20 Horses And A Box Of Franzia

October 19th 2013

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Rise and Shine!…With Wine.

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Top of the morning.

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Indeed this was an exact reenactment of my appearance on the morning of October 19th, 2013 at approximately 7:25 am.

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The occasion was this:

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About a month or two back a my local NYC friend, Bee

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Bee’s face.

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Invited a flock of preppy New Yorkers to join her on a party bus to Far Hills, New Jersey.

“There’s going to be a race” she said.

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“A horse race.”

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With booze.

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Everyone said yes.

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The story gets better.

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The expectations were as follows:

1. The bus will leave exactly at 9 am

2. That bus will have drinking

3. That race will having driving

4. This event is BYODF (Bring your own damn food)

5. The bus will leave exactly at 4 p.m. And will not wait for anyone.

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4:01 pm.

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Now normally I’m not a ruler abider

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Because quite honestly:

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But one does not simply – cancel on Bee “Goldfish Chugger” Dover:

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Legendary.

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So alas, at the painful stroke of 8:30 am on a Saturday morning, the lot of us woke the fuck up. And piled on the damn bus with optimal grace:

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Ready to roll.

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That looked like this:

Everything looks swankier in black and white.

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Where we pulled on our drinking khakis and leggings. And got the party started with a classy, world-renowned, fresh from September 2013 swig of:

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Franzia:

Feels good to be a post grad.

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Breakfast is served.

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II

II

II

II

II

II

2 hours and 48 blacked out individuals (and 1 semi-coherent wasian) later

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___________________                                            ___________________

We had arrived. 

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And at the precise moment of park, Tucker bound off the bus instantaneously:

Look how instantaneous I am.

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As the rest of us frOLicked behind him shortly after. Mostly drunk and partially excited to see a fleet of horses, swirling glasses of chardonnay, oversized hats, flowing dresses, some croutons sprinkled on catered-in salads

Until we saw…

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This:

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So no croutons then…

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airborne

Not a glass of chardonnay was found. All croutons were

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And any abandoned mustaches?

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Were fucking worn:

No shave november pre-game.

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Suddenly.

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A gunshot went off.

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 The ====== horses  ===== were ===== out  ===== of =====  the ===== gate

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And no one gave a single fuck.

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But only because.

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We were distracted.

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And going  a little rogue.

These guys.

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And I noticed it when:

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In the midst of making new friends:

Can’t hang out. Busy.

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I noticed a something bright from the

corner of my eye.

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It was a man. Dressed in a yellow shirt. He wore a puka shell….wicker hat.

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And his name was Hank.

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Hey Hank.

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And Hank had one request.

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To fill up his flask.

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And that was it:

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Your wish is apparently our command, Hank.

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Once Hank was properly remounted on his walker, (flask in hand)… I suddenly noticed an unusual amount of hay

f

l

u

t

t

e

r

i

n

g

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In the sky.

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And that’s when I saw it.

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Liam Parker violently chucking mass amounts of hay at innocent children’s faces:

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He’s going to make a great father someday.

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Without a single ounce of remorse:

No fucks.

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T

i

m

b

e

r

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Moments after I witnessed Liam face plant a handful of children, his very roommate, Tucker,  was approximately 8 shots of whiskey overboard slow mo-ing a champion fall that looked like this:

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Man down.

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But not for long.

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Wait where did you get that candy corn.

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Glamour shot.

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Alas, Tucker was sitting up right and simmering down Liam’s violence. And the rest of the day was spent hijacking fireball:

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Gimme that.

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Taking selfies:

Girls never do this.

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And overreacting to pre-packaged sandwiches #drunkanddesperate

An absurd amount of happiness going on here.

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And at the precise stroke of 3:43 pm that day, Krissy, Charlie and I moseyed >> our way over to our trusty ride home. Eagerly ready to abide by rule #5:

The bus will leave exactly at 4 p.m. And will not wait for anyone.

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Just a friendly reminder.

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So off we went  >>>>

Ready to go

Happily drunk

With cheetos on the mind

When suddenly

X    X     X

________________________________ “I’m sorry ladies. No one can cross this gate” ____________________________

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2 officers were standing at a barricade in their uniformed slacks and freshly polished badges.

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“What do you mean, officers? We need to leave!”

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“I’m sorry but we simply cannot let you leave until the horses have crossed this part of the track”

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“Well…how long will that be?”

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“20 minutes? Maybe more?”

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“But we’ve gotta go. Our ride. It’s in the parking lot!”

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“Tough shit.”

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Good talk.

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So there we were.

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The lone 3 of us

X    X    X

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Stranded with a pack of horses and a phone call that said

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“The bus driver said he’s not going to wait. We’re leaving now”

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And that they did.

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We kept our cool:

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And began to brainstorm the various ways to travel back to our overpriced homes in the city.

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Help me, I’m poor.

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And that’s when we saw it.

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A glowing train station from a fair distance away.

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HOLLA.

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And with a quick dead sprint and an impromptu ticket. We finally boarded the train.

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Not sober.

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And made some friends.

Jk who is this.

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And it wasn’t until we strolled through our     doors          a not so brief 4 hours later, changed into our makeshift PJs and watched breaking bad until 1 in the goddamn morning, did I realize that

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This might just be the last time I’d ever attempt to mix animals with booze.

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Unless it involves something like this:

This is incredible. Sign me up.

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