You may have read on Friday that we were throwing Brinson a graduation, roughly 19 semesters after he enrolled in college. But hey, who’s counting? Pretty standie get together: keg, barbecue, cookies and a few decorations, kindly hosted by the trig who used to write celeb gossip here at Brahsome, Boxy Brown. We were graced with the presence of DC brah-buddy, Zeke. You may recall Zeke for the many hats he wears in our life: Nationals Usher, blackout meatstick, connoisseur of low-end buffets, just to name a few. Zeke’s meatiness is in direct proportion to the number of jaeger bombs consumed. Two weekends ago, with the jaeger bombs flowing like wine, he was doing a rendition of the Fat Guy in a Little Coat routine and ripped one of the sleeves on his shirt, which quickly spring boarded into ripping both sleeves completely off and leaving a button down vest. Once he gets going, it’s unlikely he’s going to stop and the vest was completely ripped off within 5 minutes. It was a spectacle that only a mother could love. With that background in mind, we were hopping for a repeat during Brinson’s party. With no Jaeger on hand, we resorted to keg stands. I knew we had him right were we wanted him when he hurled after his first stand and quickly went back for seconds. The rest of the party went well until somebody knocked a shelf off the wall shattering some ceramic drawers. Boxy walked into the kitchen to see people frantically trying to clean it up and quickly turned around, walked into a closet, laid down in fetal position and cried for 20 minutes. Good times. Sensing we needed to get out of the house before Boxy killed someone, we took the party to Blue Martini.
The ’tini is a bar located off the gel head drag in Raleigh, also known as Glenwood South. I hate this place and it hates me. I get thrown out of there quite often, but that’s mostly because I like to get nice in there and they are down with my kind of niceness. Tools. This night was no exception, but we’ll save that for a little later. To be quite honest, most of the bar is a little fuzzy because I was a little brown. And by a little brown, I mean blacked out. I blacked back in at some right before we got kicked out, probably due to the adrenaline from the crowd chanting “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke, Zeke, Zeke…” pleading for the signature shirt rip. Your boy did not disappoint and shredded a Pinehurst US Open Golf shirt which probably cost him $125. You can see Zeke in action above. While this was going on, two meat-lockers were fighting in the parking lot, so I did the only acceptable thing in that situation. Scream “Kick his ass, pussy!” at them over the rail. This did please the bouncer because these were apparently his boys. No surprise there. My roommate quickly realized the situation was getting out of hand and we were heading for the exit, as Zeke was drooling with no shirt on and I was screaming “Pussy” over the railing. He tried to help Zeke out by giving him his undershirt to wear, but that required him to skin up momentarily to get his undershirt off. That put the count at 2 shirtless doods and we got kicked out. The manager told my roommate he could finish his drink before he left. The bouncer had other ideas and told him to leave immediately. That’s one thing Brahs do not stand for, throwing away perfectly good liquor. After a few exchanges, my roommate fired off this beauty as he counted off each insult on his fingers, “You’re, fat, you’re stupid, you’re ugly, you’re a bouncer and you’re never going to be anything but a bouncer.” As you may have guessed, that was it and the bouncer physically removed him from the premises as more insults were hurled his way. It was pretty awesome. At least from what I remember of it.
