Too Broke To Laugh

What does the Coors Light can and nipples have in common?

First person to answer correctly in the comments section wins a totally spectacular TooBrokeToLaugh t-shirt.

Where am I? I remember posting a festive Christmas message on the 25th and then nothing. What happened? I recall cigars, music, beer, women, fire, a sheep and lots of Old Whisky River bourbon.

Funny thing is I don’t remember the motorcycle.

My buddy Tom calls me up last Saturday and invites me to go check out a NC State Wolfpack football against then ranked #13 South Florida Bulls. Originally living up north, Boston to be exact, we don’t give a shit about college sports, but I was pumped to go and check out the action.

Southerners live and die for fried food, God and football, not necessarily in that order, but take anyone of them away and you’ve got one pissed off redneck. Now Tom has sesaon tickets right on the damn field, I mean it’s like having a couple of lawn chairs on the 25 yard line, so you’re right in on the action.

Sitting in the parking lot I realize I am standing in an ocean of red, meanwhile I brilliantly decided to wear my green Celtics hat like I’m going to the St. Paddy’s day parade in Southie. While I’m gunning back beer after beer I find out the damn South Florida team colors are green, so now I understand why every man, woman and child tailgating at this game is glancing in my direction. Whatever.

Now we head towards the stadium and I’m glowing pretty nicely, hoping the red swarm all around me realizes I’m just a dumb yankee with a green shamrock on my hat, instead of a South Florida fan with a deathwish, but after I hear the first ‘You suck!’ I know this isn’t happening. I make a bold move and buy a Wolfpack hat, just to be safe and really because I’m sure Tom thought I was a total dickbag for wearing green when his seats apparently designate him as Emporer of the Stadium.

One thing about the South, the girls, oh lord, they were everywhere and I mean smoking hot, every single one of them, except for all the fat chicks wearing purple, but that is another post. We make our way to the seats, I’m figuring Tom is exaggerating a bit about being right on the field, but after we past a few million rows, we are leaning against the wall, front row, reach and grab a cheerleader ass perfect spot. The air is warm, the girls are wearing cowboy boots and tight tops, I’m lit up and this is going to be magnificent.

While we’re waiting for the game to start Tom fills me in on the only drawback to being up against the front wall and that being when it rains like the world is coming to an end, it floods up front washing every ungodly thing in the stadium right past you, but he assures me it hasn’t rained at a game in three years. At this point, I know I am screwed.

Five minutes into the game a light mist begins, proceeded by a heavy mist, culminating in rain flying sideways and sending thousands of people running for the exit like the place was on fire. Seriously. I just stood there, no beer to drink, (W.T.F they don’t sell it at college games) every smoking hot girl has fled like a gazelle being hunted by a rabid cheetah and NC State is losing by a thousand points.

Yeah I got soaked, yeah I wanted more beer to drink, yeah I didn’t get to visually grope every girl in the stadium, yeah the only person left in the whole stadium by the time I left was this redneck who was so bombed he yelled ‘Go Pack’ three hundred and fifty times in 5 minutes, but I still had a great time and only hope Tom takes me back.