Episode Transcript
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Can I get a Corona? Sorry, we only carry Colorado beer. Oh
that's Milwaukee, right, Yeah,yeah, that's in Wisconsin. Wisconsin is
a different state than Colorado. Whatcan I get you? You drunk?
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Welcome to episode forty six of BehindBars, Cocktails and Wasted Nights. I'm
your host, Greg. I've beenworking as a bartender for over twenty years,
and over those years, I've seena lot. My goal here is
to share some of those high andlow lights with you. Quick warning,
this podcast contains sex, drugs,and some language that isn't suitable for anyone
under twenty one years of age,so you gotta have some ID for the
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record. PBR is currently based inSan Antonio, but still Annie Whistlebees.
Before we get started, you'll needa drink for this one. I recommend
a simple too toucher. Pour anice champagne into a flute halfway, never
fill it. It gets warm beforeyou finish it. That way, anyway,
I like clicko to that. Addjust under a quarter ounce of Saint
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Germain elderflower liqueur to make the tasteof total success that much sweeter, because
that's what this episode is all about. And as always, if you don't
have any of that ship lying around. A healthy shot of tequila and a
big sniff of magic dust is justwhat the doctor ordered you not to do.
Okay, on with the story.It was nineteen ninety seven. I
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know some of you weren't yet conceived, still living in your dad's two bedroom
apartment downtown. Or it could havebeen ninety eight. I can't remember which.
I could do ten seconds of research. But if you've been listening in
order, y'all know me by now. Man, it doesn't matter. Anyways.
I was working my dick off atthe bar and going to school full
time and in turning twice a week. If you're curious about my grueling schedule,
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listen to episode forty two. Thenight I got on the radio.
It was bananas. I was stilla lowly bus boy, clearing the wealthy
Long Island Progeny's unfinished Jamaican jerk Chickenterra cottas and changing as trays. Yes,
you could still smoke and absolutely pining, Okay, drooling over a server
who was way out of my league. Mayanna a serbian goddess, curly golden
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hair, a body to die for, and a brilliant mind to boot.
BT dubs Can someone please tell mewhat's in the water over in the eastern
block, because there's got to besome hot girl farms just growing babes.
Seriously, have you seen pornhub?Canada has timber, Middle East got the
oil and Serbia's natural resources an unlimitedsupply of sexually opened some moke shows.
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Where was I? Oh yeah,my golden fleece. It was the kind
of thing where I'd look on theschedule and if she wasn't working, I
just want to go home. Wegot along great. I always made her
laugh and sweat balls to keep hersection immaculate. Let's to pin in that
at school, I was learning toshoot an edit, and after I got
the feel for it doing a coupleof simple projects, we were assigned to
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pair up with classmates to produce abig short fifteen minutes Max. I was
paired up with Craig, Yep Craigand Greg. Craig wasn't exactly a Jeopardy
contestant in the brains department, buthe was a lovable and naive kind of
kid and looked up to me likean older brother. As I went to
college a few years after graduating highschool, and I'd always try to impart
my wisdom to my protegee. Acouple of things about Craig like me,
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He's a total perv. This isback in the VHS days, and he
had no shame about his Milf andGuilf porn collection. Yes Guilf as in
some of the actors removed their falseteeth before the oral portion of the plot
commences. He was the one ofthe Dimple's karaoke episode who scored that French
chick when we were all rolling faceand got the entire session video. He's
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basically buzz Lightyear. He has noclue what he's doing, but falls with
style yep, slips and ship andcomes up smelling like roses prick. Anyways,
back to me, it is mypodcast being a transfer, I lived
off campus in an apartment in Austinabove the Pizzeria Uno at the intersection of
Harvard and cam av The place wasa four bedroom shiitthole that we made worse
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by throwing kaggars. Every couple ofmonths. We charged a cover in an
attempt to make money, but itall ended up going to buy cleaning supplies
to turn the place back into whatthe health department would deem habitable. The
apartment had well, not a balcony, but a really wide ledge that ran
along the two Harvard av side bedrooms. To give you an idea of the
width, I once set up seatsand a table and treated my girlfriend and
I to a kindle at dinner onthe restaurant's roof on a summer evening.
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I know, fucking Romeo, whereis my apartment's architecture and Craig's perverted brain
have to do with each other?Wait for it, we threw a Halloween
bash with the length of my hairbuilding moment in film history. I went
as Brandon Lee's The Crow and fuckingnailed it. My girlfriend went as something
hoary. I can't remember the actualcostume. I just remember hiking up her
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glittery purple headband sized mini and bangingher on the roof. In all candor,
I think her costume might have actuallybeen sex worker. Isn't it funny
Halloween guys have to dress as somethingfunny or something they secretly want to be.
So me and Avenging Angel superhero andgirls just have to pick a down
and put trampy in front of it. And there's their costume. What are
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you supposed to be. I'm acat. No, you're a trampy cat.
If you were a cat and youmeant it, you would have covered
yourself up with one of those mascotsituations, like you see a six flags
with a huge head and the meshhole in the throat you can see out
of. You're in a tiny bodysuitwith your cleavage showing, little cat ears
and whiskers, your horzon all ascreaseshowing, and fish nets because all cats
wear a fish nets. And Iwant to fuck you so bad, but
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I have the crow makeup on soyou can't see the real me. But
I digress. Anyways, Hosting theseparties was exhausting, and being an off
campus transfer a student with a fulltime job, the attendees were more friends
with my roommates than me, asI had no time to schmooze with classmates,
so inevitably I get socially tired boardand since my gorgeous girlfriend was there,
we'd retire to my room as theparty raged on, lock the door
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and get down. No need tosocialize. We already had what we wanted
right there each other. Anyways,on this night, the doing it was
extra hot. She was apparently asex worker and I was a superhero roleplay.
We didn't even kiss, as Ididn't want to fuck up my makeup,
so she just knelt in front ofme and unzipped my pants. I'd
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take an offer top and was caressingher fantastic tits born of sweedish descent,
and things were progressing rather quickly.I was in that spot where the beach
is pure bliss and you're torn aboutwhether you want to advance to the beef
sleeve or maintain the current situation,when suddenly Craig crashes through my window and
onto my bedroom floor. Oh andthe video camera he was aiming at us
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from outside slid across the floor intomy fireplace. The guy was on the
ledge trying to shoot some unauthorized amateurporn through the blinds featuring me and her,
but with a few beers poured intohis already clumsy vessel, one eye
shut and one against the viewfinder inthe black of night, that gangly oath
became disoriented and fell forward into thewindows screen, which gave way, and
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that peeping sack of potatoes bounced offthe hardwood floor, giggling his ass off.
My initial instinct was to cover mygirlfriend's ample tits as those were for
me to see. I mean,come on the dinner on the ledge balcony
thing candles my tits. My secondthought was to attack the intruder. This
fucking clown needed to be checked andreceive a beating from his surrogate big brother.
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My girlfriend was freaked out and Iwas pissed at this little invasion of
privacy. Then I caught a glimpseof myself in the mirror and suddenly everything
stopped. My girlfriend was still kneelingcovering her tits with that handkerchief of the
top. I was sensing out myfly and Craig was getting his sea legs
under him when he suddenly blurted,oh my god, I just saw the
crow getting a blowjob. We allstarted dying because, yeah, he must
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have been just as shocked as wewere. There's something you don't see every
day, you know what I mean. Fucking Halloween, you guys, it
always gets weird. It's because ofthat night. I no longer for it.
Because if ship gets real, likea fight, a fender bender,
or any running with the cops,you can't fucking be taken seriously. If
you're a slutty bumblebee or in drag. So that's Craig and he was my
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partner for our video one final.At the time, Titanic and pulp fiction
were huge, so I cobbled togethera script about a hitman who has to
babysit the Big Boss's hapless nephew whilston a job. I was to assassinate
the Big Boss's wife's tennis instructor,who was a little two hands on with
his student. I'm thwarted at everyturn by the idiotic nephew. So basically
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it was art imitating life. Somehighlights were in the chase sequence, where
we followed the instructor back to hisBeacon Street home. Craig locks the keys
in the car, so logically wehave to get a horse and buggy.
Try to picture Vince and Jewels ina buggy, black suits, sunglasses.
Drivers stalled in traffic staring as werode by. At one point Craig stands
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up and says, I'm flying,Jack, Jack, I'm flying to my
heart will go on. We didn'thave to pay royalties, so whatever.
Then we get stuck in traffic becausehis fate would have it. It was
actually the running of the Boston Marathonthat day, so we had to disembark
and hoof it the rest of theway. Thinking on our feet, we
asked a cop if we could geta shot of us crossing the finish line.
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He considered it and fortunately said doit quick. Holy fuck, it
was unreal. We got an onlookerto hit record, hopped the barrier at
Copley Square and jogged across the fuckingBoston Marathon finish line, no fucking shit.
Of course, upon seeing us insuits, no numbers on our backs,
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fresh as fuck, jogging across thefinish line, the entire crowd boot
us and boot us loudly. Younever want to piss off a Boston sports
fan, but this was a sacrificewe had to make for our art or
at as they say in Beantown.We ultimately blow it on the hit and
it all wraps up with Craig comingout of the closet, me running out
of town to become a stripper.At a gay Mail review in Sheboygan dressed
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as a leather daddy we'd taken careto plant extras throughout, dressed as a
instruction worker, a Native American,a cop, and we all coincidentally met
up in Boston Common and we doa simple dance number at the end Bollywood
Baby. It was called Macho Men, What Let's see? You blend the
village people, Titanic and pulp fictioninto a cohesive narrative. It came out
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great, but our professor told methat while it was well shot and edited,
the content was quote immature end quote. Where did we think we were
going to go with that kind ofmaterial? Not a great sign for our
final project, which was huge forthe semester's overall grade. Well, turns
out Craig's a fucking g Despite theprophetsorial putdown, Craig entered us into the
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Evy Awards. The Evy Awards areEmerson College's version of the Emmy's or the
Oscars, and believe me when Isay they are absolutely on par with both
of those events in both production andscale, no joke. It's a suit
and tie formal address sending held inthe Majestic in Boston's Theater district. It's
seriously a super big deal. Theircelebrity presenters remote presenter as sketch rollins.
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It's totally on par with the Oscars, but for budding filmmakers. But I'm
getting ahead of myself. The semesterwas winding down. My girlfriend went back
home up North, and I wasjust waiting for Grades to come out while
sticking my hand into the slop screento clear the sink drain of ort wet
cigarette filters and used garnishes nightly topay the rent and pining for the serbian
sex goddess Mayonna. Grades came outand I got an a in Video one.
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Turns out our immature content didn't dotoo much damage to the GPA.
Then it happened. We fucking gotnominated Best TV one category. We were
invited to the fucking Emerson College EavyAward Show. I couldn't believe it.
Completely forgot all about the entry.I was elated. I called my mom
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and she told Dad and they wereoverjoyed, and they were going to drive
into Boston to attend win or lose. They didn't care, they just wanted
to be there. I was oncloud nine so much so I grew a
huge pair of steel balls and askedMayonna, who'd been ball and chained to
the same guy for three years,if she'd liked to be on my arm
on such a big night. Hey, I said, I know you have
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a boyfriend. You know I havea girlfriend. She's back home, and
I just got nominated for a majoraward and I'm in dire need of a
gorgeous date. So if that's coolwith you and your man, I'd love
to be seen with you, orsome flattering shit like that. I don't
think it's far off from what Iactually said, because it was definitely from
the heart. She said she'd loveto go. It was an excuse to
wear one of those expensive dresses girlsbuy for a single occasion, then hanging
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up in plastic for time immemorial.It felt like she wasn't telling me that.
It felt like she was telling herselfthat was the real reason. Anyways,
she checked with hubby, and Iguess since I was a lowly,
non threatening bus boy, he wascool with her being my arm candy.
The big knight finally arrived. Idressed in my pulp fiction butterfly collar suit
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Mayanna Fierce and a gorgeous white number, low cut and tight around her pert
ass, giving way to a flowinglower swath of I don't know material.
I know, I fucking horrible atdescribing girl's outfits. Point is. She
was the most beautiful thing in thattheater, her wide, pearly white smile,
her hair a halo of golden curlsframing her perfect cheekbones and supple neckline.
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I felt like a movie star,and with all the pomp and circumstance,
it was becoming apparent that she feltlike she was on a date with
a movie star. The whole situationwas intoxicating. For the first time,
she saw me in my element,nominated for an award for something creative I
had done, not for wiping downtables and black pants wet from the sinks
overhead spray gun. People dressed tothe nines, famous comics, soap opera
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stars, and real life directors andproducers milling about in the lobby. Theatergoers
with programs, all of which hadmining Craig's names splashed across the video one
page. It might sound like bullshit, but I could sense the seduction of
the environment doing a number on her. The host that year was Opus Moreski,
a guy who wore a suit andbowtie to every class. I think
he went on to right for Craigkilborn John Stewart and or John Oliver,
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just a brilliant comedic mind, absolutelybrilliant. He had a big dig joke
about how by the time it wascompleted cars would be able to fly,
so the whole spend was a wasteanyway, amazing to give you an idea
of its scale. The writer,producer and voice behind Kermitt the frog in
Yoda, Frank Oz was the firstpresenter, and I think Maria Manunos,
also a two thousand graduate one forBest Broadcast Journalist that year. Mayonna and
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I sat next to Craig in hisdate, both sets of parents somewhere else.
Mayon and I were leaning against eachother, our connection becoming more electric
with each passing moment. Then itwas time the video one category. It
was presented by some soap star withlong braids somewhere between dreadlocks and corn rows.
Sorry, all I can remember wasMayonna squeezing my thigh, then taking
my sweaty hand in her dry one. They announced are nominated short. Then
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they played a hysterical trailer on thebig screen that someone edited together. It
got laughs on almost every scene,the crescendo hitting at Craig's horse and buggy
Titanic spoof. You could see thedrivers and cars in the background staring at
us as we passed them, onecar hilariously covered in bird shit. Then
the unknown soap star opened the envelope. My ears were ringing in the silence.
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Then it happened. Macho men,he said Craig White and Gregg Studeley.
Craig and I exchanged shocked looks.Meana grab my head, turned it
and smoohed me on the lips.I was absolutely swooning. This was truly
what Cloud nine felt like. Wegot our asses out of the seats and
made our way down the aisle ofthe stage in front of the packed house.
I never dreamed of winning. Ihad nothing to say prepared. I
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listened as Craig held this trophy aloftand thanked his parents and whatever else spilled
out of his mouth. I literallywas in a fugue state. All I
remember was him wrapping up and steppingaside from the mic. It was my
turn. All night, all Iheard were winners thanking their folks and droning
on and on. I knew Icouldn't do that. Suddenly I had a
moment of inspiration and spun this gold. I'd like to thank my parents,
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but in all truth, they didn'tmake this video. It got a laugh
that emboldened me. You know,a professor of mine who shall remains,
said of this project, it's wellmade, but the content is very immature,
and where are you going to gowith it? I raised my trophy
aloft and said the evis baby,thank you so much, and with that
we were escorted stage left into theguts of the theater to a loud ovation,
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and after making it backstage, wedecided against hanging with the other winners
in the green room and found ametal door that exited into the alley so
we could cross the street and graba celebratory shot from Charlie Murphy's and Emerson
favorite and we were served at triplejack each. I was literally floating.
I couldn't wait to get back tomy seat, hoping for a sequel to
that smooch. We re entered throughthe lobby, our awards as our passes,
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and led to our seats by theushers. I sat down, leaned
into Mayonna and we kissed for real, not tongue hockey, more like the
I do public appropriate lip sandwich kiss. And that ended up kicking off a
very long tist, But I digress. We met up with our folks in
the lobby after the show, havingsome kind of we're super proud of you
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sation, all the while interrupted byhandshakes and back pats from strangers. It
truly made all the hard work worthit. We went to dinner with our
overjoyed parents and dates. I rememberclearly that the only nourishment Craig and I
put in our bodies was the champagne, as our insides were already full of
butterflies and unicorn glitter before we knewit, the parents were already on coffee
and dessert. I could feel theanticipation between Mayonna and I like a thought's
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charged jumping synapses. Craig invited usto the next bar he and his date
were planning to patronize, but Isuggested that it had been a big night
and I was cashed and I neededto get home. Mayonna was completely disappointed,
but I turned that shit on adime when I told her I just
wanted to ditch Craig and celebrate withher at my place if she was okay
with that, and she was.We got back to mine and I immediately
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got prints on the speakers, openingstrong with kiss We locked eyes. Knowing
we were both about to cross theline and betray our significant others, we
also knew we weren't going to betrayour feelings. In that magic moment,
we began kissing passionately, no morewedding appropriate lip sandwiches. This was the
definite article I want a heavy.But even better than that, I got
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the girl I never thought I could. Right around four in our still blazing
afterglow, her boyfriend started blowing upher phone. She promised she was at
a celebratory after party and was onher way home at that precise moment,
and he somehow bought it. Trulyunderestimated me. Looking back, I find
it that kind of insulting, Buton that night I was unencumbered by a
single iota of negativity. That beganthe first of many secret trists that carried
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us through the sweltering summer. Thesummer I worked my first shift behind the
bar. In fact, sadly cooledoff that fall as I had moved in
with my girlfriend. Now, folks, as you've listened to this podcast,
you know that I'm truly governed bymy libra sign. So after this perfect
moment that spanned an entire night.You know, shit had to balance out
the fucking scales. The yang tothat yin manifested in me finally paying off
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a January bet I lost to mylandscaping boss back in Leicester, so hungover
it's still high from my victories.Two hours after that fucking pixie left my
bed, saw me driving an hourwest to my hometown, and shortly after
arriving, I parked in his driveway. Then there, under an unforgiving sun,
I found myself atop a ladder athis roost peak, where I applied
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the first stroke of many painting hisfucking house. Fucking super Bowl, fucking
astrology, fucking Studley. Luck neverfails. You win some, you lose
some, literally well at least Ido. Well. It's last call,
so let me give you a tip. If you're in a barn here a
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glass shatter, don't fucking applaud orcheer like an asshole. Contrary to popular
belief, staff fucking despises it,especially the cluts who dropped it. We
handle glasses all fucking nice. Soyeah, every thousand times one's going to
squirt out of our hands like afish. So settle the fuck down,
you imbeciles, folks, it's beena blast. You don't have to go
home, but you can't stay hereand a call to my fellow boostling.
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Send in your stories to Cocktails andWasted Nights at gmail dot com. You
can remain anonymous if you'd like.Thanks for listening, subscribing, downloading,
and spreading the word. Don't beafraid to give me a good review,
even if you're lying. It reallydoes help build our community of barbarians.
And check out my video. Justclose it on YouTube. You will laugh,
damn it. If you want tosupport the podcast, you can do
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that on Patreon. I don't haveany extra shit there, but I'll happily
accept tips. I'm worth a try. Hey, we'll see you next time
on Behind Bars Cocktails and Wasted Nights. Cheers anyway, I like clicko and
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the video camera. He was aimingat us from outside slid a Clark.
Fuck. My second thought was toa fuck hoped the barrier at Copley Square.
Fuck and we all can coincident.Fuck my life. God, damn
it turns out our immature content didn'tdo too much. Damn fo idiot people
dressed to the nines, famous comics, soapwopper stock oh boy, that was
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a good one Jesus. One forbest Broadcast, one for breast rob ro
Rock, I sat down, Lean, fuck my life,