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The slow-motion train wreck from Atlanta, Georgia to Dallas, Texas started the evening of Wednesday, March 15th, 2006.

Mike Clark (Douchebag) and Brian Donovan
(El Supremo) flew in from Dallas during the afternoon for the send-off party for Team Armada. The poor bastards included Max Smith (MAX!MUS), Nicholas Claeboe (Alcholnik) and Erran Yearty (So Fain). Douchebag would join the road trip and drive to Dallas with us while Supremo would celebrate the beginning of the debauchery and sin before flying back to Dallas to pick up Ashley flying in from "San Diego” (which, of course, in German means "a whale's vagina").

How cute. Grown(ish) men with clever little nicknames… World, Team armada. Team armada, world. Behold, mere mortals, our total absence of any human decency.

All social mores were casually tossed aside as the launch party was put together. Arranged primarily by Max, the send off party quickly attained the look and feel of the craziest party of the year in the ATL. Hosted by Frequency Nightclub in Buckhead and featuring Tommy Lee of Motley Crue (and Pamela Anderson Sex Video) fame as the DJ and a VIP appearance by Nikki Sixx also of Motley Crűe, the sobering realization that one or more team members might not survive the first night was quickly followed by congratulatory high fives once we decided this could only improve our chances of winning. With the Crűe at our bon voyage party, how could this road trip do anything but rock?

The debauchery officially started when Douchebag and Supremo, having been drinking since setting foot in the terminal at DFW at 9:30 that morning, arrived at the apartment that So Fain and Nick share. This is where the majority of the team started enthusiastically downing Jager Bombs.

Depression slammed home when  we realized that 4 bottles of Jager was too much for a 4 pack of Red Bull to withstand. Nick was off to the store while So Fain fumed over having to pause the action. He wanted this road trip underway and he wanted to be shit-faced the entire time. Anything less was totally unacceptable, or worse, a complete affront to his honor.

Finally, So Fain exploded, "GAWDAMMIT, they’ve already been gone NINE MINUTES!" This attitude towards Jager Bombs stuck with him for the rest of the trip. By the time the 6 people in our party had loaded into cars to hit the send-off party, 4 dead Jager bottles sat lonely, stunned and silent in a line across the bar.

At the club, Team armada came together for drinks and last minute discussion of the travel logistics. We meant well, but the latter simply never took place. The drinking, however, most certainly did. The team leaving just hours after the party ended would be Max, Nick, Douchebag and So Fain. Deciding that the 13 each at the house was not enough, we started downing more Jager Bombs and smacking women's asses at an accelerated rate. El Supremo just stood there looking drunk and confused. Soon, we were all packed into VIP where we had a photographer set up for plenty of pictures. We are a group with complex social dynamics. We’re not just alcoholics… we’re narcissistic alcoholics.

We call this the MAXIM Mobile...

Morgie & Max.
T-shirts from Dirty Shirty (.com)

The Crowd rushes in...

Tommy raises MAYHEM...

Jessica and Playboy photographer David Rams...

El Supremo enjoying ATL...

The crew's first shot together...
from left to right - So Fain, Max, Nick & DB...

Say, "Yes, please" to Crack!

Oh YOU GIRLS!!...

By the time the above pictures had been taken, Frequency was packed. Tommy Lee was spinning some deep, dark techno and the skirt-chasing was in high gear. Liquor didn't stop flowing until 3a.m., when we all spilled into the street in front of Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx's tour bus.

Nick's intoxication was made strikingly apparent when he picked up our friend Steve and began slamming him into a stone wall while laughing maniacally. So Fain, the incongruent voice of reason all of a sudden, encouraged Nick to stop being a lunatic, then found himself punched in the chest and out of breath. When Nick is severely indrunkticated, he should be hanging on a hook in a freezer somewhere. He's just a big, dumb slab of beef. Max helped So Fain walk it off without letting Nick know that So Fain couldn't breathe. Like most apex predators, when Nick smells blood in the water, he goes directly and mercilessly for the kill.

All of this, plus lots of yelling and laughing, were witnessed by Tommy Lee… from the safety of his bus. Even he was looking at us like we were out of control. We considered it a ringing endorsement and an omen of things to come.

We "LOVE" this Girl!!!

The famous RAWquell arrives with her own t-shirt...
Recognize these guys?...

Double Trouble... Paige and Brooke Holleman (Turkey Timer)

That's our MakBeth...

Kerriana says, “Team armada is number one!”

The team split up, with Douchebag heading to an orgy in a hotel room on the 63rd floor of a swank Atlanta hotel, El Supremo collapsed on Dana’s couch and the rest of us racing for our beds… with women in tow, of course.

"...racing for our beds… with women in tow, of course."

In retrospect, this was perhaps further drinking combined with reckless fornicating was not the brightest idea, since none of us got more than an hour or two of sleep before we were up and loading into Max's Tahoe (The MAXIM Mobile) for the drive to Dallas. But who are we to deny our female fans Maxim Road Trip stories of their own? We’re selfless like that. Humanitarians, really. Are you paying attention, Nobel Prize Committee?