dubuque, IL.
(Sunday, August 26, 2001)

Lets see....

As Nate and I walk into the door of this weird club known as The Coliseum, a mini-riot breaks out on the sidewalk near us and people in a school bus (which for some reason is parked outside of a club at midnight) moon us.

Okay... We're off to a weird start already! We walk in through the door of the Coliseum and see D-Rit being led out the door in handcuffs, ala Pete Rose being caught in 1989 for tax evasion.

I figured I should take care of it, since I'm an idiot, and went outside to talk to the arresting officer.

He tells me that it'll be a hundred dollars and I can get him, conveniently enough, at the police station right across the street from the club. "Wow" I think to myself "how very convenient! Things are coming up Milhouse!"

And with that though, I jetted off to the nearest ATM which, for safety reasons, is hidden in a dark alley, right next to some train tracks.

And right on schedule, a kid (literally 12 years old... tops) with a swiss army knife tries to mug me at the ATM.

The conversation went like this:

"Give me your fucking money man!"

I turn aroundand said "What?".

He replied, "Give me the money!"

Me: "No." I then punched him in the face and give him, in a style favored by my buddy Vince, a knee to the forehead.

He then ran away, and I was off to the po-leece station to get D-Rit out of the pokey. At the police station there were about five cops, all sitting around a table playing cards (Uno? Spades? I couldn't tell.)

They seemed rather upset that I had interupted their card game, but they released D-Rit into my custody for a cool hundred regardless.

Now, D-Rit and I would begin to play the waiting game for Joe and Nate who were still in the Coliseum out by Nate's car.

Unfortunatly the waiting game was also being played by some asshole in the parking lot who claimed to be a Liutenent in the Navy Seals. However, he knew nothing about the military and covered it all up with a horrible web of lies and by tearing out the back seat of his sisters car and punching out her taillight with his bare hands.


But, as a highlight of the waiting game, I did get to talk to a black guy from Peoria who claimed that he was from "the good part of the South Side...you know...by Manual." (note- there is no nice part of the South Side of Peoria, and even if there were, it would not be by Manual.) And that "it was bullshit that they were tearing down the Riverstation (a restraunt) in order to make room for restraunts."


We also met an older 'gent from 'Nawlins who said he could get us some "pussy!"

We backed out of the deal, seeing as how D-Rit had already been in jail that evening and all.

Finally, at about 3 AM, Nate and Joe came out of the Coliseum, drunk as all get out.

Nate took us to get late night greasy food at a place called Beanies in Dubuque. The food was so good there that it later caused Joe to both shit and puke at the same time.

The evening finally wound down and was was capped off by us jerk-asses drinking bud lights and box wine, doing Vincent Price imitations till 5 AM.

"Give it some gas grandpa"- Jody Price
"You're not helping an Jody!" - Vincent Price

What would have been the Line of the Night, but was never said: "LATER!" -Damon while leaving jail

Actual Line of the Night: "I thought I was hung over, but as it turns out I just needed to jerk-off." -Al Fritz

[Well that didnt make a lick of sense .]



Self-fulfilling Prophecies

Was it the best weekend ever? That's debatable.

Top 5? Absolutely.

I'll take a Mardi Gras- Super Bowl weekend anytime I can get one. My liver may hate me for it, but thats a damn good weekend.

The drinking gods were looking out for us, giving us a ridiculously nice, 60 degree and sunny day in the middle of February. I drank for nine hours straight (8 am to 5 pm), took a two-hour power nap, and got back to drinking at 7...Finally comfortably passing out at midnight.

Goal of the day: To get unbelievably intoxicated and still keep all my teeth.

Mission accomplished.

Strange things which came out of the Gras:

- My buddy Ryan ending up at a bachelor party in downtown St. Louis. He knew no-one there. Eventually, he had a conversation with a mohawked man in a bathrobe and decided it was time to leave. Ryan, couldn't remember for sure but I think this "bachelor party" was just a set from an upcoming Steve Guttenberg movie.

- My roommate Andy ended up alone at a strip-club at 3 am. Then his phone died. And he was broke. So he did what any of us would do: Get a ride from a guy named Richard who drives a '86 Mustang and gives hi-fives while listening to Ted Nugent's "Stranglehold" very, very loudly.

Great F'n weekend.



Best. Weekend. Ever.

The kegs are on ice.

Four car loads of people are en-route to my house leaving from the Four major cornerstones of the midwest (Peoria, Chicago, Bloomington, and , well... Peoria again. )

I've got two pots of gumbo, a vat of chili, 22 sandwiches, and a giant bowl of Sangria ready for whomever, whenever.


Oh, I don't know...maybe because this might just be THE best weekend ever.

Saturday - Mardi Gras. 'Nuff Said.

(But if you need an explanation: it's 500,000 people in my neighborhood. Most drunk. Some topless. The party starts at 8 am. Yeah, that's some fun times. )

Sunday - Super Biz-owl. Drinking my hangover away, grubbing down some chili, and watching some American style football.

To top it all off...no homework for Monday.

Best. Weekend. Ever.

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"I'll be dead in the cold, cold ground before I recognize the state of Missouri."