Ride the Boomerang. Sounds kind of like a kiddie ride at an amusement park. Or maybe a sex toy. Whichever. Pick your poison. I was able to take a ride on the "Boomerang Bus" This past weekend. For those of you that don't know, the Boomerang Bus is a converted school bus that carries 35-40 drunks around DC on Friday and Saturday nights. Taking them to various clubs/bars. This is my recap of the night. Some things have been omitted. Either because I felt like it, or too drunk to remember.
9pm. I show up to Rumors. The official starting point of the night. The place is absolutely fucking dead. I check in with the Boomerang people and head straight for the bar. 2 beers later, we leave.
We get on the bus and honestly I have no clue what I'm in for. The bus is a shoddy ass reincarnation of an actual Limo Bus. This deathtrap is painted sky blue. There are christmas lights and 3 stripper poles. The hardwood (read: plywood) floors are stained from hundreds of nights of drunks spilling every alcohol known to man on the them. It doesn't smell bad (yet). My immediate reaction: This is going to be awesome. (no bullshit. I was totally sold by this point)
While at Rumors the party "hosts" (idiots who the Boomerang employs to liven up the party. Apparently. Don't get me wrong, I'm jealous of these people. They get paid to get drunk and ride around on the bus every weekend. Greatest job ever) inform us that we will be traveling to 3 clubs/bars. Ultrabar, Eyebar and Rhino Bar. So, away we go to our first destination: Ultrabar. This time of night, the bus is relatively calm. People haven't been drinking that much and for the most part, everyone is behaving.
One of the good things about this whole ordeal is the ability to drink on the bus. Which is always a good thing. I mean, I know when I was in elementary school all I wanted to do was get drunk on a school bus. 15 minutes and 3 beers later, we arrive at Ultrabar.
We were carded on the bus, given VIP bracelets and in we went. Cutting the line and all that jazz. Upon entering this fucking dump I was hit with a shitstorm of supposed "audio and visual stimulation". There were lasers, phasers, flashing lights, smoke and all types of other horseshit to completely fuck up your motor skills. I can only tolerate about 3 seconds of this so I make a run for the pisser. While in bathroom (which was of course manned by an non-english speaking attendant) I hear some Frat Boy say to some other dude "The royal penis is clean your heiness." At this point in time, 10 minutes into the time at the club I decide that I hate every fucking club in DC. And the douchebags that frequent them. I take a piss, wash my hands and head to the bar. Now the talent, the decor and the overall vibe of the place doesn't warrant such snobbery, however this is what I was in for:
Bartender: What do you want?
Me: Bud Light.
Bartender (confused look as if I'm speaking a different language): We don't have Bud Light. All we have is Stella.
Me: Fine. I'm so drunk it all tastes the same anyway
Bartender: That's 7
Me: 7 dollars? You do realize that Stella Atoris is like the Budweiser of Belgium right?
Bartender: (blank stare)
Me: Fine, I'll drink this $7 dollar bottle of dog piss. But, I'm not fucking happy about it.
The bartender gives me the death stare. You know what I'm talking about. The one where your girlfriend catches you checking out some broad's rack at a bar. Yeah, that one. I shrug my shoulders, laugh and stumble on my way.
Now, Ultrabar has 5 levels. Each with its own bar and music playing. The level with the lasers and shit is the second floor. The one with the Zulu bartender and the bathroom is on the first floor or the basement (you come in on the level with the Star Wars lightshow). So, after deciding that levels 1 and 2 suck we head up to level 3. Yeah, that one sucks too. More like a loft that overlooks the 2nd level and the Star Wars lightshow. Spent all of a minute here. On to the 4th floor. Which is actually decent. about 20 feet wide and probably 60 feet long (measurements seriously affected by the amount of alcohol that I have consumed). Very sterile looking. White walls, white couches, white bar top. Whatever. Everything was fucking white. This was the point where I was introduced to the "VIP Section of a club." Which is nothing more than a couple of tables on a platform about 4 inches high. Behind, you guessed it, white fucking velvet rope. I was not impressed at all. Whatever, this bar has Bud Light, so by now, I'm relatively tolerable. We notice more stairs and come to the conclusion that is the "Ultra Super Secret VIP only Level of the club". Mike talks the guy into letting us up and away we go. Basically the same thing as the 4th floor. Except there is a DJ. Well, there was a guy with a MacBook and headphones. I guess he could've passed as a DJ. We hang out for a little while, head back to the 4th floor and then we leave. Rather eventful.
Back on the bus. Of course I fall over as soon as I get on the bus. Landing in the laps of a couple of unprepared drunks. By now, the entire bus is completely shitfaced. People are dancing on the stripper poles. Falling down, spilling beer. The whole bus reeks of alcohol. I was stoked. Just like a pig in shit. 15 minutes and 3 beers later, we arrive at Eyebar.
This is when I lose all basic motor functions and am stumbling around like a 2 year old that is just learning how to walk. I'm hanging on to the bar because I'm afraid of falling over. Total drink tally at this point was probably 11. Keep in mind that it's a little after midnight and I hadn't eaten anything since 2pm. I order a Bud Light (which pleases me) and I stumble back to the rest of the group. So, we're hanging out around this small hi-top table. Thank God that thing is there. I'm convinced that the sole purpose of this table is to keep people from falling down. After I drink my beer, I take a piss again. Upon exiting the bathroom I decide that I'm pissing too much and decide to switch from beer to something that won't make be piss every 3 seconds. So, what do I start drinking? Double Crown and Coke. We hang out. Mike spills my $9 dollar drink, I get made fun of for being a Lions fan. I stumble around like an idiot for a little while. Then it's time to leave. (One of the bad things about the Boomerang is you only stay at the clubs for an hour or so. Which is good for shitholes like Ultrabar. But, I was kind of tolerating Eyebar. Which could've just been the fact that I'm Eddie Van Halen drunk right about now)
Back on the bus, on the way to Rhino bar. Now, I have no clue where Ultrabar or Eyebar is. So, ultimately I have no clue where the fuck I am in DC. I do know this, I am on the way to an actual bar. In Georgetown. A place that serves alcohol by the pitcher and there are sporting events on TV. Not like Ultrabar that was showing "The Professional" on the plasma.
Anyway, we're on the bus. People are so drunk is absolutely ridiculous. I see a bottle of Jack Daniel's getting passed around at the front of the bus. So, immediately, I decided to do shots. I stumble to the front grab the bottle from some drunk frat boy and take a shot. He looks at me, I look at him. We both laugh and take another shot. I swear, it was like fucking Christmas on that bus. For whatever reason, I decide to honor Motley Crue. This is how it went down:
Me (while waving the bottle of Jack around): This one's for Vince Neil, Mick Mars, Nikki Sixx and Tommy Motherfucking Lee!
Stupid Frat Boy: What? Who is that?
Me: What? That's Motley fucking Crue! That's who the fuck that is!
Me: You don't like that?
Me: Oh yeah? Well, why don't you go toast to Steve Perry and Journey. You fucking douchebag.
I get the blank stare from the dude and I stumble back to my seat. Making sure to grab a bottle of Captain Morgan from some broad. Take a swig, pass it back to her and fall down into my seat again.
I can't see straight. I can't stand up. I have no clue where I am. All I know is I'm on the way to a Red Sox bar and I'm fucking pumped. We get inside, barely make it upstairs and find a hi-top table. 10 minutes goes by and I see Mike. He's tracking the wall like a dog that has it's equilibrium all fucked up. This motherfucker is drunker than I am. He hobbles over to the table and damn near falls down. Again. He decides to go to the bathroom. The room is spinning, my whole body is numb. Still can't see or stand up. I make the executive to go home. I track Mike down. I'm pretty sure he's trying to hit on a plastic tree. Grab him and we're out. I catch a cab tell the guy where we're going and we're gone. We don't even make it to the Air Force memorial before I see Mike puking down the side of the cab. The cabbie pulls over, shouts some Arabic obscenities and then proclaims that he can't work anymore because his cab is now full of the reminants of Miller Lite, Red bull, Vodka, and various other types of alcohol. I give the cab driver a $50 bill and tell him to keep driving. (the fare was all of $9.) I tell him to take us to the Bungalow and we'll catch another cab. I even offer to clean the goddamn cab out. Which I thought was fair seeing as how my boy had violated the inside of his cab. He declines and we head for Springfield. We get to my complex and are parked outside the gate. Total cab fare: $24 and some change. This is how I ended the night:
Jihad Cabbie: I need another $10
Me: What? Are you fucking kidding me?
JC: You friend. He throw up in cab. Another $10.
Me: Fuck You. I'm not giving you shit.
Mike: What the fuck is going on?
Me: Mike. Shut the fuck up. Listen dude, I'm not giving you any more money.
JC: He throw up in cab! I cannot work!
Mike: Don't worry dude, we got you.
Me: Mike. Shut up. Man, I gave you $50 bucks. Without hesitation. I offered to clean your cab. I told you to drop us off somewhere and we'll take another cab. And now, you want more money? Go fuck yourself.
Me: Goddamnit Mike. Get out of the cab and go wait over there
(he exits the cab and stands in front of the gate. Looking like a border jumper waiting for the right time to jump.)
JC: You owe me 10.
Me: Fuck off dude. I gave you $50 for a $24 fare and now you want $60? Blow me.
JC: Get the fuck out of my cab. (I'm already standing outside the cab when he says this)
Me: Fuck you! I'm not even in the goddamn cab!
JC: Fuck you!
Me: (I slam the door) Fuck you! I know Fenty and I'm reporting your ass.
He gives me the finger and then speeds off.
All in all, the night was a success. I drank myself retarded. Toasted to Motley Crue. Yelled at a Cab driver. I probably wouldn't ride the Boomerang again. Hell, you never know.
I do know this though, I fucking hate clubs.