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The next morning, the conversation about the So Fain's blonde was brief. Nick asked about the sex right away.

"So how was it? Did ya get freaky?"

The blonde cut a sideways look at him as she poured our breakfast Jager Bombs.  So Fain's response was curt...

"It's difficult to enjoy fucking them when they can't stop crying." - So Fain

"Oh, the sex? I forgot to thank you for insulting her all the way home. It's difficult to enjoy fucking them when they can't stop crying."

We started hammering shots relentlessly.  At first, it was just the blonde, Max and So Fain, but soon Douchebag and Nick joined the fun and we started keying up for a big night. We went and had a long lunch at a local restaurant where the conversation was already crude and quite loud.

The blonde pointed out a young girl of about six and tried to turn the conversation to a more cutesy topic and said "Wow, isn't that little girl beautiful?" So Fain finished his drink, turned to her and inquired, "Absolutely!  Think she's seventeen?"

Polite conversation ended there.  It was time to hit the nightclubs in Downtown Dallas and see how much damage we could do...

Keep'in it Dirty...

Out of our way, Dallas Texas, The Bad Boys of armada Magazine are trying to make history.

So Fain owes Max for this picture of him with the two hottest skirts at "O Bar."

Nick... He's as quick with the digits as he is with the kisses.

Don't be hate'n...

What's wrong with this picture?

That's better...

Even better...

Saturday was rainy and it was killing So Fain’s hair. His flat iron changed his life not too long ago and the suggen Dallas humidity was curling his hair. Unacceptable. We headed back to the house to meet more people and give So Fain an opportunity to touch up his looks. Vanity is, by far, his favorite sin.

We consumed more shots and loaded into a large Suburban with a third row seat. Minutes later, we were at the first bar of the night, Backstage. It was a cool venue, but kind of empty since it was early and it's a members only VIP bar. We stopped by Carson's Live next door real quick and then piled into three SUVs. The crowd was growing again. We seemed to bring a lot of Texans along with us thanks to Douchebag, Supremo, our shameless MySpace whoring in the weeks leading up to the trip, and, well damn it, we're just a fun bunch to wreck nightclubs with.

"MySpace is the world’s greatest tool known to mankind for pulling ass."

The next stop was to Downtown Dallas for the Grand Opening of Dallas' newest large scale venue (or superclub), Metro 5 or simply "M5."  The party was underway and soon we were all in VIP with a bottle of Goose and Uncle Jager on ice. The DJ was announcing our presence every 20 minutes and combined with our full-on drunkenness and dashing good looks, we were acting like world class rockstars. More MySpacers were showing up and joining our posse and by the time we were to hit the next club, everyone was drunker than Teddy Kennedy at an open bar wedding reception.

It was at this transition that we lost Nick the first time. He stayed at M5 with a couple of strippers and said he'd meet up with us soon. We said our goodbyes and left him for dead.

We drove a short way to O Bar. The place was small and packed with guys, which is not exactly the best scenario for us when we’re drunk and in need of attention. Not cool, but Max and So Fain quickly singled out the couple of cuties we could locate for a quick photo and some speed flirting. To our surprise, another hottie walked in and came right for us. The hottie named each of us in turn, proving that MySpace is the world’s greatest tool known to mankind for pulling ass.

Max and So Fain encouraged the assembled hotties to meet us at our next stop... Seven Nightclub.

We couldn't get them to stop once they started... THANK YOU MAXIM...

Seven is an after hours night club that stays open long after alcohol sales stop at 2:00 a.m. We got there right at last call and choked down a quick drink before the bouncers came and collected them all. That wasn't cool at all and had never happened to the Georgia boys before. Their indignation fell on deaf ears, however. When given the choice of surrendering the remains of their drinks or leaving, they reluctantly slammed the liquor and handed back empty glasses.

The music at Seven was driving and we were all shitfaced except for Supremo who had consumed but a single beer all night. Apparently, our drinking was a bit much for him. As he said in his blog later; "Over the course of my 32 years on Earth, I have had some monumentally bad ideas. Going shot for shot with So Fain is now at the top of the list."           

Nick miraculously showed up at Seven with an entire new group, including bodybuilders and more strippers. He must have been with a group of 15 when he rolled in. It was obvious that, rather than being drugged and having his kidneys removed for sale on the black market like we had expected to happen to him, he was doing just fine. We tried to veil our disappointment, because having a team member lose a major organ would have been golden story material. Little did we know that the opportunity had not yet passed us by.....

Tired and coming off our collective buzzes, we decided it was time to move along. Nick was having none of it, so we bailed on him and headed outside as Douchebag pulled the Suburban around. It was raining pretty bad and Supremo was the last guy coming out of the door. He's 5'6" and was dead sober and sleepy, making him the easy and obvious target for Max. With a yard wide torrent of roiling gutter water between Supremo and the truck, Max chimed in "Hey, someone get Supremo a snorkel."

Supremo was not amused. Everyone else was.

Nick's new friend and Professional Body Builder...

Douchebag and Supremo were ready to head to Plano before they collapsed, but Max, So Fain and the girls simply didn't want to stop the party.  So So Fain's blonde (who he has by now decided to call Debutante since he discovered that she came from a wealthy background and had a "coming out party" even though she didn't appear to be gay at the time) informed us that she lived just minutes away in downtown.

Sure enough, we were soon at her house and our Douchebag and Supremo headed back out of the city. It was now official. The Bad Boys of armada Magazine were in downtown Dallas without a ride or even any clue where they were even at.  This was, predictably, right about when the wheels finally came off.

Ashley from San Dog passed out on a downstairs couch while Max and So Fain headed upstairs for alone time with the local girl and her hot ass roommates. Max collapsed within minutes on the roommate's bed, primarily due to the impressive amount of liquor that we had hidden in our bellies for the last 18 hours, and fell into what appeared to me to be a coma. So Fain, a trained medical professional, began jumping on the bed while yelling "TALK TO ME, GOOSE!" but he heard nothing. The roommate was on her way back out on the town anyway, so we just turned off the light and let him sleep. So Fain retired to Debutante's room and catapulted himself into an advanced stage of undress.

Crying from one of Nick's drunken verbal attacks would not save her tonight!

Dead & Bloated... Well, not really, but Max was passed out cold.

Oh yeah...so let's mess with him a little more...
 

Drunk out of his skull, lost in Downtown Dallas without a ride, with one team member in a booze-induced coma and another team member abandoned to fend for himself in a pack of strippers and meatheads, So Fain should have felt that stirring in the back of his mind the sober world likes to call a dire sense of foreboding.

Oblivious to the little voice in his head,  it wasn’t too long before So Fain heard something odd outside.  Are those… Footsteps? Coming upstairs? He didn't think too much about it until the bedroom door opened. So Fain froze. Local girl froze. A voice spoke up...

"Hey, who's in my bed?  Baby, those aren't your feet!"

Luckily, before So Fain made his move to dive, Cirque du Soleil style while naked out of a second floor window, the mystery guy turned and stormed out of the house.  So Fain, being experienced in this sort of situation, was close on his tail trying dress as he ran for his life. So Fain stopped by to wake Max. He was urgently trying to get Max to understand that he was afraid that the boyfriend was going to be back soon as he heard the guy doing donuts in the front yard in his Texas sized pickup truck. The boyfriend then squealed his tires down the street and hauled ass into the distance.

It is a matter of common knowledge that every man in Texas carries a gun.  Earlier, at Douchebag's house, everyone there had proven that fact with a show of hands and small arms. Even though So Fain was losing his shit, neither Max nor Ashley seemed to be able to gain consciousness enough to understand why So Fain was so upset. So Fain decided he didn't have time to save their lives. Making sure they were both in the roommate's bed, he bolted downstairs. He grabbed Debutante's trashcan (so he could get the street address) and his cellphone.

There was a text message on So Fain's mobile from Nick that read, "Somebody get me the fuck out of Club Insomnia!" He was obviously distressed, as well. As So Fain ran out of the house, he called Nick. So Fain was urgently trying to explain his plight to him, but the goddamned phone let loose that smug low battery beep. Shit!  So Fain hung up on Nick to save battery life. It was now every dumbass for himself.

Outside in the rain, the sun was starting to come up. So Fain looked closer at his environment and quickly realized that he was stranded at the corner of Stabwhitey and Mugwhitey. He would have to use his last two minutes of mobile phone time carefully. He started heading away from the house, casting furtive, paranoid looks over his shoulder, watching for the crazy Texan who he was sure would return to kill him any moment.

Ah ha! Brandy, the art gallery manager!

So Fain called her… and she answered. God bless her. He gave her the address and she called a cab for him as he dashed through the rain, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the homicidal boyfriend.

An hour later, wet clothes and all, So Fain was at her apartment while she was pouring vodka and trying to make sense of his drunken babble.

It was hours later before So Fain could get enough power in his phone to scribble down Nick and Max's phone numbers.   He called them from Brandy's (gallery manager) phone and was able to piece together what was going on with everyone else.

Nick had made it to home base safely around 9am in one of the meathead's BMW, and was motorboating between a pair of Dallas' best natural set of Double D's. 

Max had been in contact with El Supremo.   Apparently things worked out well for him, too.  The phone conversation went something like this…

Supremo: "I was just calling to make sure you're okay. So, uh… you okay?"

Max: "I'm in bed with two hotties right now."

One of the Hotties: "Get off the phone."

Of course.  So Fain is soaked from head to toe with rain and mud and his two partners are pressed against boobs in warm beds…   So Fain can't complain about the company of Brandy though.  She was not only beautiful, but also an angel for saving his ass.   So Fain just wishes he would have been presentable enough to put a serious move on her.

Soon, Douchebag was picking up Max and Ashley and then they grabbed So Fain's soaking wet, disheveled ass.  He was looking like a hobo with hair like Greg Brady. 

Sometime on Sunday, we finally reunited and celebrated with, you guessed it, more Jager Bombs.  After a shower, we were all geared back up for food and more drinks.