Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Columbus, Ohio sucks….


Occurred-March 2006


 
          There are some God awful shit holes in this country and Columbus, Ohio definitely ranks up their with the grimiest of them. While I only lived in New Jersey till the age of 5 and never really got to experience Newark (believe me, I have heard plenty of horror stories) and I’ve never been to Detroit, but if they are indeed worse that Columbus, Ohio then I need to start stocking up on silver bullets, wooden crosses, garlic, and bullet proof condoms now. The following details a trip I had up to Columbus for a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu tournament that took place at the annual Arnold Schwarzenegger Fitness Expo. I had been there for it before with LeblancClone and some of the guys I trained with. It was a great tournament to go to as people from all over the country and even the world went to compete in it except for the two problems:

1. It was in Columbus, Ohio

2.Columbus was a really long fucking drive (I know this could have all been one reason but I feel the distance traveled compounds how shitty the experience was)

The following explains how Columbus went from a town that I thought was a “little weird” to a town that I wish would have a nuclear accident so that it’s inhabitants would be sterilized and incapable of spreading their Buckeye seed. Consider this story as a warning.
 

The annual Arnold Schwarzenegger Fitness Expo was coming up and LeblancClone was asking around Jiu-jitsu class to see if anyone was interested in going. I was definitely down for it since I wanted to redeem myself from my performance at the tournament a couple of years prior. At worst I was of legal drinking age now which meant I could legally spend a few days getting hammered to see if that could at least make the city tolerable. I was just hoping the drive wouldn’t drag on like it did with the previous trip where I had to spend 15 hours in a 15 passenger van that in reality could only fit 10 people. Throw in SurferJesus’s penchant for flatulence along with ChuteBoxe’s well timed comment, “If [SurferJesus's] face has that much hair on it and he could stink up a van like that, then I wonder what his asshole looks like.”, and you can understand that I was as stoked about the prospect of the drive up there as I would be about a biopsy. I figured it couldn’t be any worse than the last trip so I figured I’d just bite the bullet and take the trip up there. I sure as fuck wasn’t driving though. I’d leave that up to PsychoTherapist and ConstructionWorker. Unlike the last trip where I was pretty much the runt of the group, this time I actually had some seniority which I used to be lazy and ride shotgun all the way up there. Plus PsychoTherapist’s VW Jetta was a stick shift and even though I knew how to drive stick (like any self respecting male should) I wasn’t fucking around with that for 12 hours, I’d rather get my red wings from Oprah while she is baking sourdough (if you don’t understand that last sentence then you are better off not knowing and/or procreating).

Honestly, the drive up there wasn’t that bad except for the popping in my ears as we made our way through the Appalachians. We arrived in Columbus around 11pm and the tournament wasn’t till a couple days later which gave us plenty of time to get situated as well as giving us time to walk around Columbus and the fitness expo to spit game at all the fitness chicks, meet some UFC fighters and some of the body builders that compete in the Mr. Olympia competitions. Not mention try samples of shitty protein shakes and bars and get really freaked out by the female body builders.

Even though I do hold a four stripe purple belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu under Relson Gracie (even though a lot of people say I’m a brown belt, more on that later), have been doing Muay Thai for 3 years (as of this writing), AND not to mention formerly being a pro MMA fighter and having bounced in bars for over 5 years; with all that said I’m pretty sure that one of these “women” could rip me head off, shit down my throat, and name me Sally on my tombstone. The one I encountered at the expo a couple of years prior had a voice that was deep enough to make Darth Vader sound like a meso soprano by comparison. When I bumped into her I seriously thought that I had bumped into a boulder which turned out to be one of her tits (and no I didn’t try to fuck her just for the sake of a story, not even I am THAT fucked in the head).

We arrived at the Knights Inn off of the interstate, checked in, and went to get settled into our rooms. Upon walking into the room that LeblancClone, CrazyCracker, and ConstructionWorker were staying in we ALL did a double take. What we saw could only be described as the crack-head equivalent of “shock and awe”. There was neon green graffiti all over the walls of the room and I mean ALL OVER the walls. I’m not exaggerating one bit. It seriously looked like one of the local gangs decided to drop acid, grab a highlighter, and explore his ghetto fabulous artistic talents. I have to admit, besides being utterly mortified by this ghetto art it was kind of pretty and would have looked pretty sick under a black light. The room I was staying in wasn’t AS bad besides the fact that the deadbolt looked like it had been kicked in about five times. PsychoTherapist’s room was by far the worst though. How could it possibly top LeblancClone’s room with all its neon colored “tags” you ask?

Even though I didn’t see the actual room, from what CrazyCracker told me it looked like something straight out of a crime scene from Law and Order: SVU. Once again I am not exaggerating one bit. For one there was dried blood in the bed. On top of that there were bullet holes EVERYWHERE. It looked like a drug deal had gone down and there was a “misunderstanding”. The fact that PsychoTherapist was trembling like a dryer in a third world Laundromat wasn’t surprising in the least and keep in mind her job involved the psycho analysis and interviewing of the criminally insane on a daily basis. Her job was to talk to murderers, rapists, and drug addicts on a daily basis that are too crazy to be allowed in the general population in Leeds Hotel.

As I tried falling asleep in my room along with HepSkater and CrazyBrazilian I started hearing laughter coming from LeblancClone’s room. Apparently the absurdity of the situation was too much to hold in and keeping a straight face was about as likely Obama fixing the economy. They decided that enough was enough and went to the night manager to see if they could get a different room. After they brought the night manger, who looked like the real life incarnation of Apu from the Kwik-E-Mart on The Simpsons or any other cashier that works at a 7-Eleven in New Jersey, he took a gander at LeblancClone’s room.

Apu: (in the most Hindu voice possible) “This look’s fantastic.”

He seriously fucking said that. Don’t worry it gets better. When asked about ghetto art on the walls:

Apu: “Oh they were painted a month ago.”

That last part could have been believable. Given the fact that we learned the following day that the reason why the hotel was more run down than Jenny Sanford was due to the fact that it was across the street from a methadone clinic (kind of funny how they left that out of the brochure) except for the fact that the “artist” actually signed and dated his work. It was dated for 6 months prior; apparently Hindus don’t have strong feelings of guilt like Catholics do when it comes to bullshitting. Anyway it was decided that we would tough it out for the night and find somewhere else to stay in the morning.

The following morning I was awakened to CrazyCracker and ConstructionWorker banging on the door (for a split second I seriously thought it was a hitman that was looking to turn our room into a scene out of Reservoir Dogs) and I was greeted with doughnuts. Never in my life had I been happier to be greeted with bleached flour and chocolate in the morning. We hopped in our rides and I gathered that LeblancClone worked out a deal to get us out of the hotel with no extra charges due the less than adequate service and we all agreed that the Holiday Inn would be our destination. After we arrived and began checking in CrazyCracker started freaking out over our inability to keep a low profile so that he wouldn’t have to explain to the “concierge” about why he wanted to put 8 people into 2 rooms or God forbid he would have to buy another room. In his defense he was taking a huge risk since he was paying for the rooms on HIS credit card. We headed up to our rooms, got settled in, and then decided to walk over to the convention center where the fitness expo was being held.

Something else I learned about Columbus upon walking to the convention center is that it can still be really fucking cold in March. In Charleston once March comes around winter is basically over and the average low doesn’t dip below 50 and some nights might get into the 40’s. Not in Columbus, it was barely in the upper 20’s at 3 in the afternoon. Walking 6 blocks in that weather was about as fun as getting parenting tips from Casey Anthony. We walked into the convention center and there were meatheads EVERYWHERE. Seriously you could smell the steroids in the air. Ever walk into a Gold’s gym and the first thing you notice are all the trainers look like rejects from South Jersey talking about which skank with the clap that they recently fist pumped and bought a plan B pill for with their parents money? Add 50 pounds and 10 years to that and that is basically what we walked into. As well as the fat slob locals that jerk off to the site of Ronnie Coleman (7-time Mr. Olympia) taking his shirt off and walking on stage in a speedo. It’s not like they could claim their manhood by like hitting on the hot, blonde fitness models that were selling shitty protein shakes. Having big muscles and looking like the Incredible Hulk doesn’t make you a man. Drinking beer and punching women in stomach when you can’t afford an abortion does, well that or really manning up, having the kid, raising him and teaching him how to drink beer, fight, the importance of condoms/pulling out, the ins and outs of the West Coast offense (actually you get extra points for that because I have no idea how that works and I am an avid NFL fan) and grilling.

There were some bright points though especially in the expo area where the UFC fighters, WWE wrestlers, and pro body builders were located. I know I was just talking shit about meat heads, but there are differences between a meat head and a pro meat head the most important of which is success. On the previous trip I got to meet Stephan Bonnar and this was shortly after his legendary fight with Forrest Griffin (I said legendary, not technically sound). He was actually even cooler than from what I saw of him on the first season of the Ultimate Fighter and actually got to shoot the shit with him for a little bit. He’s definitely a guy I’d have a beer with. At this event I got to meet Frank Mir and all I can say about him is he is a pretty shy guy in person (not a bad thing as I am pretty shy around people I don’t know either) and he is fucking HUGE (and his wife is a solid 10). After seeing him and how tiny he looked compared to Brock Lesnar in their fights was a pretty scary revelation. I also got to see Paul Levesque (Triple H from the WWE), Ronnie Coleman, Joe Riggs (former UFC fighter), and CrazyCracker apparently saw Chuck Liddell having some drinks at the upstairs bar. It was definitely meat head heaven. After awhile we decided to head back to the hotel before we headed over to the Nationwide Arena for the MMA fights that were going to be taking place.

Nothing of any entertainment value happened at the hotel and we made our way over to the Nationwide Arena. Matt Lindland (former UFC fighter/ Olympic Silver Medalist) was fighting on the card as well Relson Gracie’s son, Rhalan, and bunch of future UFC/WEC fighters including Phil Cardella who is Relson’s black belts in Austin, Texas as well Tucker Max’s jiu-jitsu coach who is the writer that inspired me to starting writing in the first place (small world isn’t it?). The fights were pretty entertaining especially Rhalan’s fight with Dustin Hazelett. It was a very entertaining display of Jiu-Jitsu even though Rhalan lost a VERY close decision that could have gone either way. Phil caught his guy in an arm bar and Matt Lindland amazingly caught Fabio Leopoldo, a high level BJJ black belt, in a rear naked choke. All in all a very good fight card. Afterwards we all headed back to the hotel to get some rest for the tournament the following day.

As we got back most everybody decided to go up to their rooms to get some sleep. I decided to go to the hotel bar and order some drinks from the lady they had bartending who liked like she had more miles on her than Route 66. However like all woman that have a face for radio she compensated for her lack of looks with a personality.  I don’t remember much of the conversation mainly because my experiment of mixing Lemonade flavored Gatorade (God I miss that shit) with vodka was turning out pretty good (oops, I mean well). The only problem was they tasted so good that I didn’t realize how drunk I was getting. I eventually ended up stumbling into my room at 2am with the tournament starting at 8am. What can I say? I like to pre-game before I choke and arm bar people.

The following morning we all got up, got our shit together and went down stairs for the breakfast buffet next to the hotel lobby. Apparently a couple of the meat heads that were competing in the various power lifting competitions were staying in the hotel as the kitchen staff was working double time to keep up with unusually high demand of bacon and scrambled eggs. I instantly started to think about the unlucky soul who has to clean up the aftermath of the inevitable fecal rampage left behind by one of these guys (seriously, think about it). After breakfast we rode over to the Nationwide Arena so we could weigh in and see what divisions we were competing in. This was a few years before my fighting days so I wasn’t nervous like I was for those since I didn’t have to worry someone trying to bash my head in like I owed them child support. The only two things I had to worry about was “GI burn”, kind of like rug burn but WAY worse, and getting caught in a submission without sufficient time to tap out leaving my joints to go all Rice Krispies (Snap, Crackle, Pop). Also weigh-ins didn’t involve cutting massive amounts of weight back then (for me anyway, there were some college wrestlers there that took these tournaments WAY too seriously). Just to put things in perspective I competed in the 190-220lbs division in this tournament and I was fighting in the 170lbs (welterweight) division when I was competing in MMA and I was considered average size for my weight.

I was pretty calm while waiting for my match to come up as I helped corner some of our other guys on our team that were competing and then my name was called for the blue belt Gi-division. I made the huge mistake in years prior of attempting to force submissions but, in the years since I had started to grasp the essence of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu and how it all revolved around efficiency. Prior to that I would try muscle submissions with the determination of black women trying to get knocked up by Denzel Washington. It wasn’t till after I lost my matches at the tournament back in ’04 that I realized the error in my stubborn ways and how to flow with aggression instead of fighting it. Think of it like how bull fighters dispatch a really pissed off 1,000 lb bundle of muscle and horns. If they tried to take on the bull by the horns it would be suicide. What do they do instead? They put a red cape out to distract them and as the bull charges, the fighter sidesteps and stabs the bull and repeats this process until the bull has nothing left to attack with which is when the fight delivers the final fatal blows. It’s the same with Brazilian jiu-jitsu, put your opponent in a situation where he can’t throw anything at you, but you can throw everything at them.

So who was my proverbial bull you ask? Some dude from some other shit hole in the Midwest that wishes it stunk as much as Columbus, Ohio. The match started and I scored a takedown on him with ease and quickly transitioned to the mount. While there LeblancClone kept telling me to, “relax and settle the position” so I took his advice and just put my chin in my hand and yawned as I waited for my guy to make his next move.

LeblancClone: (obviously getting my sarcasm) “Okay, not THAT relaxed.”
           
After about 2 minutes the ref called the match on points since I was up by 15 which kind of pissed me off since I wanted to tap the guy out, but a win is a win. After the rest of the first round matches were completed the brackets were set up and I was pitted against this guy I knew nothing about except for the fact that he was in really good shape and from his last match I saw that he liked going for double leg takedowns so I figured he had a wrestling background. I also figured he’d be a sucker for a guillotine choke. So I decided I would intentionally leave my lead leg out for him to shoot in on as bait. This worked out about as well as advertising an abortion clinic with the slogan “You Make ‘em, we scrape em.” (This may come with a quote later on because I got this one from a friend of HotTeacher’s that actually has a personality and a sense of humor that doesn’t revolve around shit on MTV , but I’m not sure if he wants his real name associated with it or not). He got the takedown, scored his points, lay in my guard for a bit, stood back up, and repeated. He never came close to putting me in trouble and I nearly finished him with a triangle choke a few times, but he would squirm out and stand right back up. He lasted the 6 minutes allotted, scored his points, and won the match by doing so. I give him credit because he took advantage of the rules and won, but if that match went to submission I would have eventually caught him. This was my last match of the day since the turnout for this year’s tournament was less than stellar so I spent the rest of the day helping the rest of the team out before we went to go get something to eat and head back to the hotel to get prepared for the no-gi tournament the following day.
           
We got back to the hotel around 9pm and I headed for the bar immediately and started ordering drinks. I started to realize that I was going through cash faster than a case of Chlamydia going through a CofC sorority house so I did what any 21 year old with no responsibility that took everything for granted did. I called PapaFrank to wire me some cash which he did to Western Union. After spending 30 minutes asking around for the location of the nearest one from all the locals who were about as polite as a Clemson fan on the interstate, I walked outside, looked across the street and saw a Grey Hound station with a huge Western Union sign on it. It was like a beacon of hope in a city of mediocrity (seriously, how many times has SEC teams whooped Ohio State’s ass in BCS games?). I walked into the station and waited in line. I guess I get spoiled on southern hospitality down here in Charleston, because the front desk clerks at the station were about as friendly as an Irish bartender being asked to make an Irish Car Bomb. I guess if I lived in a city that was in a perpetual state of purgatory and on the precipice of the first circle of hell I’d be pretty impersonal too. I signed the form, grabbed my cash and made my way back to the hotel. As I was walking up this huge black dude in an overcoat and a cowboy hat, who looked like the re-incarnation of Bill Pickett that was dealing with the side effects of a yearlong bender on Crisco, approached me.

FatPickett: “What are you doing?”

Frank: (thinking he was just a bum that found all the trashcans with the fatty foods) “Going in there [the Holiday Inn]?”

FatPickett: “Are you staying here?”

Frank: (seriously confused) “Yea, why?”
           
FatPickett proceeded to inform me he was an off duty cop working at the hotel. He informed me of that by flashing me his badge. I informed him that I was staying in room 412 and that I was going to be doing my pre-grappling preparation of raising my blood alcohol content with a supplement that I like to refer to as vodka. He gave me a look like was some asshole out of towner and I walked in to the hotel before I was tempted to tell him to put the card back in the deck. That was my first experience with blatant reverse racism by a police officer (yes, there have been others). I went up to the bar, drank till I forget about getting “checked out” by FatPickett, kept drinking till I got hammered, went up to my room and passed the fuck out.
The following morning err I mean noon, I kind of overslept…….
     
We were supposed to be up around 8 to be at the arena at 9 for the no-gi tournament. We woke up at 12. It was LeblancClone’s job to have us up by then but we actually had to wake him up. Apparently him, WestVaco, and couple of the other guys stayed up having beers which is pretty funny considering that LeblancClone was trying to talk me out of drinking the previous night. Now I know what you are thinking, how could he simply just over sleep from drinking beer? Well LeblancClone also had a cold and was treating it with Nyquil. Whilst drinking beers and shooting the shit with WestVaco he reached to the night stand by the bed for what he thought was a beer and was in reality a bottle of his Nyquil and CHUGGED half of the bottle. It only takes a capful to put you to sleep like a baby or at least Drew Brees makes the shit sound pretty fucking awesome. Half a bottle was enough to put one of those Mr. Olympia body builders in a coma. Let’s just say LeblancClone was dragging ass most of the day. We hauled ass to the Arena hoping it started late like it did at the last one from a couple years back and we would still have time to register.
       
As we got the arena we all had to get checked by the security guard that looked like the crackerfied version of the girl from Precious, only shorter. Everyone else from class got in with no issues but when it was my turn she started giving me more shit than if I had told her the benefit of using a treadmill. Seriously, this fat bitch tub of goo was hell bent on keeping my ginger ass from going to some grappling tournament that I had paid to compete in. Her reason? My wrist band wasn’t the right color. She needed proof that I was competing besides the fact that I had camouflage TapOut shorts on along with a Relson Gracie Jiu Jitsu t-shirt and a mouth piece in hand. LeblancClone picked up on the fact that I was about to lose my shit and tear into her deepest insecurities (it would have been like shooting fish in a barrel even with all the flab she had built up with her years of eating shitty fried food, burgers, and ho-hos while watching Jerry Springer in her double wide in some shitty suburb of Columbus. Just assuming) and convinced me to go outside while he tried to reason with Jabba the psycho trailer park slut turned security guard. After much deliberation LeblancClone realized the level of psycho cunt he was dealing with and gave up. I went to the back entrance of the arena, showed the security guard that kind of looked like DMX’s jewel thief buddy from Cradle to the Grave and got right the fuck in. As I made my way around the arena I met up with LeblancClone who informed me that the tourney had already started.

FUCK ME RUNNING………

I didn’t know what else to do and neither did the rest of the guys. So far this trip merely involved getting put up in a shitty hotel across from a methadone clinic, switching to a less shitty hotel with a decent bar, having to walk around in a city with sub freezing temperatures in fucking March with such lovely sights as homeless crackheads walking around with machetes (not joking), lost my second round match in the Gi tournament by getting dry humped by a wrestler, got harassed by a fucking cop that wishes the Black Panther party could make a comeback so he could follow his lifelong dream of being a cowboy without the whole charming Blazing Saddles theme, overslept the tournament because my jiu-jitsu instructor/buddy chugged enough Nyquil to incapacitate Clay Matthews, got harassed by a fat bitch security guard that was about as sexually appealing as a cheese greeter covered in gonorrhea, snuck in with my ginger charm (and the fucking wrist band that said fat bitch said wasn’t the right one), and walked out of the arena right by her just to rub in the fact that I had more brain cells than she had fat cells.

I wanted to get the fuck out of this city along with everyone else before (what I feared) would be the Arch Angel sounding the 7th trumpet and unleashing the zombies (seriously is that any less believable than a book that claims people lived for over 900 years?). We packed up our shit, checked out, packed the Jetta (along with LeblancClone packing up WestVaco’s car), and we got the fuck out of Dodge (oops I mean Columbus, I’m pretty sure Dodge has some dignity). We stopped to get some food and then were on our way back to “the drinking town with a history problem”. I was happier than Pee-Wee Herman driving the bangbus.
    
CrazyCracker decided that he wanted to try a different route to get back to Charleston. We decided to take I-77 while CrazyCracker decided to take whatever the fuck route he took (I think it was route I-71). This would prove to be a crucial decision as far as my level of convenience was concerned. Why is that you ask? Well ConstuctionWorker wasn’t concerned about the small things like speed limits. The only problem with that mindset is the Ohio State Police officer that pulled him over didn’t share the same mentality which was made evident as he pulled us over because ConstructionWorker wanted to do 20mph over the limit. HepSkater decides this is the opportune time to inform us that he has an eighth of weed in his shoe. Upon writing that last sentence it doesn’t surprise me in the least that he later got Hepatitis from shooting up heroin (supposedly). I did what I usually do in such situations and just kept my cool while I made believe nothing was wrong to justify my keeping my cool. Honesty is one thing, keeping myself out of some prison shithole in Ohio was something else completely.
   
PsychoTherapist, being the analytical mind that she was decided to ask ConstructionWorker if his license was up to date. ConstructionWorker informed us that he had gotten a letter from the South Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles that he never opened.  A few minutes later the cop informed him of what was in the contents of that letter; his license had been suspended, and proceeds to ask him to turn around so he could slap the cuffs on him.
   
 This was rock bottom. We had just about gotten out of the shit hole that is the state of Ohio and then a cop from said shithole state decides to give us one more shit storm of a hurdle to clear before we could escape. Did I also mention that we had crossed into the state of West Virginia more specifically the town of Point Pleasant when we got pulled over? Did I also mention the movie The Mothman Prophecies? Confused? Allow me to explain. There was this movie that came out in 2002 with Richard Gere as the lead called The Mothman Prophecies. Basically it’s about this “winged entity” called the Mothman terrorizing the town of Point Pleasant. In order to get into this town you have to cross the Silver Memorial Bridge which connects Point Pleasant to Kanauga, Ohio. There is a reason why memorial is part of that name. It was there to replace the Silver Bridge which collapsed into the Ohio River back in 1967 killing 46 people and is what The Mothman Prophecies is based off of. The legend goes that this “winged entity” made it collapse into the river although in reality it was structural failure due to an eyebar giving way (and I searched Wikipedia for all that shit just for honesty sake because the movie took A LOT liberties with the facts). At the time I didn’t know any of these facts and with how this trip was going I was full on expecting some “winged entity” to come flying behind us with a machete and go Jeffrey Dahmer on us. Luckily we just crossed over the bridge and pulled into the police station behind the cop that was hauling in ConstructionWorker.
           
Once we got to the station we had to figure out how to bail ContructionWorker out but we had blown through most of our cash and needed what was left to make it home. We waited to hear what the bail was going to be and after a couple hours it was set at $10,000. Apparently Ohio takes driving on a suspended license seriously along with everything else. Where were LeblancClone and the rest of the crew while all this was going down you might ask? Well they took I-71 or whatever the fuck it was and just kept right the fuck on going back to Charleston leaving us to deal with ContructionWorker’s lack of good judgment. After a few more hours we were about out of options. It would have cost at least $1,000 to get him out with a bail bondsman and none would take the bond since he was from out of state and they didn’t exactly feel like driving 12 hours to pick him up if he skipped out on the bond. Maybe that’s why Dog the Bounty Hunter actually has a television show because he is actually willing to travel long distances to get his man. Just a thought. I was reluctant to give up and leave ConstructionWorker in a jail in Ohio even though from what the desk cop told us he was already in the prison mindset since he was doing push-ups and calisthenics (the guy had only been in jail for 6 hours and was already doing the prison workout), but we were out of options. I decided there was nothing we could do and HepSkater even wrote out a note for the desk cop to give to ConstructionWorker and it went as follows:

Note from HepSkater: “Hey [redacted] dude. We tried getting you out but couldn’t do it. We’ll try to figure something out when we get back to Charleston. Watch your butthole dude.”

Not exactly Hallmark material if they had a prison card line…….
           
Right when we were about to walk out the door the desk cop stopped us and said that ConstructionWorker’s mom was on the line. I got on the phone:
CWmom: (more hysterical than a black woman taking off her earrings) ‘PLEASEDONTLEAVEMYBABY!!!!! WE ARE SENDING THE MONEY RIGHT NOW.
           
After I got her calmed down and reassured that we wouldn’t leave her son in some shithole prison in some shithole state that goes by the name Ohio she started calming down and thanking me like a bum whom I just gave winning a lottery ticket too. After another hour the bail bondsman showed up and looked like something out of Sons of Anarchy who used the same tattoo artist as Bam Bam Bigelow. The guy was every bit of 6’5” and 300lbs and was one scary son of a bitch. Seriously the sight of him could make zombies (if they had functioning tear ducts) cry with a tattooed bull’s eye and flames on the back of his shaved chrome dome. I’m pretty sure his head could cut a diamond with that thing he called a head. The cops brought ConstructionWorker out, had him sign some papers, told him when his court date was, and then told him that if he didn’t show up he would come looking for him. The sight of ContructionWorker’s balls shrinking after that phrase was priceless and we were off on our merry way. The rest of the trip back was pretty uneventful (thank god) except for a few things:
  1. When stopping at this visitor center in the mountains right before we crossed into    Virginia we bought a pink hat for our buddy SissyRoids that said Juicy across it. We all liked it for the homosexual and anabolic references.
  2. I got into a texting war with LeblancClone and he whooped my ass. The crème de le crème was when he laid this doozy on me, “Watch out for the interchange in Columbia (South Carolina) from I-77 to 26. Oh yeah you’ll be able to see it in the daylight.”
  3. We stopped at a Super 8 in North Carolina to get a few hours of shut eye so PsychoTherapist wouldn’t pass out behind the wheel and smash into a tree or something.
We arrived in Charleston at 3 in the afternoon. A FULL 21 hours after we left Columbus. That shit hole tried its damnedest to hold us in its shitty mitt of locals that suck at life and invade my town which has led to my buddy Tradd actually starting a website called GoBacktoOhio.com along with bumper stickers and koozies. Needless to say the first thing I did when I got out of PsychoTherapist’s car was make out with the asphalt that was on the lovely, fertile Charleston soil. I may live in a drinking town with a history problem that has deep seeded issues stemming back from the Civil War. But at least I don’t live in Columbus, Ohio.
FUCK YOU COLUMBUS, OHIO AND THE REST OF YOUR SHITTY STATE. Oh yeah and for any Ohioans here in the Lowcountry reading this story, listen to my buddy Tradd and GO BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

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