Tuesday, February 03, 2004

How do ya like them apples?

Alright, the moment you have all been waiting for is here. True story.

Do any of you remember the movie Good Will Hunting with Matt Damon and Ben Affleck? It was a popular movie at the time of this incident. Remember the phone number scene through the window at the bar? Keep that in the back of your mind.

After a week of hiking on Mt. Rogers in Virginia, four of my buddies and I stopped to party for a night in Boone, NC before we headed home. We checked into the Scottish Inn, showered up, and headed out at about 4 pm to get a jump on the college students. In Boone, you can not buy booze (only beer and wine) so we headed to The Cottonwood, the towns only brewery. It's a nice place with a bar, restaurant, and outdoor seating (it was too cold to be outside though) in front of gigantic windows that stretch from the sidewalk to the roofline.

One would assume that we were drinking beer by the pint, but The Cottonwood also sells what is called a "growler" (I know, makes me want to drop a deuce too). A growler is a 1 liter bottle with a resealable swing top (like a Grolsch bottle) full of fresh brewed beer. Yummy. So my buddies and I were drinking growlers of Low Down Brown and IPS when we started talking to these two chicks at the bar. They were cool, and before you knew it we were telling jokes and laughing with everyone that was in the bar area, about 30 or so people. This went on for a couple of hours, and the more we drank, the louder we got. Things came to a head when I said to the crowd, now 50 strong, "Why did the blonde take her vibrator back to the sex shop?" "WHY?!" the intoxicated mob yelled. "Cause it was chipping her teeth!" I screamed back. Everyone at the bar lost it and during the ensuing laughter, the manager came up to me and threatened to throw us out if we did not keep it down. By this time though, it was about 8 pm and we had gone through quite a few growlers. I proceeded to tell him what I thought of that idea, and then waved to the crowd and said, "Let's get the fuck out of here," at which time about 35 of us headed out the door to go down the road to Rafters (which is the scene of another story I will share sometime). Just as I made it out onto the patio, I unzipped my pants, grabbed the base of my scrotum, started banging my nuts, ring first, against the window out front yelling, "How do ya like them apples?!" in my best drunken Bostonian accent. Needless to say, the people inside were just utterly horrified, and the 35 people outside were laughing so hard one guy puked in the bushes. OK, maybe it was the Stout, but who knows.

Now, I kind of feel guilty about this stunt, although it was hysterically funny, because the last thing that I would want to see while I was taking a bite out of my chicken breast is another man's pierced ball sac banging against a window. Some of you may find that hard to believe, but it's true. Really.

That was our last visit to The Cottonwood Brewery. No, not because we were banned, but because it closed down soon after we left town. We're not sure if the nut prints on the glass had anything to do with it.

Peace.

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